by Joanna Shupe
Three-quarters of an hour later, he tossed in his hand. It had been a profitable evening and he was tired. Too many recent late nights. He collected his winnings and then departed.
Once on the street, Fitzpatrick, Nick’s valet and self-appointed guard, stepped out of the gloom. “Evenin’, Your Grace.”
“Christ, Fitz. Stop calling me that.”
“Just because you don’t want to hear it don’t mean it’s not true,” Fitz said in his raspy brogue and began leading the way to the gondola.
Nick muttered an obscene curse under his breath and Fitz chuckled. Nick knew Fitz would always use the proper title, no matter how many times he told the Irishman not to.
Seven years ago, Nick had rescued the giant man from a nasty fight in a Dublin back alley. Two ruffians had been holding Fitz down, while a third man used a knife to slice open Fitz’s face. Nick had recognized them all as local thieves, so he stepped in to help even the odds. In those days, Nick had been eager for any fight he could find, and he and Fitz made short work of the three criminals. Unfortunately, Fitz had been badly cut in the fray, scars he still bore to this day.
Fitz believed Nick had saved his life. Since then, he’d attached himself to the duke, and Nick soon learned it was easier to employ Fitz than to try and get rid of him. The Irishman started as Nick’s valet, but trouble followed Nick everywhere. Fitz had taken it upon himself to also look after Nick’s safety and had repaid the favor with Nick’s own life many times over.
They turned a corner and onto a relatively desolate street with little light. A pair of men approached, and Fitz slid a hand inside his coat, ready to produce the pistol tucked inside his waistband. The men, however, remained in deep discussion and passed without incident. Fitz relaxed and they continued walking toward the water.
“You’re overly concerned,” Nick told him. “We haven’t had a scuffle in eight months.”
“Three separate attacks in two years. Not to mention the mishap in Vienna. Perhaps you should be a little more concerned, Your Grace.”
This was a familiar conversation, and Nick knew he wouldn’t be able to dissuade Fitz from the notion that danger stalked him. He stepped into his gondola. “How many times must you save my miserable life before you realize I’m not worth it?” Unworthy, ungrateful whelp, his father’s voice sneered. Nick beat back the memory, like so many times before. “You could be living a comfortable life in your homeland, Fitz. You’re a fool to exile yourself on my account.”
Fitz took a seat in the back near the gondolier. “You saved my life. Until the debt is repaid, or you no longer be needin’ me, I stay.”
An argument was futile, so Nick leaned back and watched the other boats float by.
“Was that your friend Lord Winchester I seen come out a few minutes before you?”
“Yes,” Nick answered.
“Lovely bit o’ goods on his arm.”
Nick almost smiled. Mrs. Leighton was much more than your average Cyprian. “Find out where they’re staying, will you? I’d like to send a note round to Winchester tomorrow.” And perhaps a small token for Mrs. Leighton as well.
“Two years! You saw him two years ago and never told me?” Now inside their gondola, Julia stripped off her gloves and threw them on the seat inside the felze. The blinds were drawn, and the single interior lamp cast a warm yellow glow about the cabin. She was too angry to sit but had little choice in the confined space. “How could you keep that from me, Simon?”
The boat pushed off from the dock as he dropped next to her. “There was no reason to tell you. I came to Venice and tried to convince him to return with me. I told him of you. Sang your praises, really, but I failed to win him over. I worried it would hurt your feelings to learn of it.”
While Julia thought on that, he continued. “The only reason I brought it up tonight was for you to be perfectly aware of what you face with Colton.”
“What did he mean, calling me his father’s pawn? Pawn for what, exactly?”
Simon sighed. “To him, you’re the woman his father married him off to, without considering his wishes on the subject. Like I’ve said, he was the forgotten son ’til his brother died. And when he became the heir, Colton’s father was desperate to get his only living son to fall in line, to become responsible. In Colt’s eyes, you’re merely another attempt by his father to bring the wayward son to heel.” Simon stretched his long legs. “But you know how well that turned out. Didn’t he leave for Paris directly after reciting his vows?”
