"I'm afraid not, I was merely stopping on my way to Pemberton Hall. I have been travelling from Southampton these past few days."
"But you will be staying in Cornwall, your Grace?"
Ruan hesitated; he had no idea what he would do, once he had Olive back under his protection. Pemberton, his Cornish estate, was much smaller than the Ducal seat he held in Avon, but perhaps it would be a nice spot to acquaint himself better with his wife.
"I do not know," he answered honestly, "But if I stay, I will call again."
Mollified Jane fled the room, with the briefest of nods to her brother and no acknowledgement to Lord Payne, who didn't seem to notice the slight for he was checking his hair in the looking glass above the fireplace.
"How about a brandy?" Lord Deveraux cried, rubbing his hands together with anticipation. It was rather early in the afternoon for drinking, but after the long journey from Southampton, Ruan felt he deserved some steeling libations.
He followed Deveraux and Payne to the mahogany clad library, where a low fire burned in the imposing hearth, despite the warmth of the summer's day. Both men seemed well acquainted with the room; Payne threw himself into a cosy, stuffed chair, with the air of a man who was familiar with the action.
"What brings you to St.Jarvis?" Ruan asked the younger man, as he accepted a tumbler from Deveraux. He had poured Ruan a rather generous measure, and an even more generous one for himself.
Lord Payne grimaced, as though he was in pain, and cast Ruan a dejected look.
"Trying to out-run my father's ire."
Ruan snorted into his brandy. He knew the Duke of Hawkfield well from Parliamentary sessions, and he was a fierce, proud man. That his son had garnered a reputation as the ton's most committed reprobate, would not sit well the old Duke.
"I don't blame you," Ruan sipped on his drink, "The old man even scares me."
Hearing that the fearsome Duke of Ruin found his father intimidating seemed to mollify Payne somewhat.
"He'll be even more eager to find me a bride, now," Payne said dejectedly, then a thought seemed to strike him. "I say, Everleigh, did you find your missing wife? Is that why you're back in Cornwall?"
No one would ever accuse Lord Payne of an excess of social tact, Ruan thought with a grimace.
"Nearly," he said, "I have reason to believe that after The Elizabeth sank, that she somehow ended up in St. Jarvis."
"Good God," Deveraux had paled, and was looking at Ruan nervously. "Did she lose her mind, do you think, from the shock of it all?"
Ruan could read the expression of pity on his old friend's face. Not another mad wife, he could see Deveraux thinking. He shrugged, in answer to the question, and took another sip of his drink.
"I wonder where she's staying," th Viscount mused aloud, after a moment's thoughtful silence. "A widow named Mrs Black recently reopened the old boarding house, and it's full of eccentrics like the old days. Perhaps she's there?"
"Mrs Black?" Ruan raised his eyebrows speculatively.
"Yes, Olive Black. A sailor's widow. She has quite the sharp tongue, but one lets that slide on account of how pretty she is. I was always partial to a red head though..."
"Gentlemen," Ruan set his glass down on the small table beside his chair. "I think you might find that I am the Widow Black's husband, and rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated."
That evening the boarding house was filled with the sound of music and laughter, as the twins gave an impromptu musicale in the drawing room. Poppy played the piano forte, whilst Alexandra accompanied her on the harp. Both girls sang, with sweet clear voices, that quite often faltered, as they both descended into fits of giggles. The music had begun sedately, but once their Aunt Augusta had retired for the night, the twins had unveiled their secret talent for bawdy tunes, more suited to a tavern than a group of ladies --though no one complained.
Olive kept half an ear on the twins' songs, as she prepared a tray of tea in the kitchen. She was torn between asking them to stop, before things got too rowdy and Augusta was disturbed, and genuinely enjoying the innuendo laden ditties. As she filled the China pot with boiling water, she heard a movement outside the back door, which had been kept ajar to allow some cool air to penetrate the stifling warmth of the room.
Fearing it was a fox, she hurried over to close it, but her attention was caught by the sound of voices, which sounded to her like a couple arguing. Liv strained to hear what was being said, then bit back a gasp as she realised that the fighting couple were none other than Jane and Mr Jackson.
