The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  “That is wonderful news. Have you found an acceptable nursemaid?”

  “I hired Miss Repast, the first sent by Spence’s, thank you. We also have four wet nurses coming to the house on an alternating schedule and the doctor tells me Margaret ought to be able to begin eating soft food within a week or two.”

  “Splendid.”

  Danby stood for a moment, staring at her as if he had a hundred things to say but couldn’t form the words to utter a one—a very unlikely conundrum for a duke. And very unlike him. From the little she knew of Sherborn Price, he was never one to be taken aback by anything or anyone.

  “Shall I ring for some tea?” she asked, nearly kicking herself. Asking His Grace to join her for tea would prolong her torture.

  “Might I be able to see the baby?”

  Eleanor blinked. “Margaret?”

  Shifting his gaze aside, he raked his fingers through his fashionably wild hair. She liked the color—not blond, but a lighter brown that might nearly be called tawny. “You haven’t found another abandoned infant in the past few days?” He stepped closer, his smile infectious. “I do feel a sense of responsibility for the child.”

  “Truly? After I all but demanded you hail a hackney and insisted Margaret stay as far away from the Foundling Hospital as possible?”

  “You were rather insistent.” He chuckled, alluring dimples appearing in his cheeks. “But you were right.”

  A swarm of butterflies chose this moment to take flight in Eleanor’s stomach. What was it about Danby? Whenever he was in the room, her insides decided to carry on as if she were experiencing her first Season. These ridiculous reactions made no sense whatsoever. “I wish there were a hundred witnesses in the parlor,” she said with her tongue slipping to the corner of her mouth and a coy twist of her shoulders. “I was right, did you say?”

  “I’ll be the first to admit it. I’ll also have you know, thus far, no one has appeared at the Court of Chancery claiming they lost a babe in Hyde Park.”

  “I didn’t think there would be. Who leaves a newborn in the midst of a thicket?”

  “Someone who is very mentally ill, I assume.”

  Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder if one of the parents had been watching—waiting and praying that some well-to-do person would rescue the child. “I don’t know. Perhaps the mother wished for a better life for Margaret and left her there, knowing we would venture past.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Eleanor gestured toward the door. “Shall we?”

  He retrieved the parcel and gestured with the oblong thing. “After you.”

  “Have you met Miss Repast?” she asked. What was he carrying and why hadn’t he eluded to it?

  A stick of wood? Some contraband he’d seized from the Pool of London?

  “I cannot say I have.”

  Deciding she did not want to know what he’d brought wrapped in brown paper, Eleanor led the way up the stairs and toward the nursery. “She’s lovely. Younger than I would have expected but she is the eldest of twelve children. Her father is a vicar in Hertfordshire. She came to London to study at Spence’s and received top marks.”

  “I am duly impressed. Did she have references aside from Spence’s?”

  “Only from families who needed a nursemaid for brief periods of time, but all of them highly recommended her.”

  Once they reached the fourth floor, Eleanor led the way to the unusually quiet nursery. Perhaps Margaret was napping? She drew her finger to her lips before cracking open the door.

  “Miss Kent,” said the nursemaid, immediately rising from the rocking chair with the babe in her arms.

  “Oh good, she’s awake.” Stepping into the room, Eleanor gestured to Danby. “His Grace stopped by to check on Margaret Lehn. You may recall I mentioned he was riding with me when I found the child.”

  Miss Repast’s eyes grew wide and her face completely red as she stood dumbfounded for a moment. But as Danby bowed, she dipped into a curtsey deep enough for a king. “Duke, it is an honor.”

  “The honor is mine.” He held up the parcel. “I’ve brought a doll for the wee one.”

  “How thoughtful of you,” Eleanor said, taking the package as Margaret bobbled in the maid’s arms.

  “May I?” asked the duke, reaching for the child.

  But only after Eleanor gave a nod did Miss Repast allow Danby to cradle the baby.

  “This is the first time I’ve ever been introduced to a duke,” said the nursemaid, her voice too high pitched as she shifted from one foot to another. “I hardly know what to do.”