Yes, and that had stung. And while she could imagine how manipulated Colton must have felt, Julia needed to stay focused on her plan—a plan Simon was not entirely privy to. “Well, he’s interested in Mrs. Leighton. After I lure him in, I can spend time with him not as a wife, but as a woman. Then I shall be able to satisfy my curiosity regarding my husband,” she lied.
“God save men from intelligent women,” Simon muttered with a yawn. “I am not so sure this relationship with Pearl Kelly has been beneficial, Julia. You never used to be so . . . bold.”
“I had no choice. I’m tired of waiting and wondering if Nick will return. I’m tired of the pity and the scorn, all the rumors. The innocent wife of the Depraved Duke—it would be laughable if only it were someone else. We’ve talked about this, Simon. I should have the ability to at least meet the man I am married to. To see if we suit.”
“Oh, it’s Nick, is it?”
The gondola stopped, and Simon rose to offer his hand. They stepped out onto the boat dock and continued toward the stairs of their rented palazzo. “He insisted,” she said. “I told you he was interested.”
“Of course he’s interested. He’d be a fool not to be—and Colton is no fool. As I’ve said, I am in full approval of this plan. Colton has ignored his responsibilities for far too long.”
They had procured a few local servants upon their arrival, and no one suspected the renters were not who they claimed. As far as the servants were concerned, the trio included a wealthy English lord traveling with his mistress and her companion. Julia, Simon, and her aunt, Theodora, took great pains to maintain the illusion, unless absolutely certain they were alone.
Once inside, Simon removed her cloak and handed it to the footman. Aunt Theo appeared in the parlor doorway. “Would either of you care for a sherry?” Judging by the messy riot of curls on Theo’s head, Julia guessed her aunt was already on her second or third drink.
“Yes, I believe I shall. Darling?” She gave Simon a seductive smile for the benefit of the servant hovering nearby.
“Lead on, my love,” he said easily, gesturing to the doorway.
“And how was your evening?” Theo asked as she settled her rounded, lush frame on the divan. Her aunt was fond of sherry and cake and hardly a day went by when she didn’t indulge in at least one.
“Productive,” Julia answered, closing the door behind her. “Simon, bring me a glass of whatever you’re having. Sherry makes me gag.” She dropped into a chair opposite her aunt.
Simon pressed a glass into her hand and Julia took a sip. Claret, she realized, and took another grateful swallow. “Oh, Aunt Theo,” Julia breathed. “You would not have believed this party. Shocking would be a paltry description. What freedom these women have! A world away from Almack’s, to be sure.”
“Such freedom does not last long when your looks fade or your benefactor tires of you. And the health risks!” Theo waggled her finger at Julia. “Do not envy them. It’s a hard life, full of uncertainty and scorn.”
“But they do wield a certain amount of power. Pearl has had liaisons with two dukes, one earl, a viscount, and a Bavarian prince. Two lifetime annuities have been settled on her, and she’s only thirty-one.”
“Julia, don’t be naïve,” Simon said. “Not every woman could possibly be Pearl Kelly.”
“Have you met her?” Julia asked him.
“Yes, once at Vauxhall Gardens. A group of us went for supper one night, and she accompanied Lord Oxley. She is intelligent and
witty,” he admitted. “Not only can she carry on a conversation, she listens. And Pearl makes a man feel as if everything he says is important—which in Oxley’s case would’ve been nothing short of a miracle. But she’s deuced expensive.”
“Worth every banknote and gem she receives, I’d wager, if half of what she told me is true.”
“I almost pity that poor husband of yours,” Simon drawled.
Julia frowned. Colton deserved no pity. The man was a reprobate. And he’d left her at the mercy of his cheating, lecherous relative.
She started to argue but Simon held up a hand. “I said ‘almost.’ No one knows of your unhappiness these last few years better than I. Colt deserves retribution for what he’s done—and more. However, it does seem as if you’re well on your way to achieving your goal.”
