The Duke's Privateer (Devilish Dukes Book 3)

by Amy Jarecki

  “As such, you and I must be seen as an unflappable team. You will have my respect, and I must command yours.”

  “Of course.”

  After bowing her head, the housekeeper took a step toward the door.

  “And thank you,” Eleanor said.

  “Whatever for?”

  “For assembling the housemaids with such efficiency. I do not know a soul who could have brought them together faster.”

  The woman’s face brightened as she gave a proper curtsey. “Your Grace.”

  Once alone, Eleanor allowed herself to exhale. Was it worthwhile to set the record straight when she would be leaving sometime soon? Though the way things had been going, or not going as it were, soon seemed more like an eternity.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sher stood beside the door to the music room and listened while Eleanor played the pianoforte. She was quite proficient—surprisingly so. There were many layers to his wife and she seemed to reveal something new with each passing day.

  As the piece ended, he stepped into the chamber. “You must have learned from a maestro.”

  She folded the music and turned. “I suppose one could call the music master at my finishing school a maestro. At least playing the pianoforte passed the days when the other girls were home on holidays with their families. There were times when I practiced from dawn to dusk.”

  “Your father must have been away an awful lot with the war and his naval duties.”

  “It seemed as if he was always at sea, especially after my mother passed.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It couldn’t be helped, though her passing was devastating for Papa.” Eleanor lowered the cover over the ivory keys. “Was there something you needed?”

  “I was about to take a stroll to the track and thought you might care to accompany me.”

  “And see your spitfire?”

  Sher offered his elbow. “I call him Wellington.”

  Eleanor stood and looped her arm through his, a familiar gesture, and it made him grow warm inside. “Apt, given your service beside the general.”

  “Shall we?”

  They made their way along the tree-lined path. “How is your head feeling?” he asked.

  “Aside from a tender lump, it is fine.”

  “I suppose it will take some time for it to completely heal.” Sher glanced at Her Grace out of the corner of his eye. “Mrs. Temperance informed me that you had words with the housemaids.”

  “Interesting. That was five days ago.” Eleanor halted and snapped her arm away. “Since you mentioned it, allow me to say I most certainly did and would do so again. And contrary to what that woman believes, I have every right to ensure the female servants in this dukedom behave in a manner fitting to their station. I do not and will never tolerate gossip and hatefulness.” She raised a lovely, yet defiant chin. “Mark me. I will not back down on this.”

  Oh, how he admired a woman with such spirit. “I told her the same.”

  “You did?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked as if taken aback. “Thank you.”

  “No need.” Sher led her through the gate and beyond an enormous hedge. “We must stand together on these things.”

  “I agree. I would never undermine you and expect the same in kind.”

  After giving her an approving nod, he stopped at the top of the knoll and spread his arms. “This is my secret weapon—and my greatest source of pride.”

  “My, it is as pristine as Ascot.”

  “Well, not quite. There aren’t the spectator facilities, though I had the track designed to give the feel of a public track to train my horses in the most realistic setting possible.”

  “I am duly impressed.”

  “Are you? After seeing your expertise with the design of the gallery at the pavilion, not to mention how you transformed my town house bedchamber into a work of art, I would think you might look at the track with a more critical eye.”

  “Why? You are renowned for producing some of the winningest racehorses in Britain. Who am I to question your training facility?”

  “Well said.” As they strode to the rail, Sher beckoned the trainer who was in the grass, working Wellington on a long lead. “There’s my secret weapon.”

  The man gave a wave, pulled the horse in, and headed over. Eleanor’s lips formed a perfect O. “My heavens, look at him move! I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a smooth gait.”

  “And he runs like the wind.” When trainer and horse stopped at the fence, Sher smoothed his hand along Wellington’s sleek neck. “Her Grace would like to see him show off a bit.”

  The man beamed. “Shall I put him through his paces, Your Grace?”

