by Eva Devon
“She’s quite the character.” Mrs. Thackery gave a satisfied nod. “Just what the Roth dukedom needs.”
“Are you suggesting that I am boring?”
“My good lord, no. But after thirteen dukes in one descending line, blood such as hers is a welcome thing.”
Nicholas smiled. So it was. So it was.
Chapter 12
Allegra stretched and smiled. Oh she felt delicious and strangely sore. Her eyes snapped open and she halted mid-stretch. Once again, she was in Nicholas’ bed. Only this time something had happened there.
Several somethings and she’d loved every single happening.
Staring up at the arched ceiling, she tucked the bed linen around her and considered how strange life could be. Just a few months ago she was on a path well plodded by thousands of other young women. Now, she was so far off that beaten path she couldn’t even glimpse it.
This was what it was to be free.
A smile pulled at her lips again. Everything she had done, the chances she had taken, the life she’d walked away from? For this? It had been worth it. She was her own woman now. She could choose. Unlike her sister, Allegra would never have to fear giving way to someone else’s dictates.
By ensuring she was no longer a perfect, innocent young lady, she was no longer marriageable and she’d shared the bed of an absolutely glorious man in the bargain.
Her luck seemed so rich it almost felt impossible that it should ever give out now. Perhaps all the pain after Juliana’s death was being repaid? Her own choice to abandon her old life was being rewarded. For since she slipped out into the night those weeks ago, instead of destruction and misery as all young women were told would happen to them if they left the bosom of their families, she felt truly happy.
The door swung open and Nicholas entered with a tray in hand.
She sat, keeping the linen around her. A blush stung her cheeks. For all her boldness, this was still all new. How did one speak to their lover the first morning after?
He smiled but there was less of his usual boldness about his person.
She tucked a wild lock of hair behind her ear wondering who’d speak first.
He neared the bed and stood. . . For several moments.
It was so odd seeing him at unease. In fact, she never would have thought that the Duke of Roth was capable of such a thing. At last, she pointed to the tray. “Is that for me?”
He glanced at the item in his hands and cleared his throat. “It is.”
“I’m famished,” she confessed, her stomach suddenly growling to give weight to her words.
Nicholas laughed his deep rumbly laugh. “I thought you might be.”
He placed the tray on the bed.
Steam laced up from the small pot of tea and buttered toast sat in silver containers ready to be covered in marmalade from the crystal pot beside the tea. She snatched a slice of toast and the small knife for jam.
Still, Nicholas stood.
“Will you join me?” she asked, wondering what had happened to the terribly confident man in the early hours while she was sleeping. There was a seriousness to him at this moment that she’d never quite seen and suddenly her hunger dimmed.
Slowly, he sat on the bed, across from her. Carefully he poured out a cup of tea and handed it to her.
“Will I need it?” she asked, forcing herself to laugh.
“I don’t know. It all depends.”
“Goodness. You’re making me quite nervous and I didn’t think I could ever be more nervous than I was last night.”
He smiled, a quick smile. “Yes, well about last night. . .”
Her hand tightened around the tea cup as she took in his face. It wasn’t at all what she had imagined. She’d thought he would come in full of his usual playful charm, take her in his arms, kiss her, and perhaps make love to her again. Instead, he was sitting across from her, back ramrod straight and not a bit of roguishness about him.
“Alfred—”
“Just a moment. From your countenance, I do think I need a sip.”
When he didn’t laugh or give her one of his slow smiles, she knew that the luck she’d just so reveled in was about to run out. Quickly, she sipped her tea, barely noting the robust flavor then nodded. “Last night?”
“It was marvelous.”
She let out a relieved sigh. “It was, wasn’t it?”
A gentle smile curved his lips. “It was so marvelous that I’d like to have another.”
She raised her tea cup to him, her ominous feeling dissipating somewhat. “Thank goodness. So should I.”
“And another.”
A laugh bubbled past her lips. “It sounds as if you’ve several nights planned. Shall my education greatly increase then?”
“I should like to have all the nights of the rest of your life.”
She blinked. The words lingered in the air and as their meaning took hold, she wished she could shove them back again. “As your mistress?” she asked desperately, for surely that was all he could mean. He was a duke after all. . . And yet, from his grave countenance, he didn’t seem like a fellow proposing an affair.
“No. I should like you to be my wife.”
She lowered her tea cup to the tray, all the joy she’d felt just moments ago slipping away. This wasn’t supposed to happen. For goodness sake, he was a rake! How could he be proposing? “You have no idea who I am,” she protested. “And. . . And. . . you’re a man of the world. Surely you don’t propose to all the young women—”
“I ruin?”
Allegra paused. “Have you ruined many?”
“Only one.”
A shuddering sigh escaped her. She was the one. That explained it. The Duke of Roth, man of pleasure, was a fraud. In fact, he was a man of honor and, of course, he’d been the man she’d given her innocence to. She should admire him. Really. And she did except it went against all her hopes and plans.
“That’s very kind of you, Your Grace, to be so concerned. But you mustn’t.”
