Duke of Storm

by Gaelen Foley

  She shook her head ruefully. I knew he looked familiar. He had not been in uniform just now—and perhaps the fellow was a little intense overall—but in hindsight, she understood that his offer of help was naught but the typical gallantry of a military man seeking to aid an obvious damsel in distress.

  Maggie rarely forgot a face. It was a knack of hers. After the terrible day she was having, she’d been slow to remember, but now it came to her.

  He had been at Connor’s duel—one of those dashing dragoons.

  He probably knew Connor. And so, greatly relieved, she put the man out of her mind, bracing herself to go into the house. For, after that row with Delia, heaven only knew what waited for her behind that door.

  * * *

  Lady Margaret Winthrop, Seth mused as he drove around the corner and circled back one more time to observe, gain the lay of the land.

  Watching her scamper away, he’d been disgusted but not surprised that she’d slipped through his grasp.

  Ah well. It had been a whim, anyway. He was never one to overlook an easy opportunity that presented itself. But he hadn’t pressed the matter, unwilling to stir her suspicions—or the duke’s.

  She was the girl from the duel, of course. The one who’d run to Amberley’s side looking more stricken over his gunshot wound than he was.

  It had been easy to learn her identity, since the ton had been abuzz about the whole event, from the hole in Lord Bryce’s hat to the young lady’s outburst.

  Hmm. Well, now he knew where she lived. A fruitful day, in all.

  Seth had discreetly followed Amberley Number Four from his house today—from a safe distance, of course—and tracked him to Hyde Park. When he’d seen the duke ride over to the two ladies in the open coach, he had recognized the brown-haired beauty as the girl from the duel, and now that he could put a face to the name, Seth had watched their exchange carefully, lurking amid the crowd.

  When Amberley and the ladies had parted ways in Hyde Park, Seth hadn’t been sure at first whom to follow. The duke had simply begun exercising his impressive dapple gray, taking the beast for one hell of a gallop across the park’s sprawling acreage.

  Seth had nearly lost him then, thanks to his mount’s speed, but he’d caught up just in time to see Amberley go riding off with some other chap.

  Seth had followed the pair to some aristocratic mansion in St. James’s, but they’d gone inside. Shut out, he’d decided to return to the Ring to try and find the females again.

  By sheer luck, he had spied Lady Margaret walking off by herself, looking very upset. Then the weather had turned foul, and he’d been caught in the crush of traffic fleeing Hyde Park. He’d followed and finally managed to catch up with her in Moonlight Square.

  Debating with himself about how to proceed once he had her in his sights, he had watched her progress through the screen of plane trees and lush greenery shrouding the park.

  Then he’d been arrested by the way her wet gown clung to her body; you could almost see through it. An arrow of lust had pierced him, and he’d started thinking that thought again.

  The one that would probably get him in trouble someday.

  The wicked desire in the back of his mind for a lady.

  A real one.

  He’d never had one. Not once. Of all the hundreds of females he’d sampled for fun or broken in for Father’s establishments, they’d all been whores of one sort or another.

  Never that, with class seeping out of her pores.

  Her kind fascinated and rather scared him, almost, in a sense. Bona fide ladies. Mother had been one, though he barely remembered her, small as he’d been when she’d died birthing Francis.

  All he really knew about his dam was that she had been the last vestige of a once-great Darrow family, which had bankrupted itself generations ago.

  That was the only way, obviously, that the rough-and-tumble likes of self-made millionaire Elias Flynn could have captured such a bride. One who’d brought to the marriage that precious whiff of respectability that Father had yearned to bequeath to his sons, the one possession he himself could never have.

  The reminder of Father’s displeasure brought Seth back to the grim reason he was here. He glanced over to the mansion on the corner: Amberley House.

  His face hardened, a surge of jealousy in his veins.

  Oh, to be sure, the likes of His Grace could have all the Lady Margaret Winthrops that he could consume.

