The Duke’s Hidden Desire

by Blackwood, Gemma

  "Don't make a decision yet," said Isabella. "You must take some time to consider what I have told you. It is enough for me that you are not entering your marriage blindly."

  Anna was about to thank her when the Earl of Scarcliffe's voice came booming across the room. "Miss Hawkins and Lady Streatham! We cannot have you whispering confidences in secret! You must tell us what you are speaking of at once, or pay a forfeit!"

  19

  "The forfeit, then!" said Isabella, with every appearance of gaiety. "A lady's secrets are her most precious possession."

  "You may regret saying that,” smiled Cecily. “The game is Three Questions, and no secret is safe! You must leave the room first, Isabella, while we decide what to ask you."

  Anna returned to the circle and took a seat beside Jemima while the others decided on the most revealing questions they might ask Isabella. The rule of the game was that she could only answer yes or no.

  "I will question Lady Streatham," said Gilbert. His cheeks had grown a little flushed with drink. "I know exactly how best to tease her!"

  "Now, Jackson," muttered Hart. Gilbert shrugged the warning hand from his shoulder.

  "No, I have the perfect idea."

  Anna watched the changing expression of Hart's face closely. He seemed on the point of arguing further when his jaw tightened and he drained his glass in one swallow.

  "I have a tremendous thirst," he announced, and stalked away to the drinks cabinet, where he made himself unnecessarily busy.

  "Come in!" called Cecily. Isabella re-entered with a beaming smile, with the Duke of Beaumont on one arm and the Duke of Loxwell on another.

  “Look who I discovered in the corridor! Would you believe that they were talking about the price of grain?”

  “I hope you chastised them severely,” smiled Cecily, taking her father’s arm and leading him to the card table with the older people.

  Isabella let Beaumont escort her to a seat. Her smile vanished the moment she understood who was to interrogate her.

  "Give me easy questions, Mr Jackson, please," she said, arranging her skirts demurely as she sat down. Her eyes flickered around the room as though she were looking for someone to come to her aid. Anna wished she could find a way to separate them without revealing Isabella’s secret, but she knew Gilbert’s anger would embarrass them all if she tried.

  “What game is this?” asked Beaumont, with a note of warning in his voice. “I hope Lady Streatham is not playing under duress.”

  Isabella silenced him with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. Anna realised that Beaumont, too, knew there was something amiss between Gilbert and Isabella.

  Another secret to add to the many they shared.

  “We are playing Three Questions, Your Grace,” Isabella explained quietly. “Do not worry. I’m sure I will survive Mr Jackson’s interrogation.”

  "I’ll give you an easy one to start with," said Gilbert. His eyes were glimmering with a hungry light as he leaned towards her. "Is there a gentleman in the room whom you love?"

  "No," answered Isabella. Anna admired her poise. No-one could have guessed that there was any unpleasant history between them at all.

  Gilbert licked his lips. "Have you ever received an unwanted proposal?"

  "Yes," answered Isabella emphatically. The others erupted in whistles and hoots.

  "One question more, Gilbert!" said Anna, trying to inject a note of warning into her voice. Gilbert waved her away.

  "Do you now regret rejecting that offer?" he asked. Isabella tilted her chin up defiantly.

  "I have never regretted it for as much as a moment."

  "Yes or no!" cried Robert. "You must answer yes or no!"

  "Very well," said Isabella. "No."

  Gilbert sat back in his chair with an unpleasant snarl crossing his features. Anna was grateful that the others were having too much fun to notice his anger.

  "Anna, it's your turn to leave the room," said Cecily. Anna was only too glad to go. Gilbert's impudence and Isabella’s revelation had distressed her immeasurably.

  As she took the opportunity to compose herself in the empty hallway, she was surprised to hear the door behind her opening almost immediately.

  "Are you calling me in already?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder. The forced smile died on her lips.

  The man standing there was the Duke of Beaumont.

  20

  "I excused myself for a little fresh air," said Beaumont. Anna's expression told him that she did not believe a word of it.

  He let the door close behind him. "Very well," he said. "I wanted to see you."

