Never Have I Ever With a Duke

by Burke, Darcy

  “That would be amenable. How about Monday evening at Hosenby’s in Leicester Square, nine o’clock?”

  Anticipation curled through Graham. “I’ll be there.”

  Osborne let out a light chuckle. “I do beg your pardon, but how shall we recognize each other without masks?”

  “Perhaps we should just wear them,” Graham said with a laugh.

  “That will garner us a few stares.”

  Graham looked up at him. “I daresay I will recognize you just fine. You are rather tall.”

  “Very well. I’ll see you then.”

  “Does this appointment include me?” Ripley asked, surprising Graham.

  Osborne seemed to look down his nose at Ripley. “I wasn’t given to believe that you were in need, my lord. My employer is rather…discerning.” He nodded toward Graham. “Good evening.” He turned and left.

  Ripley stared after him. “I do feel as if I’ve been given the cut direct by a scoundrel. Even for me, this is a new low.”

  Graham couldn’t help but smile at Ripley’s self-deprecating humor. “And Osborne doesn’t even know who I am.”

  “How do you know he doesn’t?” Ripley asked with a sly smile.

  Graham moved back to Arabella, and she didn’t hesitate to curl her hand around his arm. “I suppose I don’t, but I’ve never met the man, and I’m not exactly known around town yet, especially with a mask on.”

  “Will you tell him who you are, or wait for him to puzzle it out?” Ripley asked.

  “I think I have to tell him.” Graham’s mind churned as he contemplated what his plan should be. “I’ll need to ponder this.”

  “Do let me know if you require assistance.” Ripley’s gaze strayed once more to Arabella.

  “I will,” Graham said, pulling her against him. “I’ve been considering how to proceed, provided I obtain an interview with Tibbord. Absent extortion, it seems I must strike him where he lives—the gaming hells.”

  Ripley narrowed his eyes. “What do you have in mind?”

  “If he can’t go to the hells, he doesn’t have a hunting ground. What good is my title if I can’t get a swindler banished from a gaming hell or five?”

  “What good indeed.” Ripley flashed a brief smile. “Bravo, you’re learning.”

  “I have to ensure he no longer takes advantage of the gullible. Not that he has to know that.” Graham let out a soft chuckle. “Now, it is time for us to depart. Thank you for a very helpful evening. I am in your debt.” He winced inwardly at his poor choice of words.

  “Careful, Halstead, I do like to collect.” Ripley flashed a grin.

  Graham offered Arabella his arm and guided her toward the door they’d entered earlier. Just before they left, he shot a look toward Ripley. He was watching them with interest, one of his brows elevated. Graham suspected he was wondering who Arabella really was. Surely he was aware of who he’d invited to his own bloody party, and Mrs. Devon hadn’t been on his list.

  Shrugging away the bead of unease working its way down his spine, Graham escorted Arabella from the house. Once they were outside on the pavement, he stopped short.

  “You really walked here?” he asked.

  “It’s not that far.”

  No, it wasn’t, but thinking of her walking alone made him distinctly uncomfortable. “I realize I am not your father—or your husband—but would you promise not to do that again?”

  “I won’t promise anything except to be careful.”

  They started walking through the square toward Oxford Street. “You really should be a member of the Spitfire Society.”

  “I would if I could.” She didn’t have the luxury of choice, however.

  Neither did he. Not if he wanted to keep Brixton Park. And he did, more than anything. But if they’d been able to choose… “Would you truly prefer spinsterhood to marriage?”

  “The word spinster is tossed about as if it were a degradation. However, there are many things to recommend that state.”

  “And what are those?” He was genuinely interested.

  “Independence to not only do what you want but to control your own funds.”

  “I imagine that in particular would be attractive to you.” He knew it was for him. He wanted to throttle the former duke for behaving so carelessly.

  “Yes.”

  “You wouldn’t miss the companionship of a husband?” he asked.

  “It’s difficult to miss what you haven’t had. And if you’re referring to what we just did, clearly marriage isn’t a requirement.” She cast him a sidelong glance cloaked in heat.

