Her Night with the Duke

by Diana Quincy

  “Yes,” he said impatiently. “Kindly go and tell Lady Devon that I am here. I have urgent business with her.”

  “Do you?” The man crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the doorjamb, not seeming the least bit in a hurry. “What sort of business?”

  “Who are you to question me?” Hunt snapped, a moment away from cuffing the arse. “That is none of your concern.”

  “As Lady Devon’s brother, it is indeed my business.”

  Hunt’s mouth fell open. This man in old, worn clothes was Leela’s brother, the marquess? “You’re Brandon?”

  “In the flesh.”

  Hunt took a good look at the man and realized he had Leela’s dark almond eyes. “I wish to ask your sister to marry me. I must see her. May I come in?”

  Brandon stepped aside. “Good luck with that.”

  Hunt brushed by Leela’s brother, scanning the front hallway as if he expected to find Leela waiting for him. “Where is she?”

  “My sister sailed for Gibraltar late last night.”

  “Impossible.” Hunt swung around to face Brandon. “She’s leaving today.”

  “The ship’s captain decided to depart early while the weather was favorable.”

  Hunt suppressed a curse. “That cannot be.”

  “Can’t it?” Brandon closed the door. “I realize you are a duke, but even you cannot turn back time.”

  Hunt wanted to pummel that flippant attitude out of Leela’s brother. “Are you not listening to me? I want to make your sister a duchess. I wish to elevate her.”

  “What an honor.” The words leaked with sarcasm. “I know how much your sort values titles.”

  “My sort? You’re a marquess. You are my sort.”

  “Hardly. Tell me, does Leela know you wish to elevate her place in life?”

  “Yes, of course.” Hunt ran a flat hand down over his face. He was too late. Leela was gone. What a fool he’d been to let a life with her slip through his fingers.

  “So my sister knows you wish to grant her the honor of wedding her and still chose to travel to another continent.” Brandon stretched his closed lips wide in a mirthless smile. “It seems to me that you have Leela’s answer to your proposal.”

  Hunt rounded on the man. “Listen to me, you whoreson—”

  Brandon straightened. “Watch your insults, Huntington. Don’t give me an excuse to call you out. There’s nothing I’d like better.”

  “Why?” The man’s obvious antipathy baffled him. It wasn’t as though Hunt wished to dishonor Leela. “You don’t even know me.”

  “Oh, I know your type, which is quite enough.” Brandon pulled the door open and, with a sweep of his hand, gestured for Hunt to go through it. “I believe our business is concluded.”

  Hunt saw he’d get no help from this bastard. Adjusting his cuffs, he strode out without giving Brandon the courtesy of another look or further acknowledging his presence. The door closed hard behind him.

  Hunt stood there, taking no notice of the carriage traffic rattling through the square, as the reality sank in. Leela was gone. It would be months before he saw her again. Months during which time she might meet someone else. A man who would know his own mind. Who would not allow a diamond like Leela to slip away. Meanwhile, Hunt would be thousands of miles away. Oblivious. Powerless to stop them.

  The strength drained from his legs. He sank onto the top stair, blind to anyone who might question why the Duke of Huntington was perched on the Marquess of Brandon’s front steps.

  All Hunt could think of was the enormity of his loss. Leela was gone.

  It was over.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Leela hurried through the city gates just as the sun began to lower beyond the horizon. She knew to return from her Gibraltar explorations before sunset, when the gates would close and remain shut until daybreak.

  “You made it,” said the soldier who checked her residency permit. She’d secured a ten-day permit to remain on the Rock—as Gibraltar was known—until she could find passage to Tangier.

  “Is it really necessary to secure the city gates?” It seemed somewhat medieval to her.

  “The Rock can only be taken by treason,” the young man returned. He had red hair and a cockneyish accent. “So we must protect her.”