  Danby didn’t look up as he made ridiculous faces at Margaret. “I assure you, groveling isn’t necessary.”

  When the poor girl cringed and wrung her hands, looking as if she were about to melt, Eleanor offered a smile. “Why not take a respite. I have it on good authority Cook has a fresh batch of ginger crisps in the kitchen.”

  “A-are you certain?”

  “I think we can manage for a quarter of an hour or so. What say you, Danby?”

  He bounced, babbling some sort of imperceptible language, thoroughly captured by Margaret’s wiles. “Hmm?”

  Eleanor held the door while Miss Repast quickly made her escape.

  “Is that what’s needed to turn your head?” she asked, thoroughly enjoying seeing the duke acting so un-duke-like.

  He glanced up. “Pardon?”

  “Enormous, innocent eyes, a frilly bonnet, a petite, bow-shaped mouth. Given that combination, I believe you are completely smitten, Your Grace.” When he didn’t reply, Eleanor held up the parcel. “Shall I open this?”

  “Please do.”

  She pulled on the twine, finding a beautiful doll dressed in court gowns. “My, this is lovely.”

  “Ba, ba,” cooed Margaret, pulling on Danby’s pristine neckcloth.

  “Shall I place it on the mantel?” She started toward the fireplace.

  “Oh, no. It is for the babe to play with.”

  “Ah.” Eleanor stopped as the child spat up, soiling not only the neckcloth but spittle dribbled down the duke’s waistcoat as well. “Oh heavens! I am so sorry.” She set the doll on the table, hastened to the washstand, and grabbed a cloth.

  “Not to worry. It isn’t the first time. It seems I’m a magnet for little ones’ regurgitation. I’m an uncle five times over, mind you.”

  “Well, I imagine most dandies who dress as well as you, would have stormed out the door by now.” She held up the cloth. “Why not return Margaret to the cradle whilst we tidy up that stain?”

  “Very well.” Sighing, he did as asked, giving the bed a gentle rock. “She seems happy. Healthy, as well.”

  Wrapping the cloth around her pointer finger, Eleanor stepped in and attacked the milky stain with quick flicks. “She’s no trouble whatsoever. And now that we have Miss Repast, the household has settled into a routine.”

  “You are astonishing,” he said, his warm breath skimming her forehead.

  Eleanor stopped and dared meet his gaze. “Hardly.”

  “I mean it. You are the most giving woman I have ever met. You so easily cast your needs aside and take care of others.”

  For the second time since Danby arrived, her face grew overwarm. Blinking, she focused on the task. “I assure you, my needs are few. And by caring for Margaret, I am content to have spared one soul from the bowels of the Foundling Hospital.”

  “Yes, but ’tis not simply one soul. You told me yourself you have other foundlings in your employ.” He brushed his knuckle across her cheek, making a shiver course throughout her body. “And you’ve selflessly given your time and your youth to care for your father.”

  Eleanor pursed her lips and dabbed the stain of one last spot.

  Youth.

  Truly, she’d never given it much thought. But, at seven and twenty, her youth had escaped her. She would never have children of her own. She’d never marry, either. Perhaps her motive for rescuing Margaret wasn’t entirely benevolent. What if she had t
aken Margaret in to raise a child of her own?

  Have I?

  Danby stepped to within a hand’s breadth of Eleanor’s body, raising her chin with the crook of his finger. “Something is racing through that beautiful mind of yours.”

  “I daresay one thing or another is always racing through my mind.” Her words were barely audible for lack of breath.

  As Danby dipped his chin, he scraped white teeth over his bottom lip. “That I can believe.” His eyelids slowly lowered. Long lashes fanned his cheeks as he studied her mouth.

  Keenly aware she was about to be kissed, a tickle at the back of Eleanor’s mind told her to duck away. But dash the everlasting daylights, the thrumming of her heart, the tingling of her breasts, the intensity of the enchantment he wielded over her senses made moving impossible. Nearly swooning, her mouth parted just as the soft pillowy caress of his lips met hers.

  She sighed into his kiss as his hand slipped to the back of her neck. How long had it been since she’d kissed a man?

