The Duke of a Thousand Desires

by Jillian Hunter

  “Terrible shot, thankfully,” he said, sending Simon a glare of accusation. “Ravenna must have frightened the wits out of the swine. Why didn’t you notice him, Simon? You were alone, you say?”

  “I’d just spotted him in the tree moments before Ravenna gave her warning. I thought he might have been a Peeping Tom watching the lovers outside the temple.”

  Rhys turned to Grayson. “There are guests inside still demanding to know what happened. Some heard a shot. Have you decided how to explain the commotion?”

  “Fireworks,” Grayson replied. “We’ve held displays at other affairs. As far as anyone knows, the show went off earlier than planned. Fortunately there are no dead bodies or wounded guests to account for. Perhaps this could have been part of my wife’s celebration. The gunpowder ignited as the footmen were practicing for the ball’s finale.”

  “Were you staging a fireworks spectacle?” Simon inquired.

  “It appears we were,” Grayson said. “It has been canceled, however.”

  Simon nodded. “If only I thought fast enough to come up with explanations like that.”

  “You aren’t the scoundrel that my cousin is,” Rhys said.

  Grayson continued. “The rest of the story shall be that Ravenna became disoriented by the explosion. She sought refuge in the arms of a gentleman she knew. After this moment of comfort, the two of them realized their mutual love, and so on.”

  Simon glanced surreptitiously toward the Temple of Aphrodite, deserted now and inviting in the starlight. If he’d realized earlier that Ravenna’s fiancé would cause her such humiliation, he might have confronted the fool in the act.

  Then again, the man’s loss was Simon’s gain.

  Heath popped out from behind the statue’s pedestal. “I can’t find a bullet. From what I heard it was likely fired from a flintlock.”

  “Would a ball help identify the man?” Grayson inquired.

  “No,” Heath said. “My gun maker might identify the mold used to make it. But that would hardly narrow the investigation to any practical degree.”

  “But you’ll conduct an investigation, nonetheless,” Grayson said.

  “Of course.” Heath pulled off his jacket, tossed it to Simon, and led the men back to the walnut tree. “My wife carries a Manton pistol for protection,” he told Simon. “You should consider a similar purchase for Ravenna.”

  “My sister knows how to use a gun,” Rhys said. “Rather well, too.”

  Heath climbed up into the crotch of the tree. “I’d venture to say she’s a better shot than the man who aimed at Simon. Or perhaps her scream truly undid him. He missed you by a mile. I could have taken off your pickle from here.”

  “My head is larger,” Simon retorted.

  “You’re one to talk about pickles,” Grayson said in a disgruntled voice. “Julia’s caricature of yours is still a coveted item in certain circles. Simon, did you happen to notice any smoke in the air after the gunshot?”

  “No. What does smoke signify?”

  Heath stretched out lengthwise on the limb. “In the absence of smoke and a pistol ball one might be inclined to wonder whether an air-gun was employed merely to give you a fright.”

  “It was not an air-gun,” Simon stated. “The report was too loud.”

  “I agree. And the statue sustained considerable damage. It does appear there was only one shot.”

  “Get down from there,” Grayson said. “I can explain many oddities to my guests, but I don’t have an excuse for my younger brother perching like a squirrel in a tree.”

  “It’s quite a panoramic view from here,” Heath said, unperturbed. With uncanny accuracy he swung down to the exact spot where Simon’s assailant had landed. “We should return to the ball.”

  Grayson assumed an aristocratic posture and started back to the path. “The true performance begins now.”

  Simon fell into step with the three other men. “I expect there will be gossip.”

  Heath chuckled. “An understatement. Someone could be murdered at the supper table and by morning the main topic of conversation would still be the duke’s seduction. You have been captured, Simon. This is stunning news in Society. And a tragic loss to those families hoping to establish a ducal connection. It’s good for us, though. Especially for me.”

  “Why is that?” Simon asked with a cynical lift of his brow.

  “I enjoy solving puzzles,” Heath said. “You’ve given me a mystery to ponder.”