“I am,” he said, his rich voice full of determination. “I am deeply concerned.”
How could she explain without revealing who she was? Now, it was more important than ever that he not learn her identity. The last thing she needed was him racing off to speak with her father.
So, she put down her uneaten toast and brushed the crumbs from her fingers. “Would it shock you if I said I was grateful to be ruined?”
“Nothing about you would shock me. But tell me why.”
She couldn’t help her grudging smile. Apparently, Nicholas understood her to some degree if she couldn’t shock him and, yet, she was fairly certain she could if she were to tell him the whole truth. Something she would never do. “I made a vow never to marry and now, you and I have ensured that I am no longer marriageable.”
“Is that why you were so eager to—”
“No!” she protested. “I truly wished to be with you and to know what it was like. However, I won’t pretend that I am not most happy with the result. In fact, I thank you. No man would have me now.”
“Except me,” he countered.
“Apparently, except you,” she acknowledged. “But, Your Grace—”
“Nicholas.”
“Nicholas. I won’t have you. Or anyone,” she added quickly. “Like you, though it may not seem so, I am a person of honor and I will not my break vow.”
“So, you will force me to part with my honor? Is that it?”
“N-no,” she hurried. “I should hate for you to feel as if you’ve done wrongly. You’ve offered to remedy the situation, a most honorable thing. And I have refused you.”
“Yes,” he said blankly. “So, you have.”
Suddenly, a shadow settled over her heart. Where was his relief? Surely a man like Nicholas didn’t wish to be shackled with an unwanted partner? She was giving him the perfect out. And yet, he didn’t seem pleased.
“What if I told you that beyond honor, I think you would make a splendid duchess?”
“I’d be concerned your wits had gone wandering.”
He laughed. “Oh Alfred. . . Will you at least tell me your name?”
“No.”
“You do know I’m a duke.”
“I am aware, Your Grace.”
“And dukes do get what they want.”
“Yes, but I guarantee that you will not want me all the nights of my life as you so suggest. You will, in fact, one day be quite happy to see me depart. Isn’t that the way all love affairs end?”
“Usually, but you’re not usual.”
“Neither are you,” she said softly. “But I won’t marry you, Your Grace. I can’t tell you how kind I think you are or how honored I am that you ask. But I will never marry. Ever.”
“Never is a very dangerous word.”
“So is marriage.”
*
If Nicholas had been a man given to clichés, he would have sworn the proverbial rug had just been yanked from beneath him. But he was not, nor was he a man easily brought to stunned silence. It had never occurred to him that she might say no.
Never once had he been on the brink of proposing and the words “will you marry me?” had never crossed his lips before. Still, as a duke, he’d been absolutely certain of an affirmative reply.
As with all things, Alfred had done the unexpected. And in that moment, he truly understood that while he was drawn to her, that he felt an absolute bond with her, that she was his. However, she might not feel the same and, worse, he knew nothing about her. Not really.
She plucked at the linen sheet. “Should I go?”
The simple question was almost as shocking as her refusal. “Go where?” he asked.
Biting her lower lip, she appeared to be gauging his response to her vow. Finally, she replied, “Away?”
“Away?” he echoed and then wished he could immediately retract the asinine repetition. For suddenly, he felt that, somehow, his control of this situation had completely slipped from his grasp. It was now in the hands of his serving boy who couldn’t be as of yet twenty years of age.
Never before had he felt so entirely unlike a duke of the realm. Is this how regular men felt? He’d always known his title had secured him with a certain degree of entitlement and assurance that his wishes be acceded to. Still, he’d always thought ladies liked him because he listened and enjoyed their company. Now, he wondered if he was completely deluded. Or worse, was he utterly arrogant? Was this not about him at all? Had she no thought for him except the pleasures and diversions he might teach her?
Never before had he been inclined to regret a moment of past debauchery. Now?
“Nicholas?”
He shook his head. “No, you mustn’t go unless you wish it. I cannot make you marry me. Well, I suppose I could. Somehow. I am a duke.”
She winced. “But you would never do something so unsporting?”
He snorted. “Honor is but one of my many names.”
“Well then. That’s settled. I shall stay and we shall enjoy each other until one or both of us become bored. . . That is, if you wish me to stay on such terms?”
“Yes, Alfred, I wish it. You must stay. . . For as long as neither of us grows bored of the other.”
God, the words nearly stuck in his throat. Had he turned into the woman? Biting back protestations that he should never grow bored of her? That he should never wish her to be away from his bed? It certainly did sound like the feminine line in his affairs.
Aside from the fact that he was far from bored of her, there was no way in hell or heaven that he was letting Alfred leave his estate. After all, where would she go? Had she any money saved? Any friends?
Though she was clearly brave and bold and he knew some dark shadow had touched her life, he was fairly certain that for all that, Alfred was unaware of what a truly cruel place this world could be. He’d protect her from that if it killed him. If it made her hate him.
Nothing would harm her. At least, as a duke, he could assure that.