  Had she just suggested a liaison? No, he was simply looking for a reason to repeat their encounter. Time to change the subject. “I suppose we don’t need to meet in the morning,” he said, feeling a trifle disappointed about that. “I was looking forward to our next fencing lesson.”

  “We could meet Tuesday. I’ll be most anxious to hear how things go with Osborne. Unless I can come.” She gave him a hopeful smile.

  “Absolutely not. You can’t show your face at a gaming hell in Leicester Square.”

  Surprisingly, she didn’t argue. “Speaking of showing your face, when you tell Osborne who you are, won’t he realize you don’t have money to invest?”

  “He would obviously know how much money he stole from the prior duke, but was he also aware the duke had mortgaged Brixton Park and was essentially bankrupt? Even if he was, he can’t know my financial situation. I was not destitute when I inherited the dukedom.”

  She slowed. “So you have money to invest?” She sounded surprised.

  “I would have had six months ago; however I’ve had to spend most of my savings just to keep Brixton Park and Halstead Manor running.”

  “It’s strange to think you are financially insolvent when you own two grand houses.”

  He didn’t disagree with her. “Well, if I can’t lay my hands on a good sum of money, I will no longer own Brixton Park. I am, however, stuck with Halstead Manor and its excess of problems.”

  She peered up at him as they waited to cross Oxford Street, which was still busy even at this late hour. “What’s wrong with it?”

  There was an opening in the traffic, and he ushered her quickly across the street. “Too many things to list. It seems the previous dukes paid little attention to it after Brixton Park was built. In fact, I wonder why they didn’t entail Brixton Park. That’s yet another question I shall never have answered. It’s a shame because they could have sent my great-great-grandfather there to take care of it.” Graham’s father had often railed about that. Instead of exiling his brother from the family entirely, the third duke should have sent him to Halstead Manor to manage the estate.

  “Who was your great-great-grandfather?” she asked.

  “Richard Kinsley—he was the younger brother of Robert, the third Duke of Halstead. He ought to have been the duke, for he was far smarter than his elder brother. Richard designed Brixton Park and oversaw its construction—the house and the gardens. When it was finished, Robert rewarded him by sending him away and disinheriting him completely.”

  Her sharp intake of breath was gratifying. “Why would he do that?”

  “Because his wife told him to. Richard discovered she was having an affair and planned to tell Robert. However, the duchess beat him to it—only she told Robert that his brother Richard had assaulted her. She wanted Robert to kill him, but he couldn’t murder his brother, so he sent him away instead. All of it was a lie by the duchess to protect herself. And it ensured my Kinsley branch was utterly cut off from the family.”

  She stopped. “My house is there.”

  So it was. He’d become so wrapped up in his story that he’d lost track of where they were. “How will you get inside without being detected? I’m assuming you slipped out earlier?”

  She nodded, turning toward him and taking his hands in hers. “I’m so sorry your family was wronged. I can see why Brixton Park is so important to you.”

  “It symbolize
s what we lost. My father was overjoyed that it was coming back to us—or that we were going back to it—that we were going to be the future of the Kinsley family. I’m just glad he knew that would happen before he died—and I’m glad he didn’t know how badly the prior duke had botched things.”

  “If anyone can make it right, it’s you,” she said softly. “You will find a way to keep Brixton Park.” Her forehead creased. “You mentioned extortion. Would you really resort to that?”

  “Normally, I’d rather not, but in this case, I will do what I must—for me and for you. I will find a way to save your family.” He tipped his head down and squeezed her hands. “I promise you that.”

  She smiled, but there was an edge of sadness to it. “My marriage prospects are good, I think. No one terribly wealthy, but hopefully situated well enough to keep my parents from debtor’s prison.”

  His chest twisted, because he knew she didn’t want to wed and yet she would do whatever she must to protect her parents. “That isn’t really a threat, is it?”