  Simon did not doubt that his engagement would cause a stir. However, Ravenna was the genuine trophy in his view. She sparkled. He cast shadows like a cloud and had been dark-natured even before he’d inherited the dukedom.

  As to the social uproar? He took encouragement from the fact that Grayson had thrived since his own scandalous marriage to the artful lady who had become matriarch of his lively family.

  Indeed, it was Jane who at this moment held Ravenna under her influence somewhere inside the house. Simon shuddered at the thought of what bedevilment the pair of them would concoct together.

  9

  Another scandal broke in the early hours of the morning.

  The Marquess of Sedgecroft announced the engagement of his cousin Lady Ravenna to the Duke of Rochecliffe at fourteen minutes before two. Grayson spoke from the gallery above the ballroom to an enthralled gathering. To judge by his well-modulated voice, one would assume he’d had the speech prepared for days. However, by this hour there wasn’t a soul on the estate, from chambermaid to countess, who hadn’t guessed that wicked deeds had transpired in the garden. It was the best party in ages.

  Rumors swirled like snowflakes. One theory circulated that the duke had arranged a rendezvous with Lady Ravenna. It was speculated that they had been passing messages during the dance. Witnesses had observed the duke’s subtle disappearance during a quadrille. The young lady had fled at almost the same moment.

  It could not be coincidence that her former fiancé had also gone missing. Had a duel been fought under the walnut tree in Lady Ravenna’s honor? Three guests on the terrace insisted they had heard gunfire. Had the fellow been grievously injured and carted off into the night?

  Sir David … what was his surname? Who remembered? Compared to the Duke of Rochecliffe, who would a woman choose?

  “It was fireworks,” the marquess and his coterie reassured anyone gauche enough to ask about the loud bang in the gardens. “That is how one celebrates the union of a duke to a lady in the family. Such an illustrious match does not occur every day.”

  The guests had to simply forget that Lady R had been promised to another gentleman only hours ago. The announcement guaranteed the ton would be entertained by yet another aristocratic couple who, to judge by their conduct tonight, would provide some delightful shocks, indeed.

  As to the newly betrothed? Despite their affectionate faux pas neither the duke nor his lady displayed much emotion during the announcement. Then again, little appeared to ruffle Rochecliffe’s indifferent demeanor. He was known to be a powerful and private man. But wasn’t it the quiet ones whose passions ran the deepest?

  Simon realized this assessment was not wholly removed from the truth. He was less concerned about Society than he was about how he would break the news to his brother, Geoffrey, whose parting words to him in Austria had been, “Settle down, for the love of God, and find a wife when you return to England. It is past time. Mourning won’t bring Susannah back.”

  “I feel as if we’re on display at the museum,” Ravenna said, half-sheltered in Simon’s shadow. “What am I supposed to do?”

  “Nothing. Public opinion is weighted on your side. You are a novelty in the polite world. Young, beautiful, with a marvelous bosom. And I have stolen you from another man’s arms.”

  “You are quite wrong. And what does my bosom have to do with anything?”

  “It’s an asset. Gentlemen are praised for the width of their shoulders.”

  “Assets aside, I have broken the rules tonight. Which is nothing co
mpared to what I would have done had I witnessed your murder. My nerves are not yet mended.”

  “No one has to know that. Your sharp reflexes prevented my death.”

  His large hand enclosed hers as if he would never release her. The tenacity of his hold, derived more from concern then possessiveness, was rather touching, albeit slightly uncomfortable. Her knuckles began to tingle. He seemed unaware he was virtually twice her size. Her back still throbbed from his protective tackle against the tree.

  “Simon,” she said, shaking her wrist to no effect. “Your grace.”

  He didn’t appear to hear her. If anything, he squeezed her fingers even harder. He was staring down raptly at the galaxy of guests who had applauded at the end of Grayson’s speech. Ravenna noticed a lady with a fan positioned at a hostile angle on her forearm. Her fluffy headdress topped a miserable face. She was studying Simon as if she knew him, or wanted to.

