A December with a Duke: A Regency Romance (Seductive Scoundrels Book 3)

by Collette Cameron

That was the first Everleigh had ever heard any such thing, and the accusation gave her pause as well as sent chilly prickles across her shoulders.

  Could such a thing possibly be true?

  Wouldn’t there have been an inquiry long before this?

  Were people, perhaps even those at this gathering, speculating about whether she’d been behind her husband’s death?

  Everleigh glanced toward the nursery again as she crossed the threshold. “Keep your voice down. Sarah is sleeping a bit farther along the passage.”

  Even as she spoke, a child’s muffled cries echoed.

  “Do you think I give a whit about that merry-begotten?” Caroline finished the rest of her brandy and leaned indolently against the wall, the glass dangling from her fingers. “Who, besides you, hated Arnold and Frederick enough to want them dead?”

  Any of a dozen people Everleigh could name, including the foxed woman standing before her.

  “I’ve done nothing wrong, and I’ll not listen to your vile accusations.” No doubt conjured by jealousy and hatred. “I had no knowledge of the attack on Arnold and Frederick until the sheriff delivered the news.”

  She laid her belongings on the table beside the door, undecided if she should knock at the nursery. It wasn’t her place to offer to help with Sarah, but she was partially responsible for the child’s sleep being disturbed.

  She spared Caroline a brusque glance.

  “If the authorities had reason to believe something afoul of the law occurred, they would have investigated already,” the Duke of Sheffield said.

  Everleigh and Caroline swung their attention to him ambling toward them, all masculine prowess and power. His black evening attire accented the broad span of his shoulders, and the corridor seemed to shrink with his virile presence.

  Everleigh forced her gaze away.

  Just because she’d noticed his manliness, it didn’t mean anything. She was, after all, still a young woman.

  “Unless, Mrs. Chatterton, you know something no one else does?” He cocked his head at a considering angle then rubbed the scar dissecting his slightly bent nose with his forefinger. “But then, you’d have to explain to the authorities why you’ve withheld information all this time. I believe that’s a criminal offense too.”

  Arching her back, the calculated movement thrusting her voluptuous breasts out and upward, Caroline stretched like a contented cat. More like an eager-to-be-bred tabby twitching her tail before a tom. She gave him a secretive smile as she glided past and tapped his chest with her empty glass.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”

  She sent a sly look behind her, flicking Everleigh a glance that clearly said she found her wanting.

  “I do hope you have an alibi, Everleigh.”

  Mouth pinched, Everleigh stared at Caroline’s retreating back.

  Was she serious?

  Did she truly intend to make a claim that Everleigh had something to do with the robbery and murders? Surely no one would believe such an assertion at this late date. Nevertheless, her stomach twisted with anxiety.

  “Are you all right?” Sheffield also watched Caroline flouncing away. “Did she upset you? You’ve gone quite pale.”

  Everleigh sighed and pressed her fingertips to her right temple where the pain had taken on a renewed vigor.

  “Caroline delights in upsetting me, but yes, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure?” He touched her cheek with a bent knuckle. “The light behind your eyes is gone.”

  Light behind her eyes?

  What nonsensical drivel.

  She wouldn’t have thought he was the sort to bandy platitudes about.

  “Ridiculous. I’ve but a pesky headache.”

  Her response was starchier than she’d intended.

  He chuckled and swept a strand of hair off his forehead. “No need to get prickly, and I regret you’re not feeling well.”

  “I cannot believe she’d resort to such fabrications just to hurt me.” Everleigh absently rubbed her hairline near her ear.

  Judging from the strain of the fabric, he rested what surely must be a well-muscled shoulder against the wall.

  “Envy and jealousy can turn even the most decent men into fiends, but when someone is already despicable, there’s no telling what they’re capable of.” He spared a thoughtful glance toward the stairs. “The Duchess tells me Mrs. Chatterton will be gone in the morning. We’re well rid of her, but I think you still must be on your guard against her.”

  Everleigh touched her locket, running her fingers across the diamond floweret atop the jet. “Believe me, I have been for four years.”

  “Do you have an alibi? Someone who can vouch for you?”