  How they must cast themselves at his feet. But this one, Lady Margaret, well, Seth had seen how Amberley had gazed at her at the duel, and no wonder.

  She was a jewel, a wet, dewy flower, so innocent. She even moved with refinement, he’d noticed, the way she went hurrying through the rain so lightly and delicately, like she was in danger of melting, made of marzipan.

  And now, having gone in the house, she’d be peeling those fine clothes off, piece by piece, with the help of her maid…

  Seth swallowed hard and clapped the reins over his horses’ backs, driving on. Best not press his luck here.

  It wouldn’t do to be noted lingering about.

  He’d continue watching both Duke Number Four and the girl. But, for now, he had gained enough information.

  Indeed, he knew now what he could do about Amberley, if all else failed.

  The idea was riskier than he liked. Very much so. It would not be his first choice of how to complete his assignment.

  It could ruin everything for him—and for Father—if even one thing went wrong. But it would work, to be sure. And if he committed to it fully, it would be easy to carry out.

  Realist that he was, Seth could acknowledge that he might never manage to beat the major in a fair fight, as much as it stung his pride to admit it.

  Ah, but with that damp, dewy goddess in his grasp, it would be a simple matter to lure Amberley to him.

  Then he could blow the bastard’s brains out the minute he came to collect her.

  And with Amberley out of the way, why then, thought Seth with a lusty smirk, he could finally satisfy his curiosity about how it felt to bed a lady.

  He doubted, in truth, it was any different from taking his rough pleasure of a whore. But there was only one way to find out.

  Pleased at the prospect of that sweet little miss as his reward for finally completing his task for Father, Seth drove on with a smile on his face.

  CHAPTER 17

  A Shift in the Wind

  “He’s a good man, your father. I like him well,” Connor said as he walked back out to the mews with Gable, having finished his meeting with Lord Sefton.

  “He seems impressed with you, likewise, and believe me, that’s no easy feat.”

  The rain had stopped, and the fresh, damp aroma of it rose from the cobblestones, mingling comfortingly with the smell of horses and hay from the stables.

  “You two certainly seem to get on well together,” Connor continued. “It’s nice to see.”

  “We didn’t always, God knows.” Gable smiled wryly while the sound of hungry horses neighing for their supper floated out on the evening air. “He used to think me an utter wastrel. And frankly, before Trinny came along, he was not altogether wrong in his estimation. She straightened me out.”

  “She seems a fine woman.”

  “Why don’t you join us for supper tonight?” Gable asked as they strolled across the mews, heading for the stable. “I have to stay here a little while longer with Father to go over some things he wants me to see to in his absence, but you could take your horse home and make sure he’s settled, then join us at our house in Moonlight Square. We’re quite informal, and we’d love to have you. After all, you are our new neighbor.”

  “That’s very kind of you. But won’t your lady mind?”

  “Not at all. She spent so many weeks closeted in her confinement with the babe that she’s eager for company. Besides, I have an ulterior motive.”

  Connor looked askance at him. “You want to show off that baby of yours, don’t you?”
<
br />   “Oh God, am I that obvious?” the viscount exclaimed, laughing.

  Connor chuckled knowingly.

  Gable’s face flushed. “I try not to be too obnoxious about it, but I am ridiculously smitten with the tot.”

  “As you should be,” Connor said.

  “So, are you free?”

  “I’d be delighted,” he said.

  As they went back into the stables, a groom reported that Hurricane had behaved himself, to Connor’s relief. The groom led the way to the stallion’s temporary stall, but Connor had no sooner reached for the stall door than he furrowed his brow and turned back, his heart sinking.

  “You know, on second thought, I should wait until all this trouble is laid to rest before I set foot in your home. God only knows what these enemies of mine are capable of. I could never forgive myself if I were to draw danger to your wife and child.”

  Gable’s expression turned grim. “Damn. I hadn’t thought of that… That’s a hell of a thing,” he murmured, then folded his arms across his chest. “Do you really think…?”

