When You Give a Duke a Diamond

by Shana Galen

  “Of course.” What was his father’s brother, a man Will had last seen at his father’s funeral over ten years ago, doing at Rothingham Manor at half past eight in the morning? The man must have ridden all night. “Show him—”

  “I don’t have time for these formalities,” Lord Henry said, pushing past Richards and shouldering his way into the library. Will had been in the process of standing, but he all but sat again when Lord Henry entered.

  The man looked almost exactly like the fifth Duke of Pelham. Will felt as though he was seeing a ghost. Immediately, he stood, straightened, and reached for his pocket watch, worried he must be late for something.

  Richards gave Will a look, indicating he would show Lord Henry right back out if Will wished it, but Will shook his head slightly.

  “I have been riding all night,” Lord Henry was saying. “I came as soon as I heard. And I want to know what the devil you think you’re about.”

  Will opened his mouth to respond then closed it again. First of all, he had no idea to what his uncle referred. Second of all, he was the Duke of Pelham, not this interloper. He should begin to act as such. Slowly, with deliberate casualness, Will sat back in his seat, leaving his uncle to stand before him. “Hello, Uncle. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected visit?”

  Will made a gesture dismissing Richards, and the butler left, leaving the library door open slightly in case Will should call for his return.

  “It is no pleasure, I assure you. No pleasure at all. I have come from London to find out for myself whether the rumors are true.”

  Will noted his uncle did not address him as Your Grace, did not give him any courtesies at all. In his belly, a slow fury began to simmer. Will steepled his fingers, showing none of his emotions on his face. “Rumors? I don’t really have time to discuss all of London’s rumors. If that’s all you came for, you might as well go back again. I am happy to provide you a fresh horse.”

  Lord Henry frowned, and the little boy Will had been wanted to cringe. His father made that same expression when he was displeased, and it usually led to violence. Will shook his head and could have sworn his deaf ear was ringing.

  “Even if the rumors concern you and a certain courtesan?” Lord Henry gave a slight smile.

  He should have known this visit would be about Juliette. He could not deny his relationship with her, and yet he did not want to confirm it. Will looked away.

  “I see it’s true, then. These aren’t rumors at all. You have taken up with a Cyprian.” The disapproval in his uncle’s face was clear in the heavily etched lines about his mouth. Will opened his mouth to—he knew not what… give excuses?—and then closed it again. What was happening here? He was the duke, not his uncle. And while Will had respect for Lord Henry, he did not answer to him.

  “I fail to see how what I do in my private life is any concern of yours.”

  “Allow me to enlighten you, then,” his uncle said, placing his hands flat on Will’s desk and meeting Will eye to eye. Will did not blink. “I am a Cavington, as was your father, my father, my grandfather, and his grandfather before him. My sons are Cavingtons and third and fourth in line for the dukedom, after myself. What you do reflects not only on the Cavington name but also the future dukes of Pelham. You have a responsibility to honor and distinguish the name, not disgrace it by taking up with a harlot.”

  The fury began to boil. It was true. It was all true, but that wasn’t Juliette’s fault. He stood. “She’s not a harlot.”

  “What is she, then?” Lord Henry raised a brow.

  Will didn’t answer. What, exactly, was she to him? His mistress? His lover? His savior?

  “Good God, she’s called the Duchess of Dalliance,” Lord Henry sputtered. “Don’t try to tell me she’s a blushing virgin.”

  Will clenched his fists. “Her name is Juliette.”

  “William—”

  He slammed a hand on his desk. “You may call me Pelham. I have not given you leave to use my Christian name.” And he would not. His uncle needed a reminder that Will was the sixth Duke of Pelham, not he. Lord Henry’s disrespect annoyed him, but it wasn’t the real reason for his fury. No. Will knew too well it had far more to do with the topic of his uncle’s conversation. And he, Will, had no excuse. He had taken up with a courtesan.

  “Very well, Pelham. Here is another juicy morsel I learned while in London. The body of your fiancée has been found.”

