A Duke Deceived (The Deceived Series Book 1)

by Cheryl Bolen

  "Can't fathom it. Beat by a lady. Not supposed to be that way."

  "Ladies, in many ways, sir, can be quite as smart as men."

  "Don't mean nothing against you, Duchess."

  Bonny looked at the mantel clock. "You had best hurry if you want to ride in the park with Miss Carlisle while it is still light outside."

  "Oh, quite so," he said, rising from his overstuffed chair and limping from the room.

  With mixed emotion, Bonny listened to his uneven steps along the marble hall. She was glad he was mending so well, but she would miss him dreadfully. He had been her only companion during the weeks of her husband's sporadic appearances at Radcliff House.

  She mounted the stairs to dress for dinner. How ridiculous it was to continue with these customs. Night after night she wore lovely gowns to sit and dine alone or to share the gloomy table with Twigs. He did his best to make excuses for her husband and tried mightily to cheer her.

  Marie fixed Bonny's hair in an elegant enough style to go to court. Bonny donned one of the evening dresses Madame Deveraux had created for her and allowed Marie to stick a black ostrich plume in her hair. How silly she would look, all dressed up, to sit alone at that huge dining table.

  But always she hoped Richard would come. She dismissed Marie and sat before her dressing table, listening, as she often did, for noises from her husband's chamber.

  She began to open the drawers in her dresser out of sheer boredom.

  She took out the velvet box containing the Radcliff Jewels. Just to look at them. To try to feel as if she were a Radcliff. If only she could have conceived a child. But now there was no opportunity. Would she go to her grave barren? she wondered as she opened the box.

  Her heartbeat stilled. The jewels were gone!

  With trembling hands, she quickly opened the rest of the drawers, searching for the jewels, but they had vanished like her husband's warmth.

  Who could have taken them? Could it have been one of her servants? A fleeting, sickening thought crossed her mind. Could Richard have taken them to give to Lady Heffington? No. No. Whatever his feelings were toward his wife, he could never be so dishonorable.

  Why hadn't she made Richard put them back for safekeeping? She thought of how many servants had access to her room. There was no way she could learn which servant might have removed the jewels. Should she tell Richard right away so he could take steps to apprehend the thief? She deplored the idea of telling him about the theft. The jewels had been in his family for two hundred years, and now that she had entered the family, the jewels were gone.

  She couldn't tell him. Not while he was so distant from her. It would be another wedge driving them further apart.

  Her door creaked open and she turned, thinking it might be the upstairs girl with wood for her fire. But it was her husband.

  She shoved the jewel case back into the drawer.

  Without speaking, Radcliff crossed the floor and stood behind his beautiful wife, studying her reflection in the looking glass. He wanted to hold her so badly he physically ached. "How lovely you look, my dear. Expecting company?" He forced his voice to sound casual to mask the rapid beating of his heart, invariably caused by her presence.

  "No, Richard," she said evenly. "I only hoped my husband would be here to share my table. Why do you stay away so much?"

  He had planned to dine with her tonight, but perhaps he should withhold his company a bit longer. His plan appeared to be working, judging from Barbara's words. It actually sounded as if she cared. Could it be that absence was the path to her heart? Absence and carefully orchestrated disinterest. "We are in town now, my dear. My town habits are different than my country habits."

  "If town habits mean getting foxed every night, neglecting your wife, spending all your time with your bachelor rakes and bringing your mistress to dine at our table, then I must say I prefer country habits."

  By Jove, but she acted as if she did care. His plan was working. If only he could be strong enough to leave her once again tonight. "My, but my little wife is getting some spunk in her married life. By the way, you forgot. Lavinia is my former mistress."

  Bonny turned around to face her husband. "You expect me to believe that in light of your present behavior?"

  God give me the strength not to take her in my arms and dissolve in her embrace. He met her stern gaze and could not resist trailing his finger over her smooth cheek, down to her chin. "It's the truth, Barbara."

  "Will you dine with me tonight?" she asked somberly.

