Only You: Duke of Rutland Series III

by Elizabeth St. Michel

  Lady Jane nodded. “I had to protect my child. I loathed Sir Albert Dabney. He was a charlatan, and I soon learned he was a womanizer, drinker and had gambled away my dowry. When my father died, and left me his estate Albert wasted the entirety. Now he has left us with tremendous liabilities and terrible poverty. Every day I fend off creditors. Sir Dabney is to die soon. The doctors say he has two to six months. His profligate lifestyle caught up to him. At least he will be in a better place while I face the looming threat of debtor’s prison. Oh, how I had high hopes for my son. He is very intelligent and I wanted him to continue his education, but…”

  Alexandra gave her a handkerchief. Her son, John, was Captain Sharp’s child? Alexandra imagined the terrible paradox Lady Dabney found herself in. Unmarried and pregnant? Captain Sharp’s delays fueled her desperation. “We all make mistakes, have struggles and regrets. But you are not your mistakes.”

  Alexandra moved to the door, and opened it a crack. “Lord Rutland.”

  Nicholas and John Dabney entered. John’s dark hair and good looks at sixteen years, were probably from his father. He sat on the settee and put his arm around his mother. “I have had the most wonderful time with Lord Rutland. Mother, have you been crying?”

  Six footmen entered and deposited three heavy chests. At Nicholas’s nod, they departed He locked the door.

  If Lady Dabney or her son thought his behavior odd, they did not indicate.

  Alexandra stood next to the chests. “What I’m about to reveal, will give you the power to shape both you and your son’s futures.”

  “I-I don’t understand,” said Lady Dabney.

  “Captain Sharp’s last wish was for you to have this gift,” said Alexandra.

  Alexandra and Nicholas popped open the trunks. Gold coins, pearls, and gemstones glittered and gleamed.

  Lady Dabney’ jaw dropped open.

  John Dabney was thunderstruck. “Mother, I demand to know who is Captain Sharp and why would he give us his treasure?”

  Alexandra lifted some gold pieces and dropped them into Lady Dabney’s hands. “This is why he left you, but unfortunate circumstances, meaning storms, and then being enslaved by Barbary pirates, prevented him from returning to you on time.

  Lady Dabney broke into sobs again, and hugged her son. “Captain Sharp was your father. You are named after him. When we get home, we will have a talk.”

  “I recommend you keep your treasure in our care until your husband dies,” said Nicholas. “That way, you can keep it from dishonest creditors.”

  Nicholas put his arm around a beaming Alexandra. “I have one request, Lady Dabney. I expect you and your son to attend our wedding.”

  Chapter 29

  Weeks of socials, balls, soirees, fittings, presented a whirlwind of activity and had drained Alexandra of energy. On top of that came the new responsibilities of her ancestral estate. She and Nicholas had visited often, putting Andrew Baines and Samuel in charge. Lady Sutherland and Willean were set to go on trial and had been placed in Marshalsea Prison, far away from causing any more harm.

  Thankfully, Nicholas had seen Alexandra’s momentum waning and insisted on moving everyone to Belvoir Castle where she would have more privacy and rest.

  Awestruck, Alexandra was speechless at her first glimpse of Belvoir, the Rutland ancestral home. Stately English oak trees lined the road with a glimpse of a stone edifice far up above. Truly having no idea of Nicholas’s wealth or the size of his estate, she could only stare. Manicured lawns, formal gardens, mazes, and a lake dotted with snowy white swans. Further across the green valley, were vineyards, fields of young grain and verdant pastures that looked like crushed velvet. Sheep grazed on a distant high slope, enhancing the pastoral landscape. Taking in the spectacular scenery, Alexandra clapped her hands to her face.

  How she itched to explore Belvoir’s grounds, so unlike the coastal village where she had grown up in, and a far different topography of the Caribbean island she and Nicholas had lived on. The coach lumbered up the mile-long, convoluted lane, her breath caught when the grandiose stone edifice materialized on the horizon.

  “My goodness, Nicholas, it’s a castle. Are those turrets?” She gaped, entranced by the castle’s enormity.

  “Indeed,” he murmured.