  She thanked him and went on her way, surrounded by a sea of people going about their business. The island retained a distinct international flavor, even though Spain had ceded Gibraltar to Britain more than a century ago. Around her, many were dressed in their native costume. Turks in turbans and Moors in white robes passed her while speaking in foreign tongues. She’d purchased delicious dates from a handsome Black merchant who told her he came from Timbuctu on the edge of the Sahara. And proprietors with foreign names, such as Manuel Ximenez—Lodgings and Neat Liquors, were common.

  Leela was at the crossroads of the world. All nations met in Gibraltar given the Rock’s location between Europe, Africa and Asia. It was a place valuable enough to fight over, which explained the heavy presence of British soldiers everywhere she went. It was hard to miss the defensive artillery and rows of sentries stationed at intervals around the island.

  Leela hurried to the inn where she had a room, eager to be inside before darkness fell. Homes made of brick and plaster and woodwork, all tightly woven together, lined the streets. Hashem and his daughter, Hasna, who’d both made the journey with Leela, were visiting an old friend who'd made his home on the Rock. In two days’ time, they would set sail for Tangier, landing in Morocco within three days. She was almost there.

  But no matter how far she traveled from England, she could not get Hunt out of her mind. In the month since she’d last seen him, she thought of him every day, wherever she went. Hunt constantly entered her thoughts, no matter how mundane they might be.

  At the fish market, she wondered what he might think of the bright-colored, alien sea creatures. She thought of him while exploring the surface of the Rock, which was bare in summer and verdant in the spring and autumn, and tried to guess which state he’d prefer. When she stood on sea-sprayed cliffs taking in the spectacular view, or on a fragment of a centuries-old Moorish castle, Leela lamented that Hunt was not there to share the experience with her.

  In addition, she constantly felt as if she’d forgotten something. And then she would remember that what was missing was Hunt. And she would berate herself and tell herself to get on with it. And she tried. But it wasn’t easy.

  She entered Miss Duncan’s lodging house and proceeded directly to her chamber. Passing the eating room, she heard the Scottish proprietor conversing with a new arrival.

  “My apologies, sir. But we have no rooms.”

  “A salon then,” the impatient masculine voice demanded. “Surely you must have a parlor at the very least.”

  Leela froze. She knew that voice. And then she told herself that she was imagining things.

  “You might try Mr. Ben Elia’s lodging house,” Miss Duncan advised the man. “It is nearby on Bomb House Lane.”

  “Bomb House Lane? That doesn’t sound particularly restful,” the traveler remarked. “One shudders to think how it got that name.”

  Leela’s heart lifted. She wasn’t imagining things. It was him. She rushed into the eating room.

  The traveler had his back to her. He wore an old coat and weathered buckskin breeches tucked into scuffed boots. The fastidious Duke of Huntington would not be caught dead in such an ensemble. But Elliot Townsend would. He’d worn these same clothes at their very first meeting at the Black Swan Inn near Coventry.

  Leela’s heart dipped. Maybe this was just wishful thinking. Hunt couldn’t possibly be in Gibraltar. The man never left England.

  “Hunt?” She held her breath as the man turned to face her. An annoyed face stared back at her. A face that she loved beyond measure. Then Hunt’s features shifted into joyous disbelief. “Leela?”

  “Do you know this gentleman?” Miss Duncan asked her.

  Hunt’s ga
ze held Leela’s. “Of course she does. I am her husband.”

  Leela pressed her lips inward to hide her smile. Laughter bubbled up inside of her. Hunt was here. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. She feared he might vanish if she so much as blinked.

  “Is that true, Mrs. Chambers?” Miss Duncan wanted to know. “Is this Mr. Chambers?”

  “Of course it’s true,” Hunt snapped, still holding Leela’s gaze. They both moved forward to meet each other.

  Leela just barely managed to keep from launching herself into Hunt’s arms. “I cannot believe you are here.”

  “As if I could be anywhere else.” He took Leela by the elbow. “Come, my dear.” To Miss Duncan, he said, “If you do not mind, my wife and I have much to discuss.”