  "I am glad of it," she said, and stepped back as he moved forwards. She took something from her reticule and held it towards him. "You left this at my house."

  It was the book of poetry. Beaumont did not take it. "It was a gift."

  "Then I cannot accept." Anna thrust the book into his hands. Beaumont took the opportunity to catch her by the wrists and pull her towards him. Anna let out a small noise somewhere between a gasp of shock and a sigh of delight.

  "You cannot tell me that you really intend to marry that cruel buffoon," said Beaumont. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her closer still, so that her chest was pressed against his. She felt slender yet strong, soft yet unyielding. It was exquisite.

  "It is none of your business who I intend to marry," she snapped.

  "It is my business when I know your feelings for me are a thousand times deeper than what you feel for him." Now that she was in his arms, it was almost agony to know that she was not his. Beaumont had been the picture of restraint under her father’s roof, but his resolve could not hold out any longer. “I promised you once I would never again try to kiss you.”

  “And I was glad of it,” she whispered, but her eyes glowed with passion. For a moment, her lips parted, and Beaumont was sure they were destined to meet his again.

  Anna's finger pressed to his lips at the last instant. Even as she melted a little deeper into his embrace, she held his face away.

  "How can I admit to any feelings for you while the people I grew up with languish in poverty? It is men like you who have let Loxton rot."

  Beaumont released her. This was not the direction he had hoped the encounter would take. "May I remind you that the Duke of Loxwell is playing cards behind that door?"

  "And if I thought he would listen, I would take him my complaints directly!"

  Beaumont had to laugh. She was so alive with anger, so fiery and beautiful. It filled his heart with joy, even as she railed against him and all he stood for.

  "There," said Anna, bitterly. "I knew you did not take me seriously."

  "But I do," said Beaumont. "If only you knew how much! Tell me what I can do to prove it to you."

  Anna's answer was immediate. "Confront the Duke of Loxwell about the neglect of his estates."

  "Ah." Beaumont glanced towards the door and took a prudent step further into the hallway. "That is quite impossible."

  Anna folded her arms. "Then it seems there is nothing more to say."

  "Consider what you are asking!" said Beaumont. "I am a duke, yes, and so is he – but Loxwell was already an established force at Court when I was a quaking lad, freshly inherited, fatherless and lost! For me to presume to instruct him would be the worst kind of insult. Besides, it is simply not done. Every man has the right to manage his own affairs as he sees fit."

  "Then you do not care about the poor at all," said Anna. Beaumont brandished the book of poetry at her like a broadsword.

  "I care about you! Can you not see that? I owe you my health. Now it seems my happiness is also in your hands. I have never been so indebted to anyone before. I am entirely in your power. Is that not enough?"

  "I thought we had left this in the past," said Anna. Her voice was trembling. "Must you really plague me again? I have already told you that I will not be your mistress."

  "That is not what I am asking you!" Beaumont snapped.

  He had
no notion of what he was about to say before the words left his lips. Even after he said it, the words seemed to hang in the air between them, as insubstantial as fluttering mist.

  Was it true or was it not?

  Did he intend to marry Anna? Had he found the woman who would be Duchess of Beaumont?

  Anna was completely frozen, one hand pressed to her heart, her lips slightly parted. A half-open flower in need of summer's kiss.

  Beaumont caught her in his arms and satisfied at last the aching need in his chest. This time, she did not resist him. He kissed her until her arms wound around him and her hands caught in his hair.

  Yes, his heart whispered. Yes, let me marry you. Be mine forever.

  "My, my, my. What do we have here?"

  It was not Anna who spoke. Beaumont was sure of that, as her mouth was currently quite occupied with his. Besides, Anna’s soft voice could never produce that level of pure malice.

  He let her go and turned around to find Miss Clayton standing in the doorway, the glitter of jealousy in her eyes.

  "We are ready for you to come back in, Miss Hawkins," she said. "Unless you are too busy?"

