Dashing Dukes and Romantic Rogues

by Caldwell, Christi

  Tony raised his glass in salute. “I love you, Da.”

  “I know, puppy. I know. Now, let us help our American friend here.” Aston narrowed his eyes as he headed to the fire and leaned against the carved mantelpiece. His velvet coat swirled about him like some mad demon’s wings. “You aren’t planning on running off to parts unknown, are you?”

  “It had occurred to me, but no.” Adam took a more reasonable drink, this time, trying to enjoy the rich, smooth liquor. It was in vain. Too much was tormenting him for simple pleasures to be noted. “I promised her I would stay here.”

  “Did you?” Aston asked, surprised.

  “Until she was pregnant.”

  “Oh, old man,” Aston said with no hint of his usual bombastic nature. “I’m terribly sorry.”

  To his consternation, it was clear that Aston wasn’t sorry. Perhaps, he’d promised not to leave under such circumstances but because of what had happened at the house party.

  His jaw tightened and somehow he managed to get out, “Thank you.”

  The genuine sympathy in both men before him was distressing. He wasn’t about to go to pieces. Not when he’d come here to accomplish something. Besides. Duke men didn’t fall apart.

  “What occurred, then, to set this all off?” Aston asked with surprising gentleness. “As I understand, this sort of occurrence is the very devil for a marriage. Even an excellent one.”

  Adam ground his teeth together then drank again, deeply. “I shouldn’t talk about it.”

  “You damned well should,” Tony declared. “Men aren’t made of stone. If you don’t get it out, you’ll break.”

  “She wants to have another child,” he burst out, as if Tony’s urging had suddenly allowed him to be free. It certainly wasn’t the brandy. He hadn’t had enough of it. But there was something about this room, Aston’s domain, which felt safe. As if one could bare their soul in the velvet-curtained, fire-lit room, littered with books and papers.

  “Course she does,” Aston said simply.

  “There is no of course about it,” Adam growled, gripping the glass until he felt it gouging into his palm. “You should have seen what happened. It was-”

  Aston crossed over and, much to Adam’s surprise, he crouched down. “You almost saw her die.”

  Adam’s throat closed and he gave a tight nod of his head then drank deeply again. Drank deeper than he had in weeks because he had wanted to be alert at all times to help Beatrix. The promise of oblivion was damned tempting.

  “So, you don’t wish to have children then?” Aston asked softly.

  “I- I never thought of it before. But then the idea of a child with Beatrix-” The image he had created of a beautiful, little person, their eyes alight, witnessing the world for the first time came to him. . . As did his sister again. The pain deep down within him ate his insides. He could scarcely speak but he forced himself. “I know what it is to lose a child. Not mine, mind you. My sister and now. . .”

  Aston reached out and placed his hand on Adam’s shoulder.

  “I ought to punch you,” Adam gritted. He both did and did not wish to be consoled.

  Aston cocked his face to the side. “If it will make you feel better, please do. But I’d prefer a blow to my stomach. The wife loves my face.”

  Adam laughed and that laugh turned into a broken sound. “I have seen so much death.”

  Aston nodded. “I know, old boy. I know.”

  Tony stood and crossed to crouch beside his father. “You need to tell her.”

  Adam should have felt cornered by the two men before him. He did not. In fact, he felt supported. “I told her I loved her.”

  Aston held his gaze. “And?”

  The agony of that moment, as he stood there like a fool, begging for her to see him, raced in and he closed his eyes. “She looked right through me. As if such a thing did not matter in the pursuit of an heir.” He snapped his eyes open, shocked to find his eyes were nearly wet. “Christ, it’s the only thing that matters.”

  “It is. It is,” Aston agreed softly. “But she’s not thinking clearly, now is she?”

  “I just. . . I want her to see me,” Adam said hoarsely. “As I have seen her. God, I saw her in that park and I knew she was a woman for the ages.”