  He lifted her hand and brushed his lips over it. "I regret I have made other plans."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Company at White's was thin. The night had yet to get started, but that did not prevent Radcliff and his closest friends from meeting there.

  "Remember the time Huntley dressed up as a Covent Garden flower woman?" William Clyde recalled as his chums fondly laughed.

  Of the four well-dressed pinks of the ton, William most exemplified a man of style. His Hessians shone so sharply he could have shaved his reflection in them, and his coat of blue superfine with diamond buttons fit to perfection.

  '"Course, that was a much thinner Huntley," Stephen Langford reminded.

  Huntley Harrington brought a bumper of port to his lips. "Made half a crown, I did!"

  His friends laughed heartily.

  "But you paid the old woman two guineas for her clothes and flowers," Radcliff said.

  "Oh, the times we've had," William said. "Not many pranks we haven't pulled. Except for Richard, who always stands back watching, arms folded, with that merry gleam in his eyes."

  "He don't have to do the funny things. Always got Twigs to amuse him," Huntley said.

  "I say, I'll be bloody glad when Twigs is back to his old form," William added.

  Radcliff frowned. "I fear he may never get back to his old form."

  The other three men lowered their brows and shot Radcliff worried glances.

  "But I thought he was showing excellent improvement," Stephen said.

  "Oh, he is," the duke answered. "I didn't mean he would not mend tolerably well. I said he may never get back to his old self."

  "Why? Pray tell," Stephen said.

  Radcliff's lips thinned. "I fear he may be settling down."

  "A woman?" Huntley asked.

  Radcliff nodded.

  "But that, sir, doesn't mean anything," William said, smiling. "Look at Radcliff and me."

  Radcliff gave his friend a cold stare. "Yes, look at the two of us. Acting as we did when we were one and twenty, when we should be settling down."

  The foursome grew quiet, then Twigs limped into the club room, putting much of his weight on a walking stick. Because this was his first visit to White's since his injury, his friends gathered around him, enthusiastically patting him on the back and extending him hardy greetings.

  Within a few minutes, Twigs carefully lowered himself into a chair next to Radcliff and whispered, "I came especially to see you, Richard. It ain't right that you never eat with the poor duchess, and I jolly well won't leave here without you."

  The duke's eyes flickered with pleasure. "Did she send you?"

  "No. Be mad if she knew." Twigs rubbed his reddened nose with the back of his hand. "Poor thing in mourning. It's not like she can go out into society. Just sits there every night waiting for her bridegroom. I thought you cared for her."

  Radcliff swallowed. "Of course I care for her. She's my wife. She'll bring me an heir."

  "And how's she to do that? You plan to send your seed by post?"

  "What happens between my wife and me is none of your affair," Radcliff said angrily, lifting his Madeira to his lips.

  A few minutes later, Radcliff got up from his chair and announced, "I had completely forgotten until Twigs reminded me, I have promised to dine with my wife tonight. I regret that I must leave your excellent company, gentlemen." He turned to Twigs. "Coming?"

  Radcliff stole a glance at his wife across the brightly lit
dinner table. He had not really allowed himself to gaze upon her face in weeks. Now he felt no rush of possessive happiness when he looked at her. She appeared to be losing weight. No wonder, for she barely touched her food. He did not feel like eating himself, but he knew he needed to after drinking all afternoon.

  "Will I have the pleasure of your company tonight?" Bonny asked her husband.

  "Yes, I plan to work in my library. I have neglected many things that need my attention."

  "Like me, your grace?" Bonny cast an insolent look at her husband.

  The duke met her gaze. "I was not aware you required my attention, my dear."

  Her cheeks hot, Bonny put the cover back over the steaming plate of French beans and turned to Twigs. "And do you have plans tonight?"

  Twigs took a big sniff and sighed. "I regret to say I am to go to Almack's."

  Radcliff laughed. "Whatever possessed you to go there? They serve nothing stiffer to drink than lemonade."