  She shot him a glance. His gaze was fastened on the horizon, and a smile curved his lips. Unreserved pride shone in his eyes as he observed his ancestral home.

  He loves Belvoir.

  Alexandra smiled again and focused her attention to the carriage window once more. At least a hundred beveled windows caught the afternoon sun, dazzlingly refracting the golden rays. The castle glowed as if it were alive, a living breathing entity. She inhaled, overcome with the splendor of the magnificent castle and grounds.

  How was she to be mistress of such a majestic estate? Nothing in her life had prepared her to run such a vast household. Did Nicholas have any notion how ill-prepared she was for such an overwhelming task?

  Before the carriage rolled to a stop, two liveried servants descended the manor’s granite steps. She clasped her skirts, pressing her fingers into her new brocade gown. At least this time she was properly attired before meeting the servants. Alighting, Nicholas then handed Alexandra down. She was aware of the covert, curious stares sent her way by the footmen and line of servants. Smiling, she shook everyone’s hand, and then Nicholas whisked her away into the castle. She passed a double stairway that climbed infinitely upward, and hosted rows of ancestral paintings.

  She was out of breath. “Nicholas, where are you leading me?”

  He pulled her down a deep corridor where a burst of light glowed at the end. A conservatory with large glazed windows on the sides and, sloping glass at the top, rounded up to an artful cupola. The minute they entered, heat and humidity swelled. Surrounded by tropical plants and rich vibrant tropical flowers, she extended her arms and twirled with warm memories. “Oh, it is just like the island. How I miss our sojourn there and wish we could turn back the time.”

  She skipped under a bower, following along a path, delighting in brightly colored crotons, scorching bromeliads, and brilliant orchids. She turned and Nicholas was gone. Where was he?

  She found him leaning against a smooth glass door, the light illuminating his fawn-colored breeches, white shirt, and dark hair. Like the light that surged on the crest of an incoming wave, he took her breath away.

  “Looking for me?” He tossed an orange to her. “I think you will find it the right sweetness.”

  She inhaled the strong citrus scent. “This is where you learned to identify tropical plants,” she accused laughingly. How she missed the island…long sultry nights…what he did to her...felt her muscles tighten as desire warmed her to the core.

  He took her hand. “Come.”

  “Where are we going now?”

  “We have unfinished business.”

  An indulgent smile was his only answer.

  She stopped, pulling her hand away. “How can you think of something like that at a time like this?”

  “I’m to be a duke soon. My father wants to turn over the responsibility during the next year. I must show you to your chambers.” He cuffed her chin with one finger.

  “Why, we need to…” She couldn’t think of what they needed to do. Those damned eyebrows were tilted her way. Like the faint exquisite music of a dream, he murmured into her ear and her pulse flickered and leapt.

  Nicholas dismissed her lady’s maid and Alexandra turned to him.

  “What will the servants think?”

  “Considering that my entire adult life, I’ve never paid much heed to the way things are “supposed to be,” I can’t imagine why now I would be doing so. I pay them to be discreet and after two days of celibacy, I want to be alone with you.”

  He watched her walk around, looking at the pink peacock silk wallpaper, fingering the silver brushes on the vanity and admiring the rose brocade bedcoverings of the mahogany four poster bed. In the glow of the afternoon
light, he saw the provocative goddess she had been that first day on the beach. He heard again, the sweet dulcet tones of her voice on the other side of the planks in the hold of the Santanas. He saw the woman who dug in the dirt to provide them with sustenance. He saw the woman who mocked him out of his doldrums. His heart hammered in his chest.

  He stared at her intently. “If I were a painter, I’d start with making a line of dark sienna against the light behind you.”

  And still he stared at her. Her hair gleamed like beams of sunlight, cascading down her back and around her shoulders. Something sprang free in his chest. Its newness was at first, painful, but the feeling resolutely exploded forth with a life and vigor of its own. Something marvelous, implausible, and all-consuming. This woman was to be his wife and carried his child. She was made to be worshipped.

  “Ten of my bedrooms in Deconshire could fit in this room. I don’t know how I’m going to get accustomed to all of this space...” she turned to him, “…unless I have you to share it with.”