  Beaumont moved in front of Anna as though he could protect her from Miss Clayton’s spite. "I warn you, Miss Clayton –"

  "You warn me, Your Grace?" she repeated, with a simper of disappointment. “You might have married me, if you wished.” She folded her arms primly and looked him up and down as though he were a new bonnet she had seen in a shop window. “You still may, if you want to save Miss Hawkins’s reputation.”

  “You dare to blackmail me? You, blackmail the Duke of Beaumont?” Beaumont would have laughed if he had not been so concerned for Anna. This was hardly how he intended to propose, but if proposing would save Anna from pain, he would do it on the spot. “Threaten me again, and I will see that you are not received again in any house in England.”

  “Your Grace…” Anna murmured. Distracted, he turned away from Miss Clayton for a second.

  A second was all it took.

  To Beaumont's horror, Miss Clayton flung the door open behind her. "Mr Jackson! Please step out here a moment!"

  “How dare you!” Beaumont shouted, letting out a growl of outrage and pushing her aside to slam the door. Miss Clayton took a deep breath and let out a piercing scream of horror. Realising his mistake, Beaumont wrenched the door open again, to be confronted by the shocked faces and wide-open mouths of everyone from the Duke of Loxwell to Gilbert Jackson.

  Miss Clayton was pretending to faint, but Beaumont had no time for her. He turned back and ran out into the hallway, meaning to remove Anna from the situation as quickly as possible.

  But she was nowhere to be seen.

  21

  Beaumont returned to Scarcliffe Hall half an hour later, hot, breathless, and miserable. Worse still, he was alone.

  Anna had eluded him by going directly to the stables and ordering her carriage. While Beaumont was running through the house trying to find her, the footmen were readying the horses and settling her inside. When he heard the carriage clattering down the driveway, he followed on foot as fast as his legs would carry him, but he could not outrun the horses.

  He returned to find the dinner party breaking up prematurely. Gilbert Jackson, pale-faced and angry, stormed past him on his way out without a word. Miss Clayton was being plied with smelling salts by a crowd of anxious ladies. The marchioness, tight-lipped and tense, was bidding polite goodbyes to the older guests.

  Robert drew Beaumont aside as he re-entered the drawing room. “I have managed to conceal the worst of your behaviour from my parents. They know that something has happened, but I told them it was an accident caused by too much excitement over a parlour game. Miss Clayton says you threatened her. Is that true?”

  “I had good reason,” Beaumont muttered. Robert pinched the bridge of his nose wearily.

  “And all this time, I thought I was the hothead. My mother was mortified when you vanished. You know what it meant to her to have two dukes at dinner! And where, pray tell, is Miss Hawkins?”

  “Safely on her way home.” Beaumont winced. “More’s the pity.” He could tell that Robert did not approve. “I will apologise to your mother.”

  “Not now. She is busy salvaging what remains of the evening after your rough behaviour and Miss Clayton’s fainting fit.”

  Beaumont summoned up enough of his tarnished dignity to say goodnight to the other guests. The marchioness inclined her head and acknowledged his efforts with a frosty smile.

  Every society hostess wanted the Duke of Beaumont at her parties. Nobody wanted a duke who slammed doors, shouted at conniving women and caused a scene. Beaumont fought to maintain his composure while speculation and censure ran rampant beneath the guests’ polite smiles.

  The worst pain, though, was his uncertainty about Anna.

  He could not fault her for leaving, but it had left several very important words unsaid. Pledges unmade. Hearts ungiven. He had been on the point of settling things between them forever, and now he was less sure of her than ever before.

  If she had known he was about to propose, would she still have run away? He thought it was clear that he was about to declare his love. Why had she not stayed to hear it?

  Beaumont excused himself from the dwindling party as quickly as possible and went upstairs to brood in his private sitting room. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

  Unfortunately, Robert was not finished with him yet. A familiar sharp rap at the door announced the earl a moment before he burst in, not bothering to wait for an invitation. Without a word, Robert went to the drinks cabinet and poured out two glasses of brandy. When Beaumont shook his head, he shrugged and kept them both for himself.

