The Last Duke (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  “So what?” Beatrix asked. “Are we to think him the Robin Hood of moral law? Taking care of members of society who lack any semblance of virtue?”

  Valiant stared at her in thought and then said, “Do you suppose… we could convince the ton to think so?” An idea was forming in her mind.

  Everly lifted a brow. “Well, he’s already been called the Angel of Death, which isn’t really a terrible entity. It’s only his profession that lacks warmth.”

  “Quite so,” Valiant said. “But anything having to do with death would repel anyone of good breeding.” It made her wonder what that meant about herself, since she was still attracted to him.

  “Why would we care to sway society’s thoughts?” Beatrix asked with a studious expression.

  Should she reveal any more? She’d not told her friends about the agreement she’d made with Cartelle two years ago, mainly because she hadn’t wanted Beatrix to feel indebted to her.

  And partly because it had been a very scandalous thing to do.

  “He has asked my aid in finding a wife,” she finally said.

  “He asked for your help in this matter?” Beatrix asked in disbelief.

  More like demanded it. “Yes.”

  “Very wise of him,” Brinley said with a grin. “You are a formidable matchmaker.”

  Valiant was warmed by her friend’s confidence in her.

  “Well.” Everly seemed surprised. “If you wish to paint him as a good match, you’ll need to do more than twist the rumors of the missing men. There are more than a few wives and widows who go on and on about his prowess in the bedchamber. You cannot imagine how many of them encouraged me to seek him out.” At twenty-one, when her father died, Everly had decided she’d never marry. She was thirty-one now and had just married, but during those many years of spinsterhood, she could have done what she wished, and no one would have faulted her for it.

  “Did you ever…?” Brinley’s words trailed off.

  “He never tempted me,” Everly said. “No man did, until Asher.” She smiled with a hidden knowledge that Valiant hoped she kept to herself. She was happy for Everly but didn’t wish to know anything about her brothers and their… bedchamber activities.

  But Everly’s statement reminded Valiant of the reason she’d never give her body to Cartelle. She understood that men had needs—her husband had had his own. after all—but she could never abide a man who took married women.

  It was something she’d have to discuss with him, though she’d rather not. There would be no more sleeping with married women. It was the one thing that had bothered her about Noah. Lady Yates had been wed. They’d fought about it when Valiant had found out what was going on, but in the end, she’d had no one to blame but herself.

  But surely, there were enough unmarried women to fill Cartelle’s bed?

  She recalled the desire in his eyes when he’d claimed to want a widow. His gaze had made it clear he intended to have her.

  That would not happen.

  Her only hope was to find a woman who loved him enough to rein him in and tamper his desire to have anyone else, for though she didn’t think he deserved it, she wanted him to be happy.

  She wanted everyone to be happy.

  “I’ll speak to him about it,” Valiant said. “Which shouldn’t be difficult, since he wants a woman who would love him.” Though not really, she was sure. He’d only added that stipulation to make it impossible for Valiant to win.

  Beatrix scoffed. “You’d have a better chance of finding some senseless girl fresh from the schoolroom who hasn’t yet heard the rumors of the Angel of Death.”

  Valiant groaned and pressed her fingers to her temples, an action she often saw her brother Asher do. “If only I could, but he’s demanded his future duchess be at least twenty-three and smart.”

  “Smart, you say?” Brinley asked with a smile. “I think I’m starting to like him.”

  “Even with that.” Everly sighed and looked at Valiant. “You’ve your work cut out for you, my dear.”

  Valiant touched her hand. “Which is why I’ll need everyone’s help if I am to make this happen.”

  “Why are you so desperate to do this?” Beatrix asked.

  Valiant said the first lie that came to her lips. “I believe this is what I’m good at. If I can complete this task in the next two months, I’ll have proven something to myself.”

  Beatrix smiled. “The world is blessed to have you in it.”

  Everly squeezed Valiant’s hand. “I know a writer for one of the women’s magazines. We’ll help, just as you helped us all.”

  “Yes,” Brinley said. “Count us all in.”

  And for the first time that day, Valiant took an easy breath.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 5

  Anthony was shown around the back of Lady Dahlia Goody’s townhouse. Upon entering her garden, he found the older woman kneeling in the rose bed and covered in enough dirt to look like a commoner.

  A very lovely commoner with sunlight bathing her golden hair and brightening her green eyes. She had to be at least ten years older than Anthony, but that didn’t stop him from admiring her.

  She’d been a commoner before she married, the daughter of Lord Good’s gardener. Her husband had taken one look at her and gone after his heart rather than wedding a woman of his own class.

  Such matches were rare for members of society.

  He looked around the garden and once again announced, “Your garden could rival the palace’s.” And it was true. She’d designed a paradise for herself, since most of the ton wanted little to do with her. Society mothers scorned and feared women like Dahlia, because, in their minds, she’d stolen one of their own.

  “Why are you here?” Dahlia asked. After seven years of acquaintanceship, she still watched him warily.

  “I think by now you know exactly why I’ve come,” he told the lady.

