Never Deny a Duke

by Hunter, Madeline

Almost blind now, raging inside, he pulled her down onto his thighs, so her legs flanked his hips. Her head and shoulders pressed the seat cushion, and the silk still draped her like a Venus. He pushed into her and drove hard while the tremors of her orgasm still shook her, reviving them, taking her with him into a cataclysmic storm.

  * * *

  She slowly emerged from the bliss. She felt him still beneath her and in her. He braced himself on extended arms against the divan’s cushion. Tiny shivers still tantalized her where they joined, like little echoes of what had just occurred. Eyes closed, passion spent, the face mere inches from hers looked so beautiful. Almost innocent in the absence of awareness and thought.

  She watched as he regained himself, as the man emerged again and the jaw firmed and those crinkles at the sides of his eyes found their tiny furrows. He opened his eyes and looked right into hers. They wordlessly acknowledged the power of what had happened.

  “Was that one of my gifts?” she asked.

  “I was about to ask if that was to thank me for my gifts. If so, you will have to set aside a lot of room for all the silk shawls and pearls you will be getting.”

  “It was a wild impulse.”

  They disentangled, and he sat beside her on the floor. She noticed a book on her other side. It must have fallen off the divan. “What is this? Did you bring it?”

  He looked over, then his head sank onto the edge of the cushion again. “I did. I want to show you something in it.” He stretched, then stood. In his naked state, she was able to see the scars on the back of his leg very clearly.

  He bent and took the book, then offered his hand for her to stand. Together they walked to her bed. He moved the light to a close-by table. She sprawled on the bed, pulling the shawl over her shoulders and back for some warmth. He sat beside her and opened the book. Inside was a folded paper, which he set aside.

  “It is from Teyhill. Stewards keep logs, much like captains of ships do. They note anything of importance, problems that arise, episodes needing attention. It creates a little history of an estate and its lands. This one is from about forty years ago.”

  She turned the first few pages and saw what he meant. This was not like the ledger Mr. Roberts had shown her with the financial accounts. It was a personal record.

  “I thought about what the whisperer told us and realized that if a theft happened, it might be noted in the log.” He flipped through the corners of the pages, and turned to one far along in the book. “And it was.”

  She looked where he pointed. The steward had written about the theft.

  Today, a stranger entered the house and removed several items in a wooden box. He claimed to be the last baron’s son. Because I have reason to think he was telling the truth, I wrote to the duke to see if he wanted to lay down information with the magistrate before I did so on my own authority.

  “Then this, ten days later.”

  His Grace wrote that I am not to bother the magistrate, that the thief mentioned earlier was probably far gone by now.

  “I wonder what he meant when he wrote that he had reason to think he was telling the truth,” she said. “Do you think this steward spoke to him?”

  “There is no way to know. But for some reason, that steward accepted that the son had not died. Back then, there were probably those alive who knew about what happened to the son. It is not the kind of proof that would convince a magistrate, Davina, but it is one more piece of evidence that your grandfather was right, and that you have been too.”

  “I do not need to convince a magistrate. Only myself.”

  “And me too. Or, at least, you used to need to.”

  “Are you convinced?”

  He closed the book and set it on the floor. “I am.” He pursed his lips while he thought. “I need to tell you more. I think my father knew who that intruder was. Knew that it was the son of the last baron.”

  “I don’t believe there is anything—”

  “It was why he told the steward not to lay down information. And later, why he sent Rutherford away with that pension. The groom knew something had been removed. If your grandfather claimed he had some proof from the house—don’t you see how it looks?”

  She did, but she made light of it so as not to insult his father. “We do not know that. Nor should we assume it. And even if you are right, it does not signify today.” She patted the book. “This, however, does. To me, at least. Was this one of the gifts? If so, I think it was the best one.”

  He reached for the paper he had set aside and placed it under her nose. “There is one more.”

  She unfolded the paper. Then again and again, until a large drawing made on several combined sheets spread on the bed. It was a drawing of Teyhill, only with a new wing where the burned one had been.

  She examined the new chambers. In the end, near the gardens, she saw large ones labeled Dispensary and Infirmary.

  “You will direct the architect on how to plan those chambers and that space. There can be beds on the second floor, or this one here, if you choose to take it that far,” he said. “I only ask that you allow me to bring in physicians. That you not try to do this yourself.”

  “Of course there need to be physicians.” Her eyes misted at the drawing. It would have taken her years, half her life, to achieve even half of this.

  “If you—” He hesitated. “If you must continue, so you can be who you say you are, I pray that you will indulge me by trying to avoid danger.”

  She nodded. She would not need to continue all the time. There would be situations when she wanted to, however. She would try not to put herself in danger, as best she could.

  “I think perhaps this is the best gift, Eric.” She folded the paper again. “It is a wonderful plan.”

  He brushed back her hair with the backs of his fingertips. “I thought the last one was the best one.”

  “Oh, that was quite fine too.” She raised her chin so she could show off the necklace. She flipped the end of the shawl. “They were all wonderful.”

  He leaned down and kissed the back of her neck. “None of them compare to the gift you gave me when you gave yourself, Davina.”