"My dear Jane," Mr Jackson was speaking in a very calm, dispassionate voice. "I pray you will compose yourself, I have not asked you to commit murder. Merely to wait for me until I return from the South Americas."
"But that could be years."
Liv could hear the shake in her friend's voice, and she instinctively knew that Jane was holding back tears.
"Five years. Seven at the most," Liv could picture Mr Jackson waving away Jane's concerns with an impatient hand. Seven years was a long time to ask a woman to wait, Liv thought, especially when one was considered already on the shelf, as Jane was.
"I thought that this year," Jane sniffed loudly, her voice trembling, perilously verging on hysterics. "I thought this year that you would ask me to be your wife Alastair. I've spent so long waiting, and every time you let me down."
"You're acting in a most peculiar way, Jane," Mr Jackson sounded thoroughly annoyed, his every word ringing with impatience. "Honestly -- I'm nearly reconsidering asking you to wait at all."
It took all of Liv's willpower, not to march out the back door and smack Mr Jackson resoundingly across his smug, pompous face. Luckily, Jane seemed to have had the same idea, for a ringing slap echoed across the night.
"I think you can deduce from that, Mr Jackson," Jane's voice sounded shocked, as though she could not believe what she had just done. "That I shan't be waiting for you. Though thank you for your most magnanimous offer."
Olive heard the sound of footsteps hurrying toward the side gate, and she quickly stepped away from the door. Jane, must have gone home, but Mr Jackson was still in the garden, and quite possibly could come in at any moment. Liv quickly returned to her tea tray, and when the entomologist slipped through the door, with a brief hello, she gave him a curt nod. He had been planning to leave at the end of the week, but Liv wondered if he would push his date of departure forward, after all the unpleasantness with Jane. She hoped so, for she would far prefer to have her friend about, than the dull Mr Jackson.
"I have tea," she called gaily, as she entered the drawing room. "Coffee for Mrs Actrol and hot milk for Beatrice."
Liv served the two older women first, while the twins poured for themselves and the Misses Devoy and Dunham. The four younger women were in high spirits, and much of the tea ended up on the carpet.
"I haven't had this much fun in years," Mrs Actrol said, wiping away tears as Liv handed her a steaming hot cup of black, bitter coffee. "Did you know, that a whole new set of bawdy songs have been created since I was a girl? Oh the things that people can make rhyme with Duke."
Liv smiled, through somewhat gritted teeth. She knew the limerick that Mrs Actrol was referring to --it was about her estranged husband. She had found it amusing when she had first heard it in London, but now that she knew something of Ruan and his late wife, she could not bear to hear it again.
"Do you know any different limericks Poppy?" she asked quickly, lest Mrs Actrol request she repeat it for Liv's pleasure. The young, blonde woman furrowed her brow, as she tried to think of another amusing poem.
"Oh I know one," Alexandra interjected, her eyes dancing with mischief. She stood, took her place at the centre of the room and took a deep breath, before beginning; "There once was a Viscount from Harrow, whose posterior was less than nar--oh!"
Alexandra broke off mid-word, to stare with alarm at the person who had just entered the drawing room. Fearing that it was the twins' Aunt Augusta, Liv whirled
around.
"Gemini!" she heard Poppy whisper with excitement, behind her, but in truth the whole room seemed to have receded from Liv's vision, and all that she could see was the Duke of Everleigh. He, in turn, did not seem to see anyone else bar Liv; and he was looking at her in a way that expressed a mix of great displeasure and triumph, all at once.
"Your Grace," she heard herself say, averting her eyes from his penetrating gaze.
The women, who had previously been so cheerful, remained silent, as they watched the exchange between their hostess and the handsome intruder.
"Is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Mrs Actrol finally said, impatience getting the better of her. "At my advanced age, I can't be expected to wait very long for explanations, I might not live long enough to hear them."
