The Duke Wears Nada Page 3

  “If only that were true.” Yet, Lucy feared her sister made something of nothing. “Lenore, how can a lady be sure of a man’s regard? Did Blake declare himself, or did he leave you to guess his intentions?”

  “I cannot believe you ask, as I thought it obvious.” Grinning, Lenore hugged her round belly. “My husband never wavered in his ambitions, especially where I was concerned. Indeed, even when I doubted my ability to assume the duties as his duchess, he provided naught but support and encouragement. And when I faltered, he stood strong until I made my decision. Given Blake’s relationship with Damian, I would expect you to confront the same confidence tinged with arrogance, which you must forgive, as Brethren are cut from the same cloth, but they mean well.”

  “What if Blake said one thing to you and then expressed a contrary position to someone else?” After their romantic interlude, en route to the estate, Lucy permitted herself a few indulgent dreams, all of which relied on a single constant—her dashing duke. Indeed, Damian functioned as her lifeline, of a sort. Without him, she could not see beyond the trial. “Are men not immune to such fickle behavior? They certainly pride themselves on their persistence.”

  “Believe me, Blake is nothing if not steadfast, and he pursued me with staunch determination.” Lenore wrinkled her nose. “So what did Damian do to cause doubt?”

  “Nothing of significance.” Toying with the hem of her sleeve, Lucy closed her eyes and traveled back in time, to a dark and dirty room at the Black Garter Inn in Marylebone. “When you suffer nightmares, what do you dream?”

  “I remember the stench of rotting food, the bed bugs crawling amid the filthy sheets, the confusing haze of laudanum, and the wife sale.” Quiet fell on the elegant greenhouse, and then Lenore clutched Lucy’s hand. “But it is the separation, first from Blake and then you, that inflicts the most pain, and I wake in a panic. My only consolation is that I always rouse to Blake’s loving embrace, and I live for the day you know such unfailing comfort and security.”

  “What if that never happens?” Because Lucy concealed an unspeakable secret, which could destroy her chance for happiness if revealed. “What if I am destined to live alone?”

  “I can ensure that does not come to pass.” Cupping Lucy’s chin, Lenore furrowed her brow. “Will you not share your burden, little one? I know something is wrong, but I cannot help you if you do not allow it.”

  “Well, I am no longer little, and there are things I must figure out for myself, but I appreciate the offer.” Of course, part of the problem was Lucy did not know what to say, because she could not separate reality from the night terrors. Still, the fetid breathe, the offensive touch of coarse hands, and the lurid suggestions whispered in her ear seemed tangible enough, such that she could not discern fact from fiction, and the horrors, genuine or imagined, assailed her consciousness. “If I may, might I be excused from dinner and take my meal in my chamber?”

  THE DUKE WEARS NADA

  CHAPTER THREE

  A cloudy sky marked the dawn of a new day, and Damian lingered in the foyer, as he awaited Lucy’s arrival. With his gaze fixed on the landing, he mulled her absence at dinner, which Lenore attributed to a megrim, last night, and fretted for her health. Yet, something in the duchess’s air piqued his suspicions, and he wondered if Lucy sought to evade him. Growing ever impatient, he shoved from the wall and paced, a habit he abused with renewed frequency, to his chagrin.

  “Where could she be?” Raking his fingers through his hair, he assessed his appearance in the hall mirror.

  “I beg your pardon, Your Grace.” The distinguished butler of the manor, Jennings bowed. “May I be of assistance?”

  “I am looking for Miss Teversham.” Damian consulted his timepiece. “Did she break her fast earlier than usual?”

  “No, Your Grace.” The proud servant stretched upright. “Miss Teversham took her morning meal in the kitchen, as she always has, before departing the main house, via the back parlor doors.”

  “What?” Now, Damian knew something was wrong, because Lucy avoided him. “Did she say where she was going?”

  “No, Your Grace.” Jennings smiled. “But if I were a wagering man, I would check the southeast fields, as Miss Teversham favors the view.”

  “Interesting.” Damian rubbed his chin. “I would have commenced the search with the chalk stream.”

