All About the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 4)

by Eva Devon

  Aston was drunk. Very drunk.

  “How long have you been at it?” Nicholas asked.

  Aston scowled. “Not long enough. Have I told you women are the Devil?”

  “I thought you were most fond of the ladies.”

  “I was. I was. But that was before—” Aston’s brow furrowed and he let out a belligerent sigh. “No. I shan’t give way.”

  It was a most interesting sight, seeing the Duke of Aston seemingly laid low by a woman. He’d never have thought it. That had to be what it was, given his utterances.

  “Well, I’ll agree with you that ladies have their challenges. Wives even more so.”

  “Wives.” Aston shuddered.

  “I thought you loved weddings and all that,” Roth said as he plunked himself down in a chair before the fire, next to the inebriated peer.

  “I do. Jolly affairs. Everyone drinking champagne. All that kissing. But you know, they just lead to doom and gloom. Doom and gloom, I tell you.”

  That was not what Nicholas longed to hear at the moment. “How would you know? You’ve never been married.”

  Aston’s eyes narrowed. “I shall not be brought low by a woman. Not even one as intoxicating and maddening as. . .”

  “Och, Aston, are you drunk, mon?”

  The light Scottish burr drifting towards them had Roth turning in his chair. He knew that voice.

  The moment he spotted the tall, dark-haired duke sporting a dress kilt, he let out a groan. “Has Scotland invaded?”

  “You know you love to set eyes upon me, Roth.”

  Roth let out a grudging smile. One of the few outings he’d had since his secret wedding was to attend Imogen and the Duke of Blackburn’s wedding. He’d longed to take Alfred, but he knew that keeping her out of sight for the time being was the right thing. Launching her into society at the wedding of such a couple would not have been fair to her. He’d disliked keeping the secret, but there it was.

  It had been and was still incredibly difficult not to declare to the world he was married. In fact, at present, he wished the Scot would hie off so he might have private discourse with Aston. He needed to discuss his bride.

  Blackburn strode down the hall, picked up the decanter of brandy and poured out a glass for himself and one for Roth. “I see you’re parched.”

  He was. He’d yet to have a drink and honestly, a good part of him longed to be as absolutely gone as Aston. Yet, he was not about to return to his new wife drunk as a wastrel. Truly.

  Aston eyed Blackburn then let out a rush of fellowship. “Good to see you, old fellow. The wife let you out of bed?”

  Blackburn ignored Aston’s blustery greeting and sat. “She seems to be on some sort of mission or the other. Something to do with a visit to your home, Roth.”

  Roth lifted his brows, attempting to depict a picture of perfect innocence. “Indeed?”

  “Yes. She was most secretive, mumbling about plans, and ladies, and none of my affair.”

  Roth nodded. “Then it’s not.”

  “At your house?” Blackburn challenged lightly.

  It was a small point of contention, his friendliness with Imogen that many people who hadn’t known them seemed to have. Even Alfred, to his delight, had bridled a bit at the friendship. Still, Imogen was and ever only would be a friend. “She wasn’t alone. She was with Hunt’s and Darkwell’s wives and, I think, Hunt’s sister.”

  “All of them then.” Blackwell chortled. “At your house?”

  “Mmmm.” Roth acknowledged. They were a formidable group of women.

  Blackburn stared then he sat in an empty chair, his kilt draping over his knees. “What the Devil are you doing hosting a party of ladies? You’re a bachelor.”

  Aston swung his gaze towards Blackburn. “It’s because he got—”

  “Got a marvelous idea for a charitable project,” Nicholas interjected quickly.

  “A charitable project?” Blackburn echoed. He then leaned back and gave a wicked smile. “Come on then, Roth. What trouble are you in? Why’d you need their advice.”

  “Why you would assume—”

  “The bloody fool got shack—”

  “Aston, I’m going to kill you.”

  “Please,” Aston groaned dramatically. “Put me out of my misery.”

  “That is not usually your tune,” Blackburn observed. “You’re usually a merry soul, Aston.”