  Aston grabbed his arm, as if he could pass on his own strength in Adam’s moment of pain. “That’s right and you don’t give up on a woman like that.”

  “Which is why I’m here,” Adam agreed.

  “Oh?” Aston leaned back now, clearly intrigued.

  He lifted his brandy to his lips but before he drank, he said, “About that committee, Aston?”

  Aston’s caring visage turned to one of pleased triumph. “I’m glad you’ve come around. We need you.”

  Tony stepped back at that moment, something not quite right there.

  As if feeling his young friend’s pain, he turned his gaze to the man. “Thank you, Tony. For telling me what I needed to hear. But I don’t know if I can tell her the full truth. About my own pain.”

  “If you want her to understand you, then you have to,” Tony said quietly, his usually boisterous spirits dim. “If she doesn’t love you, she was never yours.”

  Never mind. The idea was impossible to contemplate. For in his mind, she had always been his and always would be. But was that what she wanted, too?

  Well, he would bloody well have to find out and he was damned well going to do something with his life again, too.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  It had not taken Beatrix long to realize that Adam was at his home. Not his townhouse. But in the dark hours of night in the Hunt abode, it had occurred to her the place he would go.

  After all, it had been the place he had spent the most time of his life, had it not? She wondered now, why she had not gone there immediately.

  So, quite madly, even before the first rays of dawn had touched the sky, she’d gone down, found a footman, who like the scullery maid had already begun his duties, and ordered her coach.

  One would have thought that at this barely-light hour the streets of London would be quiet. If one would have thought so, they’d have been mistaken.

  The streets teemed with produce coming in from the country. Workers filled the streets as they went off to their various places about the city, and those who brought milk and other staples to the houses of Western London were already hard at labor.

  As the coach rumbled down to the dock, through the surprisingly packed streets, she could hardly fight her awe as the masts of hundreds of ships came into view.

  The roads were packed with sailors of every nationality one could imagine. Their melodious speech filled the air. And the air was also full of the scents of fish, spice and, well, the river.

  The river itself was not the most pleasant but the other aromas brought from the places around the world combatted it cheerfully. It was a part of London that was totally vital and alive. It was, one might argue, the hub of the great nation.

  She’d never been there before. What a loss. For it fairly hummed and she immediately loved how everyone and everything felt as if it had embraced life with full vigor.

  The coach finally rumbled to a stop and she peered out, coming face to face with her husband’s ship.

  Her mouth dropped open. It was terribly cliché but it was true.

  In the bare light of the earliest hours, she accepted the help of John down from the coach and she craned her head back.

  Three masts towered overhead, the sails secured. The sheer size of the vessel was daunting. There were two rows of portholes on the docked side of the ship. Cannons, she recalled him mentioning.

  She was transfixed by the elaborate rigging and the foredeck.

  She gripped the rope and started up the wooden gangway.

  Argyle appeared at the top. His weather-beaten face creased. “My lady, this is no place for you.”

  “Is it not?” she queried brightly, pulling herself along steadily. “It’s where my husband is
happiest. Therefore, it’s where I should be.”

  He gaped at her. “I thought you wished him down in the country for the rest of his days.”

  “It was very foolish of me.” As she took in the weather-beaten Scotsman at the top of the deck, she understood that this man cared very much for her husband. Using her cane much like a hiking stick, she managed to pull herself up the swaying walkway. “Is he here?”

  Argyle’s face grew shuttered. “He was.”

  Well, drat. That did put a crook in her immediate plans. “But’s he's not now?”

  Argyle gave a tight shake of his head.

  Feeling oddly deflated but determined, she asked, “Will he be back?”

  Argyle shrugged, eyeing her with new curiosity. “It is impossible to say with the captain.”

  She glanced about, noticing that there weren’t any sailors making ready to leave. “But he did not give orders to set sail.”

  “Though I hoped so, no.”

  At least he had not come straight to London desirous to depart. That was something. So, she forced a smile. “I’d like to see the ship, if that is permissible.”