  Eleanor plucked a handful of grass and presented it to the Arabian with an open palm. When the stallion nipped it from her fingers with a single sweep of his lips, she leaned toward him. “You are a savvy lad, are you not? And all chestnut, not a splash of white on your nose, pasterns, or cannons.”

  “The stallion is as high-spirited as they come and he has a competitive streak that flashes as bright as lightning in a midnight sky,” said the man, climbing onto the saddle and heading for the track. “You won’t want to miss this.”

  Her Grace gave Sher’s arm a nudge, which made a shiver of tingles skitter all the way up to the tips of his ears. “Tell me, sir, in your practiced eye, what makes Wellington stand out?”

  Gripping his lapels, Sher stood a bit taller. “I suppose I might start by saying he was eager to be born and more eager to suckle his mother’s teat. As a colt he was the feistiest in the brood, a king in a paddock of exceptional specimens. The fellow has heart and I believe he would fight to the death before allowing another colt to outshine him.”

  “I would have liked to have seen him as a foal.” She quirked an eyebrow. “But heart does not a champion make. How do you know? Is it gut feeling or more?”

  “Oh, lady, you are setting yourself up for a magnanimous oration.”

  “Then do not delay.”

  “That young stallion’s legs are as sound as the pillars supporting the dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral. And look there, his trot is smooth and level. His rider will never be jostled about. Just watch him move.”

  As she turned her attention to the course, the horse trotted for a moment, then transitioned into a canter. “He is smooth—almost balletic.”

  He allowed her time to admire Wellington’s movement. And just as the trainer tucked his elbows and leaned forward, Sher stooped to whisper in Eleanor’s ear, “Watch him gallop as if he’s chasing the devil himself.”

  “Not the other way around?”

  “Oh no, that horse will not be bested, not by anything of this earth or beyond. He is a shooting star.”

  Horse and rider galloped past, Eleanor watching and holding her breath as if they were actually attending a race at Ascot with hundreds of people. “I believe you are right. You absolutely must tell me when he’s set to race. I cannot miss it.”

  Before he thought, Sher turned his chin and kissed her cheek—not much of a peck—spontaneous and perhaps playful, but the sudden thrumming of his pulse was anything but whimsical.

  Eleanor must have felt it too because as she faced him, her eyes grew dark while her lips parted with a barely audible gasp. “I thought you would reprimand me about speaking to the maids.”

  That was the absolute last thing he expected her to say. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Because we agreed…”

  “Not to discipline where discipline is due?”

  “Once I—ah—am with…” Cringing, she rubbed a hand over her stomach. “Um… Once your heir has been conceived, we agreed to go our separate ways. And if that’s the case, then I probably should have held my tongue. But I just couldn’t and—”

  “Wait.”

  Eleanor closed her mouth, her lips disappearing as if she were trying to bite back her words.

  “I recall you suggested something about living sep
arately being a possibility, but that was when you were backed into a corner with no other option but to comply.” Their marriage truly had been a mucked-up mess, but Sher was doing his damnedest to prevent them from becoming hostile enemies like so many other highborn couples forced down the aisle by circumstances beyond their control. “I remember your words clearly and at no time did I agree.”

  “But you haven’t even—” Furrowing her forehead, Eleanor clapped her palms to her cheeks. “I cannot bear to utter it.”

  Sher didn’t need to ask to what she was referring. He’d only thought the same thing every blessed night since they’d taken their vows. He desperately wanted to make her want him. Had she had a change of heart? How could he be sure?

  The spark of an idea flickered at the back of his mind. “Do you know what critical element we missed?”

  Her hands dropped to her sides. “I’ve no clue.”

  “Courting.”

  She snorted, her gaze rolling to the skies. “’Tis a bit late for that, is it not?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up as he tugged her delicate fingers between his palms. “Never.” With his most gallant bow, he slowly pressed his lips to the back of her hand. And though he had done exactly this countless times before, this kiss resembled the others not at all. Eleanor’s skin had the succulence of fresh cream, the warmth of a ray of sun through the library window, the softness of cashmere, and the scent of a woman who bathed in the essence of lilac laced with vanilla.