  Connor shrugged. “Not worth taking the chance. Let us just postpone it. Better safe than sorry. But thank you. It means a great deal to me.”

  Gable frowned. “If it were just me, I would say it doesn’t matter, but—”

  “No, no, not at all.” Connor hauled open the stall door and collected his horse.

  Gable leaned against the wood frame, admiring the animal, though his eyes showed his concern. “So, do you think you’ll confront your aunt and see if your family’s troubles now have anything to do with her past?”

  “Confront the dragon?” Connor ran down a stirrup and gave Gable a sardonic glance. “Who do you think I am, Saint George?”

  His friend chortled.

  Connor shook his head. “It’s a delicate matter, to be sure. I think she’s still grieving and I don’t want to make anything worse. I may ask a few cautious questions—after this soirée she’s holding for me, of course. Such questions are sure to offend her, and God only knows what she might do to me in revenge at the party if she sets her mind against me.”

  “My father certainly had fond memories of her beauty back then.” Gable shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like that before.”

  They both laughed at the earl’s rhapsody over “Lucky Lucy Bly.”

  “Well, I’ll say this for her,” Connor remarked as he went around to the other side of Hurricane, resting his hand on the animal’s flank on the way so the temperamental stallion knew where he was. “Difficult as she is, she must be one hell of a survivor to have clawed her way up from that life to being a duchess. There’s something in that I can’t help but respect.”

  Gable nodded. “At least it explains how she became so formidable.”

  “Aye.” Connor shrugged and then tightened the saddle girth.

  A couple of grooms gathered around to admire Hurricane as Connor led the stallion out. They kept a respectful distance but ogled the tall thoroughbred and ventured to ask a few intelligent questions about the animal. Connor happily indulged them by answering their queries about the horse’s lineage and speed.

  “He’s a fine animal, Your Grace,” the head groom finally said with a bow as they let Connor and his horse go on their way.

  “Thanks for looking after him,” Connor said, and gave the man several coins to pass around to the stable boys.

  Gable sauntered after him, hands in pockets, as Connor led Hurricane back out into the cobbled yard.

  “You know,” the viscount said as Connor threw the reins over Hurricane’s withers, preparing to mount up, “supper might have to wait, but surely you could come and play cards with me and the boys tomorrow night.”

  His ears perking up at the sound of fun, Connor turned to him. “Oh?”

  Gable nodded. “We’re playing long whist at the club starting at eight, if you want to join us. It’s deep play, but we’d be glad to deal you in.”

  “Sounds a fine way to get rid of some of this ridiculous fortune I’ve inherited.”

  “Could be,” Gable said with amusement. “More importantly, there’ll be a whole crew of us at the table, so you would not appear to be singling anyone out, even if your enemy was watching. But it’s doubtful that he would be, since only residents of Moonlight Square can be members at the Grand Albion. Of course, they can bring guests,” he admitted. “Netherford always brings Peter Carvel, for example. But Rivenwood will be there. Sidney, me. What do you think?”

  “Aye,” Connor said, nodding, “that I could do. Thank you, Gable. I’ll be there. Sounds a proper way to spend a Saturday night.”

  “Into morning, usually.”

  “Aha. And you mean to stay awake for it?” Connor jested, recalling the new father’s frequent yawns.

  Gable grinned. “Coffee, man. Nectar of the New World. So, are you any good at gambling?”

  Connor gave him a cheery wink. “Luck o’ the Irish.”

  “Ha! Well, you’ll need it. Watch out for Netherford; he’s a shark. And Sidney is a master of the bluff.”

  With a hearty laugh, Connor swung up onto his horse. “Thanks, mate. I’m lookin’ forward to it.”

  Gable nodded, and they parted ways.

  * * *

  “I cannot believe she did that to you!” Penelope cried, pacing back and forth across Maggie’s chamber. She had returned from her day off and been appalled at the news. “I simply…cannot…believe it! What is wrong with that woman? Begging your pardon, my lady, but—I’m sorry—your sister’s a witch!”