This, of course, was ridiculous, for Mrs Actrol was in perfect health, though Liv was grateful that she had spoken, for she herself had lost that ability the second her husband walked in the door.
"Mrs Actrol," Ruan bowed slightly in her direction, "I know your works, of course, but have never had the pleasure of meeting you. I'm afraid that our time together will be brief, however, for I am only here to fetch my wife and take her home."
"Your wife?"
Every lady in the room glanced at each other curiously; was the woman seated next to them the secret wife of the Duke of Everleigh? How exciting!
"Yes my wife," Ruan frowned in Olive's direction, his voice low and droll. "She seems to be labouring under the misapprehension that she is a boarding-house proprietress, and not a Duchess."
Liv didn't have to look up, to know that the faces of her guests were turned her way in shock. She heard a few gasps, and the word "Gemini" uttered several times, but kept her gaze locked on her husband's. He was not the only one who could stare menacingly, she thought grimly.
"If you would all be so kind," she said, struggling to keep her voice even,so as not to overly alarm her guests. "As to give the Duke and I some privacy. We have a few small matters that we need to discuss."
Ruan snorted at the word small, but stepped aside to allow the ladies of the house to file past him and out the door. Liv knew with certainty that they would all remain outside in the hallway, with their ears pressed against the door to see what they could hear. Once they had all left, she let out a sigh, and turned to face her husband.
"A few small matters?" Ruan cocked an eyebrow, his expression amused. Liv could see that he was in fact far from entertained by her choice of words, and that behind his exterior veneer of patience, he was seething with anger.
"A few small matters?" he repeated, his voice rising slightly as he approached her. It was like watching a predator ready to pounce on its prey, and Liv quickly took a step back behind an armchair so that it blocked his path.
"Our marriage is no small thing," he said, his eyes sweeping the armchair disdainfully, as if to let her know that it was a small obstacle that would not challenge his strength. "It is a legally binding contract, in which you swore, before God, that you would be mine until death do us part. And faking your own death does not count."
Liv bristled at his imperious tone; he still believed that he owned her, simply because he had won her hand in a game of cards.
"You forget, your Grace," she threw him a gaze that would have made most men quake in their boots, "That our marriage was not consummated, and that I am within my rights to seek an annulment."
"All I need is five minutes, and the matter of our unconsummated marriage will be remedied completely."
"Five minutes?" Liv arched an eyebrow, "That's hardly something to boast about, your Grace."
She watched as his blue eyes turned dark with anger, and for the first time since he had arrived she felt genuine fear. Why had she gone straight for the jugular? She should have known that a man like Ruan Ashford would not take having his lovemaking skills mocked.
"I have told you, my dear," he whispered,his eyes almost black. "That my name is Ruan, and I shall hear it from your lips before this night is out. And I can guarantee that when you say it, you will be screaming it in the throes of pleasure."
"You mean to force me?"
"In my life I have never forced a woman into my bed, and I'm not about to start with you."
With a simple kick of his polished Hessian, he upended the armchair between them, and before Liv could even think to react, he had closed the distance between them and taken her roughly into his arms.
"You are my wife." His voice was low and husky, and as he took her lips with his he emitted a growl that was filled with anger and need. If Liv had thought that their kisses on The Elizabeth had been passionate, this time they were even more so. He seemed to fill her every sense; the feel of his lips pressing insistently against hers, the taste of his kisses, his masculine scent filling her head and making her feel woozy with desire. He was right -- there was no way that the Duke of Everleigh would ever have to force any woman into his bed, they would go willingly, begging even, for the chance to experience all the pleasure he promised.
"No!"
As his hands began to rove her body, Liv somehow found the reserves of strength she needed, despite her body's treacherous response to his touch, and she pushed hard against his chest, so that he staggered backward.
"I can't," she cried, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts, "I won't let you take this away from me."
"Take what?" Ruan's voice was laden with sarcasm. "A drafty boarding house in the back-end of nowhere?"
"No -my freedom," she replied, trying to steel herself against the ridicule she knew that he would pour on that statement. When he remained silent, she stole a look at him, and saw that his eyes were thoughtful.
