The Duke's Hidden Desire (Scandals of Scarcliffe Hall Book 2)

by Gemma Blackwood

  Beaumont slowly came back from the window and sat opposite Robert again. "I do not see the point of seeking enlightenment about my own emotions if Anna does not feel the same way."

  Robert was smiling at him openly now. "You are one of my dearest friends, Beaumont. You are dear to Hart, too – and Northmere, I suppose, if anything is dear to him beyond wine and mirrors. Is it really beyond belief that you may be dear to Anna, too?"

  Beaumont turned away to hide how touched he was. It was the first time in the course of a long friendship that he and Robert had ever spoken of matters of the heart. "I shall find out," he resolved. "I must, and I shall."

  "But not tonight." Robert pushed himself to his feet. "I am going to bed, and I advise you to do the same – though whether you'll sleep or not is another matter. Let Miss Hawkins have a little time to recover from this evening's adventures, and pay her a morning call tomorrow when you are both calm. I have every hope that you will be successful."

  "I wish I shared your optimism," said Beaumont, with a grimace. "Goodnight, Scarcliffe."

  "Goodnight, Beaumont."

  By rights, Beaumont should have passed a restless and uncomfortable night. He had broken Gilbert Jackson’s heart, ruined Lady Lilistone’s dinner party, and watched the woman he loved run from him as fast as her carriage could carry her.

  But as he lay in bed, he felt an undeserved sense of peace settle over him. He now knew exactly where he stood. He was Anna's, heart and body and soul.

  And if he was to have her, she had to accept him freely. Unburdened by scandal and social pressure. Full of the freedom of her own will.

  If that meant losing her entirely, it was a risk he had to take.

  22

  If Anna were in the mood for idle contemplation the morning after the dinner at Scarcliffe Hall, she might have spared a thought for the peculiarities of language. Why, for example, should the visit which every beau paid to his sweetheart the day after a party be called a morning call, when they took place exclusively in the afternoon?

  And what ought she to call it when Mr Gilbert Jackson rapped on her front door at half past ten in the morning? It could not be a morning call. If she were a creature of fashion, it would have been an unconscionable hour for a visitor. She would have been dancing the night away at some private ball or other, and only laid down her head as the dawn was breaking.

  As it happened, Anna had not managed a wink of sleep – though this was due to consternation, rather than dancing. She had been in an agony of indecision all through the night. Even as she tried to push it away, Beaumont's face kept returning to her mind. His laughter at dinner. His easy command of the room. The way his smile turned serious the moment before he kissed her.

  The pain on his face as he saw her carriage rolling away.

  "Are you at home to visitors, Miss?" asked Mrs Pierce, in an unusual fit of perspicacity. "You don't look at all well to me. Shall I send Mr Jackson away?"

  "No, no." Anna sighed, pinching her cheeks to try and bring a little colour into them. "I would rather face him now than put it off."

  "Put off what, Miss?"

  "Never mind. Please let Mr Jackson into the drawing room. I will be with him in a moment."

  She stopped to glance at herself in the mirror above her dressing table. Mrs Pierce was right. She looked dreadfully wan.

  Anna practised a smile until it did not look quite so forced, bit her lips to redden them, tied on a red-ribboned bonnet that might do the job of brightening a tired complexion, and went downstairs to see what Gilbert wanted.

  "Ah, there you are." Gilbert's downturned mouth was pressed thin and tight, but he was otherwise perfectly composed. Anna was glad she had taken the time to settle herself in front of the mirror. "I trust I did not disturb your sleep."

  "Far from it," said Anna. "I wake at the same hour every day."

  Gilbert smiled coldly. "How admirable. Especially considering how very active you were last night."

  Anna had planned out many eloquent speeches to pour forth. She had spent all night rehearsing them. Now, when she needed them most, all words had fled.

  Gilbert sat on the love seat by the window. "You usually offer me some refreshment at this point, Anna. Don't let your skills as a hostess slip. They are one of your chief attractions."