  “I don’t disagree,” Maggie replied wearily, propped up against the headboard of her bed, with several pillows around her and three blankets tucked in about her shivering body. She sneezed again, covering it with her handkerchief just in time.

  Penelope rushed to Maggie’s bedside as though she were dying. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I feel responsible for this! If I had been there, at least—”

  “You’d have caught a cold, too. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine by tomorrow. I’m hardier than I look.” With a half-smile, Maggie reached gratefully for the cup of hot tea that Penelope had brought her.

  It was Mama’s old remedy for colds, passed down for generations, simply to add a stiff shot of whiskey to a cup of tea and go to bed early.

  Worked every time.

  Confident she’d feel better by tomorrow, she was not above making her next sneeze extra loud so that Delia might feel her reproach.

  Of course, Delia had problems of her own right now, for Edward had never been so enraged.

  Penelope and she had tried not to listen to the shouting coming up through the floor.

  It was the fiercest fight between husband and wife that she’d ever heard, and if her presence here was now adding this kind of strain to her sister’s marriage, then it merely drove home the point that Maggie needed to go.

  She did not want to be responsible for destroying their marriage.

  “Good God, woman, who are you?” Edward had thundered from below, and though the floorboards and carpet somewhat muffled their argument, it could not hide the fury in his voice. “I’ve tried to overlook your immaturity, God knows, but there comes a point—I mean, what sort of monster have I married?”

  “Monster?” Delia hollered. “I’ll tell you what sort of woman I am, Birdwell—one who’s too good for you!”

  “Oh, really?”

  Penelope shuddered while Maggie sank down a bit beneath the covers.

  “She’s going to ruin her own life,” Penelope murmured grimly.

  “She might as well,” Maggie said. “She’s already ruined Edward’s. Poor man.”

  “He should take a mistress,” Penelope whispered. “He’s too good a man to put up with such treatment.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Maggie said.

  She did not approve of adultery, of course, but at the moment, she was not convinced that her sister was even capable of love, and Edward deserved it.

  Penelope shook her hea
d, pacing. “It could put you off marriage entirely.”

  Maggie nodded and sipped her fortified tea once again.

  Upon her bedraggled return, it had given her some satisfaction to see how angry Edward had been on her behalf. His calm face had flushed with fury, and he had immediately sought out his wife.

  Even Delia knew she had gone too far this time, as much as she’d tried to pretend nonchalance. Maggie did not see fit to tell either of them about Bryce’s beastly behavior. How he’d enjoyed adding insult to injury. But he’d only brought dishonor on himself, and so had Delia.

  The Marchioness of Birdwell now found herself an outcast within the walls of her own home.

  Having heard the shocking story from Hubert the coachman, the entire staff had joined the insurrection, each of them, from butler to scullery maid, going out of their way to show their displeasure with their mistress by being very slow to obey any orders Her Ladyship gave them.

  Maggie appreciated their silent show of support, but was too fed up to care anymore. She felt miserable in both body and mind and did not know what would become of her.

  It was clearer than ever now that she could not stay here much longer. This living arrangement was simply not suitable. It might even be preferable to take her chances at Halford Manor, near handsy Uncle Wilbur.

  Only Penelope dared give voice to what she’d told Maggie all the servants were feeling. “Of all the petty, callous, insensitive—”

  “It’s all right, Pen. I survived it.”

  “That remains to be seen!” Penelope set her hands on her waist. “Are you sure you don’t want me to fetch the physician?”

  “It’s just a case of the sniffles. I’ll finish this good stuff, then get some sleep.”

  Penelope frowned, scanning Maggie’s face. “Very well. But if you start feeling worse, I think he should come and see you.”

  “As you wish.”

  In truth, all Maggie wanted to do was pull the covers up over her head and block out the world.

  She was already cringing to think of how the mighty major would react when he heard about her defeat. He’d inspired her to fight, and she had—and she’d been soundly trounced.