  Argyle’s eyes bulged. “Without the captain?”

  “You know him quite well don’t you?” she observed, taking a step down the deck.

  “I’ve been sailing with him almost fifteen years,” Argyle confirmed, hovering near her.

  “Then perhaps you could show me.” She turned about and locked gazes with the older man. “I think we should be better acquainted.”

  Argyle hesitated for a long moment and she wondered if he was going to tell her to hie off. To her relief, he took a step back and gestured for her to join him. “I don’t know if the captain will like it but. . .”

  “You wish him to be happy, don’t you?”

  Argyle nodded. “I won’t lie to you, my lady. I thought you might make him so. I never saw his spirits rise more than just after he’d met you. But then he came here last night and looked. . . Well, he looked almost as bad as those times, years ago, when we were off the coast of Africa.”

  “We’ve had a disagreement,” she explained, touched by the older man’s concern and his belief in her. “But I am hoping to make it up to him.”

  “If you can make it right, I won’t stand in your way.”

  “Thank you, Argyle.” She gestured to the upper deck. “Now, will you escort me?”

  Argyle pulled at his knit cap. “It’d be a pleasure. Are you thinking to be a sea wife? I know a few captains with wives aboard.”

  “We shall see, Argyle. We shall see.”

  * * *

  Adam eyed the half-empty brandy bottle and contemplated the wisdom of continuing in his drink session.

  “The world doesn’t love a quitter, old boy,” Aston said from his chair.

  They had been drinking, playing cards, reciting poetry, and discussing life for hours. Tony and his father, at different points, had played the piano.

  Without actual words, it had been agreed that it was necessary that Adam stay and while away the evening in the company of friends.

  He did not realize that he had needed this. Friends. Oh, he’d known the dangers of isolation, but he’d never really worried about friends. He had his brothers.

  But Alexander was newly married, and presently in Bristol. The others were in America and, somehow, he’d found men here in London. It was damned astonishing.

  Just as he lifted his glass, the door burst open.

  “Oh God, not him,” Adam drawled from the floor. He thunked his glass down, preparing to defend himself.

  Lord Lockhart Eversleigh stormed in, eyes blazing.

  Aston sighed. “Here we go then.”

  “Are you going to call me out?” Adam drawled, his legs stretched out before him. “Fair warning, I don’t follow Queensberry Rules.”

  Lockhart rolled his eyes. “You’re drunk.”

  “Guilty,” piped Tony. “Come join us. You need a bit of fun in your life.”

  “I ought to kill you all, you know,” Lockhart said with surprising geniality. Not at all his usual aggressive self. No, there was something else intensifying his rigid stance.

  “Now, now, young man, you’d be a wet spot on the floor if you tried.”

  Lockhart narrowed his eyes. “Not in your state.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Tony said, grinning. Hoisting himself up, he added, “Now, you’ve come with a purpose, have you not?”

  Adam sat further up, ready to sprint to his feet. “To kill me, of course. He warned his cousin about me. He’s been proven right. I’m a bounder. And now he must avenge her-”

  “Shut it, will you?”

  Adam did, indeed, shut it at Lockhart’s vehemence.

  “As much as I would love to call you out,” Lockhart began, “loathe you as I do, Beatrix has told me a few things.”

  “Beatrix?” Adam jolted up, standing faster than he ever had in his life. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Yes.” Lockhart’s sharp gaze did not give him any assurance. “She came to our house last evening in quite a state.”

  Adam stepped forward. “Is she well? She shouldn’t be traveling.”

  Lockhart threw him a ball-crushing stare. “Well, she wouldn’t be traveling if you hadn’t left.”

  Adam’s gut clenched as guilt washed over him. What a selfish arse he was. She was still delicate. She shouldn't be out on rough roads. He should have swallowed his own pain. “You’re right.”

  Lockhart looked like he was about to reel with shock. “I’m what?”

