Nobody's Duke (League of Dukes Book 1)

by Scarlett Scott

  Clay caught her to him. She clutched his arms, struggling to gain her breath. She had never considered herself a weak woman, before, but the events of the last few months had made her feel small and trifling and insignificant. They had made her realize how powerless she was.

  But not her son.

  She could not accept that the Fenians would take an innocent boy. Why would they wish to hurt him? How could they? And a woman? Miss Palliser? Why would the new governess wish her beloved boy harm? It made no sense. Or it made horrible, awful sense. The sort of sense she could not comprehend.

  “Say something, Clay,” she begged in a hoarse whisper, searching his beloved face for some small sign of comfort. Anything.

  “I will find him, Ara.” His jaw clenched. “I swear to you I will find him, and I will bring him safely home to you. Leo and I are riding out now.”

  “I will come with you,” she said. “Let me dress, and I—”

  “No, Ara,” he said gently. “There isn’t time to waste. I must go now.”

  Tears blurred her vision. He was right. She did not want to be an impediment. “Go, Clay. Bring our son home.”

  He kissed her once, swift and hard, and then he strode from the chamber, leaving Ara alone in the bed that had been filled with such love and joy just the day before. Her son was out there, somewhere in the world without her. Shaking, she stood and began to hastily dress herself. Of one thing, she was utterly certain. She could not bear to stay behind and wait.

  They cannot have gotten far, Clay reassured himself as he raced hell for leather down the road alongside Leo. Leeds and the rest of the men had split up, determined to cover every square mile of the land surrounding Harlton Hall. Meanwhile, he and his brother had decided the best course of action for them to take was to head for the rail station. If Miss Palliser was indeed a Fenian sympathizer who had infiltrated his home with the goal of abducting Edward and either ransoming him or far worse, she would not remain in Oxfordshire. She would be fleeing to another city, and with all haste.

  The key was to find them first. If Miss Palliser spirited him away in a train car, their ability to disappear would be infinite. But Clay would not think that now, not as he spurred his mount down the road at breakneck pace, desperation and fear a sick soup swirling inside him.

  The head groomsman had reported settling them into a gig early that morning, Miss Palliser volunteering to drive. The governess had announced they were off on a learning expedition. The lad had been cheerful and smiling, eager for his lesson. So bloody trusting. Such a good-hearted lad. The notion of Edward being led away to danger by someone he had trusted infuriated him. He deserved better, by God.

  The lad had already suffered enough in his young life, and Clay had only just begun to know him. He could not bear to lose him now. He would do everything within his power—every bloody thing—to ensure his son’s safety.

  They raced around a bend in the road, and his heart slammed into his throat when he spied the gig pulled off to the side of the country lane, empty, the horse pulling it browsing in some grass. Apparently anticipating they would be followed, Miss Palliser had chosen to disappear into the dense undergrowth of the woods bookending the road.

  As he rode, he scoured the surrounding land for any trace of the governess or the lad. And that was when he spotted a flash of movement in the distance. Keeping his eyes pinned to the spot, he called to Leo, gesturing in the direction he had spied it.

  He and his brother reined their horses and dismounted, tying them off to nearby trees. “I saw movement,” he told Leo hoarsely. “It could have been them.”

  Leo nodded, his expression tense and grim. He extracted his pistol from his coat. “You head in from the road, and I will run ahead and attempt to double back. If it is them, I can approach from behind, perhaps get in a shot at her.”

  His brother’s words made a wave of nausea roil through him, but he forced it back, nodding. He had to be strong. To gather his wits. He had to fight for the lad. To put an end to this madness once and for all.

  Without another word, he extracted his own weapon and ran into the tangled undergrowth, going full speed toward where he had seen what could have been a dove-gray gown. He ran until his pulse pounded. Until his lungs ached and burned. Briars clawed at him, tearing at his coat and trousers, slicing into his flesh. He was impervious to them all, single-minded in his pursuit.