  He pointed to her dressing room and a long dark corridor. “The connecting door to my chambers.”

  She licked her lips. “Oh, I suppose that is practical.”

  He closed the space between them, bent his head, kissing her long and lingeringly.

  She raised her head and put a finger to her lips and smiled. She undid his cravat, unbuttoned his shirt and eased him out of it. She ran her hands over his chest and his muscles flexed. She pointed to the chair for him to sit, and then pulled off his boots. This new venue where she undressed him left a hard hum of lust flowing through his veins. She ran a finger over him, outlining his rigid manhood.

  “Um, I approve,” she said and left him there, heat curling inside him.

  He leapt up, crossing the distance in two easy strides, spun her around, undid her buttons and untied her corset. Two could play the same game.

  Her gown pooled at her feet. He swung her up into his arms and carried her to the big four-poster. He shrugged out of his breeches and lay beside her, her soft breasts teasing his chest.

  Alexandra sighed. “The minute I heard your voice on the Santanas, I felt safe. You had come like a Guardian angel to protect me.”

  Nicholas ran a forefinger over her lovely cheek. “You’re safe from everything here at Belvoir—except me.”

  Her soft lips parted with only the slightest urging from his probing tongue. Her arms automatically went around his neck as she drew his tongue into her mouth, then gave him hers. He teased her, tormented her, offered himself to her by thrusting deep with his tongue, then leisurely withdrawing and thrusting again and again, until Alexandra clung to him, her mouth moving back and forth over his in passionate surrender.

  He stroked her hair and slid his hand down over her throat to her breasts, circling the dusky crests with his thumb until they stood up proudly. He caressed the line of her back and over her rounded hips. In response, she weaved her soft arms about his neck, splaying her fingers behind his shoulders and back.

  He had not imagined that any woman could create such desire in him, could arouse such passions, such a deep tempest. Her scent and heat surrounded him like a sensual miasma. He rolled atop her into the white slant of afternoon sun.

  When he entered her, her eyes closed and he saw the soft sweep of her lashes and heard the soft pleading moans as she cried out for him in a sweet pinnacle of release.

  How much more entranced could he be? Nicholas exhaled and glanced at the sky framed through the windows. The late afternoon sun prismed through the beveled windows, casting dazzling reds, oranges, yellows, blues and greens.

  All her fears should now be eradicated with the imprisonment of Lady Sutherland and Willean. She had told him he was her Guardian angel and embraced him with a delight that filled him with a tenderness so deep he ached inside.

  Then why the bothersome doubt that ran frigid along his spine?

  He leaned into her, brushing the top of her nose with his lips. “I won’t rest until I know you’re safe, and you’ll never be safe until we figure out who is against the Rutland’s.”

  She tucked her hair behind her ear. “With you, Nicholas, I always feel secure.”

  He grabbed her hand and placed it on his heart. “I have to return to London for two days on business. If you walk around Belvoir, it will be with guards. And you will not leave the grounds at all.

  “Anthony said that Cuthbert Noot, the man who tried to kill him and Rachel, claimed that there was a very wealthy and powerful man who would stop at nothing. Cuthbert was shot before he could reveal anything.”

  “Do you think the man Cuthbert talked about was responsible for the carriage trying to run us over at the opera?” asked Rachel.

  “Probably because Lady Sutherland denied any arrangement of that event.”

  Chapter 30

  In one of the huge salons in Belvoir, Rachel and Aunt Margaret sat across the table from Alexandra, mired in a myriad of wedding details and mountains of lists. And the number of guests? Dear Lord, it seemed half the country had been invited.

  Alexandra marveled at Nicholas’s matronly aunt. The elderly woman was a maestro, and in terms of logistics could match wits with the admiralty.

  Aunt Margaret looked up from her writing. “The only dark cloud to the wedding is the frightening menace that lurks. From now until the wedding is a perfect venue for our adversary to attack while everyone is busy.”

  Alexandra dipped her quill into ink and scratched across the parchment. “Everyone looks to Lord Drummond—”

  Rachel shook her head, leaned over and patted her dog, Casey, an adorable, brown and white, Springer Spaniel. “Not everyone thinks Lord Drummond is responsible. Like you, Alexandra, Duke Cornelius gives me the shivers. He is like holes in Swiss cheese, something is missing.”