  Shock jolted through him, and Will all but fell into his chair.

  Lady Elizabeth’s body had been found. She was really dead. It was the last thing he expected his uncle to say, and the words seemed to echo and spin through the room. Will’s heart was heavy for Lord and Lady Nowlund. They had lost their daughter, their only child.

  Lord Henry’s expression was smug, but Will didn’t care at the moment. Why had he ever doubted Juliette?

  “My understanding—and this has not yet been released to the papers—is she died from blunt force to the head.”

  “She fell against the balustrade at Carlton House,” Will murmured. Juliette had been telling the truth. But he’d known that. He’d always known and simply had not wanted to accept the difficult truth—he had no idea who the woman he was betrothed to was. He had known what she was—the daughter of a marquess—but not the woman herself. And he knew exactly who Juliette was. He didn’t want what she was to matter, but it did. It mattered far too much.

  “I do not think the examiner can be that specific as to her demise,” Lord Henry said, “but that is not all.”

  Will glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “This Lucifer, the man suspected of murdering Lady Elizabeth, has still not been found. The magistrate suspects he’s fled to the Continent. His place of business, if one may call a gambling hell named Lucifer’s Lair a business, was thoroughly searched. The registers have been found and studied. The magistrate believes Lady Elizabeth is the same Eliza listed in the register.”

  Will frowned. “Why would Lady Elizabeth be listed in a register for a gambling hell?” It made no sense. None whatsoever.

  “Witnesses have been questioned, Pelham. These include the regular patrons of Lucifer’s Lair, many of them gentlemen. Several of them describe a woman meeting Lady Elizabeth’s description as frequenting Lucifer’s Lair. It seems she preferred the game of faro.”

  Will shook his head and stood. “This cannot be true.” He paced the carpet behind his desk. “She was a lady, the daughter of an earl. Why would she patronize a gambling hell?” It made no sense. None at all.

  “Perhaps she enjoyed gambling? According to the register, she had lost over three thousand pounds at Lucifer’s Lair.”

  Three thousand pounds? Will swallowed. It was a small fortune. How did she plan to pay her debts? Perhaps with his money.

  Or perhaps she had thought to sell some diamonds…

  Will looked at Lord Henry’s face and saw the undisguised glee in his uncle’s expression. The man was enjoying this. He was all but gloating. Will would have liked to smash the grin off his uncle’s face, but he exercised restraint. He was not his father.

  “I never saw her gamble,” Will said almost to himself. “I never saw her act in any way even remotely inappropriate. Her behavior was always impeccable.”

  “Yes, but as we have established, you are not the best judge of character. After all, you are bedding a prostitute who has been with half the men in London. That is when she is not busy entertaining the Earl of Sin with her two friends—”

  Will bolted around the desk, grabbed Lord Henry’s coat, and slammed him against the bookshelf. Two large volumes toppled down, and Will jerked to the right to avoid being knocked on the shoulder. “I don’t want to hear another word from you about Juliette.” In fact, he didn’t want to have to look at the man for another moment. “You said what you came to
say, now get out.”

  Lord Henry shook his head. “Your father would turn in his grave if he could see you now.”

  Truer words were never spoken. “Good,” Will said and meant it. “I hope he is shocked straight to Hell.”

  “You are a disgrace to the title,” Lord Henry said, pushing Will back. “I am disgusted with your behavior.”

  He didn’t want his uncle’s words to matter, but they stung. “Get out,” Will ordered, loud enough for Richards to hear.

  “Answer me one question first. Do you intend to marry this… this Juliette? Do you intend to sully this house and the title of Duchess of Pelham by wedding that woman?”

  “That’s none of your business.”

  “It is my business, and the business of my sons. We have a right to know from whence the next duke will come.”

  Will gritted his teeth. There was no point in dissembling. “No. I’m not going to marry her.”