  Still somewhat dazed, Leela allowed Hunt to direct her toward the steep wooden stairs. “Is this the way to your bedchamber?”

  The scent of worn leather and warm skin filled her nostrils. “You are taking the liberty of sharing my bedchamber?”

  “It is only fair. The last time one of us was stranded without a bedchamber—that would be you—the other one of us—namely me—generously offered to share the space with you.”

  “I remember.” She grinned. “It was the best night of my life.”

  “Not for long,” Hunt said. “This evening is about to become the best night of your life.”

  Leela fell back against the door as soon as they entered her bedchamber and stared at Hunt. “What are you doing here?”

  “I should think it would be obvious.” He nudged her back against the door. Interlocking his fingers with hers, he pulled her hands up over her head and kissed her heatedly. His demanding tongue pushed into her willing mouth. Urgently. Decisively. Like he couldn’t get enough. Leela’s knees gave out beneath her.

  “God, I missed you.” He kissed and nibbled his way down her neck, sucking her tender tissue. His rough unshaven jaw chafed as it rubbed against her. Clutching him to her, Leela relished the burn of their skin-to-skin contact. It was proof that he was here in the flesh and not some figment of her imagination.

  Hunt’s big warm body pressed up against hers, his prodigious erection digging into her pelvis. “I need you now.” He began to lift her skirts.

  Leela had never wanted anything more. She felt like she was on fire. But panic welled up inside of her. “No. Wait. Stop.”

  Hunt stilled, his erection still pressed into her. “Stop?”

  “Yes.” She fought for breath to steady her pounding heart. She could barely hear herself think. “Please stop.”

  “You cannot be serious.” But he did as she asked and pulled back so that they were no longer touching. He stared at her in disbelief.

  “I need a moment to think.”

  “Can you think later?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I came all the way to this rocky godforsaken island to find you. Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know?”

  “Not quite.” She straightened, righting the neckline of her gown. “Why did you make the journey?”

  “Isn’t is obvious? I came for you.”

  “I cannot embark on another affair with you only for us to be parted again. I cannot bear it.” Emotion roiled in her chest. “I won’t survive it.”

  “I’m not going anywhere. We are going to be married and that’s my final word on the matter.”

  She smiled. “Is that so? And am I to have any say in this?”

  “Yes, of course,” he said impatiently. “It is inevitable that we will end up together. But if you must talk it through then, by all means, have at it.”

  “We’ve already been through this. We are just too different.”

  “Balderdash. I am fully committed to this course of action. I even secured a special license before I left London.”

  “You did?” she asked, momentarily distracted. “Is that legal here?”

  He shrugged. “I’ve no idea. It should be. This is a Crown territory. But just in case, I also have a letter signed by the prince regent himself directing the Gibraltar registry office to marry us.”

  “You sought special permission from the regent?” she asked, incredulous. She fought the warm, giddy hope ballooning inside of her. “And you will accept my being away for months at a time?”

  “No. That’s where I must draw the line . . .”

  Leela’s heart sank.

  “I insist on coming with you.”

  Her jaw dropped. “But you hate to travel.”

  “I never said I hated it. I believe what I said is that I cannot neglect ducal affairs by being gone for months at a time.”

  “My journeys take several months.”

  “That is why I have engaged a very capable man to act in my place and manage my business concerns while I am away. Or, I suppose I should say reengaged. Foster is back in my employ.”

  “He is? I thought you would never forgive your secretary?”

  “I would not go so far as to say I forgive him. But I do realize that if Foster had not run away with my intended bride, I would not be here with you, my fated bride. In the end, Foster did me a great service.”

  “He did us both a service,” she concurred. “And Mr. Foster has agreed to work for you again?”

  “Of course. The man is not a complete fool. Foster will oversee matters in my absence. As part of his compensation package, he and Victoria will reside at a modest home I own on Half Moon Street.”

  “Half Moon Street?” Why did that address sound familiar? Leela narrowed her eyes at him. “Isn’t that where you house your mistress?”