  Suddenly, the idea of Gilbert being attracted to her was unbearable. His thin, supercilious smile and his cold manners told her all she needed to know.

  He believed he had an advantage over her. Far from being hurt by her treachery, she was now exactly where he wanted her. In his power.

  "I'm afraid there won't be time for that," she said, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from her skirts. "You will not wish to stay once I inform you that I am breaking off our engagement."

  Gilbert patted the seat beside him. "There's no need to be rash, my dear."

  "Believe me, I have given it plenty of consideration." Anna found her smile broadening, becoming more real by the second. "I no longer wish to marry you. After last night, I cannot imagine that you wish to marry me. I’m sure Miss Clayton told you everything."

  "Don't presume to know what I do and do not want," said Gilbert. His voice had dropped to a low growl. "I am not such a fool that I will let go of my prize simply because a handsome duke turned your head."

  "My head has not been turned," said Anna. "My eyes have been opened. I do not love you, Gilbert. You don't love me, either. And I can no longer marry without love. I would rather be a spinster."

  Gilbert rose to his feet, shrugging his shoulders one by one like a boxer squaring up to his opponent. "That duke has made you an offer."

  "He has not," said Anna. How she hated telling him that! She saw a glimmer of triumph in Gilbert's eyes. "I assure you, my feelings for you are quite separate from my – my friendship with His Grace. Let us part amicably, Gilbert. Don't make a scene."

  "I have warned you before about telling me what to do," he said. All of a sudden, he stalked across the room and seized her wrist. "You promised yourself to me, Anna – me! Do you think the duke will want you after I have tainted you?"

  Anna steeled herself not to flinch. "You could never taint me in his eyes."

  Gilbert seized her by the back of the neck and dragged her face towards his. Anna struggled blindly for one moment of panic before she remembered a few of her father’s more unconventional anatomy lessons. She brought her knee up, sharp and hard, into Gilbert's groin.

  Gilbert let her go at once and collapsed to the floor. It took him several moments to find his voice again, and when he did it was a strangled screech. "You harpy! You insolent wretch! I'll teach you to deny me –"

  "Thank you, Mr Jackson," she said, stepping neatly out of his reach. "My father has taught me all I will ever need to know about men like you. Mrs Pierce?" This last was called out loud enough to reach the kitchen. "Mr Jackson is ready to leave!"

  Gilbert struggled to his feet, purple-faced and gasping. "If you think I'll build your pox-ridden factory now..."

  Anna froze. "No," she murmured, shaking her head. "You won't risk your investment over me. You told me Loxton was the perfect site for it. Besides, you have assured me many times that you care for the town as much as I do!"

  Gilbert managed a spluttering laugh. "My poor, innocent girl! I lied. Of course I lied. Who would not, with such inducements?"

  "Inducements?" Anna repeated faintly.

  "You must know what a delicate little peach you are," said Gilbert. "I thought I might pick you myself, but I shall leave you to the duke if I must. Though you had better hope he is as patient as I am. Once he finds out how infuriatingly prim you can be, he may lose interest."

  Mrs Pierce appeared, flushed and well-dusted with flour, before Anna could respond.

  "Show Mr Jackson the door," Anna said. The last thing she saw of the hobbling Gilbert was his leer of satisfaction.

  She was free of him at last… and also free of her hopes for Loxton.

  "What have I done?"
she asked, when she was alone. The world seemed to spin around her, its colours all blurring together like a spilled box of paints. She sat down with a thud. "What have I done?"

  She was in a state of such confusion that she could not have said whether it was a few seconds or a full hour before her father entered the room, his overcoat still damp from the drizzling summer rain outside.

  "I passed your Mr Jackson in the street on my way back from my morning rounds," he said. "He was in a very strange mood. He would not even bid me good day! Has something happened between you?"

  "Oh, Papa," said Anna, shocked to find her voice quivering. "There is nothing I can hide from you. I'm afraid I have done something quite foolish." She raised a hand to her trembling lips. "I do not know whether you will be able to forgive me, but..."