  Twigs gulped his wine. "Bloody dull it'll be, but Miss Carlisle particularly requested that I go."

  Making a steeple of his fingers, Radcliff nodded and said, "I see."

  His wife met his gaze with mirth. "We are so very happy to see you getting about so well, Twigs," she said.

  A footman poured more wine into Twigs's glass.

  "Storing up now for the temperance of Almack's?" Radcliff asked with a smile.

  "Bloody well better," Twigs said, taking a drink. "Good care I've got here. Suppose I'm well enough to go back to my own lodgings."

  "I cannot abide such talk," Bonny said, "for I should be so dreadfully lonely if you left."

  Radcliff studied his wife's thin face. It pained him to see her look so forlorn. She had been left alone too much, but what else could he do? If he hadn't seen her in Dunsford's company with his own eyes, he would never have believed it of his sweet Barbara, but she must have given her love to another. A thousand times he told himself there must be some other explanation. He had considered posting a servant to watch the house at Number 17 Kepple Street, but he did not want to hear of his wife meeting Dunsford.

  The thought of her in another man's arms drove him mad. He could no longer trust himself around her. He still wanted her, but the tenderness was gone, and he was afraid what he might do to her.

  "Need your privacy. Newlyweds and all that." Twigs's face turned very red.

  "I daresay I see more of you than I do of my husband."

  Bonny peered over her soupspoon into her husband's inscrutable eyes.

  Twigs's attention was drawn to his own clear turtle soup.

  After dinner, Bonny removed to the drawing room while her husband and Twigs remained at the table and imbibed their port and smoked cigars.

  When Twigs left for Almack's, Radcliff entered the drawing room. "I shall be working in my library, my dear."

  She looked up from her needlework, but all she saw was his back as he left the room.

  Sometime later, Bonny put up her embroidery and went to Radcliff's library. She opened the door and saw him sitting behind his desk in the dark room. A fire blazed in the hearth and a single taper burned beside him, but there were no other lights. Despite the darkness, Bonny could tell by her husband's eyes he had drunk too much. A snifter of brandy was at his right hand and an open book in front of him.

  "I wanted to read," Bonny said, advancing into the room, "and since your library is so much warmer than my study, I thought I would join you. That is, if it does not displease you."

  "It does not displease me," he said formally, then resumed his reading.

  She closed the door behind her and walked around the library, looking at the volumes. She found one section where the books appeared well-worn, as if they had been purchased used rather than new, like all the other works here. Upon examining the titles, she realized her husband had acquired all of her father's writings.

  And she was touched. It was the act of a man pledged to uniting his family with another. He must be interested in begetting a child with her, she thought with happiness.

  She selected a book and sat down on the sofa before the fire and tried to read, but instead watched Richard as he drank more and more. The crackle of the fire and his turning of pages were the only noises in the room.

  When she could no longer stand his silence, she said, "What are you reading, sir?"

  He did not answer right away. "If you must know," he said with irritation, "I am reading your father's work on Corinth." He continued to read.

  Determined to outlast him, Bonny sat there several hours, attempting to read a tome on democracy. As the fire reduced to embers, and Radcliff's bottle of brandy stood empty, he glared at her, a strange look in his reddened eyes.

  "Come here, Barbara."

  She got up and slowly walked to his desk, keeping her eyes fastened on him. She skirted the desk and came to stand beside him.

  "You are a clergyman's daughter. How well do you remember your Bible, my dear? Matthew six, verse twenty-four?"

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  "Did your father ever preach about 'No man can serve two masters'?"

  Her brows furrowed. "I don't remember."

  His eyes challenged her. "I want you to serve me."

  "Of course, I am your wife," she replied shakily.

  "Come closer."

  She moved so close she could smell the brandy on his breath. Her hand gently swept stray strands of his sandy hair off his forehead.

  He grabbed her wrist tightly and spoke in a frightening voice she did not recognize. "Serve me now, dear wife." He pulled her to him with great force and buried his head into her bosom. Freeing one hand, he lifted her skirts and began to stroke upward from her thighs.