  Ravenna peered over the balcony, no longer resisting Simon’s hold. “Are you looking for a particular guest?”

  He turned to her. “The man in the gardens, of course. I don’t want to spoil what is meant to be a moment of celebration, circumstances notwithstanding. Do you recognize anyone in the crowd?”

  “Not as an enemy,” she mused. “You were supposed to meet a woman outside. She might not have had anything to do with your attack, but could that be her, below to your right?”

  “No.” He grimaced. “Not her. I doubt my admirer even exists.”

  “It’s common knowledge women are attracted to you.”

  His mouth flattened. “That is common nonsense. I have the prettiest fiancée in the realm and I care only that she finds me attractive.”

  “You don’t think the man in the tree will attack you again?”

  “It would be foolish to ignore the possibility.”

  “How audacious he would be to return to the party as a guest.”

  “Unless he is a guest.” He lifted their joined hands to acknowledge a chorus of cheers from the ballroom. It was as they were champions celebrating something more than an engagement. “For the moment we have to smile.”

  “Why should we?” Ravenna wondered aloud. “Who will believe that you and I have hidden a secret affection for each other until tonight?”

  “For all the world knows, Ravenna, we’re hopelessly in love and could no longer control our longing for each other. It’s preferable to the truth.”

  “It’s bad timing, isn’t it?”

  “Love is unpredictable. Do attempt to look happy.”

  She forced a pained grin. “Is that better?”

  He laughed softly. “That’s a grimace, not a smile.”

  “It’s the best I can do,” she said, her facial muscles aching. “How much longer do we have to maintain this pretense?”

  “For the rest of our lives?”

  “Blessings on your union!” shouted a tipsy gentleman who wobbled in the glow of a chandelier. “An excellent act to end the act!”

  “And a surprising one,” rejoined the sourpuss in the sparkling headdress. “How long has your grace been keeping his love for Lady Ravenna a secret?”

  “For years,” he called back in such a forthright voice that Ravenna wondered if she could ever believe a word he spoke again.

  Was this what one called destiny? Or was it a dilemma of her own making? She stared up impassively at his stark profile. There was far more to this man than a bad reputation. “Have you become as decadent as everyone says?”

  He laughed again. “You’ll have to wait until after the wedding to find out.”

  “That has an ominous ring to it,” she said, sliding toward the balcony.

  He drew her back to his side without a blink. It was pleasant to lean up against Simon. “Promising,” he said. “That’s a nicer word. It hints of a happy life together.”

  They were to be married. That life would consist of moments, weeks, months, and decades. She did not want think of an ominous future. She wanted love. Whether she would find it as a duchess she could not foretell.

  The party blazed on. Gossip and gambling continued beyond dawn. A light operetta provided a burst of energy for those whose flagging spirits needed restoration. Rain fell intermittently, but no one noticed the rising humidity in the heat of hundreds of beeswax candles. The sun appeared behind the salon windows on droopy if expectant faces. Jane surprised her sleepy son and daughter with an acrobatic display that featured a family of poodles.

  Would another scandal break?

  Yes, please.

  Assisted by his cane and a stone-faced footman, Viscount Frampton limped indignantly from the house as breakfast was brought to the gardens. His wife begged forgiveness at his heels. Some sneak had evidently informed the long-suffering gentleman that the viscountess had cuckholded him during the party. Would he seek a divorce? Would she survive the shame?

  The one man who had witnessed the adulterous tryst was busy signing a marriage contract in Grayson’s study. By now the names on the guest list had been reviewed, as had their servants. The gardens had been scoured a third time, a search rendered futile by rain and inquisitive partygoers tiptoeing about for a souvenir of Rochecliffe’s romance.

  Someone claimed to have found a pearl from Lady R’s circlet. It turned out to be a piece of cockle-shell.

  Grayson said, “I’ve decided that Ravenna should remain with Julia and Heath at their St. James Street townhouse until the ceremony. Heath is trained to recognize menace.”