  When she didn’t respond, he sighed and said, “I’ve brought you a plant.” He held out the dark bag for her. “Or rather, just the seedlings.”

  Unable to resist, she stepped forward and took the bag from his hands. “What are they?”

  “The natives call it chile. It was harvested from the other side of the world. I hear if you plant them now, they can grow even in London.”

  She opened the bag and frowned at the seeds. “What do they taste like?” Dahlia enjoyed cooking even more than gardening.

  “No idea,” he confessed. “You’ll have to tell me how it goes.”

  She looked up at him, and her expression softened. “You’ll have to come and try them when I serve them to my husband.”

  He smirked and stepped closer to her as he lowered his voice. “Are you sure he’d not protest my presence?”

  She snorted in an ill-mannered way that was adorable. After over thirty years as a lady, she was still very much herself. “Don’t make me regret extending the invitation.”

  He chuckled. “You know I can’t resist you, my lady. Your husband is a lucky man. Why, if I was only two years older…”

  She scoffed.

  “Five?” he asked. “Surely, not more than that.”

  She smiled and turned to a servant, asking the man to clear a portion of the beds for her new seeds. When she turned back to him, her expression sobered. “Have you heard anything about John?”

  Anthony sobered as well and shook his head. “A man in Wales said he’d boarded a boat to Ireland. My men in Dublin have yet to locate him.” He wanted to promise her that he would find her son but didn’t dare.

  John Goody had gone missing seven years ago, which was around the time that Anthony had killed his father.

  Anthony had been blamed for John’s disappearance as well by the papers and Lady Dahlia, going against social order, had come to him and begged him to give her son back.

  Anthony hadn’t bothered denying anything the papers said that year. He’d barely read them. He was on trial for killing his father. Yet even still, he’d known that to deb
ate the gossip would only make it grow.

  But he’d been moved by Dahlia and had offered to help her while fighting for his own life.

  The courts had pardoned Anthony by the end of the Season.

  Now, seven years later, he was no closer to finding John than before.

  Since learning Lady Goody enjoyed gardening, he’d begun to shower her with gifts around this time every year, trying to make up for something he knew he couldn’t.

  He easily spotted a few of the many he’d given her. Cherry plum, pear, chestnut. He’d given her plants that would produce foods mostly, after learning she’d invite him over once they bore their fruits.

  Society was foolish to overlook this woman, who was so gracious and kind. They’d barely softened even when her son went missing. In their twisted minds, they blamed her lack of noble blood for her son’s death—though a body had never been produced.

  Though not responsible for John’s disappearance, Anthony did feel some guilt.

  He’d met Mr. John Goody only once and had to admit he’d not liked the gentleman. John had a temper and Anthony had seen his cruelty to servants at their club. John had also despised some of the lords, but who could blame him when he’d grown up with the hostility of the ton? Doors had been shut in the poor lad’s face before he’d been given a chance to prove himself.

  “Thank you,” Dahlia suddenly said. “For the seeds and for looking for John.”

  “I’ll never quit,” he promised her. He’d also hired men to look for the other lords who had gone missing since John. Four were gone, the others all nobles, all either heirs or titled.

  None had been found, though the other parents didn’t blame him for those.

  At least, not aloud.

  Dahlia took a step away from him. “Good day, my lord.”

  He sensed his charms had only settled her for a time. Now, she was on guard again and until Anthony found John, the lady would likely never trust him.

  He bowed and tried to ignore the pain of her rejection before departing.

  He spent the rest of the afternoon looking into the other gentlemen while not alerting their families that he was doing so. It was not an easy task, but he did manage to speak to a few former servants of the households. His coin made their words generous and also ensured their silence.

  They’d learned nothing new to aid his hunt.

  Perhaps, the lords had simply left for the Continent.

  He’d thought that during the first year they’d been missing, as did many of their relatives— though they’d all thought it strange that the men had said nothing about a trip—but now years had passed.

  Surely, someone knew something about them.

  Anthony was actually only concerned with finding Mr. Goody for Dahlia but thought finding the others would aid him somehow.

  When evening began to settle over the city, having no social obligations, Anthony went to his club to have dinner with Benedict Gillingham, the Earl of Dalewell.

  The men had barely taken their seats before they were immediately surrounded by others who wished to know about the duel. The gentlemen seemed to grow in excitement as they surrounded him. Some pretended to be his friend if only to make themselves seem dangerous to other lords.

  But he knew the truth. They all feared him.

  “Well?” an older gentleman asked as they all crowded Anthony’s dinner table. Could a man not eat in peace? “Is Lord Rosamund alive? I’ve not seen him all day.”

  They were bloodthirsty and yet none of them would dare murder a man themselves.

  Once, two years ago, Anthony had been asked to kill a certain man as though he were some sort of assassin. At the threat of a duel, the man had fled.

  “Another time, gentlemen. We simply came to eat,” Benedict said, knowing that Anthony didn’t wish to be to be bothered.

  Anthony barely saw Benedict these days. He’d happily married a young woman who thought the world of him and he of her. This had been their one night to get together since his wife usually had dinner with her parents and hardly anyone could stand his mother-in-law, Lady Tellock.