  "The servants might come in," Bonny cautioned in a whisper.

  "Then let us go to bed, dear wife."

  She did not like his tone, but she started for the door. As Bonny mounted the stairs, her fear increased with each step. The thought of lying with this gruff man her husband had become sickened her. In the past their lovemaking had been spontaneous, pleasurable. It had felt so right. But what was certain to occur in her bedchamber tonight seemed sinister.

  In Bonny's room, they found Marie waiting up for her mistress.

  "You are dismissed," the duke snapped at the abigail, who directly removed herself from the room.

  Bonny walked to her bedside table to blow out the candle.

  "Don't!" Radcliff commanded. "I want to look at you."

  Bonny felt herself coloring as she began to unfasten the tiny buttons of her gown. She had dreamed of this night for weeks, but now that she was about to share her bed with him, there was no happiness. The man who stood before her with blazing eyes and rough voice was not her beloved Richard, she thought with empty longing, remembering what a tender lover her Richard had been.

  "Here, I will do that," Radcliff said. He patiently unfastened half a dozen buttons before he let out an oath and tore off the rest of the gown.

  "Richard! You ruined a brand-new dress."

  "You married a very rich man, Barbara. You can buy all the dresses you want."

  She stepped out of the gown and her satin slippers, then turned her back to remove her ivory-colored shift.

  "I said I want to see you," Radcliff said sternly.

  She turned to face him, flushing, and trembled as she took off the rest of her clothing while her fully dressed husband stood watching.

  "Now lie on the bed," he ordered.

  She did as he instructed, keeping her eyes on him.

  "It grows cold. Get under the counterpane."

  Bonny slid between the sheets.

  His eyes never leaving her, Radcliff shed all his clothes and stood before her.

  Her husband was fully aroused.

  He got in the bed and pulled her face toward his for a bruising kiss, sliding his hand between her legs, stroking her. "You are not ready for me, my dear," he said, displeasure in his rough voice.

  "Yes I am. I h
ave removed all my clothes."

  "Do you not know what I mean, Barbara?"

  She gave him a questioning gaze.

  "A woman who wants a man gets slick inside. In that special place." His fingers stabbed into her and she cried out.

  "What's the matter, dear, don't you want to make love to your own husband?"

  "To my old husband, yes, but not to the man you are tonight."

  "But you are my wife, Barbara."

  "Can't you be gentle as you once were?" she pleaded, her voice shaky.

  He cupped one of her breasts as if he were weighing it. "You will accept me no matter how I am, for I am your husband." His harsh voice frightened her. It was as if a strange man lay beside her.

  Tears seeped from her moistened eyes.

  His face softened, and he drew her rigid body into his embrace and kissed a path of light, butterfly kisses from her neck to her mouth, where he slowly, tenderly kissed her.

  Brushing the hair from her face, he whispered, "Forgive me. I daresay it's the brandy that has made me so crude."

  "You will be your old self now?"

  He reached for the candle and blew it out, then gathered her into his arms. She relaxed, her head resting on his chest. Lifting her face, he dried her tears with gentle hands, then dropped a soft kiss on her nose. Her lips sought his. When her lips parted, the kiss deepened, his hands gliding possessively over her back, her hips, drawing her even closer.

  Her body came to vivid life, his warmth filling her soul, driving away all awareness, save for the scent of him, the liquid movement of her body against his, her obliterating need of him.

  With a lover's wisdom, he knew she was ready for him now.

  And he buried himself within her.

  When Bonny awoke later, she felt the moistness of her husband's seed and smiled, reaching for him.

  But he was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Another day and night and another day passed before Bonny was to see her husband again, and by then he suffered from the effects of heavy drinking. She had taken another solitary dinner and retired with her needlework to the drawing room, when she heard Mandley talking with Radcliff in the outer hall. By the time she put up her sewing and left the drawing room, Radcliff was no longer there. She walked down the hall, opened the door to his library and was taken aback at the sight of her husband.