Chapter 13
Over the next few days Allegra felt the tension of the marriage proposal fade. It had been a terrible few moments when she’d been afraid she’d have to leave the place and person that had made her the happiest she’d ever been. Some deep, deep voice had whispered in her ear that perhaps marriage to him would be different. But therein lay treachery. No matter how wonderful Nicholas was, if she married him, she lost any independence she had. She became property. She lost her personhood and that was simply something she couldn’t do.
Not when all she had to do was close her eyes and see her sister, pale, broken, and lost to herself.
So, it was with a bold determination to pretend he had never asked her to be his chattel, even if he had said it in much nicer terms, that she’d carried on since.
Each day had been better than the last as they’d wandered and ridden over remote parts of his estate. Nicholas had made it clear that they could spend little time in his castle unless it was in his room. He didn’t wish to flout their closeness before his staff and, frankly, she admired him for it.
She knew it made him uncomfortable that anyone might suspect that he’d taken advantage of a young member of his staff. So, she did her best not to grin at him or stare at his beautiful physique when they were in his family home.
Oh, but when then they went out! The luxury of touching him as often as she pleased was almost too much bear. As they hiked the rough terrain, he held her hand. As they sat upon the beach, gazing out the wild winter sea, he circled his arm about her waist.
And all the while they talked. They talked of art and poetry, politics and history, of the never-ending tension with France and whether the continent would be enveloped in war. They talked of everything but her personal life. Every night had been spent in his bed. Though they slept little, surprisingly they weren’t terribly tired when the rays of dawn crept in each morning as if all they needed to renew themselves was time in each other’s arms.
And to her absolute delight, he had not pressed her. He’d stopped asking her for her name.
Every now and again, she wished she could tell him. Because truly, it would be such a delight to hear her name just once from his lips.
But even though Nicholas had seemingly accepted her denial of his proposal, she had no wish for him to know her name or her father’s title. She had a sneaking suspicion that he’d be unable to resist making some sort of recompense to her family for her ruination. Even if she had charged into ruination’s arms.
She bent down and plucked a small, bold snowdrop from the ground. Waiting for Nicholas to come down from the house so they could begin their daily adventure was no hardship when the world they were in was so beautiful. She lifted the snowdrop to her lips, savoring the delicate feel of the petals against her skin. Who knew what they might do today?
“Lady Allegra?”
The name sent a cold shock down her spine and she tensed. His deep, rumbly voice seemed deeper yet, speaking those syllables. There certainly was nothing light about them. She closed her eyes, desperate to steady herself.
Slowly, she turned.
Nicholas stood a few feet away, his beautiful face stricken. Stricken? How could that be? Why would he be wounded by speaking her name?
Yet, somehow, she knew he was. Pain seemed to etch every surface of his body. And suddenly she was afraid. Not of him, but of the gaping lie that had lain between them and was now, quite exposed.
Could she deny it? Her mind raced. Could she pretend she had no idea who he meant?
Her gaze slipped down to the parchment between his fingers. She could try to lie but she doubted he’d believe her and then he would hate her for thinking so little of him.
“Yes?” she finally said.
“So, it is you?”
She gave a tight nod.
His brow furrowed. “Your father is the Earl of Portmund?”
Just hearing her father’s title sent a wave of regret through her. It was happening far too fast. She cou
ld feel the happiness of the last days slipping away like the tide rushing out to the sea.
She gave another tight nod.
“Forgive me, Alfred, if I seem a trifle slow, but I know your father. Is he a good masker?”
She blinked rapidly, trying to follow his meaning. “I don’t understand.”
“I want you to feel that you can tell me anything.”
“I do,” she said though the words didn’t come easily.
“But clearly you don’t. You wouldn’t tell me your name and now, I suspect there must be some dreadful family secret, one you feel you cannot share, to make you run away from a father with such a solid reputation. Tell me he is not as he appears. Tell me you ran away because. . .”
She lifted her chin. The pain she’d seen in his eyes. It was fear for her. Fear that she’d been harmed. “Nicholas. My father is not a bad man. He is a man of his time.”
“Then someone else. Your mother? A man. Who was hurting you to make you abandon your family? You can trust me.”
Trust? She sighed, a ragged sound. There was no trust between them. She supposed that she was the real reason for that. She’d never trusted him after all. “How did you discover my name?”
He tensed and, for a moment, she was certain he was going to refuse to tell her.
At last he lifted the letter. “I wrote to a friend in London.”
“A friend?”
“A gossip.”
“She must be very good. To discover the name of the young woman you were looking for.”
“Well, it was far too easy, I think. I knew roughly when you disappeared and red hair is hard to miss.”
Without thought, she lifted a hand to her short locks and she gave a mirthless smile. “Of course. So, you asked when a young lady of my complexion suddenly vanished from town?”
“Exactly. She got back immediately stating that the Earl of Portmund’s daughter had been dancing at balls, if not with great enthusiasm, at least with great skill, then suddenly she was gone. Apparently to Italy.”