  “My merriment has been murdered,” Aston lamented.

  “Ah. A woman,” Blackburn surmised. “I had a feeling that you’d been having those troubles.”

  Aston twitched. He definitely twitched. “Have you, indeed?”

  “Och, aye. You’ve all the signs, especially just the now. Drunk in the afternoon, feeling sorry for yourself, and a rather shocking lack of grooming. My sister, Rosamund, would give you the eye and tell you to not be such a clod pole. She’s no time for men who feel sorry for themselves.”

  Aston turned red and slunk down in his chair.

  Blackburn seemed not to notice, but Nicholas couldn’t help but suddenly wondering if Aston already knew Rosamund and given his slinking into his seat, if said lady wasn’t the source of his dismay.

  If she was, Aston needed to leave London before Blackburn had his balls for breakfast. After all, any sane man would never tolerate Aston sniffing around one of their female relatives’ skirts. The man was a bounder. A delightful bounder. But a bounder no less.

  “Your sister is most sensible, I’m sure,” Aston said finally before taking a deep swig.

  “She’s a powder keg, if you must know,” Blackburn bemoaned, “but she’ll have no moping about that’s for certain. Always on some adventure or the other these days. Did I tell you she was heading to Egypt?”

  “Egypt?” barked Aston.

  “Mmm. She’s hit it off with the Duchess of Hunt’s brothers, all scholars and excavators and is arranging to travel with a companion. Says she longs to see the temples and all that.”

  “And you’d let her go?” Aston bellowed.

  “Let isna a word you use with Rosamund—”

  “Or any intelligent woman,” Nicholas cut in.

  Blackburn gave a firm nod of agreement. “Oh, aye, Roth. You’ve the right of it there.” But then Blackburn’s brows drew together. “Why should it bother you if Rosamund goes?”

  “Rosalie can do whatever she likes,” Aston piped.

  “Rosamund,” Blackburn corrected.

  “Yes. She. Rosamund.” Aston hiccupped. “But I’ve sailed the world and I know just how dangerous traveling can be.”

  “My sister is a formidable force. She can take care of herself. And of course, I’ll arrange for her safety if she insists on going.”

  Aston slunk further down his chair, brought the brandy to his lips like a man seeking refuge from the grim reaper and stared into the fire.

  It was clear Roth was going to get no help from Aston tonight because even if it wasn’t clear to Blackburn, it was clear to Nicholas. Aston and Rosamund knew each other and in more than passing.

  Roth drew in a breath. “If you must know why Imogen was at my house. . .”

  “I’d like to but I won’t insist,” Blackburn replied.

  “She was there to meet my wife.”

  Blackburn sputtered on his brandy. “Your—”

  “Wife. Yes.”

  Blackburn gaped. “When did you get married?”

  Nicholas laughed. “Before you, actually.”

  “And you kept it a secret?” Blackburn wiped the brandy from his coat. “Why?”

  “The circumstances are unusual.”

  Blackburn sat back in his chair. “Highly.”

  “Yes. Well,” Nicholas said somewhat annoyed, “at least I didn’t try to kidnap her in broad daylight whilst three sheets to the wind.”

  “You advised such action,” Blackburn pointed out.

  “So, I did. Though I didn’t recall it the morning after.”

  Blackburn smiled fondly, as if the memory only
brought to mind his beloved wife. “We were all a bit worse for wear.”

  “Woman will do that to you,” put in Aston who continued to cradle his brandy bottle.

  Blackburn laughed. “But they also bring joy. The greatest joy a man can know.”

  “That’s the thing.” Nicholas stared at the fire, unsure he really wished to discuss it but knowing he had to if he wished there to be some sort of change in his circumstances.

  “Yes?” Blackburn prompted.

  “I feel like I’m on the edge of such joy but. . . It’s escaping me.”

  Blackburn poured more brandy into their glasses. “Do you love her?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Nicholas asked as he stared into his snifter.

  “Do you love her?” Blackburn grinned. “I warrant you do, but have you told her?”