  Alexandra placed the quill down and pushed a finished stack of correspondence toward Aunt Margaret. “Twice he has called me Lucretia.”

  Aunt Margaret stared at her. “That does not bode well at all. Have you told Nicholas?”

  Alexandra sighed. Casey ambled over, rested her dome-shaped head on Alexandra’s lap, begging her with those gold-brown eyes. She reached down and massaged the dog behind her ears. “We have been so busy. I mentioned the situation once, but we were interrupted and the circumstance was forgotten.”

  “To tell you the truth, I don’t like him either,” said Aunt Margaret. “I never would have absolved him like Richard had after Cornelius abducted Lucretia. Lord Westbrook arrived years later, totally humble, penitent and bearing gifts, enough to charm the devil. Lucretia was long dead and everything was forgiven.”

  “He told me about the affair on the island, where the Duke put out Cornelius’s eye with a sword, defending Lucretia and his banishment by his father.”

  Alexandra gathered a stack of papers spread like a deck of cards. With a sharp tap, she straightened them in an orderly row. “Don’t you see a pattern? Abductions, his modus operandi.”

  “Stay close to Belvoir,” Aunt Margaret warned.

  “Rachel and I have been invited for tea today at the Duke of Banfield’s. Nicholas sent a note saying it was fine to go as long as we have guards,” said Alexandra.

  “The Duke of Banfield and Humphrey are lovely company and so full of good humor,” said Rachel. “I do need to get out a bit.”

  Aunt Margaret harrumphed. “I don’t like it, especially with the Duke and Nicholas called away to London. Not one bit, but if you two are determined and Nicholas said it is fine, then go and enjoy yourselves. That said, enough of the depressing talk. These are to be happy times.”

  Alexandra picked up her swan’s quill and ran the soft feathery end beneath her chin. “It has been my experience that you can always enjoy life if you make up your mind that you will.”

  “That’s what I like about you, Alexandra. You are direct and will make a fine Duchess. We live in a world of circumlocution where one never says what one means let alone performs what they are supposed to
do. You are a breath of fresh wind, a remarkably resourceful young lady with wit and ready tongue. Like you, Rachel.”

  “Why thank you, Aunt Margaret,” Rachel and Alexandra chorused, and then laughed at their unison.

  A footman arrived with a tray laden with tea, flaky strawberry tarts and currant scones. “I’m to remind Lady Sutherland and Lady Rutland that the coach will await their departure in thirty minutes.”

  When the servant poured, and then departed, Aunt Margaret eyed them both over her teacup. She took a sip and pursed her lips. “Needs sugar. By the way, how many children do you ladies foresee?”

  Alexandra widened her eyes.

  Rachel coughed in fits of laughter. “In case you haven’t noticed, Alexandra, Aunt Margaret cuts into the matter as with a pen of fire, and pointed in her discussions.”

  Aunt Margaret precisely dropped two lumps of sugar in her tea. “I’ll answer the question. You are both young, healthy, and with many childbearing years ahead of you. Perhaps twelve for each of you.”

  “Good heavens,” said Alexandra, unconsciously placing a hand on her belly, and smiling at the child growing warm and robust inside her.

  Aunt Margaret dipped her eyes to where Alexandra caressed her middle. “We have to hurry. I’m guessing the next duke will be born about the same time as Rachel’s baby?”

  Alexandra’s jaw dropped.

  Rachel giggled. “Aunt Margaret, does anything get past you?

  Aunt Margaret lifted a brow. “You think they played chess on the island the entire time?”

  Chapter 31

  Alexandra and Rachel traveled throughout the afternoon, the rain pattering on the roof and continuing to fall as the team of horses pulled the Rutland coach swaying and lurching down the road, becoming bogged down in numerous potholes.

  “We are to arrive soon, I trust? I never thought to find myself with morning sickness in the afternoon,” Alexandra remarked, her hand splayed over her stomach. She settled into the swabs, perspiring from the stifling heat and humidity. She peeked out the window. Dark low-hanging clouds blanketed the sky, laying the earth in a dismal gloom.