A Duke Deceived (The Deceived Series Book 1)

by Cheryl Bolen

  This marriage business might just be the ticket!

  In the week that followed her visit to Madame Deveraux's, Bonny knew a despair greater than she had experienced when her father had suddenly died and she had been bereft of the most tender love she had ever known. She could neither sleep nor eat. Her days were an agony of regrets and misery. She thought death would be a blessed relief from her wretched existence. But she was too religious to contemplate suicide. And, besides, she had to remember the baby. If she couldn't have Richard, at least she could have his child.

  She stood before the painting of Hedley Hall that hung in her husband's library. The artist had painted it as it looked when Bonny first set eyes on it in the golden glow of the late afternoon sun. The centuries-old building presided over acres and acres of land that had been in the Moncrief family for generations. The tall fir trees recalled to her the day she and Radcliff had gone fishing, of how close they had been. If only they were back where they had been so happy, Bonny thought, longing to return to the shelter of the place where Richard had sprung to life like a desert flower after spring rains.

  No renewal of her husband's desire to travel to Kent for the birth of their child had been forthcoming. In fact, she thought grimly, he had not renewed any of the activities that had made her so happy less than a month ago. No more rides in the park. No more solicitous inquiries about her health. No more nights enfolded in his loving arms.

  Though Radcliff had spent more time at Radcliff House since her scolding of him, he might as well have been in Bombay for all the company he was to her. Hardly a word had passed between them. He shut himself up in his library for hours on end. While part of her wanted to beg his forgiveness for allowing Lord Dunsford into their house, another part of her knew that Radcliff's hostility masked something much deeper than his dislike of Dunsford. It was obvious he regretted his hasty marriage. He wanted only to be with Lady Heffington and the rakes he had run with before his marriage.

  She supposed she should hate him for trifling with her heart and fathering a child on a whim and later regretting it, but she preferred to remember him when he had been loving and selfless.

  It had been more than a week since her husband had mentioned the baby. It was hard for her to remember that Richard had ever been enthusiastic about her pregnancy. Judging from the way he acted now, he must regret the impending birth that–in his own words–had ruined his wife's body.

  Sickened over his shallowness in loving only her looks, Bonny patted the swell that was their baby and had no regrets. Even if his own father no longer acknowledged his offspring, Bonny knew she would love the baby. She swallowed over the thick lump in her throat. Would the baby look like Richard? Despite his deplorable conduct, she loved him with unwavering potence and would until her dying day. She would always have the child, their child, to remember the tender moments when their love for each other had burned steady and powerful.

  Coming to a decision, she turned away from the painting. She had made her husband's life miserable. For she was persuaded that his misery resulted from his loveless marriage. Of late he had talked about joining forces in the Peninsula. He would rather be dead than be married to her. The thought of him seriously injured or–much worse– dead was a blow to her heart. If he were that unhappy, there was only one recourse. She would have to leave him. To restore his freedom.

  The door to the library opened and she turned to face Mandley.

  "Mr. Twickingham to see you, your grace."

  "Show him in, Mandley."

  Twigs limped into the room, leaning on his silver-handled cane, his face redder than usual from the outdoors.

  A wide smile on her face, Bonny took his hand. "So very good to see you, Twigs. You haven't come for piquet, have you?"

  He nodded solemnly and sniffed. "Much as I would love it, no, Duchess. Fact is, I need your help."

  She continued to press his bony hand within hers, a look of concern on her face. "Come, let's sit down." She led him to a pair of cozy wing chairs near the fireplace. "Would you like a drink?"

  He swallowed, accentuating his prominent Adam's apple. "Am a bit thirsty."

  "Madeira or brandy?"

  "Brandy, a capital idea."

  Bonny tugged the bell pull and, when Mandley entered, requested two glasses of brandy. "Now, how can I help you?"

  "You may have noticed I spend a great deal of time with Miss Carlisle."

  "I would be blind not to have."

  "Well, Cres–Miss Carlisle has impressed upon me that one who is four and thirty needs to be settling down, and I realized if I were to settle down, who better to make an offer to than one as pretty as Cres–Miss Carlisle."