  “No,” Nicholas admitted. “Actually, I’m not certain I’ve confessed it to myself.”

  “Well, you’ve just done so.” Blackburn clapped him on the back merrily. “Now, go home and tell her. All will be right as rain.”

  God bless simplistic fellows like the Duke of Blackburn. The man was notoriously black and white and was only just beginning to see that there were hues of gray in this world. But what if, in this, the Scot was right?

  Could he dare to face his wife and declare his love? Suddenly, all his travels around the world seemed as nothing to this terrifying proposition.

  Chapter 20

  The ballroom glowed with the light of a thousand candles in towering candelabras positioned about the massive and ornate room. No expense had been spared on the decorations.

  Garlands of flowers, despite the winter chill outside, hung from the balconies and staircases. Cloth of gold swept across archways in elegant swaths. Fruit had been gilded and arranged beautifully in towering bowls all about the room, meant to be looked at, not even eaten.

  The entire room shimmered as if kissed by the sun’s rays.

  Musicians played their sugary notes at the end of the golden-hued hall while hundreds of lords and ladies danced, crowded about, and chattered, all dressed in their finest clothes and jewels.

  It was the most glorious sort of presentation the ton might attend or see.

  Everyone’s eyes were wide, filled with awe at the sumptuousness of the night. Wine flowed like water and so did the conversation. She was a topic for sure. After all, there was some lamentation from both ambitious mamas and young ladies that the Duke of Roth had been taken from the market.

  Since the ball was so lavish and no excuses or apologies were being made, there was a general buzzing about how terribly romantic the marriage was and how beautiful the young couple looked together.

  After all, Allegra was the only daughter of the Earl of Portmund, who was with attendance with his countess.

  Allegra nodded and greeted her parents when they arrived. It had been tempting to exclude them, but she knew how important family was to Nicholas and it also would have been highly odd for them not to be celebrating with them.

  As it was, her father and mother appeared so jovial one might have thought that they had personally arranged the marriage. Certainly, many people assumed they had.

  Allegra drew in a slow breath and dragged her gaze away from her smiling parents. She would be pleasant, but she knew there would never be closeness between them.

  In truth, Allegra didn’t know what to make of all of it. She should have been terrified by the horde of onlookers, but Nicholas was behind her, his towering strength there for her. The Duchesses Hunt, Darkwell, and Blackburn were laughing and eyeing Allegra as if she and Nicholas were the most marvelous things they had ever seen.

  Allegra had her doubts given the amount those ladies had witnessed, but she could feel their happiness and that only added to her own.

  The duchesses’ presence and obvious approval had virtually guaranteed the night’s success as well as her own crowning as a society diamond.

  The night was exactly as the other duchesses had claimed. Nicholas was her great defender and she would be his. In fact, she’d had to send Nicholas off for a time so that she might negotiate the waters of the ton by herself.

  A lady reached out with her fan, drawing Allegra’s attention. “A triumph,” she declared. “You are a triumph.”

  Allegra grinned. “You are here!”

  Mrs. Godwin smiled. “I am, indeed. Much to my own astonishment. I think my husband is quite agog that he is in attendance. He knows not whether to lecture against the excess or to take the cooler tack and argue for his causes.”

  Allegra laughed. “Either way shall prove most interesting.”

  “Have you given our conversation any thought?”

  “I have.”

  “And?”

  “I think—”

  Just then Nicholas slipped behind her and touched her waist. “Duchess, might I have a moment of your time?”

  “You may. But first, may I introduce Mrs. Godwin?”

  Nicholas’ eyes lit with admiration. “Madam, a pleasure. I’ve read your work and do hope you will be gracing us with a new volume soon.”

  “It is my hope, though there seems there is never enough time.” Mrs. Godwin eyed Nicholas. “And how does marriage suit?”

  “Very well, thank you. As long as my wife is content.”

  “And what makes her content?” Mrs. Godwin challenged lightly. “Love everlasting?”