  “Where I used to house my mistresses. Yes. But now I will have a wife to attend to all required mutual pleasures of the flesh.”

  “But what about the scandal of it all? You abhor being the subject of gossip and ridicule. There are those who will mock you for taking a wife like me, whose mother was the daughter of a foreign merchant.”

  “That’s the beauty of spending our wedding trip in Morocco. I shan’t be there to witness any of it. By the time we return to London, several months from now, another scandal is sure to have supplanted ours.”

  Leela knew there were many other obstacles to being with Hunt, but at the moment she could not think of a single one. “But all of the things keeping us apart haven’t just magically disappeared.”

  “They have in my mind. I have finally come to my senses.” He ticked each point off on his long, masculine fingers. “First, I am not my brother. Wedding a smart, capable, ridiculously talented and incredibly beautiful woman will not suddenly turn me into an out-of-control wastrel. Although”—he winked at her—“I do feel out of control whenever you look at me like you are now, as if you wish to devour me.”

  “I am not looking at you like that,” she protested.

  He ticked off another point with his fingers. “Secondly, Foster can run my affairs while I am away, which means the ducal estate is in capable hands in my absence. Thirdly, while it is possible that I might detest traveling, you will be at my side, and I feel certain you’ll do everything in your power to ensure I don’t regret my decision.” He cast a heated look in her direction.

  Leela felt the impact of that stare deep into her belly. She licked her lips. “Go on.”

  “Fourthly, your Levantine relations are a part of you and I adore you so I am certain to find them somewhat tolerable.”

  “Very generous of you.”

  “Oh, I intend to be very generous with you,” he drawled. His gaze traveled the full length of her body. “In all ways.”

  She resisted the urge to fan herself. “Is there more?”

  He ticked off the last remaining finger. His pinkie. “Fifthly and most importantly, a very wise person once told me that I should marry a woman who looks at me as if I am the moon. I have found her. In fact”—he smiled tenderly—“I am looking at her.”

  “You seem to have thought of everything.”

  “All that is left is for you to say yes.”
>
  “You are asking me to return to society.” A chill went through her. “To subject myself to that scrutiny again. And to always be found lacking.”

  “God forbid.” He grimaced. “The fewer ton entertainments we attend, the better. We can only accept invitations that interest you. The rest we shall happily toss into the waste bin.”

  She bit the corner of her lower lip. “You make it sound so easy.”

  “We are both through with allowing society to dictate our behavior. It’s well past time that we make our own rules. As a duke, by design, I am supposed to do as I please. And, as my duchess, so shall you.”

  She smiled softly. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”

  “I was planning on making this a gift to you on our wedding day.” He withdrew a small red silk pouch from his pocket. “But perhaps this will encourage you to reach a decision more promptly.”

  She watched him open the pouch. “What is it?”

  “See for yourself.” He handed it to her.

  She spilled its contents into her open palm, revealing a gold necklace and pendant in the shape of a half moon. “It’s beautiful.”

  He removed his worn, wrinkled cravat, baring the matching necklace around his neck.

  Her eyes widened. “You’re wearing the other half to my necklace.”

  “Exactly. Together the moon is complete. As with our necklaces, I can only be whole when you are with me.”

  “What a lovely sentiment.” She laid her hand against his pendant, the mate to her half, and relished the warmth of his body heat.

  He put his large hand over hers on his chest. “Lovely enough for you to consent to becoming my wife? I cannot promise an easy path for us. There will be bumps in the road. But I think you are worth it. We are worth fighting for.”

  She gazed up at him. “Yes, ya umar, I will marry you. Only a fool would turn you away.”

  His handsome face lit up. “Thank goodness you’re no fool.” He grinned. “It’s settled. We shall wed tomorrow. Before we sail for Morocco.”

  “Yes, tomorrow,” she assured him. “It cannot come soon enough.”

  “Excellent.” He swooped her up into his arms and walked over to the bed, tossing her onto it.