  She shrugged. “My parents say it is, but I don’t know if that’s true. My future husband will have to promise to care for them as best he can. I suppose that will need to be negotiated before the marriage.” Uncertainty crept into her voice. Her prospects might be good, but there was every chance a potential groom might balk upon hearing the truth of their financial state.

  It was more important than ever that he get their money back from Tibbord. Graham was absolutely committed, whatever the cost.

  He lifted his hand and caressed her jawline. He’d cared for her for some time, but after tonight, it was more than that. She couldn’t be his, but she had been, if only for a short time. And he would cherish the memory for all his days.

  “I should go inside,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  But they didn’t move. Time stretched between them, as if neither wanted the night to end. He knew he didn’t. But it must.

  She realized it too, standing on her toes to briefly press her lips to his. The kiss was gentle and lovely, but so bittersweet.

  Stepping back from him, she said, “I’ll see you Tuesday.”

  He let her go. “Same time and place?”

  She nodded, then turned and crept down to the servants’ entrance of her house.

  As he watched her go, the frustrating sensation of being trapped crept over him. It was strange to think that now he was a duke, with all the prestige and power that title carried, he was far more encumbered than he’d ever been as a secretary.

  What good was being a duke if he couldn’t use that power? And how could he use it to help Arabella? He wasn’t sure, but he was determined to work it out.

  * * *

  It began to rain as Arabella walked through the gate to Phoebe’s garden late Monday morning. She dashed toward the garden room, where Phoebe was seated at the table.

  Phoebe jumped up to open the door. “Come in!”

  Arabella hurried inside before she was too wet. “Thank you. I hope I’m not disturbing you.” She brushed at the dampness on her skirt.

  “Never,” Phoebe said, retaking her chair. “Join me. I was just having tea and cakes. No butter biscuits, I’m afraid.”

  Arabella sat down at the round table. “That’s quite all right. Since Mrs. Woodcock began making them, I’ve had more than enough. And that’s with my father devouring most of them.”

  “He’s feeling better, I hope?” Phoebe asked.

  “He is.” He’d actually come downstairs for breakfast the day before. He seemed to be generally improved since she’d talked to him about Tibbord. He’d asked her yesterday for an update. She’d told him she hadn’t heard anything.

  In truth, she had a difficult time focusing on the Tibbord matter when her mind was so very occupied by Graham. More accurately, what had happened with Graham the other night. She’d surrendered to temptation again. Really, one would think she’d regret it by now, but she just couldn’t. Too much was beyond her control, and she would cherish the things that were hers and hers alone.

  “How goes the husband hunt?” Phoebe asked before sipping her tea.

  Arabella poured herself a cup. “Fine. I think Sir Ethelbert may be coming around.”

  Phoebe pursed her lips. “Doesn’t he have an overbearing mother?”

  Overbearing was perhaps a strong description. “His mother is usually with him, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Yes, that. Does she like you? I think she will need to like you if you’re to have a chance with him.”

  Arabella had spoken to her on a few occasions, but hadn’t noticed if the woman cared for her or not. “I think so?”

  “How could anyone not like you?” Phoebe asked. “Is there anyone else besides Sir Ethelbert? The Duke of Halstead, perhaps?”

  Having just taken a sip of tea, Arabella had to fight not to choke on it. She swallowed, then coughed delicately as she set her cup down. “Why would you mention His Grace?”

  “Jane and I found it interesting that he went to help you the other day. He’s also attractive, charming, and, may be in search of marriage. He’s been a tad wily about it.”

  “We would not suit,” Arabella forced herself to say. Because they wouldn’t. They both needed something the other could not provide.

  “You’ve already determined that?” Phoebe asked.

  “Yes. We’ve spent some time together. He did call on me one day.”

  “Did he? Well, I’m surprised you wouldn’t suit. It seems as if two people whose company I enjoy ought to enjoy each other’s company.” Phoebe exhaled. “Alas, enjoying someone’s company doesn’t mean you wish to wed them. It’s good you are being selective.” She peered closely at Arabella. “Or are you perhaps not entirely enthused about marriage? I truly hope you aren’t hunting for a husband because you think you must.”