“Oh, saints be praised!” Theo slapped her thigh. “How long, then, do you believe we must stay in Venice?”
“Not long. If I were to wager, not long at all,” Julia answered with a sly smile.
“Well, I’m off.” Simon rose and drained his glass. “I know of a few more parties I should like to visit this evening—without Mrs. Leighton’s watchful eye, of course.”
Julia held up her hand. “Say no more. We wish you luck, don’t we, Aunt Theo?”
Glorious crackpot that she was, Theo nodded, her brown curls rocking back and forth. “Indeed. Here’s to wine, women, and song, my lord.”
Simon gave them an elaborate bow and left.
“Do you think this scheme will work?” Theo asked once they were alone.
“It must. Templeton’s last visit continues to give me nightmares.” After informing her—again—of the further reduction of her monthly stipend, the grotesque excuse for a man had suggested what services Julia could provide to make up the difference. And by services, he hadn’t meant mending his clothes.
The thought of intimacies with Templeton—with his small black eyes, sweaty brow, and demeaning attitude—almost made her physically sick. Damn Colton for putting me in this situation. “Oh, how I wish my father was still alive.”
“My brother would’ve dragged your duke home by his whirlygigs by now, that’s for sure.”
Julia chuckled. “Perhaps. Templeton wouldn’t be a problem, in any case. I know my father believed marriage to a duke to be an unparalleled match for his only daughter, but I’d like to think he would have reconsidered if he’d known how much trouble it would bring me.”
“The trouble is your duke ignoring his responsibilities at home. Leaving you to fend for yourself for eight years. With naught a word from him!” Theo sniffed in disdain. “And to wash his hands of the estate business. Does he believe all estate managers to be honest men? You know very well that Templeton is paying off Colton’s man to follow his orders.”
“Colton does not care. He told me himself he never plans to come back to England. So we had to do something . As you well know, the last of our jewelry went to pay Pearl and fund Mrs. Leighton’s wardrobe. We barely have enough to carry us through until spring.”
“I still say we could’ve asked Winchester for help. Or perhaps your Lord Wyndham.”
Julia bristled. “You know we cannot ask for another man to support us indefinitely. And he is not my lord anything. I told you I merely flirted with Wyndham in hopes of forcing Colton back to London. But either my husband didn’t hear the rumors or didn’t care about being cuckolded because it failed to work.”
“So if Colton does not care about being cuckolded . . .”
“I still couldn’t do it. Colton would know the child was not his, and I cannot risk him telling anyone. If it were found out, my child would be an outcast. No, Colton must father my child. And when I find myself with child, we shall return to London and I’ll write to my husband, explaining what I’ve done.”
They both fell silent, contemplating the duke’s reaction to such a letter, while the mantel clock ticked loud and steady throughout the room.
“Will Colton acknowledge the child, I wonder?” her aunt asked, and sipped her sherry.
Julia frowned. “Why would he not? Every man wants an heir.”
“Well, what will happen if you deliver a girl?”
“Then I shall love her fiercely—from debtor’s prison.”
Chapter Two
To catch his eye, be both temptress and maiden. An innocent harlot is what most men desire at the end of the day.
—Miss Pearl Kelly to the Duchess of Colton
The Duke of Colton walked briskly toward Piazza San Marco, sidestepping the large puddles left over from the flooding earlier in the week. At this time of year, Venice experienced acqua alta, meaning the lower parts of the city were frequently submerged due to the heavy rains. Water, both in and around the city, was a natural state of affairs here.
Nick continued along the right side of the Piazza and entered Florian’s. He spotted Winchester straightaway, sitting at a table near the back of the crowded coffeehouse.
Winchester stood and clapped Nick on the shoulder. “Damned glad to get your note. It’s been too long.”
“Indeed, my friend.” The men sat, and Nick poured himself a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “I must confess, you took me by surprise last night.”
“Did I? It does seem remarkable I’ve been in Venice for two weeks and not crossed paths with you before now. But then, I have been rather busy.”