  “A sensible deduction, Your Grace.” Jennings clasped his hands behind him. “But Miss Teversham did not collect her rod and creel. Rather, she took her aerial insect net, as she referred to it.”

  “Ah.” Chuckling, Damian could just imagine his intellectual Lucy correcting the stodgy butler. “How long ago did she depart?”

  “About a half hour, Your Grace.” Jennings inclined his head. “Shall I send for your horse?”

  “Please, do so.” In the mirror, Damian frowned at the starched cravat, the beige waistcoat, and the navy coat. “I shall return, momentarily.”

  “Very good, Your Grace.” Again, the butler made his obeisance.

  Taking the stairs two at a time, Damian charged the landing. In the gallery, he veered left to the west wing. After navigating a series of halls, he ran into his private apartment. In seconds, he divested himself of the linen neck cloth, the coat, and the waistcoat. At the armoire, he opted for a less formal burgundy hacking jacket and unfastened the shirt button at his throat. With one last check of his attire, which struck him as more suitable to an afternoon spent tromping through the fields, in Lucy’s wake, he nodded and retraced his steps.

  In the foyer, he reached for his hat but paused, because he suspected his lady preferred him without it. Relaxed and comfortable, he strolled outside, where a stablehand held the lead of Damian’s stallion, and he claimed his mount. With a robust leap, he perched in the saddle, heeled the flanks of his horse, and galloped toward the coast.

  The gentle wind rustled through his hair, the warmth of the sun kissed his cheeks, and the thrill of the hunt simmered beneath his flesh. An afternoon of intellectual pursuits, interspersed with a few sweet kisses, should put to rights his relationship with Lucy, and it was with that assumption in mind that he ran her aground near the cliffs.

  Bedecked in a lovely pink dress, with her net in tow, she lunged, no doubt in search of some rare insect. As he neared and drew rein, and she noted his presence, she stiffened her spine and gave him her back, and he halted.

  “Good morning, dear Lucy.” The earsplitting silence left him reeling, as she did not respond with her customary buoyancy. After slipping from the saddle, he tugged off his gloves. “Perhaps you did not hear me. I said good morning.”

  “I heard you.” Yet she did not face him.

  “You are vexed with me.” Sidling close, he rested his palms to her hips, and she flinched. “Tell me what I have done, that I might make my apology.”

  “You make sport of me.” To his dismay, she pushed free and trudged along the cliff’s edge. “Why do you seek my company, if I offend your delicate sensibilities?”

  “That is some question.” Now he followed in her footsteps, until he caught her by the arm and brought her around to face him. “Explain yourself.”

  “It is the best I can do, Your Grace.” Telltale swelling about her eyes and her red nose mitigated his reaction. “Perhaps you should seek more refined companionship.”

  “Oh? Have you any suggestions?” Then another thought occurred to him. “And why were you not at dinner, last night, after you provided the trout, which was delicious, by the way?”

  “You might try some boring musicale or a country dance, for ladies suitably bred and possessed of dutifully diminished intellectual capacity, and I am surprised you marked my empty seat.” She sniffed and gazed toward the Channel. “Given I am a bespectacled, unpolished termagant destined to become the next Lady Hester Stanhope, though I submit I could do far worse were I to conform to society’s expectations, as characterized by the ton’s brainless chits.”

  In a moment of stupefaction, Damian released
her. The singular statement echoed in his brain, and he recalled where he voiced the very same words.

  “Where were you?” He narrowed his stare. “Hiding in the study? If so, why did you not make your presence known?”

  “I was outside, digging for worms.” If it were anyone else, the excuse would inspire serious misgivings, but Lucy he did not doubt for an instant. “Now let me pass.”

  “Not until I explain myself.” When she glanced at him, he spied pain. Raw anguish. “I hurt you.”

  “I am sure I know not of what you speak.” She dashed to the side, but she was not quick enough to elude him, and he snaked an arm about her waist. “If you do not mind, I have places to go and lands to explore.”

  “Why were you not a dinner?” He tipped her chin. “And why have you been crying?”

  “I was not hungry.” She struggled in his hold, but he gave her no quarter. “And I have shed no tears for you, Your Grace.”