  Nicholas grew serious. “Well, it would depend on what you meant by love everlasting, don’t you think? If you mean that of swoons and sighs, I do think my duchess would shunt me off at the first opportunity. If you mean respect, admiration, and support, then yes. I agree. Love everlasting will make the Duchess of Roth content.”

  Mrs. Godwin smiled. “A very pretty answer.” She turned to Allegra and winked. “Don’t you agree, Your Grace? Now, I must find my poor husband before he’s undone by this crush.”

  Slipping off into the crowd, Allegra felt a warm sort of joy fill her. She’d never heard Nicholas speak quite like that. She’d inherently felt that was his view. But she couldn’t be sure. Not until now. Not until he confirmed it.

  “Do you truly mean that?” she asked.

  Nicholas took her hand. “I do.”

  She could barely hear his quiet tone over the hum of hundreds of guests conversing against the strains of the orchestra as the sounds washed over her. She’d never felt so totally alive or in the midst of such energy but she wanted to hear him. “Should we slip away for a moment?”

  “No, I wish us to stay right here. Before all our guests.”

  She looked back around at the varied, but merry, crowd. “It seems a success.”

  “Did you doubt you could be anything less?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied honestly. “Especially when I chose to invite so many different people.”

  “Ah. That was genius. For usually they have nothing to talk about but each other. Tonight? Earls speak with scholars and political activists bend the ear of those in the government. It is remarkable. I do think the wine has assisted the good humor.”

  She grinned.

  It was true.

  Everyone who was not dancing was head to head in discourse as they drank copious amounts of champagne.

  The various artists and thinkers she had invited were providing wit and new topics wherever they went. And except for a few stodgy fellows and their wives who had retired to either the card or refreshment room, the ballroom was full of excitement.

  “Do you feel you have come into your own?” he asked, his face pensive despite the success of the night.

  She stared up at him. It was not an odd question. She’d sensed his tension the whole night. Somehow, it had seemed that the ball meant more to him even than to her. She realized in that moment that it wasn’t about whether or not she was a successful duchess to him, but rather whether she felt as if she had found her place in the world as a person.

  She smiled at him, longing to assure him. “I think. . . I th
ink I am—”

  “I need to say something first, if you don’t mind.”

  He spoke so quickly and nervously that she fought a laugh. But then her humor died for she saw that there was fear in his strong face.

  “Of course, Nicholas.”

  “I love you,” he whispered against her ear.

  Despite the noise, despite the exuberance of the night, she felt the world go still around her.

  “I love you,” he said again. “I love no one in this world as I love you.”

  She leaned back and gazed into the face she had come to hold so dear. She started to speak, but he lifted his fingers to her lips, apparently uncaring that their guests were beginning to go silent and stare at them.

  “I was alone,” he said, his voice deeper than usual with emotion. He leaned back so he was looking into her eyes. “All my life, I was alone. My parents died when I was a boy and I became adrift. Now, you are my anchor in this world that is a sea of troubles and misfortune. I never thought I’d have that. Never. You have given me back love. You have given me back belonging.”

  It struck her then that he was no longer speaking softly. He was speaking forcefully. Passionately. The whole ballroom had gone silent. Even the orchestra had stopped playing.

  “Darling wife, fate has seen fit to give me an equal. A partner. One who will always be first in my life. One whose council will always be first.”

  Nicholas lowered himself to his knee and took her hands in his. “In the eyes of the law, you are mine. . .But in truth, my love, it is I who am yours. I belong to you and you hold my happiness in your hands.”

  Tears stung her eyes.

  My God. Mrs. Godwin was right. What woman could be luckier than she? For here, Nicholas, her husband, a duke, was on his knees before his peers declaring her importance.

  She had thought it so important that she have the trappings of freedom. But here, in this room, watched by hundreds of Londoners, her hands in Nicholas’, she knew that the world and its laws matter not a wit. The only things that mattered were their love for each other and their mutual respect.

  So, instead of reveling with him at her knees, Allegra lowered herself to her own. “My partner, my husband, my friend, I love you. You have my heart as I have yours.”