  Overcome with fissions of fire and ice racing up her spine, she couldn’t form a coherent thought.

  Good Lord, as his tongue swept across hers, passion and longing swelled through her like hundreds of levitating soap bubbles. Suddenly light as a feather, she’d forgotten how utterly dreamy kissing was like. Perhaps she’d never really known…

  “Waaaaaaaaa!” cried Margaret from the cradle.

  Snapping back to her senses, Eleanor hopped away.

  Danby gaped as if he’d been hit by a firebrand, a rogue lock of hair dangling over his forehead, his green eyes more vivid. “Forgive me.”

  Swiftly averting her gaze, she tapped the cradle. As soon as it began rocking, Margaret slipped her thumb into her mouth and quieted.

  The duke moved behind her, the warmth of his body searing her skin. “I should not have taken liberties.”

  Eleanor stooped and pulled a blanket over the babe—anything not to have to look at him. Not now, not when her lips still thrummed with the delight of his kiss. “Perhaps you should go.”

  Keeping her enemies close was one thing but kissing them took matters entirely too far.

  Chapter Seven

  During the carriage ride home from a visit to the furniture maker to inspect the progress on Danby’s bed, Eleanor intended to head straight for the writing table in her chamber as soon as she set foot in the house. Completely astounded by her inability to resist the duke’s kiss yesterday, she had decided the remainder of their conversations must be by post and, henceforth, she would do everything in her power to elude him. After all, before Prinny’s dinner in Brighton, they had been merely passing acquaintances. It would be better if they did not grow any friendlier.

  After alighting from her carriage and climbing the town house steps, Earnest held the door. “Where is Weston?” she asked.

  “He’s off to the apothecary to fetch some salve for the viscount’s bedsores.”

  “Poor Papa.” Eleanor removed her gloves as she moved inside. If only her father needn’t suffer so. “I’ll be in my bedchamber. If anyone should stop by, please let them know I am not to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, miss…ah…”

  She stopped. “Hmm?”

  “I do not want to sound impertinent, but may I ask how long the Duke of Danby will be nosing about?”

  “Interesting you should ask. My next order of business for the day is to address exactly that conundrum.”

  Earnest bowed with a satisfied grin. “Then I’ll leave you to it, miss.”

  Once above stairs, she stared down the corridor, when a voice came from the direction of her father’s chamber. Eleanor turned her ear. It was a deep, masculine voice, indeed. Was it Danby? She tiptoed nearer and pressed her ear to the door.

  “…perhaps less than fairness, and yet pleases more when it pleases all…”

  Her heart fluttered while her stomach dropped to her toes.

  It was he. Why in heaven’s name had Earnest not mentioned the duke was here? Or did the footman think she was already aware? No wonder he “left her to it”.

  “His hair, being too short to tie, fell no lower than his neck, in short easy curls; and he had a few sprigs about his paps, that garnished his chest in a style of strength and manliness…”

  Paps?

  Eleanor clapped a hand over her heart. ’Twas a vulgar word. In Robinson Crusoe? It had been quite some time since she read the novel, but she was quite certain paps were not referred to anywhere in the text. Curious, she leaned so close, her ear almost touched the door.

  “…Her thighs were spread out to their utmost extension, and discovered between them the mark of the sex…”

  Hopping away as if she had been burned, Eleanor covered her mouth. Good heavens, Danby definitely was not reading Crusoe.

  I should march in there right now and demand he take his vile prose and leave this instant!

  A chuckle resonated through the timbers—not exactly a chuckle but more of a snort. And the sound hadn’t come from Danby.

  Papa? Oh heavens, he’s laughing!

  A new sensation stopped her breath as Danby continued to read about rapid motion and fervent sighing, leading into ecstasy.

  Eleanor had heard about such passion from her married friends. Not exactly described in such detail, but she knew enough to understand precisely what the duke was reading to her father.

  Unable to move, her heart thrummed out of rhythm. She felt as if she’d been plunged into a world of brothels, which ushered in an orgy of warring emotions. She ought to be completely shocked and outraged, but yet she stood rooted, listening to the voice of sin.