  “I wounded you, when I would sooner injure myself.” With his nose, he nudged hers, and he noted her watery eyes. “Since you know of the conversation, I must admit I am a coward. When Blake posed queries I was unprepared to answer, I panicked and responded as an addled schoolboy. I am so sorry, Lucy.”

  Then Damian bent his head and kissed her.

  ~

  For Lucy, the soothing but firm caress of Damian’s mouth did much to dispel her anger, but the pain of his rejection, still manifesting a vicious open wound, remained to mock her. Yet, she leaned against his stalwart frame and savored his signature sandalwood scent. When he darted his tongue at hers, she engaged in a frisky clash of flesh.

  Soon, telltale warmth fanned and spread through her limbs, a strange hunger blossomed in her belly, and her knees buckled, but her dashing duke did not fail her, as he kept her upright. Angling her head, she suckled hard and drew his bottom lip between her teeth. However, as he skimmed the curve of her hips, something triggered in her memory, and she wrenched free and sobbed.

  “No.” Closing her eyes, she covered her ears with her hands. “Damian, I beg you, make it stop.”

  “Hold fast to me, Lucy.” When he advanced, she retreated, and he splayed his arms. “Will you not have faith in me and share your burden? I only want to help.”

  “If only you could help.” How could he resolve what she could not quite define? Hugging herself, she gritted her teeth against the misery that gripped her throat and threatened to choke her. “But I am angry. No, I am furious at the man who killed my father. I want Cornelius Sheldon dead, and I do not apologize for the sentiment.”

  “But that is only natural, given the severity of the crime.” With a countenance of concern, Damian flicked his fingers. “Dearest, come away from the cliff’s edge.”

  “You think I would fling myself to my death?” In light of his logic, she laughed. “You mistake me, my friend, as I have no intention of missing the court proceedings.” Lucy pressed a clenched fist to her chest. “I will face down the blackguard who took my beloved Papa’s life, sold Lenore, and held me captive, and I will see Sheldon dance at Beilby’s ball for his offenses.”

  “And I will be there to support you, every step of the way.” Resolution underscored every aspect of his tall frame, and she longed to confide in him the true extent of her woe. “Indeed, I shall do whatever you require, if you would permit it.”

  “But you cannot give me the one thing I want more than anything else—a final moment with my father.” And that broke her heart. “I never got to say goodbye, and I am tormented by visions of him, alone in the military hospital, surrounded by strangers and a murderer. Did he know of his approaching fate? Was he afraid?”

  “Not likely.” Damian grabbed her wrist, pulled her to a grassy rise, and they sat on the ground. “Sweetheart, according to Sir Ross, your father fought a secondary infection, due to the lead shot he suffered in battle, and the poison weakened his condition. When the time came, Dr. Handley is of the opinion that your father went to sleep and never woke.”

  “But I was not there to offer succor, and it is killing me, slowly.” Even her aerial net seemed to taunt her, and she broke the wooden handle in two. “To escape the unpleasantness, I moved to America, I left behind all that is familiar, yet the past imprisons me, such that I cannot live in the present.”

  “It will get better, I promise.” As he traced the crest of her ear, Damian smiled. Then he reached and lifted her to his lap, and she did not resist him. “When my father died, I mourned his loss for years. While the pain never truly leaves you, eventually, it will ease, and you learn to manage the grief.”

  “How did your father die?” Tired of bearing her burden, alone, Lucy collapsed against his chest. “Despite our numerous conversations, you have never discussed it with me.”

  “In truth, I have never explored my emotions regarding the matter.” Toying with a curl at the nape of her neck, he kissed her forehead. “Yet it amazes me how much it still hurts, after all these years.”

  “I am sorry I asked, as I would never cause you pain.” How she loved it when he held her, and she nuzzled him. “You do not have to tell me.”

  “It is all right, given the anguish no longer devastates me, as it did once.” With a heavy sigh, he shifted and drew little circles along her spine, and she burrowed beneath his coat. “I was but five and ten, when he fell at Cádiz, during the blockade under Nelson. Mazarredo launched a brilliant defense, and the fleet took heavy fire from the fort’s batteries. Papa was struck by shrapnel, which pierced his lung, and he drowned in his own blood. The next day, Mama died, it is said of a broken heart, and left Alex and I alone, but for our friends, in the world.”