  He seemed genuinely concerned, not just prying.

  She sighed and stretched her neck from side to side, hoping to lessen the knots of tension that had taken up residence there.

  “My husband kept me a virtual prisoner. I hadn’t access to funds to hire someone to commit the foul deed, and even my jewelry was kept locked in a safe so I couldn’t use it to bribe a servant. I rarely left the house, and when I did, two of my husband’s henchmen accompanied me to prevent any escape attempt.”

  Not that she would’ve tried, for fear Arnold would harm her family as he’d threatened.

  “He really was a bloody blighter, wasn’t he?”

  Disgust and anger riddled the duke’s clipped speech.

  “He was.”

  She clasped her hands behind her back, then leaned against the doorjamb.

  “The former staff can vouch that I was never permitted personal visitors, and the only guests we entertained were the miscreants and other dregs of society my husband invited. The night he and Frederick were slain, I was . . .”

  She paused, lost in the dreadful memory.

  “You were . . .?” his grace prompted with an encouraging closed-mouth smile.

  She’d not told anyone about the thrashings.

  “Let’s just say I was incapable of leaving my bed, and the sheriff can testify to that.”

  The duke’s intense gaze probed hers, and she didn’t doubt his mind flipped through numerous scenarios to explain why she would’ve been abed.

  His eyes turned stone hard, as did the sharp angles of his face.

  He’d hit upon the truth. Rather more swiftly than she’d have thought.

  “Chatterton beat you?” he said, his voice fury-roughened.

  Whenever Arnold had tried to copulate and couldn’t get his limp member to cooperate. He’d never once been able to bed her; her one small victory. That she wasn’t about to tell the duke. Instead she gave a curt nod.

  “That damn bastard.” Posture rigid, Sheffield dropped his balled hands to his sides. “No wonder you’re so afraid.”

  Sarah’s fussing continued to carry through the closed nursery door.

  Uncomfortable at having shared something so intimate, she scrambled to change the subject.

  “I apologize for waking your daughter.”

  He cupped his nape, giving her a guarded look from beneath hooded lids.

  “Actually, Sarah is not my daughter.”

  Early the next morning, a thick velvet-lined mantle over her black and white striped woolen walking dress and redingote, Everleigh rapped on the nursery door.

  She dismissed her misgivings.

  Surely the duke couldn’t object to Sarah taking a walk, particularly if Nurse accompanied them.

  Quiet murmurings beyond the thick panel assured her Nurse and Sarah were awake as well. The door edged open, and a surprised but pleased smile crinkled Nurse’s face.

  “Mrs. Chatterton. I thought Young Miss and I were the only ones awake at this hour.”

  Everleigh looked beyond the plump servant to where Sarah sat fully dressed with an oversized pink bow in her hair, playing with her shabby doll.

  “I’m an early riser myself. I thought perhaps Sarah would like to take a walk with me. The frost has made lovely patterns in the gar
dens, and I saw a rabbit and deer from my chamber windows.”

  At once upon hearing Everleigh, Sarah scampered to the nursery door and pulled on Nurse’s skirts.

  “May I? Please? Maya too?”

  Sarah held up the dilapidated rag doll.

  “I’m not sure Miss Sarah ought to be outside. She’s still not quite accustomed to England’s cold weather.” Indecision crimped the nurse’s mouth.

  Other than saying Sarah was orphaned and born in Southern India, the duke hadn’t revealed much more about the child he’d taken in. Everleigh hoped to learn more about the fascinating little girl today.

  Sheffield had edged up another notch in her estimation too. She’d best be careful or she might find herself actually admiring him, and that wouldn’t do at all. Admiration could lead to other sentiments. Dangerous sentiments for a widow committed to keeping her independence.

  “If I promise not to keep her too long? You can tell me when you think she’s had enough and we’ll come in straightaway. I’m certain Sarah would benefit from the fresh air and exercise.”

  Perhaps it was because Meredith had died on this day, or maybe Sarah had stirred dormant maternal instincts, but in any event, Everleigh couldn’t stay away from the child.

  Nurse conceded with a nod and a smile. “You’ve convinced me. It would do the tike good to run about.”