  He found a path and followed it, praying it was not a deer trail. It twisted and curved, and then, suddenly he found himself in a clearing. And there, in the midst of it, stood Miss Palliser facing him, her arm around the lad’s thin shoulders, the barrel of a small pistol pressed to his son’s temple.

  “Do not come any nearer,” she warned. “Stay where you are, and the young duke will remain safe.”

  His breath left him. He had a pistol in his hand, but he dared not raise it for fear the unhinged woman might pull the trigger, killing Edward.

  “Papa,” Edward called, hiccupping, his eyes—Ara’s eyes—wide with fright.

  It was the first time his son had referred to him as his father. It should have been an occasion for joy. A celebration. Instead, he was gripped with horror. The sight of his son, terrified and helpless and in the clutches of this madwoman, nearly undid him.

  He forced his numb lips to speak. His training had taught him the best method of defense when the enemy had the upper hand was distraction. Distract, make them weak, and then press your advantage at just the right moment.

  “You may as well surrender yourself now, Miss Palliser,” he said with a calm that was far from the dread and terror rioting inside him. “As you are aware, your compatriots have been arrested in Dublin, and the man sent to harm the duchess in London is dead by my hand. You are the only conspirator remaining. What do you think you can accomplish when everyone else around you has failed?”

  “Do you truly think I am so easily fooled?” the young woman asked, her face an emotionless mask. “I will not be surrendering. I promise you the boy will not be harmed as long as you do as I say.”

  “What would you have me do?” he asked, playing along, his mind whirling with possibilities, the options he had to sufficiently distract her so that he could rescue Edward. He could shoot at or near her, but that would put his son in danger. One instinctive tensing of her finger on the trigger, and the lad would be…no, he would not think it.

  There were other ways. Leo was resourceful. He should be coming upon them from Miss Palliser’s rear at any moment.

  “Place your weapon on the ground before you,” she ordered, her voice cold.

  He could detect it now, the faint tinge of an Irish accent where before he had noticed none. What a proficient actress this woman was. How bloody dangerous.

  He did as she asked, lowering the gun to the ground slowly before standing upright, his hands raised, palms facing outward. He had another pistol hidden on him and three blades, but she needn’t know that.

  “There you are, Miss Palliser,” he called. “I have done what you wished. Now you must give me my son.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “He cannot go with you, I am afraid. He must remain with me. But after I am finished with him and he is no longer useful to me, he will return to you unscathed.”

  “Like hell I will allow you to take him from me,” he ground out, taking a menacing step forward. If the woman thought he was about to allow her to abscond with his son now that he had found them, she was mad and witless both.

  She took two steps in retreat, hauling Edward with her. “Remain where you are or I shall hurt him,” she warned, her voice a lash.

  Behind her, on the other side of the clearing, he saw leaves rustle. Leo. He would bet his life on it. Thank Christ. He would continue to distract her.

  “What do you hope to accomplish?” he asked. “Do you truly believe the harming of an innocent youth will make Home Rule possible?”

  “What I hope to accomplish and what I believe are two different beasts, sir,” she sai
d, taking another slow step and pulling Edward with her.

  “Papa,” his son called, pleading. “I do not want to go with her. She said she will take me on an adventure, and then I can go home again. But I don’t want to do that. I want to go home to you and Mama.”

  “Silence, Your Grace,” Miss Palliser ordered Edward, her gaze never leaving Clay. “I must take the boy with me, but he will be returned.”

  Sounds reached him then, the rustling of someone racing through the dense forest toward him. Could it be another of Miss Palliser’s confederates? Heart hammering, he spun on his heel to find his wife racing toward him, holding her skirts high in clenched fists.

  Bloody hell, Ara had followed him. He might have known.

  A shot rang out suddenly, echoing in the silence of the forest.

  Clay turned back to Miss Palliser, shock and dread rocketing through him. He saw her stunned face, a dark stain spreading on her upper arm, the pistol falling from her slack hand. She went pale, looking down at the blood coating her hand, and then her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled into a heap on the ground.