"When you asked me why I married you, I said it was because I wanted a wife who challenged me," he said, with a hollow laugh. "Be careful what you wish for, isn't that what they say?"
"What about the lot that I landed? A husband I did not wish for at all," she retorted. She needed him to leave, soon, because despite her protests that he was not what she had wanted, now that he was here, she was filled with a need she had not known existed. Not until he kissed her.
"I'll show you to the door," she said, smoothing down the front of her dress, as much to calm her nerves as to straighten the material.
"I won't leave."
His voice was like thunder filling the room, and for a moment Liv felt genuine fear, until the door was pushed open and Polly came storming in. She held a pistol and her hand was steady as she pointed it directly at the Duke of Everleigh.
"I believe the Duchess asked you to leave, your Grace," Polly spoke mildly as if she was attending a tea-party, though she did not lower the weapon in her hand, despite the pleasantness of her demeanor. Liv stifled a cry of shock with her hands; she was sure that Ruan would lunge for her friend, but instead, the Duke gave an amused chuckle.
"Is this any way to greet your employer Miss Jenkins?"
Polly glanced sideways at Olive, her eyes full of apologies, before she replied; "You employed me to protect your wife, your Grace, and at the moment you are the biggest threat to her wellbeing. I do hope you understand."
"Oh, I understand completely," Ruan's blue eyes were resigned as he glanced at Olive, who stood rooted to the floor her mind reeling from the revelation that Ruan had sent Polly to spy on her. "I will take my leave tonight; but rest assured Olive, you will see me tomorrow."
With that he donned his hat, gave a small bow and swept angrily from the room, startling the ladies in the hallway, whose gasps could be heard from the drawing room. Olive ignored them and instead focused her attention on the woman standing opposite her, the woman who had purported to be her friend.
"You lied to me," she whispered, her eyes fixed on Polly's hand, which was gripping the pistol with a casual elegance that suggested more than a passing familiarity with holding fire arms.
"Aye," Polly gave a sigh, that seemed to encompass the weariness of the whole world. "I did, your Grace, and I
apologise. But I can explain, if you'll let me."
"Why should I? You have betrayed me Polly; I don't think I can forgive you that."
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Polly's voice was determined, and she sat down on the divan and gestured for Olive to sit in the chair opposite her. "I want to explain exactly what happened the night that Catherine Ashford died --and maybe then you can decide if you still wish to send the Duke away. For he is one of the most selfless men I have ever met, and I cannot leave until I plead his case with you."
Despite her reservations, Olive sat down, her curiosity to know more about the enigmatic Duke overpowering her anger.
"This had better be good," she said with a sniff, placing her hands primly on her lap as she waited for Polly to begin.
"It is," Polly held her gaze, "It's the true story of how your husband came to be known as the Duke of Ruin, and why that title is totally undeserved."
"You're back?"
Lord Deveraux was well and truly in his cups when Ruan stormed into the library of Jarvis House later that evening. He and Lord Payne were still sprawled on the chairs drinking brandy, and the only difference that Ruan could discern since leaving them a few hours ago, was that the decanter of alcohol was now nearly empty.
"Yes, it would seem I have to impose on your hospitality a bit longer, Deveraux. I hope you don't mind?"
Ruan could have returned to Pemberton Hall, which lay some thirty miles away, but he wanted to remain close to St. Jarvis --close to Olive. With a small nod of thanks, Ruan accepted a tumbler of brandy from Lord Deveraux, and sat down on a nearby chaise with a sigh.
"No luck then?" Lord Payne questioned, again displaying his utter lack of tact. If Ruan was the type of man who was easily offended, the young Lord's overly familiar tone would have grated on his nerves. As it was, it took a lot to offend Ruan, and there was a boyish charm about Lord Payne, that made one overlook his lazy manners.
"I was ordered out of the establishment at gun point," he replied shortly, earning a guffaw of amusement from Lord Payne.
The Duke of Ruin: Reluctant Regency Brides Page 10