  Above stairs, the floor creaked and, with a shake of her head, Eleanor glanced upward. In no way did she want any of the servants catching her eavesdropping or, worse, overhearing. And she definitely did not want to encounter the duke on his way out.

  As quietly as a mouse, she tiptoed away, hastening for the sanctity of her chamber. Except her hands shook when she tried to begin her correspondence. To calm herself, she took a nip of Madeira from the bottle she kept in her drawer. This state of affairs simply would not do.

  She was Eleanor Kent, a woman with nerves of steel, who needed no man, especially a man who stood to ruin the empire she had spent years building.

  Inhaling deeply, she started.

  Dear Danby.

  No, seeming too familiar, she crossed it out and reached for another slip of stationery.

  Your Grace.

  Better.

  After giving it careful thought…

  Her father’s door clicked. Footsteps resounded in the corridor but stopped for a moment.

  Freezing in place, Eleanor held her breath. Would he attempt to pop his head into her chamber? Surely Weston or Earnest told the duke I was out.

  When the stairs began to creak with Danby’s descent, a long sigh hissed through her lips. Thank goodness for small mercies. She returned her attention to the task at hand. Perhaps she ought to tell him she had decided to pass on his chinoiserie renovation.

  She dipped her quill. But when a loud laugh came from her father’s bedchamber, an enormous splotch of ink dripped on the paper, blacking out her salutation.

  Had Weston returned from the apothecary in his cups?

  Huffing, Eleanor abandoned her letter, placed her quill in its holder, and hastened to her father’s chamber. After flinging the door wide, she gaped. There her father sat in his invalid chair where he spent many an afternoon. Except he wasn’t staring blankly into space. He was holding a book and grinning like a man who had just won a high-stakes contest at a racetrack.

  “What do you have there?” she asked, moving inside.

  He inclined his ear her way as she peered over his shoulder.

  Good heavens, Danby’s naughty book had drawings. Explicit drawings.

  Coughing, Eleanor scooted away, as she caught a glimpse of the title. Fanny Hill: Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.

  “Enjoying Robinson Crusoe, are you?” />
  Papa gave a nod and closed the book. Bless the Lord, he hadn’t responded to her in ten years.

  “Well, then. I’m glad you like it. No matter what the contents.”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  Patting her chest, it wasn’t easy to realize her father had responded to that. But then, the little she knew of sex, it affected some sort of base, unsophisticated emotion in both males and females. She’d felt a semblance of it herself just yesterday in Danby’s arms. The inexplicable yet delightful fervor that had made her weak-kneed was the very reason she had decided to write to him and break all ties.

  She must not ignore the clear evidence that her father’s response was nothing short of a miracle. Possibly, breaking all ties was unwise.

  Eleanor kneeled beside Papa and placed her hand on his arm. “It makes me ever so happy to see you smile, and even happier to hear your voice again.” No matter what brought about the grin, she would have given a fortune for this moment. “Danby has been very kind.”

  Papa returned his attention to the book’s cover.

  She stood and wrung her hands. Perhaps she ought not be too hasty to dismiss the duke. After all, his bedchamber would be fabulous. She had found some lovely wallpaper, bed coverings, and an enormous inlaid cabinet with dozens of hidden drawers to match the bed.

  “There you are, Miss Eleanor,” said Weston, opening the door. “Mr. Millward is here to see you.”

  Eleanor found the importer pacing the parlor floor, wringing his hands. “Miss Kent, this is an unfounded state of affairs.”

  She heaved a calming breath and moved to her chair, gesturing for him to sit as well. The man had been working for her from the beginning and, though he was trustworthy, there were two maddening things about him. First of all, the little fellow was a bag of nerves, which was oft evident by the beads of sweat peppering his brow and by the way he rapidly blinked his eyes. Secondly, due to his provocation toward nervousness, he was quick to predict impending doom. But time and time again, he’d proven to be a stalwart keeper of secrets. He might complain to her or Weston, but otherwise he knew how to hold his tongue.