  "Hush! What nonsense is this? You are my daughter." Dr Hawkins put his arm around her with no regard for the dampness of his coat. "You might run away to live as a highwayman, and I would forgive you. Now tell me what has happened. We will find a solution together."

  Anna took a deep breath. "I have broken off my engagement to Mr Jackson."

  To her surprise, her father actually smiled. "I admit that it gladdens me to hear it. I never thought he was the man for you. He may be the one to save Loxton, but he is no match for my precious Anna." He pulled off his outdoor gloves and began to unbutton his coat. "Perhaps I should have spoken up sooner. I allowed things to go on far too long. But you seemed so certain, and you always know your own mind better than I do..." He caught Anna's hand up in his. "Will you forgive me, my dear daughter? I will never sit idle while I suspect you are unhappy again."

  "We cannot both sit here begging each other's forgiveness," said Anna. She would have laughed if she did not have worse to tell him. "But you must not be so quick to absolve me. I'm afraid there is more."

  "Then tell it! I hope there is never anything that weighs on your soul which you would fear to share with me."

  Anna felt her throat constrict once more. Her father was a good man, kind and loving, but his affection for her had never been truly tested. Her misdemeanours thus far had been childhood mischief. What would he say when he heard how she had behaved last night?

  "At the marchioness’s dinner party," she began, hearing her own voice distantly as though it came from someone else's lips, "I did something I should not have done. It was foolish, it was thoughtless... It was unkind to Mr Jackson." And yet she did not regret it. She could not bring herself to waste a single moment wishing she had not kissed Beaumont. Not when all she wanted to do was kiss him again.

  That was a secret she would certainly not be sharing with her father.

  "I kissed another man," she said plainly. "And I was caught, and I’m sure it was revealed to the whole company. That is why I came home early. I am only glad that you had the chance to hear it from me before anybody else, for I am sure it will be all over Loxton before sundown."

  "My word." Dr Hawkins sat back, his expression frozen halfway between shock and anger. "My word." He raised his hands to his head and set them down in his lap again, as though he did not know what to do with them. "And this other man – has he made you an offer?"

  Anna shook her head.

  "Is he going to make you an offer?"

  "I..." There had been one shining moment, before Miss Clayton's interruption, that she thought Beaumont was about to propose. And when Anna watched him chasing her down the drive through the carriage window, had the anguish on his face not spoken of love?

  But what he might do in the cold light of day was impossible to predict. Anna was no heiress. She would not disgrace him, perhaps, but she was not the incandescent match a duke could expect.

  "I hope he will," she said. "But in truth I cannot say for sure."

  Dr Hawkins drove a clenched fist into his knee. "If he does not propose to you by the end of the day, upon my soul, I'll see him at dawn! Who is the scoundrel?"

  The idea of her father challenging the Duke of Beaumont to a duel was almost enough to make Anna smile. "I will certainly not tell you, if that is how you intend to behave. You must under no circumstances challenge anyone. I love you too much to see you risk your life on my behalf." She sighed. "No, if he does not make me an offer, I will go and stay with my aunt in Brighton – with your permission, of course. Nobody knows me there, and I will be able to escape the shame of it all."

  "Do you love this man?" her father asked gently. Anna did not respond. Now, at last, two salt tears fell silently from her eyes. "If you acted out of love, there is no shame."

  "I think society will disagree with you," said Anna hopelessly. Her father kissed her forehead.

  "Let society hang. My opinion is the one that matters. I am not now and never will be ashamed of your actions. I have raised you to be true to yourself. To do what is right, no matter what the cost."

  "Was it right to betray Mr Jackson so cruelly?"

  "My dear, I do not ask you to be perfect. You made a mistake, but you corrected it as soon as you could. Let that be enough. I seriously doubt that you have hurt Mr Jackson deeply. Only take it as a lesson for the future." He smiled teasingly. "I doubt you will ever accept the hand of a man you do not love again."