  Arabella felt a rush of bitterness as she picked up a cake. “I do not have the freedoms you enjoy. I am hunting for a husband to secure my future.” She stuffed the cake in her mouth and chewed with irritated enthusiasm.

  Phoebe lifted her hand to her cheek. “Oh dear, I have quite forgotten myself. I’m so sorry, Arabella. My goodness, it hasn’t taken me overly long to forget about the requirements and expectations placed upon young ladies by their families and society.” She gave Arabella an apologetic smile. “I support whatever you want or need to do.”

  Arabella let go of the tension in her muscles. She was on edge and had been since Saturday night. One would think the activity she’d shared with Graham would have put her at considerable ease. And it had for a while. But it had been a fleeting occasion, a wonderful moment that would never be repeated.

  Curiosity drove her to ask, “Will you be sad not to marry?”

  “Heavens, no.” Phoebe’s shoulders twitched. “Why should I be?”

  “There are certain…advantages to marriage.”

  “And what would those be?” Phoebe asked with a hint of humor.

  Arabella had had sexual intercourse with two men—inwardly, she winced—and enjoyed it immensely. She couldn’t imagine going a lifetime without it. She picked up her teacup and peered at them over the rim. “Sex.”

  Phoebe set her cup down with a loud clack. “Some would argue that isn’t an advantage but a chore.”

  Arabella supposed that would be possible if the gentleman wasn’t very good at it. Apparently, she’d been fortunate. Twice. She thought of the courtesans and gentlemen she’d seen together at Ripley’s party. They all seemed quite enthralled, and she doubted sex was a hardship for any of them. “Some say it’s quite pleasurable.”

  “It isn’t for everyone,” Phoebe said quietly.

  Arabella noted that she’d gone pale and worried she’d upset her. “Are you all right?”

  Phoebe took a shallow breath. “Most people think I refused to wed my betrothed because of his philandering ways, and while that is accurate, that is not the entire story.” She paused briefly. “Sainsbury tried to force himsel
f on me. If the footman hadn’t interrupted or if Sainsbury hadn’t been so inebriated, I shudder to think what might have happened. And I knew it’s what would happen on my wedding night. I never wanted him to touch me again. I’m not sure I ever want any man to touch me again.”

  Anger and sadness twisted through Arabella. “Oh, Phoebe, that’s horrible.”

  She summoned a smile. “I managed to humiliate him on his wedding day. Though that hadn’t been my intent, it was a small comfort.” She cocked her head to the side. “It seems your opinion on the matter of sex differs from mine.”

  Arabella wanted Phoebe to know that it wasn’t all bad, that not all men were repellent. “It does.”

  “You’re speaking from experience?” Phoebe asked.

  “I am,” Arabella said.

  Phoebe arched a brow. “Your former love?”

  Arabella nodded. “He, ah, led me to believe that sexual activities are quite nice.” She shook her head. “No, not nice. Splendid.” That word didn’t do it justice either, especially when she thought of Graham. Devastating. Beautiful. Divine.

  Phoebe’s eyes widened. “Perchance, did you do more than just kiss him?”

  Arabella’s cheeks heated, and she glanced down at her teacup. “Yes.” She hoped Phoebe wouldn’t think less of her.

  “Well, this is a day for revelations,” Phoebe said. “Secret revelations. Nothing said here will be repeated.”

  Lifting her head, Arabella regarded her with gratitude. “I hope someday you’re able to experience what I have. You would change your mind about the advantages of marriage.”

  “Or maybe I’d just find a new activity to entertain me,” Phoebe said with the ghost of a smile. “Who says you need to be married to have sex?”

  Arabella grinned, recalling how she’d said pretty much the same thing to Graham. “Men certainly don’t.”

  “Hear, hear,” Phoebe said, lifting her teacup. “The Spitfire Society makes its own rules. To freedom!”

  “To independence!” Arabella picked up her cup in response, and they tapped them together before drinking.