  Excellent. Mrs. Schmidt wasn’t the type of nurse who thought children should march along like miniature soldiers or sit perfectly still for hours on end.

  She leaned in and whispered to Everleigh, “Maybe the little mite will take her lie-down without a fuss if she capers about outside a bit.”

  Hope tinged the tired servant’s voice. She was a trifle too advanced in years to be chasing after such an energetic child.

  A few minutes later, Everleigh held Sarah’s hand as they stood on the edge of Ridgewood’s neat-as-a-pin gardens and watched a doe nibble the green’s, succulent frost-tipped grasses. A smaller deer, likely her fawn, sampled a nearby shrubbery.

  “Is that her baby?” Sarah asked whilst rubbing her cold-reddened nose with her bare hand.

  Where had her mitten gone?

  Everleigh nodded as she searched the ground for the lost mitten. “I think so.”

  Mrs. Schmidt, her chins tucked deep into the folds of her cloak, looked on with less enthusiasm.

  Heavy pewter clouds covered the sky, hiding all evidence of the sun and hinting at a brewing storm. A brisk breeze toyed with the ribbons of Everleigh’s and Sarah’s bonnets. It was chilly, but not unbearably so. More importantly, no one else had ventured outdoors yet and the solitude was sheer bliss.

  Likely, most of the guests were either eating or getting ready to attend church services in Colchester. It was expected, and that meant a quiet house for a few hours more.

  There was a day when she’d have joined them, but Arnold—spawn of Satan—hadn’t allowed her to go, and Everleigh had never started attending after he’d died.

  “What goes on here?”

  At the sound of the Duke of Sheffield’s voice, Sarah whipped around and then, giggling, her little arms wide, ran to him

  “Papa!”

  His midnight-blue caped greatcoat gave his black hair, visible beneath his hat, a bluish tint. The unrelenting breeze taunted the cape’s edges as well as the hem of Everleigh’s cloak.

  “Papa, Mrs. Chatterton showed me deers. When we gets inside, she promised me hot choc’late and clodded cream,” Sarah finished in a breathless rush.

  “Is that so?” He scooped her into his arms, then whirled her in a circle.

  Her delighted screeches frightened the deer away.

  He stopped and slung one sturdy arm beneath her thighs. “Did you break your fast already, my pet?”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Nurse’s kind eyes pleated around the edges in approval. “Little miss had a good appetite this morn. She ate everything but the pickled herring.”

  “Cannot say that I blame her,” Everleigh muttered, then chagrined she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, blushed.

  But really?

  Pickled fish for breakfast?

  She had never been able to appreciate that particular food, let alone breaking one’s fast with the smelly little blighters. Almost as revolting as blood sausage; a favorite of Arnold’s.

  “Well then that certainly deserves hot chocolate.” Amusement sparkling in the duke’s eyes, he nuzzled Sarah’s cheek, and she giggled again.

  “With clodded cream,” she reminded him.

  “With clotted cream,” he agreed solemnly, his gaze seeking Everleigh’s over the top of Sarah’s head.

  His leisurely perusal and the equally unhurried smile bending his mouth upward sent her stomach to fluttering. Surely in hunger, for she hadn’t eaten yet.

  What compelled a man to take an orphan in and treat her as if she were his own? Such a person must be intrinsically decent, mustn’t he?

  “I hope I didn’t overstep.” Everleigh drew near and straightened Sarah’s rumpled gown and claret toned coat, then handed her Maya. “I saw the deer from my chamber and thought she’d enjoy seeing them too. I’m afraid they’ve run off now. We had a lovely walk through the gardens as well.”

  Sarah nodded, bumping her head on his chin.

  “Ow.” She clapped a little dimpled hand to her injury.

  Everleigh waited for the howl of displeasure, but instead, Sarah took the duke’s face between her little palms and insisted he look at her.

  “Papa, we sawed a frozen spider web. It looks like Nurse’s crotch dollies.”

  “Oh my.” Merriment rounded Mrs. Schmidt’s eyes, and shoulder’s shaking, she coughed into glove.

  “Crocheted,” he gently corrected, his mouth twitching in an effort to contain his mirth. “Nurse crochets doilies.”