  “I’m glad you are pleased. Contented.”

  He embraced her, then rolled so she sat on his hips, looking down on him. She enjoyed the sight from this position, of his hard chest and astonishing face. Of his arms and the little line of hair going down his stomach to where she sat.

  His gaze captured hers. “I am both pleased and contented, but also happy. Joyful.” He fussed with the shawl, drawing its edges down over her body, then toying with the long ends. “I have sensed a sadness in you since I told you about the fire. About Jeannette. Did that old story disappoint you in some way? In me?”

  The spot of emptiness she nursed widened and ached. It grew until it twisted against her heart. “Not in you. Not at all in you.”

  “In some other way, then.” His hands smoothed down her shoulders and arms, until they took hers in firm holds. “Langford thinks it was a mistake to tell you about that. About her. He says you will believe the memory forever compromises what you and I share. That in my heart, she will be my first, best love.”

  Her throat burned. “Perhaps he should mind his own affairs and not offer advice so freely.”

  “I told him about it. And Stratton. That first night after dinner, while we drank port, I shared it. Langford always offers his opinion, and always minds others’ affairs, so this won’t be the last time.” He looked right into her eyes. “Is he right?”

  “A little,” she managed to say. “It is not like those men pursuing me at the theater, though. I did not have expectations that have been denied.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, then joined their gazes again. “Sometimes the best things are least expected. You are so wrong about my memories. About my feelings for you. I told you early on that I was deranged by desire for you. My hunger for you was greater than I ever knew with anyone. When we embrace, I am freer than ever before. The conten
tment I know fills my soul. Do you not feel some of that too?”

  Her eyes burned. The emptiness disappeared with his words, filled now with such joy, she could hardly hold it. His expression while he waited for her response touched her. So earnest he looked. So unsure what she would say.

  She nodded. “Yes. Oh yes.”

  He pulled her forward, down into his arms. “I thank God for that. To love you and not have you experience at least some of the same things—”

  “All of it. I have lost my heart, Eric. Hopelessly so.”

  A kiss then, both raw and sweet in emotion, careful and ferocious at the same time. He set her up again. He lifted her hips, then lowered her while they joined. He separated the edges of the silk and took her breasts in his hands. “Take your pleasure, darling. Look at me and see my love while you do.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Will you tell me now where we are going?” Davina asked the question while the coach rolled through town. “South now. Are we going to St. James’s?”

  “Close to there. We are going on a hunt.” Eric hoped the hunt succeeded. It had been planned meticulously, and all logic said it might, but one never knew. “Here we are.”

  “The Queen’s House? We are hunting on a royal property?”

  “Something like that.” He handed her out. “It is not only a house. The King’s Library is here.”

  She looked confused, but allowed him to escort her in. She stopped short once inside. “Why are all these people here?”

  “This is our hunting party.” Also, in the event of success, their witnesses. The group waiting for them included Stratton and Langford and their duchesses.

  Langford brought over a man who resembled him, along with another very elderly gentleman. “Let me introduce my brother, Harold. And also Mr. Barnard, the Royal Librarian. Both are intimately familiar with the library and have agreed to aid us today.”

  Davina smiled graciously, but still looked confused. “What are we searching for?” she whispered to Eric.

  He drew her a few steps away. “A Bible. Your family’s Bible. We may not find it. I could be wrong. However, if that was what your grandfather took from the house, and if it was sent to the last king, and it was among his possessions when he died, there is a good chance it ended up here, in his library. Its significance to your cause would not have been known or recognized at the time. When a king dies, his household has other matters occupying it.”

  Lights of hope entered her eyes. “That is a lot of ifs, but I think you may be correct. It is wise you did not tell me this before you brought me here. I would have paced the house until we could come to see.” She walked back to Mr. Barnard. “Can we go to the library now?”

  Mr. Barnard led the way. Eric escorted Davina and their party trailed behind. Into the large octagonal room that held the library they filed. Davina’s face fell. “There must be thousands of books here. We will never find just one.”

  “There are over sixty thousand,” Mr. Barnard said. “However, they are all organized so they can be found without too much difficulty, so they can be used by scholars. The Bibles are all in one section, with pride of place, of course, going to that printed by Gutenberg. Come with me.”

  There were a lot of Bibles. Not only Gutenberg’s, but also other early ones both in manuscript and early printing. “Once we get to more recent years, there is less differentiation to the shelving,” Mr. Barnard said. “These cases here hold the ones from the last several hundred years. The last king bought many collections, and almost all had Bibles.”

  Davina looked up and down the cases. “It is a good thing we brought that hunting party.”

  Langford’s brother took over. He divided up the party and assigned them shelves. He gave a little lecture on handling frail books. “We can assume it is in Latin, Gaelic or English. Any other languages you can reshelf immediately.” They all went to work.

  Even the best-kept library collected a lot of dust. Fifteen minutes later, clouds of it surrounded them. Tome by tome, Eric removed Bibles and checked for any in one of the languages noted. Those he examined more carefully.