  "Don't tell Cecily," he said, drinking the first in a single swallow. "Once I am married, my carousing days will be done." He sat in one of the huge armchairs opposite the unlit fireplace, swilling his second glass of brandy moodily. "Though I will allow myself a little vice tonight. It's a blot on my character that I am not more nervous, considering what I am about to say." He glared at Beaumont over the top of his brandy. "Let me begin by admitting that I am well aware it is not my place to berate you. You are a duke, and I have only a courtesy title. But I am also your friend, and friendship has always trumped rank between us. It is my duty to tell you that you behaved very badly tonight."

  Beaumont rubbed a hand over his forehead. He suddenly felt exhausted, and his legs were aching from the strain of running after Anna’s carriage. "I fear you are right."

  "Miss Hawkins is a respectable woman! She is Cecily’s friend! She and her father have always been welcome guests in this house. And you took it upon yourself to ruin her engagement!"

  "If Anna's engagement is ruined, it is as much her fault as mine." Beaumont began to regret turning down the brandy. He was at risk of letting his disappointment get the better of him. The last thing he wanted was to exchange harsh words with his friend. He was only angry with himself.

  "Her fault?" Scarcliffe choked out a laugh. "Her fault? Have you forgotten who you are? What was the girl supposed to do – say no to the Duke of Beaumont?"

  "I don't see why not," said Beaumont. "She has said it many times before."

  Robert's expression darkened. "How long have you been pursuing her?"

  "I hardly know," Beaumont sighed. "We met the night of your masked ball. I made her what might be termed an indecent proposition. She turned me down flat. I couldn't get her off my mind. Then, when I was wounded and trapped at her house, I began to see –" Realising he was about to reveal more than he intended, he brought himself to an abrupt halt. "I let myself get carried away. Besides, it's hardly your place to tell me off for kissing the wrong woman. You have been kissing the wrong woman all summer. It's all very well now that you and Cecily are engaged, but that does not change the fact that you risked her ruin more times than I can count!"

  "Cecily would never have been ruined," said Scarcliffe hotly. "I always inte
nded to marry her. But to kiss Miss Hawkins in front of Miss Clayton, a woman who would stop at nothing to get her claws into you – and worse, with Mr Jackson in the very next room? Those are not the actions of an honourable man. You have wrecked Miss Hawkins’s hopes and offered her nothing in return. I am disappointed in you."

  Beaumont took this in good grace. In a peculiar way, he was grateful that a man still existed who was brave enough to tell him off. "There may be nothing I can offer her," he said. "If I asked for her hand, she would likely reject me in favour of Mr Jackson."

  "Tosh! Poppycock!"

  "It's the truth. She ran from me, did she not? He's what she wants – him and his plans for the town. And even if I could persuade her otherwise, I have no desire to marry someone simply because they feel obliged to accept a duke. If I valued myself so little, I would have offered for Miss Clayton and been done with it."

  To Beaumont's amazement, Robert’s black frown had softened. Beaumont’s harsh words had revealed more than he intended. He was not being truthful - with Robert or himself.

  "If you feel something for Miss Hawkins, Beaumont, you had better come clean. Not to me – to her. You must be honest."

  Beaumont sprang to his feet, a sudden restlessness piercing through the haze of exhaustion. "Honesty! Is that all it takes? I almost was honest, tonight, Scarcliffe. I almost told her... That is, I was on the point of asking..." He stopped, catching sight of his own reflection in the dark windowpane, and made an effort to pull himself together. The expression of lovelorn disappointment he saw did not suit him. "I have done her enough damage already, without adding an unwanted proposal to her woes."

  "And you truly believe it would be unwanted?" asked Robert. Beaumont could have sworn he was hiding a smile.

  "Does my predicament amuse you?"

  "Far from it." Robert stretched out his legs, sipping on his brandy. "It simply occurred to me that, for all your good fortune – your looks, your title, your money – there are some ways in which you have not been lucky. You are not accustomed, as I am, and as Anna Hawkins is, to the love and guidance of a family. You have walked this world alone from a young age. I have always admired you. Been jealous, even. But now I see you have grown so used to being alone that you have forgotten how much better it is to let someone walk beside you."