  “She was with him?” Lucy sat upright and met his gaze.

  “Aye.” Damian nodded. “As my parents were very much in love, Mama sailed with him since they wed. In fact, from the moment they joined hands before the altar at St. George’s, they were never apart.”

  “How wonderful yet tragic, as they enjoyed life, together.” It was the sort of fantasy she coveted for herself. “Were I so fortunate to marry a sea captain, I should never allow him to depart the docks without me.”

  “Do you mean that?” He cupped her chin, and his expression of hope brought her to tears.

  “I do.” Then she pressed a finger to his lips. “While nothing would give me greater joy than to call myself yours, we depart for London in two days, whereupon Sir Ross and Crown Prosecutor Berwick plan to review my testimony, thus I cannot consider the possibility until after the trial, which commences in a sennight. I must focus on the task, my dashing duke.”

  “And then you will grant me an audience, knowing what I wish to propose?” He pulled her close and brushed his nose to hers, and she almost acquiesced. “You will hear what I have to say and contemplate my offer, dear Lucy?”

  As if to sweeten the deal, he tempted her with a series of brief—too brief for her liking, kisses, which swayed her. Yet she would have him know the truth, and if he still wanted her, she would be his wife. “I will.”

  THE DUKE WEARS NADA

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The drawing room at Elliott House featured gold damask wall coverings, masterful ceiling plasterwork by John Adams, a marble chimneypiece, and a rare, priceless frieze of the legendary lovers Orpheus and Eurydice, which Damian had always admired. It was in that elegant chamber that Blake negotiated his wedding to Lenore, with Samuel Teversham, and Damian hoped to do the same, in regard to the younger sister. But on that day, an important but none too pleasant venture ensued.

  Perched in matching high back chairs, Lenore and Lucilla fielded questions from Crown Prosecutor Berwick. While the duchess responded to the queries with her signature poise, Lucy fidgeted and fiddled with the hem of her sleeve.

  “As you asked, I inquired after Lucy, and Lenore shares your suspicions.” Blake’s gaze never wavered from his wife. “For whatever reason, Lucilla conceals something from her sister, and Lenore fears the worst.”

  “I knew it.” And
Damian tried but failed to seize upon a clue, in the journey to London. Although his lady smiled and played card games to pass the time, he detected the revelatory shadows in her beautiful blue eyes. “But Lenore could glean no information?”

  “No. Nothing.” Always an indecorous but jovial character, Blake displayed unusual gloom. “I fret for my wife and my heir, as Lenore nears her time, and she refuses to rest, given the preparations for the bloody trial.”

  “I thought you forbade her from testifying.” Just then, Lucy met Damian’s stare, and he noted tears welling. When he winked, she nodded and continued the summation of her ordeal. “Or does she defy you?”

  “Brother, you will find out soon enough that women have a way of deciding what they will and will not do, regardless of our wishes.” While formulating a response, Lenore faltered, and Blake leaped from his seat. “That is enough.”

  “But I can continue.” With a hand pressed to her protruding belly, Lenore leaned forward, scrunched her face, and moaned. “Oh, dear. Blake, will you help me to our suite, as I do not feel well?”

  “That does it.” Swift and sure, Blake charged his bride, lifted her from the chair, and made for the door. “Lovely Lenore, while I admire your tenacity and desire to offer evidence against Sheldon, I will not permit you to endanger your life or that of our babe. Damian, have Jennings fetch the doctor.”

  “Of course.” Damian crossed the room and tugged the bell pull.

  “Blake, you overreact.” Lenore rested her head to Blake’s shoulder. “I am just tired.”

  “You are overdue for your nap.” With that, Blake ran upstairs.

  “Should we stop for the afternoon?” Sir Ross consulted his notes. “Although the trial begins on Monday.”

  “If Miss Teversham can continue for another hour, I would like to walk her through a moment by moment account of her imprisonment, following Her Grace’s liberation.” Crown Prosecutor Berwick adjusted his glasses and studied the affidavit Lucy provided. “There are a number of lapses we should make some attempt to fill.”