  By the time Sher straightened, his heart felt as if it had swelled until it completely filled his chest. She stared at him, those enormous sapphire eyes questioning, far less self-assured than the sophisticated woman he’d faced in the pavilion. His wife might be one hell of a shrewd privateer, but she was not nearly as commanding when it came to matters of the heart.

  The problem?

  Neither was he.

  Things had always been so much easier when there was no commitment, no contract to have and to hold until death do us part.

  Sher swallowed against the thickening in his throat, but he did not release Eleanor’s hand. Holding it firm, he faced her as not a duke, but as a man. A man who had come to care a great deal about what this woman thought of him. “Your Grace.” Awkwardly, he cleared his throat. “I should like to court you.”

  She didn’t blink. “But I thought you…”

  “What did you think?”

  Just when he believed those enormous sapphire eyes couldn’t grow any larger, they did. “Well, since you are experienced in what occurs between two married people in a bedchamber, as evidenced by your demonstrated skill when the dragon bed was installed, I’ve worried that perhaps you might be…” She looked away, her face turning apple red. “Forgive me. You are lord and master. It is not for me to assume.”

  “No, you cannot go off accusing me of something and then keep it to yourself.” Good God, this relationship business was confounding. “If we are to make a go of things, it is best for us to begin with forthright honesty.”

  Burying her face in her hands, Eleanor heaved a gargantuan sigh. “I feel like such a muttonhead for assuming.”

  “What, exactly, did you assume?”

  She again met his gaze, but this time with her brows pinched and the corners of her mouth drawn in a taut frown. “Y-you might be in love with another.”

  “I…” Believe it or not, the Duke of Danby was speechless.

  Me? In love? Preposterous!

  Sher looked to the arena, wishing Wellington were nearby so he could hop on the stallion’s back and ride a few times around the track—or fifty. But the Duchess of Danby had voiced her suspicion with such hesitation and uncertainty, that she truly must have no idea where he stood on the matter.

  He cleared his throat, with confidence this time. “I assure you I am not, nor have I ever been in love.”

  “Your Grace!” a footman hastened through the gateway, his coattails flapping behind. “Viscount Lisle and his party have arrived.”

  “Papa! Margaret!” Eleanor exclaimed, leading Danby into the drawing room.

  Sher strode straight to the baby and plucked her from Miss Repast’s lap. “Look at this girl. She has grown so much!”

  The baby placed her little hands on the duke’s cheeks and cooed, while Eleanor couldn’t help but step in and give her a kiss. “I do believe you have grown.”

  “She’s developed quite a set of pipes,” said Weston, who stood beside Papa’s invalid chair.

  Eleanor pointed her finger and urged Margaret to grasp it. “Are you a fussy traveler, little one?”

  “Though she had her moments, she fared remarkedly well,” said Miss Repast. “I would be lying, however, if I didn’t say it is a blessing to have finally arrived.”

  “Wonderful.” Eleanor rapidly blinked her eyes and animatedly grinned at Margaret, who let out a squeal. “You’ll adore the nursery and your quarters. I say, the Danby estate must have collected every toy in Christendom.”

  “And why should we not?” asked Sher, giving Margaret a kiss and returning her to the arms of her nursemaid. “Toys spur the imagination.”

  “Agreed.”

  Shocked to hear her father speak so plainly, Eleanor spun on her heel and faced him, and then she looked to Weston, who gave her a nod. “Yes, Papa.” In two steps she was by his side and grasping his hand. “And how did you fare on the journey?”

  He didn’t initially reply, but just as Eleanor began to pull away, he squeezed her fingers. “I…missed you.”

  With those three words, her eyes stung and welled with tears. “I daresay the journey agreed with you.”

  “Indeed,” said Weston. “His Lordship has made more progress in the past months than in the previous decade.”

  “Astonishing,” said Sher, tugging on the bell pull.