  "So you made her an offer."

  "Quite so."

  Bonny had to credit Cressida. She could skillfully manipulate Twigs.

  "My..." He sniffed and cleared his throat before continuing. "My intended tells me it is my responsibility to place an announcement in the newspapers. Can't credit it. Bound to make a big blunder. Need you to help me."

  Through all this, Bonny was able to determine the purpose of Twigs's visit. "Would you like me to write the announcement for you?"

  "Capital idea, Duchess. Can't let Cressy know I'm no good at that sort of thing."

  Mandley reentered the room carrying a tray with a fresh bottle of brandy and two snifters.

  Twigs took his glass and downed a third of its contents before Mandley left the room.

  Bonny got up and went to her husband's desk for a piece of vellum. "I will be happy to compose the announcement. Have you set a date for the nuptials?"

  "The what?"

  "The ceremony."

  "Cressy said May would be a good time. She's to arrange everything with her vicar."

  "Very good." Bonny took up the pen, dipped it and began writing. "Forgive me for asking, Twigs, but what is your proper first name?"

  "James. Family calls me James Edward."

  She nodded and took up the pen to write with haste until she had filled a page. When she finished, she put the pen down and held the paper at arm's length and read it to him, observing a look of sheer admiration on his face. "That's all there is to it, Twigs."

  "Sounds very professional."

  The library door opened, and Radcliff said, "What sounds professional?"

  Bonny squarely met her husband's demanding gaze. "The notice I wrote to the newspapers announcing the forthcoming nuptials between Mr. Twickingham of St. Dennis Meade and Miss Cressida Carlisle."

  The corners of Radcliff's mouth lifted. "This calls for a celebration. Shall I ring for champagne?"

  "Twigs is at present drinking brandy," Bonny said, "but, of course, an announcement such as this does call for a toast."

  Radcliff eyed the nearly full bottle of brandy on his desk. "I'll just ring for an extra glass." Observing Twigs's nearly empty glass, Radcliff said, "More brandy, Twigs?"

  "Capital idea."

  "So when's the wedding?" Radcliff asked Twigs.

  "May."

  Mandley entered the room, a single brandy snifter on a tray.

  "Very good of you to anticipate me, Mandley." Radcliff poured a glass. After the butler left the room, Radcliff turned to Twigs. "How agreeable it is that you should be waiting here in our library. I have been looking for you. I went round to your lodgings this hour past."

  "Fate," Twigs uttered. "Cressy would say it was fate."

  Radcliff looked at Bonny with eyes less cold than they had been of late; in fact, there was even an amused look on his face.

  Bonny returned his bemused smile. "Would you two care to speak privately?"

  "Whatever I have to say can be said in front of you." Radcliff's face inscrutable, he placed a hand on her shoulder and walked her to where Twigs sat, lifting his glass for a toast. "Stay seated," he commanded Twigs.

  Twigs and Bonny swung their glasses to meet Radcliff's.

  "May your union be satisfying in every way," Radcliff toasted, no mirth in his voice. He t
hought of how utterly unsatisfying his own marriage was.

  Following the toast, Radcliff sat down on a sofa near Twigs's chair and motioned for Bonny to sit next to him.

  His jaw tightened as he watched his frail-looking wife. She had again grown pale and seemed to be getting thinner except for the small mound in her lap.

  He couldn't call it their baby. It couldn't be. She had told him it had been that night...that one night when he had almost forced her, when he'd been enraged with repressed, mind-numbing desire. But it was not likely that a babe was conceived that night when they had failed to conceive all those other nights that he had come into her over and over again.

  It was too much of a coincidence that the baby was conceived at a time when he knew her to be enjoying Dunsford's company regularly at the house on Kepple Street.

  He fisted his hands. The more he thought of it, the more convinced Radcliff became that the baby had to be Dunsford's. But he was also convinced Bonny was no longer seeing the earl. The letter must have put an end to the illicit relationship.

  Radcliff thought back to the letter he had seen in her desk drawer. When he discovered it gone the next day, he had known she had sent it. The letter had been written just before he and Bonny were to have left London for Kent. Of course she would be sending her farewells, but Radcliff felt sure the letter had been more than an announcement of itinerary. It was surely Bonny's final break with Dunsford.