  Everything happened in a flurry.

  Edward raced toward him, shouting. “Papa! Mama!”

  Leo burst forth from his hiding place, binding Miss Palliser’s hands and ankles.

  Ara was beside him now, sobbing. He was sobbing. His cheeks were wet. Relief hit him, vast and sudden. He fell to his knees, opened his arms, and his son launched himself into him. He buried his face in the lad’s soft hair, holding him as tightly as he dared.

  “You are safe now, son.”

  “Oh, thank God,” Ara cried, throwing her arms around Clay and Edward at once. “Thank God!”

  Leo approached them, ruffling the lad’s hair affectionately. “You are unharmed, Duke?”

  “Yes,” Edward said, sniffling into Clay’s waistcoat. “M-miss P-palliser was not u-unkind to me. But she w-wouldn’t t-take me h-home.”

  “She will never be able to frighten you again, lad,” Leo said softly, his jaw clenched. “I promise you. Nor will anyone else. This is the end of the road for these villains.”

  “Thank you, brother,” Clay said, gratitude rushing through him, fierce and strong.

  “I told you he needs more time to get to know his dastardly Uncle Leo, did I not?” His brother sent him a cocky half grin.

  “Yes,” Clay agreed, bone-numbing relief joining the gratitude. “You certainly did.”

  “Thank you,” Ara sniffed up at Leo. “You are not a dastardly uncle at all, but a hero.”

  Leo was solemn. “Some would call me a villain, my dear sister, and they would not be far from the mark. Forgive me for not seeing the evil in our midst until it was almost too late.”

  “Nonsense,” Clay said gruffly, still hugging his son tight, relishing the sweet sensation of the lad’s arms linked about his neck. “None of us saw it.”

  “The most important thing is that she cannot hurt anyone else, and Edward is safe,” Ara said, smiling tremulously. “I cannot thank you enough for saving him.”

  Leo nodded, looking uncomfortable at the open displays of emotion. “It was my duty, and I am happy to say this is all over now. She was the last of the ring of plotters. My hunch is she thought to use Edward as a shield so she could return to Dublin unimpeded. But I’ll be taking her to London now, where she will receive swift and unmerciful justice.”

  It was indeed over.

  Edward was safe. Ara was safe. Miss Palliser would be on her way to rot in prison, and with the men responsible for Burghly’s death in custody and the last, rogue Fenian related to the plot aside from Miss Palliser dead, their days of living in fear were finally at an end.

  “I love you, Papa,” Edward whispered, just loud enough that Clay could hear it above the frantic beats of his heart.

  “I love you, son,” he said. “And your mother as well.”

  Ara smiled at him, and it was beautiful, so deep and true that her dimple made another rare appearance. “I love you both with all my heart.”

  Clay hugged his family to him—Ara in one arm and his son in the other. “Come,” he told them. “Let’s go home.”

  The past was done. The danger was ended. And it was time to move forward, together, into the endless possibilities of the life that lay ahead of them.

  Epilogue

  Ara had a surprise for her husband. One she hoped would please him.

  The sickness she had been experiencing in the last few days, coupled with her missed courses, were all too familiar. She would wager Harlton Hall that she was with child.

  Clay was going to be a father again, and this time, he would not miss a single moment of their child’s life. Edward would be receiving a younger sister or brother. Their beautiful little family was going to grow in size by one. It was soon, she knew, the ugliness of the past and the Fenian plots against her not far behind them. But the notion of having another babe to dote upon filled her heart with a flood of contented joy.

  She knocked at the door of Clay’s study, where she knew she would find him poring over old Harlton Hall ledgers and records. He had made the decision to cease his career as one of Her Majesty’s covert agents on his own, wanting to keep Ara and Edward free of any future threats, and his choice relieved her. She had experienced all the upheaval she ever wished to know, and there was nothing she wanted more than to settle into a peaceful, calm life with their growing brood of children and each other.