  Lord Henry nodded. “Good.” He straightened his coat and moved toward the door. “Remember who you are and your duty to your title and your family.” He pushed the door open, and Will saw Juliette standing on the other side. Her face was pale, her eyes shuttered, her posture rigid. She looked like a queen of ice.

  Lord Henry gave Will a smile. “Good day, Your Grace.” He swept past Juliette without even a nod.

  Richards stood beside Juliette, and his expression was torn. Finally, he scurried to catch Lord Henry and escort him out. Will stepped forward. “Juliette—”

  She held up a hand. “Don’t. Don’t say a word. I have heard more than enough.”

  He went to her, but she stepped back as he advanced. As he reached for her, she jerked away. “Juliette, I didn’t mean—”

  “What?” she demanded. “You didn’t mean what you said?” She waited, he didn’t speak. He didn’t have the words. “So you are going to marry me?” She stared at him then looked at the floor before him. “Very well, then, kneel down. Ask me to be your wife.”

  Will was acutely aware that several of his servants were pretending to go about their duties nearby and were witnessing this scene. “We should speak in private.”

  “What need is there for privacy? If you love me and want to marry me, then say so.” Color bloomed in her cheeks, making the harsh bruises on her face and neck less obvious. But still he was aware of them. He could not stop staring at them. He had almost lost her. But now he realized Lucifer—Oliver—had not been his greatest threat. He was his own worst enemy.

  “Juliette,” he said quietly. “I have a duty you cannot possibly understand.” Damn his uncle, but he could not put duty aside so easily.

  “Oh, I understand all right.” She laughed bitterly. “I know dozens of men like you. They claim to love me, but to them, love is paying me for my favors, setting me up in a house with servants and a clothing allowance. But then you never even claimed to love me, did you?” She took a step back. “All the more fool me for falling in love with you.”

  He reached for her again, though he knew the gesture was futile. “No.”

  “Good-bye, Your Grace. Our time together was most diverting, but I suppose now I will take my congé and go.” She turned and walked away, the shush of her slippers echoing in the silence that followed her.

  Will wanted to yell Don’t go. Everything in him wanted to race after her. She was the only person who had ever loved him. The only person who cared about him, not his title, not his wealth.

  And she was walking away.

  And he was allowing it.

  What else could he do? Fall to his knees and beg her to marry him? He was the bloody Duke of Pelham. He did not fall to his knees. He did not beg. His uncle’s words rang in his ears. He could hear his own father saying them.

  You are a disgrace to the title. Why have I been cursed with a disappointment for a son? Better you died at birth than act as you do.

  Juliette disappeared up the steps, and Will turned. He went into his library and closed the door.

  ***

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she stormed up the steps to her room. Angrily, she swiped them away. She would not cry. He had never said he loved her; he had never said he would marry her. She was a fool, and there was no sense in shedding tears over him now. He was not worth it. She should be too old and too worldly to fall in love so completely with a man who made it perfectly clear not only did he not love her, he didn’t even respect her.

  Had he ever apologized to her for cutting her at Carlton House? For calling her a slut or a strumpet? For embarrassing her at the inn after they’d left London? What had he said at the prince’s ball? She was not a lady but a well-paid whore?

  Well, she supposed she was a whore, but he certainly hadn’t paid her.

  She reached her room and threw the doors open, startling the maids cleaning the chambers. “Good day, madam,” one of them said.

  “No, it’s not,” Juliette answered. She spotted her trunk at the end of the bed, flipped the lid open, and began piling clothing into it. Her second trunk was still at Pelham’s residence in London. She’d send a servant for it when she returned to Town.

  Oh, but she didn’t have any servants at her town house…

  Well, then she would send one of Lily’s servants or Fallon’s. She was going home. She’d heard Lord Henry say Lucifer was gone. She needn’t worry about him anymore. She really had nowhere to go but London, and she wanted to be with her friends right now.

  “Is there anything we might help you with, madam?” one of the maids asked.

  “No.” Juliette swiped at an errant tear. “Yes. Fetch a footman and tell him to carry this trunk downstairs. And I need to know where the nearest coaching inn is located.”