  Eleanor clapped her hands. “I have some good news. We will be giving a ball at Rawcliffe Castle in two weeks’ time and there is much to do.” She turned to the butler. “Weston, the musicians will be auditioning, and you have such a fine ear, I’d like you to sit in.”

  “I’d be delighted, Your Grace.”

  Goodness, it was odd to hear him refer to her thus. All her life he’d called her Miss Eleanor. It didn’t seem right for him to be so formal. But then, he was the butler, and such courtesy was expected.

  “The menu is set. Oh, Papa, you absolutely must taste Cook’s flummery with hypocras jelly.”

  In response to the bell, the housekeeper slipped in, quiet as a mouse.

  “Cook wins everyone with that recipe,” said Sher before gesturing toward Weston. “Mrs. Temperance, allow me to introduce Weston, Rawcliffe’s new butler.”

  Weston bowed. “Hardly new, Your Grace.”

  “Well, new to the Danby dukedom. And, by Jove, there are enough properties in the estate to keep both you and Hartley occupied.” Sher eyed the housekeeper. “Would you show him to his rooms? I’m sure the pair of you will have a great deal to discuss. And please have someone take Miss Repast and Margaret Lehn to the nursery.”

  “Straightaway,” said Mrs. Temperance, examining the butler from head to toe. “I rather expected someone younger.”

  Sher guffawed. “Hartley is older, by far.”

  Weston pulled a letter from his coat and waved it at Eleanor. “Earnest sent this for you. Asked me to ensure you read it straightaway.”

  As Mrs. Temperance led the butler, nursemaid and infant away, Eleanor took the letter and sat in the settee beside her father while Sher opted for a seat across. He casually slung his arm over the back of the couch. “I’m surprised the lad has the wherewithal to write a letter.”

  Eleanor slid her finger under the seal. “That is because you don’t know Earnest. I saw to his education, and he’s a very enterprising young man.”

  “Well then, what does he have to say?” asked the duke.

  Eleanor read first, then glanced between the two men. “It seems he has landed on his feet. He has been employed as a gentleman�
�s companion and they are sailing to Africa to join an expedition to catalogue the mating rituals of chimpanzees.”

  “I…would have liked…to go,” said Papa.

  Eleanor’s jaw dropped. She kneeled in front of her father and grasped his cool hands between her palms. “You are absolutely amazing.”

  He almost smiled.

  “I should allow the both of you a moment,” said Sher. He stood and moved toward the door. “Besides, I’ve some dreary correspondence of my own—though I’m sure the news contains nothing nearly as exciting as cataloguing the mating rituals of chimpanzees.”

  Her heart fluttered as the duke gave her a wink before he left. She’d barely had a moment to cogitate their conversation at the track.

  She knew for certain Danby did not have a mistress. However, the thing that surprised her most was his confession as to never having been in love.

  Of course, he wasn’t presently in love either. Nor was she.

  “My husband is a conundrum.”

  Papa assumed his usual, detached expression as she resumed her seat. “I must admit I haven’t encouraged him.”

  She bit her thumbnail, a habit she’d cured early in life, but which returned at times when she experienced moments of uncertainty. And Lord knew, she’d been plenty unsettled since she was given the ultimatum to marry Danby or face the consequences.

  “I was angry at first—more with myself than anything. I let Danby get too close. Moreover, I should have taken Weston’s advice ages ago and stepped away from privateering, especially once George’s chinoiserie venture at the Pavilion was completed.”

  Papa sat quietly, lost in his own thoughts, as was his norm.

  At least Eleanor could speak openly with him, knowing her words were simply whispers on the wind. “Furthermore, I thought we had an agreement…” She scraped her teeth over her bottom lip. Dare she utter it?

  Dash it all, why not?

  These discussions with her father always helped to reassemble her priorities. “In truth, I thought we had agreed that once I provided him with an heir, we would go our separate ways. But only moments before you arrived, I learned that the duke insists he did not concur.”