  "I will not, Papa," said Anna, letting her head rest on his shoulder. "I can promise you that."

  23

  Breakfast at Scarcliffe Hall was an awkward affair. It took place late in the day, as was customary following a party, but the usual buzz of conversation was distinctly lacking. The old marquess sat at the head of the table, glowering at the younger men as though each of them were to blame for the embarrassment of the night before. Rather unfairly, the only man he did not fix with a withering glare was Beaumont himself.

  This suited Beaumont quite nicely, as he had no desire to meet the eyes of any man but Robert. He sipped on his coffee in silence. He had no appetite at all.

  By the end of the day, either Anna would be his... or the only love he had ever known would be dashed on the rocks.

  Why did he not have the sense to fall for a high society girl whose head was turned by fine carriages and jewellery? What good was it to love a woman who prized charity and goodness above all else? Beaumont was feeling neither good nor charitable at that moment. He was almost certain she would turn him down.

  And yet, he was determined to ask. The thought of letting her slip through his fingers without at least asking was unconscionable.

  Northmere was the first to break. Of all the gentlemen, he was the least suited to silence. He cleared his throat noisily, ignoring a stern look from the marquess, and ventured to say, "Suppose we all go for a ride this afternoon?"

  "Beaumont will be busy," said Robert immediately. Every eye turned to Beaumont.

  "Yes," he said, in a tone which he hoped would stifle all curiosity. "I will be busy."

  "Is Mother still abed?" asked Hart, nonchalantly buttering his toast. Beaumont was grateful to him for changing the subject. Hart, of all people, understood what it was to be in a lovelorn sulk.

  "Your mother is not feeling at all well this morning," said the marquess grimly. "As you can imagine, after the stress of yesterday evening."

  "I ought to go and apologise," said Beaumont.

  "That is quite unnecessary, Your Grace," said the marquess, though his glare made clear that an apology was absolutely expected, and soon. "Lady Lilistone will not be receiving company at all today."

  "Then I will write her a note," said Beaumont. "It really was an excellent dinner party."

  Northmere stifled a noise that sounded very much like a laugh.

  "Would you like a glass of water, Northmere?" asked the marquess sharply.

  "Thank you, my lord," Northmere gasped. "I – I must have drunk my coffee too quickly."

  "Indeed." The marquess's expression could have turned Northmere to stone.

  The gentlemen were saved from further attempts at conversation by the appearance of the butler.

  "Mr Gilbert Jackson is at
the door, asking to see His Grace the Duke of Beaumont," said Peters, as inscrutable as ever.

  Hart rose to his feet. "Shall I fend him off for you, Beaumont?"

  "Not at all." Beaumont waved him back down. "I am quite able to face up to my own actions."

  "Indeed," the marquess repeated grimly. Beaumont wondered how successfully Robert had been able to hide the truth from his father. Old Lord Lilistone certainly seemed to understand more than Beaumont liked. "Stay where you are, Hart."

  "Show Mr Jackson into the library," said Beaumont. He nodded to the marquess. "With your permission, my lord?"

  "See that my books are not damaged in the scuffle," said the marquess pointedly. Robert shot Beaumont a look of apology, which he waved away.

  "Thank you." He ignored the glimmer of malice in Lord Lilistone's eyes as he gulped down the last of his coffee, tucked in his chair, and straightened his cravat. "Do excuse me, gentlemen."

  As he walked along the oak-panelled corridors to the library, he pictured with no little trepidation the scene which awaited him. Gilbert Jackson might be red with anger, or perhaps awash with tears. There would doubtless be recriminations. Words would be spoken in passion which would later be regretted.

  Beaumont resolved to keep a cool head and behave sympathetically to the man whose hopes he had dashed. The least he could do was allow Jackson to expend his rage without further consequence.

  He was quite amazed, therefore, to find Mr Jackson sitting in an armchair with every appearance of perfect composure.

  "Good morning, Your Grace," he said evenly. "How good it is of you to see me."