  Everleigh met his eyes, and she almost erupted into giggles.

  “I’ve always enjoyed an early walk myself, but the breeze grows stiff.” He lowered Sarah to the ground. “You go with Nurse now, and Mrs. Chatterton and I shall be along directly. We can all enjoy a cup of chocolate together in the nursery. How does that sound?”

  “I want biscuits with my hot choc’late. An’ a story too.” Sarah scowled at Nurse’s outstretched hand.

  “Sarah, we ask politely. Please may I have biscuit and a story with my chocolate?” the duke gently corrected her.

  “Yes, Papa.” Sarah turned those big eyes to Everleigh. “Please, biscuits an’ a story?”

  “I’m sure something can be arranged,” Everleigh said, keeping her smile under control. It wouldn’t do to unravel the duke’s effort to teach Sarah manners. “I’ll stop by the kitchen and ask. I think I heard the Duchess of Sutcliffe mention gingerbread last night.”

  “Ginger . . . bread?” Her nose crinkling in confusion, Sarah looked between the duke and Everleigh. “I wan’ biscuits. Not bread.”

  “Gingerbread is a kind of biscuit made with . . .” The pleading glance he sent Everleigh silently asking for help warmed her cold toes.

  “Molasses, cinnamon, and ginger, and they are shaped like stocky little men.” She used to make them with her mother to celebrate the Christmas season. “I like to bite the head off first.”

  “I wonder why?” The merriment lighting his face revealed he teased her.

  “Go along now.” He urged Sarah toward Nurse. “And make sure you are agreeable to Mrs. Schmidt, lest I have to deny you your treat.”

  “I be good, Papa. I promise.” Skipping along, her dilapidated doll dragging the ground, Sarah began singing a nonsensical song about chocolate and biscuits and deer.

  “She’s an absolute darling.” Everleigh accepted his extended elbow.

  He smiled as he watched her romp away.

  “You didn’t answer me when I said I hoped I hadn’t overstepped, so I presume I did. I should have asked first. Please forgive my forwardness, Your Grace. I’ve little experience with children.”

  Only a few weeks with an infant born healthy,
but who’d sickened rapidly, and died just as swiftly.

  He turned back to her and picked a piece of black fuzz from his bent arm.

  “You mistake my silence as censure, Mrs. Chatterton. I simply didn’t want to speak in front of Sarah. I have no objection to you taking her for an outing. What I do have a concern about is her growing too attached to you. As I told you last night, she lost her mother under difficult circumstances.”

  Everleigh swallowed her disappointment and stared at the swaying trees.

  He was right, of course.

  There was also the danger that she’d grow too attached to Sarah.

  “I understand. Please forgive me for not considering that. I was going to ask if we might walk every morning, but I think that might not be wise. In fact, I hadn’t decided if I was going to stay for the duration of the party, but given Sarah’s reaction to me, I believe it best if I leave directly.”

  Startling, the depths of her distress, when yesterday she’d been on the verge of leaving anyway.

  Releasing his elbow, she drew her cloak closer as she erected her cool, protective mien. She’d let her guard down, and look where it had landed her?

  Tilting her face upward, she inspected the heavens again.

  Yes, a storm brewed. Hopefully the clouds didn’t portend snow or Cook mightn’t have her stag. Just as well as far as Everleigh was concerned. A fat goose sufficed for Christmas dinner. Let the noble deer live another season.

  Snow also meant she’d have a more difficult time getting home. Best to leave straightaway then.

  “If you’ll excuse me. I need to pack and write Theadosia a note.”

  She swiveled toward the house, but he touched her shoulder.

  “Please don’t leave, Everleigh.”

  His tone compelled her to meet his gaze, and she couldn’t look away. The way he’d murmured her name, almost reverently, took her aback. Made her want what could never be. What she’d chosen to forsake for her peace of mind and physical wellbeing.

  It—he—wasn’t worth the risk.

  And yet she still didn’t look away from his captivating gaze, the deep russet of his eyes willing her not to break whatever bond linked them at this magical moment.

  Foolish, Everleigh!

  Haven’t you had enough pain for a lifetime?