  “You’re right,” he said honestly.

  “I think I might expire.”

  “Please don’t. Disposing of bodies takes a great deal of work,” Tony said glibly, but with a strange authority.

  “In any case,” Lockhart said, ignoring Tony’s seeming jest. “I started searching for you. It was not hard to ascertain your whereabouts.”

  Suddenly, Adam felt alarmed. Lockhart would not pay a simple social call at this hour. “If not to kill me, why are you here?”

  “To fetch you.”

  Dread pooled in his stomach. “What has happened to her?”

  “She’s left the house.”

  “What?” Adam roared, slamming his glass down on a nearby table.

  “Yes,” Lockhart confirmed. “I was told when I came back in just at dawn.”

  Adam’s heart slammed in his chest, contemplating her out at such an hour. Anything could happen. Despite her status, despite her coach, and despite likely having a servant with her, London was a dangerous place.

  “She’s gone to the docks,” Lockhart said quickly, “or at least that’s what she told the staff. She must be quite intent on seeing you.”

  Adam started for the door. “I’m going.”

  “Steady on, old boy,” Aston called.

  “You can’t stop me,” Adam said over his shoulder.

  “I’d never dream of it.” Aston’s footsteps thudded behind him. “We’re all going.”

  “You may need reinforcements,” Tony intoned, joining his father.

  “You’re all mad,” Lockhart said, apparently completely at a loss for the exuberant passion around him.

  “Isn’t it brilliant?” Tony asked as he yanked on the coat he’d put aside during the night.

  As Adam shook his head, clearing his amazement at the sudden turn of events, he found himself full of trepidation. Why would she seek him out so intently? To leave him? To persuade him to have a child? There was only one way to find out. So, he headed out into the gray light of dawn, not alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Beatrix bounced on the rather firm bed that was built into the cabin wall. To her surprise, after taking her about the upper decks, Argyle had insisted she take a rest.

  A mother hen was not the first image one would conjure when thinking of Argyle, but it fit. When she had begun to lag a little, he’d veritably shooed her to Adam’s cabin.

  In truth, she was quite tired.
Exhausted really. The journey and emotional upheaval had taken their toll. So, she had put up little struggle.

  Even so, she had not laid down to sleep. No, she had poured over his belongings. The desk, bolted to the floor, was covered in maps. His closeted shelves were full of books. Books of every variety.

  She’d found Hamlet and slipped it off the shelf then headed to the bed.

  It was not a happy story.

  And yet, the love in it was so powerful, so palpable, she couldn’t help but feel if just a few decisions had been different that the Prince of Denmark needn’t have been so miserable. The moral in her summation, of course, could also be used in her own life. The wrong decision could rattle one off onto a course that led to the most tragic circumstances. She did not yet know if she could mend her own mistakes, but she would try.

  The sound of footsteps clattering along the small hallway shocked her out of her reverie and, for a moment, she felt fear, until she heard the roar, “Beatrix!”

  She snapped the play shut and put it down on the woven covers.

  Adam opened the door and stumbled through as if he had been running at full tilt. His eyes flashed with worry until they spotted her. He crossed the room in two short strides then pulled her into his arms.

  “Forgive me,” he whispered, holding her tight.

  She blinked, stunned by the joy and relief she felt in his arms. “But it is I who should ask for forgiveness.”

  “I left you alone,” he countered, stroking his hands along her back, holding her as if he were afraid she would disappear. “You never should have been alone.”

  She nodded against his chest. “I was alone. But I am glad.”

  He pulled back slowly. “You liked being without me?”

  “Yes,” she replied firmly, her hands tightening on his muscular arms.

  He pulled back further, his beautiful face growing troubled. “You’ve come to part with me then.”

  “No!” she exclaimed, realizing how her reply could be interpreted. “You misunderstand. I’ve come to win you back.”

  “To win me back?” he echoed.

  A sound of male triumph whooped from the corridor.