  In lieu of the League and its intrigues, he had thrown himself headlong into learning the history of the estate and researching crop yields with the intent to make Harlton Hall as profitable as possible. She was about to knock again, assuming him so focused upon the records before him that he missed the sound of her rap when the delicious, velvety rumble of his voice reached her.

  “You may come in, Ara mine,” he called.

  The smile that curved her lips would not be suppressed as she opened the door and crossed the threshold. His study was one of her favorite chambers at Harlton Hall, as it smelled of him and everything about it—from the heavy, ornate desk to the oil landscapes hanging on the walls—was so very Clay. They had spent many pleasant hours ensconced within it, wrapped up in each other, sharing a brandy and talking well into the night. On more than one occasion, they had made excellent use of the thick, new Axminster.

  He stood at her entrance, dressed in black trousers, his shirtsleeves, and a black waistcoat, so handsome he took her breath. Sometimes, it was still difficult to believe the large, powerful man striding toward her was hers. That they were husband and wife. That this new life she found herself in was not a dream flitting through her mind in the night, but was real.

  And wonderful.

  And true.

  “How did you know it was me?” she could not resist asking as they reached each other halfway, in the middle of the chamber. Her arms wrapped around his waist as he drew her into his embrace.

  “I recognize your knock,” he said, his hands slid up and down her spine. “And I know you cannot resist venturing here for late-afternoon wickedness every now and again.”

  Her cheeks burned, and she was grateful her face was pressed to his chest. “I do not recall hearing you complain about my visits.”

  “Never.” He kissed the top of her head. “You may visit me every day. Twice, if you like. I will happily choose making love to my wife over researching historical yields of wheat and corn.”

  Giving him an affectionate squeeze, she tipped her head back to gaze up at him. “Your life here at Harlton Hall will be staid and boring compared to what you are accustomed to, I have no doubt. Do you miss it?”

  He swept the backs of his fingers down her cheek in a slow caress, his dark gaze unwavering upon hers. “Never. I have everything I could want—more than I could want, in fact—right here within these crumbling old walls. I love you and our son, and you both are my life. You are all that matters to me.”

  She could not resist nuzzling her cheek into his han
d. “What if your life were to change?”

  His brows snapped together. “In what fashion?”

  She swallowed, excitement mingling with trepidation inside her. “What if your life were to encompass more than just myself and Edward? Have you room for…perhaps, one more?”

  Ara saw the moment her words sank into his mind. The expression on his face shifted from one of sensual promise to dazed happiness. “Ara, what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you are going to be a father again, Clay.”

  “My God, Ara.” His lips slammed down on hers in the next moment, hard and possessing and hungry.

  She kissed him back with all the love bursting inside her. Kissed him and kissed him until she had to pull away and catch her breath. “Are you happy, my love?” she asked.

  “Happy does not begin to describe the riot inside me,” he murmured, shaking his head. “I am bloody elated, Ara. A babe. Another son or a daughter—I can scarcely believe it. Are you certain?”

  He pressed his hand to her stomach, reverently caressing her though the layers of fabric, undergarments, and boning separating them.

  Ara nodded. “The signs are the same as they were with Edward.”

  “You should not be on your feet,” he said. “Are you tired? Thirsty? Overheated? Your cheeks are flushed, darling.” His other hand went to her forehead. “You are not feverish, are you?”

  His frenzied rush of concern made her heart feel warm and impossibly full. Love for him swelled inside her. “I am perfectly well, Clay. You need not fear. If I am overheated, it is merely down to my proximity to a certain tall, handsome, mountain of a man who regularly ravishes me in this very chamber.”

  “Minx,” he said without heat, bringing their mouths together once more for a kiss that was unhurried and impossibly tender.

  “Mmm,” she hummed her pleasure against his lips. “I am your minx.”

  He lifted his head, gazing down at her with such naked, unfettered love that she feared she would melt. “Forever, Ara mine.”

  “Yes,” she agreed, smiling, tears of pure happiness pooling in her eyes and blurring her vision. “Forever.”