  Having decided to return to Hedley Hall and give birth in the Radcliff ancestral bed, Bonny would have determined to sever all links with her lover in order to finally give in to being the Duchess of Radcliff, mother of the future Duke of Radcliff.

  But as much as Radcliff desired to remove Bonny from London and harbored the hope of recapturing that magical intimacy they had shared at Hedley Hall, he could not allow Dunsford's baby to be born there.

  Damned if he knew what he wanted. No, that wasn't precisely true. He still wanted Barbara with all his heart. But he kept telling himself it was a sign of weakness to be so besotted with a cheating woman that he would accept her, knowing she was enlarged with another man's seed. And how could he be in love with a woman so wicked she would break their marriage vows? He had valued honesty and family and had thought his vicar's-daughter wife did, also. What a paradox his wife was. Such a sense of what was always proper in all cases except where that monster Dunsford was concerned. If he hadn't seen her with Dunsford himself, he would never have believed her capable of such deceit.

  His initial plan to win her by his absence was now his answer for ridding himself of her debilitating hold over him. He had to regain command of his life.

  He rued the night he had first beheld Bonny Barbara Allan.

  His eyes swept over her. She was not drinking. She looked so weak. So young and helpless. And still so very beautiful. "You're looking pale, my dear." He could not let her know how it tugged on his heart to see her like this. He wanted nothing so much as to take her in his arms and to love her to completion. But he had to be strong. He had to conquer his overwhelming thirst for her. He was as addicted to her as some men were to opium.

  She lifted her chin and glared at him with cold eyes. "I daresay it's because I no longer get fresh air since you discontinued our rides in the park."

  He touched her cheek with a light finger. "Don't let my absence keep you from the outdoors. Did you not used to ride with Emily?"

  She turned to Twigs. "Do you see how shabbily Richard treats me? Trying to push me off on Emily. Always too busy for me. I do hope you never treat Cressida as Richard does me."

  "I have been very busy, my dear," Radcliff said.

  "Doing what?" she asked challengingly.

  "If you must know, I have been looking into military affairs."

  She inhaled sharply. "To go to the Peninsula?"

  "Yes."

  "I beg of you not to," Bonny said softly.

  He ignored her and looked at Twigs. "That's why I wanted to have a word with you. Wanted to persuade you to join me. Didn't you fancy the redcoats not too many weeks past?"

  Twigs's eyes darted from Radcliff to Bonny as her eyes moistened and her face went white.

  She sprang to her feet, grabbed a Sevres urn from over the fireplace and ran toward the door, retching into it as she left.

  Concern on his face, Radcliff followed her.

  In the hallway, she had emptied the contents of her stomach into the urn, which she still held with shaking hands.

  Radcliff stalked over to her, removed the urn and placed it on the stairway to the basement. He walked back to Bonny, who braced herself on a side table. He pushed back loose tendrils of dampened hair from her cheeks. "I knew you were looking unwell," he said chidingly.

  She stroked his arm and spoke in a quavering voice. "It's the army talk. You will be killed if you go, and I could not bear it."

  He caught his breath. He wanted to believe her words a declaration of love. But, then, he thought again. Could she mean that she would blame herself if anything happened to him because she had driven him away?

  His arms encircled her, drawing her close, so close he could smell her floral perfume. "Drive such foolish notions from your beautiful head." His gentle hands moved over her back until he knew she no longer cried. "Come, my love, let me get you to bed."

  Marie was in Bonny's room. "If you will, Marie, get the duchess into bed. She is unwell."

  Marie curtsied. "Yes, your grace." Turning to Bonny, she soothed, "Come now, poor thing."

  Overwhelming emotion washed over Radcliff when he caught sight of his forlorn-looking wife and remembered her words. You will be killed...and I could not bear it. He strode up to her and brushed her pale cheeks with his lips, then suddenly left the room.