  “Julia will enjoy the company,” Heath said. “When Griff arrives, he might wish to intercede.”

  Simon drew on a gray morning coat unpacked by his valet, refraining from further comment as the men prepared to separate. When Ravenna’s older brother returned, he might do more than assume control of his sister’s affairs. Griff might decide that for all his noble benefits, Simon was still not good enough for Ravenna.

  He hesitated at the door. “I have a confession to make.”

  “Dear God,” Grayson said. “Here it comes.”

  “Can it wait until after the breakfast?” Rhys inquired. “Bad news doesn’t sit well on an empty stomach.”

  Simon told them his secret, that he had asked Ravenna's older brothers for her hand and had been turned down twice.

  Heath smiled and offered no advice.

  Grayson reflected for only a minute and said, “It doesn’t change anything. At least you are marrying a woman you once desired. Sir David is still a snail. Your opinion, Rhys?”

  “My only concern is Ravenna,” he said. “I assume you you’ll be the one to tell her, Simon.”

  “Yes.” But he didn’t know when.

  10

  Simon kept Ravenna in his sights during the outdoor breakfast that would carry into the afternoon. Their engagement permitted him to accompany her on the footpath with Rhys and Isolde trailing a few steps behind to chaperone.

  The lush gardens looked like the last spot on earth where a thwarted murder had taken place. The backdrop for a love affair, perhaps. Ladies in pale gowns struck pall-mall balls in breezy sunlight alongside bleary-eyed gallants who had stayed up all night playing whist. Ravenna was comely in a cream-muslin morning dress with a scalloped hem. Simon felt like an ink splotch on a pastel watercolor painting in contrast.

  Ravenna peeped up at him from beneath a straw bonnet tied under her chin. He overheard one of Jane’s friends invite her to a puppet show on the terrace.

  She shook her head, refusing, her gaze caught with his. He scowled from habit. She sighed. She made him deliriously happy. Was this the time to reveal that fact?

  Jane’s friends giggled, nudged one another, and scurried off, darting him uncertain looks. He forced himself to smile. He wasn’t known for his cheerfulness.

  He guided Ravenna in the opposite direction of the parterre. Rhys dropped farther behind.

  “So,” he said, “what do you make of our predicament now that you’ve had a few hours to sleep on it?”

  “I didn’t slee
p,” she said, the sun shining on the curls swept over her shoulder. “When I wasn’t talking to Jane, I was trying to remember what the man looked like. I’m not sure I even saw his face.”

  “You’ll remember when you least expect to.”

  She circled a bench. “You promised to answer my questions today. Do you have any idea who would want to shoot you?”

  “As Heath pointed out, I’ve made a few political enemies in my day. No one has better reason to kill me, though, then my former brother-in-law, the Earl of Bruxton.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I intend to kill him.”

  “Your late sister’s husband?” she said in disbelief. “Has he threatened your life?”

  “No. But he knows I don’t believe Susannah’s death was an accident. He killed her.”

  He waited for her to ask him if he could be wrong about the earl. Others had. But then she had known Simon longer than most of his friends. She wasn’t a stranger to sadness or intrigue. And she wasn’t a woman who accepted anything life hurled at her. She’d proved that.

  A ball rolled onto the path. Simon bent and tossed it back to a ruddy-faced young man. Ravenna said,” Aunt Glynnis thought your sister was everything a lady should be.”

  “Gentle, quiet, so well-mannered that a king could feel like an oaf in her company.” He shook his head. “As a reward for her goodness, I insisted that she marry her murderer.”

  He glanced up into the trees. Birdsong filled the silence. Ravenna touched his sleeve. A bolt of longing went through him. Was there another woman whose touch could so soothe and arouse? He wanted to wrap her in his arms.

  “You’re positive that he took her life?”

  He looked down, conscious that when he was upset, the birthmark on his face tended to darken. Did she notice? “I don’t have proof in the opinion of the law,” he said. “Bruxton believes he has gotten away with his crime. It is disturbing. I’m sorry.”