  “Yes, madam.” The girl hurried away.

  Juliette emptied the clothespress and pushed the top of the trunk down. It wouldn’t close, and she pounded it fiercely until she could latch it. She had to admit, the physical aggression had made her feel a little better, especially as she imagined Pelham’s face where her fists landed.

  Finally a footman arrived and informed her His Grace had offered the use of his carriage for her return trip. Juliette shook her head. “How magnanimous of the duke,” she said. “That makes my departure all the more convenient.”

  She donned a spencer and hat and breezed out of the room. Coming down the stairs, she half expected—perhaps even hoped?—the library door would open. She wanted Pelham to beg her to stay. She wanted to tell him she’d rather sleep in a rat-infested hovel than under his roof. Oh, she could think of a great many things to tell him.

  But the library door did not open, and Pelham did not tell her good-bye.

  ***

  Will had known the precise moment Juliette was gone. It wasn’t simply that the bustle associated with her departure quieted or the hooves of the horses pulling his carriage faded away. It was Rothingham Manor that alerted him.

  Without Juliette, the house felt colder, emptier, darker. He kept expecting to hear her tinkling laughter or see her open his door and admonish him not to spend so much time inside. He expected to see her around every corner—her captivating eyes, her contagious smile, her glorious hair.

  Slowly, as the day wore on, little realizations came to him. He would never kiss her again. He would never touch her again, sleep beside her, dine with her, tickle her toes. He might have a passing glimpse of her in London, but even that possibility was remote. She would not stay in Town now. She said she wanted to start over.

  His one solace in allowing her to go was that she was safe from Oliver and Lucifer. Oliver was going to prison, and from all accounts, Lucifer had fled the country. Whatever she did with her life, she would be safe doing it.

  He’d been wandering the house rather aimlessly and ended up in the drawing room. He stood there, looking at the drapes on the windows
. Were these the draperies she had wanted to change? He had to admit the heavy brocade in gold silk was rather outdated. He glanced at the hearth and noted the large portrait of his father staring at him. The duke’s mouth turned down in a frown.

  “I suppose you approve of my letting her go,” Pelham said to the portrait. “She wouldn’t have made a suitable duchess.” He moved closer to the painting, noting the small details, like the signet ring on his father’s hand. Will wore it now. He looked down at that finger, knowing the ring he wore had been passed down for generations. “I suppose you finally won.” He looked at the portrait again. “Because now I’m as much an ass as you ever were. More of one. You threw your wife out, and I allowed the only woman I ever loved to walk away.” He took off the signet ring and flung it at the portrait. “God help me if I’ll become a barbarian like you. Richards!” Will marched to the door. “Richards!” he bellowed. He looked back at the portrait. “I don’t want to look at your face ever again. I’ve sold my soul for your bloody duty and title. The devil take me if I have to look at your face every time I turn around. Richards!”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Richards was running. Will did not think he had ever seen the man run before.

  “There are thirty-nine portraits of my father in this house.”

  “Are there, Your Grace?”

  “So I have been informed. I want every single one taken down.”

  Richards’ brows lifted slightly. “Every one, Your Grace?”

  “Yes. Get the staff and begin now.”

  “Now?”

  “This minute. You may begin with this one.” He pointed to the portrait in the drawing room. Richards stood looking at it, and Will clapped his hands. “Haste, Richards! That is what we want.”

  “Yes, Your Grace!”

  Several hours later, half of the portraits had been removed, and Will was supervising the removal of one in the music room. The entire staff seemed to be enjoying the activity. Maids and grooms would rush in to inform him they had found another portrait in the yellow room or the conservatory. Will had tallied the total as closer to fifty than the thirty-nine Juliette claimed. He stood and watched as three footmen wrestled with a large portrait of the duke. While he supervised, Will listened to the chatter and laughter of the servants around him. He did not recall ever hearing them laugh or talk around him before.