  Bonny sat, dazed and quiet, as Marie removed her half boots and stockings. For a brief moment, she had thought Richard would stay with her, and her heart had rejoiced. She had hoped to duplicate some of the tender intimacy they had shared in this very room. But now he was gone, and her crippling melancholy returned. She silently lay atop her bed in her muslin day dress and turned her face toward the window so Marie would not see the tears in her eyes.

  Back in the library, Radcliff refilled his and Twigs's glasses and returned to his seat on the settee.

  "See what that army talk does to the poor duchess," Twigs scolded. He turned the snifter in his hands. "Know you all find me a tad dull-witted, but a raving idiot could see how much she loves you."

  How utterly disappointed Radcliff was that he could not believe Twigs's words. "She's taken a notion that I'll be killed if I purchase my commission."

  "'Pon my word, she could be right."

  Radcliff drew on his drink. "Perhaps I no longer wish to live."

  "Don't say that, Richard. Think of the babe. He'll need a father. Think of the duchess. Not a soul to take care of her. Can't leave her alone to have the baby."

  While he had no desire to be around when Dunsford's child came into this world, Radcliff could not bear the thought of Bonny going through it alone. Since the first time he held her in his arms during the waltz, she had evoked in him a deep sense of protectiveness. "You're quite right, my dear Twigs. I must take better care of my wife." He placed a firm hand on his friend's shoulder. "Good of you to care. She has no other champions in her own home."

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Neither sleep nor peace came to Bonny as visions of Richard dying at the hands of French soldiers intruded on her every thought. Underlying the disturbing reverie was guilt that she was the cause of his misery. He had become so unhappy being married, he saw service to his majesty as the only gentlemanly way of leaving her. The sooner she liberated him, the better.

  At midnight she heard Richard speaking softly to Evans in the dressing room. She knew the likelihood of him sharing her bed was as great as Lord Byron staying celibate, and when the voices faded away, the sound of the door to Radcliff's chamber closing was as melancholy as a death knell.

  Just before da
wn, she got up, dressed in an old black serge gown and packed a small valise. All the fine mourning wear Madame Deveraux had fashioned would stay here at Radcliff House. There would be no need for such finery in Milford.

  Then she sat down and wrote a letter to Richard. When she finished, she hesitated over how to sign it. Every closing that came to mind had the word love, a word they never shared. She hadn't said it; she had shown it. As much as she wanted to tell him that she loved him to the depth of her breaking heart, she stopped herself. She must not do anything to make him feel compelled to come after her. He must feel no guilt over her leaving, only joy over his release.

  None of the servants were above stairs at this hour, only Cook in the basement kitchen. Marie would not bring up a tray before noon, and even then she would not know Bonny was not coming back. Marie would likely suppose she had merely taken a morning walk as she had frequently explained when she used to go to Kepple Street.

  Bonny walked to the door of her chamber and turned back to look at the room of Richard's wife. She wanted to remember everything clearly. Her gaze moved to the bed, the bed where their baby had been conceived. The ivory silks surrounding the bed. The rich lace of the pillows. The gilded vanity. The Carrara fireplace. Taking a deep breath, she clutched the door knob and left.

  No one was in the hall. The soft Persian hall runners muffled the sound of her footsteps. When she got to the top of the stairs, she stood still and listened for any sound from the ground floor. All she heard was a distant clanging of pots in the kitchen far below.

  She proceeded down the stairs and across the broad marble floor to the front door and quietly let herself out.

  Rousing the groom to deliver her to Emily's house could easily have been done, but Bonny wanted to avoid leaving a trail for Radcliff. He would be honor-bound to follow. Besides, walking the few blocks from Berkeley Square to Cavendish Square was something Bonny Barbara Allan would readily have done. She had to forget now that she was the Duchess of Radcliff. Forever.

  The night was yawning into day, its smoky light settling over the city. She pulled her cloak tightly around her to protect against the cold. There were no lights inside the foggy windows she passed. She had never been on the streets of London alone at this hour. Indeed, no other gently bred people were about. Only ill-dressed laborers with sooty faces and the occasional hay cart or milk cart clopping along. Bonny was very glad she had chosen not to dress in her duchess finery. Dressed as she was, she would draw little attention.