  “It’s just a question,” the older gentleman said. His group clung to his every word. “Is Rosamund alive or not?”

  “He’s alive,” Anthony said over his beef.

  “So, you clipped him, did you?” a younger man asked. “Where’d you shoot him? In the leg?”

  “No, the hand hopefully,” another man said. “Rosamund doesn’t know how to play an honest game. He’s stolen from more than a few gentlemen.”

  Anthony hadn’t known that, though if Rosamund happened to go missing, they would say Anthony had caused it and likely the theft would be the reason.

  As though he were some dark hero to be praised and feared.

  Wanted and discarded.

  Like a good service mule.

  “I didn’t shoot him at all,” Anthony stated as he continued to keep an expression of disinterest. “There was no duel. He apologized, and I accepted.”

  “For now, you mean,” the young man pressed. He cut between Anthony and Dalewell and was leaning far too close for Anthony’s liking, nearly breathing on him while he ate. “You’ll go after him later, won’t you?”

  Benedict glared and opened his mouth to address the man, but Anthony got to him first.

  “Back away.”

  The entire table gasped, and the young gentleman tripped over himself in his haste to get away, falling on the floor. His and everyone else’s eyes were aimed at Anthony’s hand.

  He held a knife. He’d been cutting into his meat right before the gentleman had made himself comfortable on Anthony’s arm.

  He thought to tell the man that he had no interest in slitting his throat but then decided against it as the group moved away. At least now he could eat in peace.

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  0 6

  “Sorry about that,” Benedict said before he returned to his own meal. “Though, you should have known what you were getting into when you challenged Rosamund. I can’t understand why you did it at all. It isn’t as though Lady Beaumont holds any significance to you.”

  Did Valiant have any significance to him?

  She was a curiosity, he admitted. So courageous. She’d even dared to battle him on behalf of strangers. He knew she had no ties with Rosamund, yet she’d come to him to set wrongs to right. Her tenacity amazed him.

  “She didn’t deserve his words.” Anthony grabbed his wine and swirled the liquid in the glass as he leaned back in thought. “She’d already suffered enough. It was callous to cause her more pain.”

  “Of course.” Benedict looked at him with understanding in his blue eyes. “She suffered in much the same way that you did.”

  “No,” Anthony quickly said. “Her pain is nothing like mine.”

  “Right.” Benedict looked away but not because he feared Anthony— he was the only person in England who didn’t—but because he often didn’t know what to say to Anthony.

  There had been a time when Benedict did fear him and for good reason.

  That had been their way since they were children.

  Anthony would become upset by something his father did, and Benedict would try to make him feel better and usually fail.

  Yet it never stopped him from trying.

  As they got older, it was Benedict who would upset Anthony. Benedict would gamble away his income and ask Anthony to repay the debts over and over again.

  Then one night, Anthony had stabbed Benedict when he’d suggested he take his twin sister Beatrix as compensation for a debt.

  And Benedict hadn’t meant as a wife.

  To this day, Anthony had sworn never to tell Beatrix of his brother’s suggestion while the two had been deep in their cups.

  Beatrix, for years, had feared and hated him, but now they’d come to some sort of harmony.

  Yet even if they hadn’t, that relationship had no bearing on the one he shared with Benedict.

  Yet neither would ever leave
the other. Their friendship had had its tests and trials. Both were better men than they’d been.

  Anthony had intended to marry Lady Beatrix two years ago—another attempt of Benedict trying to right wrongs—only to learn she was already in love with someone else.

  “I’m surprised you forgave Lord Rosamund,” Benedict said. “You seemed pretty intent on shedding some blood at least.” Benedict had been present at the table when Anthony had addressed Rosamund.

  Anthony had dueled two other men after his father. One he’d allowed to beg for his life on the morning of the duel. The other Anthony had shot in the leg. The gentleman now walked with a limp.

  Those battles had also forced him in front of a magistrate and, in both incidences, he’d been set free.

  There was a code of honor among gentlemen even if the law forbade dueling. There were days when all a gentleman had was his word and every member of society understood it, including the men who kept justice.

  “Why did you let him go?” Benedict asked when Anthony said nothing.

  “Lady Beaumont asked,” Anthony said. “There was no reason to deny her request.”

  Benedict nodded slowly. “That was kind of her. Had it been me…” He shook his head and then narrowed his eyes at Anthony. “It was kind to step in on her behalf. I don’t think anyone else will dare mention Lord Beaumont’s affair again. Or at least, not to the lady personally.”

  “Then my duty is complete.”

  Benedict chuckled and lifted his glass. “The world is a better place with you in it.” He was the only one who would think so.

  Anthony almost smiled, but there were eyes on him, and so he didn’t. He simply lifted his glass in response.

  “You let Lord Rosamund live?” Denhallow shouted as he settled himself into another seat at Anthony’s table. “I was counting on you,” the reveler said with a devious gleam in his black eyes. “Lord Rosamund holds a property he refuses to sell. Take my advice. The next time you wish to do something good, don’t.”