  They had been there almost an hour when he felt a pull on his coat sleeve. Clara stood at his side. She passed a book to him. “I think this may be it,” she said quietly. “You and Davina can see if it is.”

  He appreciated her discretion. Should they find the Bible, and should it contain anything of use, there would be cause for celebration. If they did not, or if it held nothing of value to her, he did not want Davina’s reaction to be too public.

  He walked to her and showed her the book, then took her away from the others. He set it on a reading table. They both just stared at it.

  “I am almost afraid to open it,” she said.

  “I understand. However, it is time.” He turned back the front of the soft leather binding.

  There, on the front pages, left blank of printing so as to accommodate such a use, were the family notations of the MacCallums of Teyhill.

  He turned two pages full of writing, then stopped at the final one. It was only half-filled. Davina read the next to the last line in a whisper.

  1746—James MacCallum, born 1740, was sent to Harold Mitchell of Northumberland for safekeeping after his father’s death at Culloden.

  Below it was one last note. 1748—Teyhill given to an English duke by the king. Household dispersed.

  Her breath caught. “Oh my. You have done it, Brentworth. You have found my proof.”

  He turned to where Clara watched them. He nodded. Davina’s expression showed just how successful the hunt had been. Word spread, and the party closed in. Clara pushed Mr. Barnard forward. “You must verify this discovery here in this library, sir. No one can claim that you lied out of friendship for Brentworth.”

  Mr. Barnard examined the Bible, then smiled. They had cause for celebration after all.

  “Thank you, Eric,” Davina said before stretching up to kiss him. “Thank you, my love.”

  Epilogue

  The garden flowers perfumed the air. Somewhere, birds sang, but they could not be heard. Rather, the children’s squeals and cries filled the space. Servants ran this way and that, trying to keep them corralled in one section of the garden.

  From the terrace, Langford watched a boy with dark, unruly curls and dark eyes. Davina doubted any other person except Amanda could bring such warmth to that duke’s smile.

  “Your heir is full of the devil,” she said as the boy escaped a footman and ran for a tree. “He’ll be up that trunk in two blinks from the look of him.”

  “He is a fine boy, isn’t he?” Langford said, as if being a devil were a very good thing.

  “He looks to be healthy and strong,” Eric said. “And full of trouble.”

  “Not too much trouble. Nothing I can’t manage.” Langford turned his attention to the other children, and the adults in their midst. “Stratton and Clara are like children again themselves, guiding the play, although Amanda seems to be fomenting rebellion against their authority. His twins seem to get along well with your son, Brentworth.”

  Davina saw the gleam in Eric’s own eyes while he watched their son play with the others. Benjamin was not a devil, but he knew more freedom than his father had. Not too many rules. It had been one of the first things Eric had said when the boy was born. She knew he had laid down the law for himself more than for her.

  The baby in his arms began fussing. She let Eric try to sooth matters, but his own consternation only made it worse. He could not bear to hear this one cry.

  She took the baby from him, gave a few bounces and cooed at the pudgy face. “You will get to play soon enough. You have to grow first.”

  Langford rested his hip against the terrace balustrade. “It is done, then? The title is settled?”

  Eric nodded. “Word arrived yesterday. Isn’t that so, Baroness? She prefers that address now, Langford. Don’t you, darling?”

  She laughed. “I can be forgiven, I think. Scotland rec
ognizes me.”

  The decision of the Lord Lyon in Edinburgh had come by messenger sent by Brentworth to await the decision. Because the lands had been returned to her by Parliament, and because with baronies like Teyhill the baron was whoever held the lands, the conclusion had been a foregone one. The College of Arms would accept it, most likely.

  “So we are all domesticated and appropriate now,” Langford said. “The next time we meet at the club we should go out on the town and raise some hell, though. It doesn’t do to be all about duty and responsibility, and we deserve a night of trouble. You in particular, Brentworth. It will be like old times. We can be the Decadent Dukes again.”

  “I’m not sure I remember how,” he replied with a slow smile. His gaze slid to her, and she felt herself blushing. Last night he had invited her into the fifth circle of acts not typical and astonished her anew.

  “I’ll remind you,” Langford said with a laugh. He looked out at the children again. “Who would believe it? Married all of us, and each with his heir.”

  The baby in her arms began fussing again. A strong hand reached over and a masculine finger stroked the infant’s cheek. “We have been fortunate. We should be forever grateful for our wives and heirs.”

  Yes, it had all worked out splendidly for them, and for those wives, Davina thought. Clara’s journal and club flourished, and Teyhill now offered medical help to farmers and crofters for miles around. When she and Eric visited, she donned an apron and entered that wing to assist. Amanda had taken up the anti-slavery cause along with the dukes. The last effort had not succeeded, but new ones were coming and would continue to come until it was done.

  Most importantly, the children were all healthy and full of love and joy. They filled the houses with chaos when they all played together like this.

  There was much for everyone in this garden to be thankful for. Especially her.

  She smiled down at her son, the next duke, then at the new daughter in her arms. The world was changing quickly in ways that would not be denied. Who knew, perhaps little Godania could even one day become a physician, if she chose?