“Ah, your Mrs. Leighton, you mean? She’s lovely.” Nick knew lovely did not do the woman justice. Stunning and enchanting were far more apt descriptions.
“Merely temporary. No one holds on to her for long. You would not imagine what I had to promise in order to get her to come on this trip. Even still, I fear I shall be replaced the minute we dock in London—if not before.”
“A shrewd business-woman, is she?”
Winchester nodded. “Shrewd and ruthless. Hardly needs the scratch anymore. A woman of her own means and can pick and choose her lovers for different reasons.”
“And what were her reasons for selecting you?”
“You mean besides my reputation in bed?” Nick snorted and Winchester laughed. “I promised her Venice for as long as she wanted to stay. That, and a cache of jewelry large enough to make a princess blush.”
Nick hoped Juliet would stay long enough for the two of them to become better acquainted. He’d felt the attraction last night and was sure she’d felt it, too, after the way she’d flirted with him. But it wouldn’t do to offend one of his oldest friends in the process. “And if she finds someone else while in Venice?”
Winchester shrugged, took a sip of coffee. “I cannot say it would surprise me.” He shot Nick a knowing glance. “Why, I do believe you are planning to outmaneuver me. Colton, how shabby of you.”
Despite Winchester’s teasing tone, Nick wanted to reassure his friend. “Only with your approval. You’re one of only a handful of men who have stood by me all these years. Mrs. Leighton is intriguing, but not worth the ruination of a twenty-year friendship.”
Winchester appeared uncomfortable for a moment, which puzzled Nick. Perhaps all these years abroad had made him more sentimental than was proper back in crusty old England.
He started to apologize, but Winchester held up a hand. “I don’t mind if you set your sights on her, Colt. It wouldn’t be the first woman I’ve lost to you. But her reasons for choosing a companion are her own. I could no more hold on to her than the wind.”
“How poetic,” Nick mocked. “You are becoming quite eloquent in your old age.”
“Since you are a few months older than I, you should refrain from comments about age. Nevertheless, if you plan on wooing my Juliet, I daresay I should begin searching for a replacement. How are the women in Venice?”
“Plentiful,” Nick answered with a grin. “Talented. Beautiful.” His mind traveled back to Francesca who, up until a few months ago, had been his mistress for nearly a year. With olive skin, black hair, and long legs, she’d had a fiery temper to match his own
. Bedding her had been a fierce battle for control. “Spirited. Nothing like English women.”
“Do not be so quick to judge. There is one English woman in particular who is certainly all of those things.”
“Mayhap I will get the chance to offer up a comparison. Is there a Mr. Leighton?”
“No. Died years ago, left the poor woman entirely without funds. But there’s some nobility in her background. Her father was a cousin to the Earl of Kilbourne, I think.” Then Winchester grew serious, and Nick braced himself. “Colt, I feel compelled by my friendship with your wife to at least—”
“Enough. Did we not discuss this last evening? I have—”
“Let me speak!” Winchester set his cup down sharply. “There may come a day when you regret your poor treatment of that woman. Even now, the rakes circle her like a prized lamb. She will tire of waiting on you, and God help you when that happens, Colt.”
Nick ignored the small amount of guilt produced by Winchester’s words. His wife was nothing more than his father’s instrument of control, Nick reminded himself. She’s the best you’ll ever do, you ungrateful whelp. Do you think to do better, boy? Nick had no intention of doing anything his father wanted, even if the arrogant whoreson was long dead.
With practiced control, he fought down the bleakness and anger inside his chest, and calmly took a sip of coffee. “If my wife finds someone else, all the better. I never want an heir, and I will not fashion myself into a proper duke and husband. Her Grace is free to do as she pleases. Hell, the woman is a bloody duchess with no husband to curtail her freedom. How could she complain?”
Winchester drummed his fingers on the table, a sure sign that Nick’s answer had annoyed him. “Her name is Julia, Colt. She’s a real living, breathing person and innocent in what happened. I know you blame your father, but you’re making her suffer needlessly. If you do not wish to live in England, send for her. Bring her here.”