The Duke

by Katharine Ashe

  She obeyed, pulling up the fabric and letting him push her knees apart and trap her against the wall.

  Reaching between them, swiftly she unfastened the fall of his breeches with shaking fingers. His eyes shone darkly. Then he was grabbing her up, hitching her thigh over his hip, and making her take him.

  She moaned, pulling him in until he was seated so deep she could feel him in her belly.

  “This,” he said thickly against her cheek, his voice rough. With a hard thrust, he drove deep. “No fences. No walls.” And again, harder. “No barriers.” His hands moved her on him, the heat and friction of him filling her. “You need this.”

  She sank her hands into his hair.

  “I have dreamed this,” she whispered.

  For a moment there was no movement. Then he bent his head and took her mouth beneath his. When he drew away from her lips, holding her tight, commanding her body with his hands and arms, he did not take her as he had warned. He gave. He made love to her. In an alleyway. In the semidarkness of mingled moonlight and lamplight, as though he had hours to please her—as though no one could see or was likely to see—as though if anyone passed by he would merely say, “Move along, nothing of note here” and continue to make her strain to him. She came in sharp, sudden contractions. They seized her entirely as his muscles beneath her hands hardened. She reached between them and touched him, as she had not even had courage to do at Kallin. His shout of release filled the archway with a man’s pleasure.

  She kissed his lips, his cheeks, the whiskers on his jaw, his eyes and abrupt brow and the bridge of his nose, and then his mouth again. The ache inside her was so powerful, she could draw no words from the darkness. Within she was all fire and light and broken desperation. For the first time in years she felt like that girl again, the girl who had fallen in love with him so thoroughly, without fear.

  “Dinna allow yourself to be caged, wild one,” he said roughly, his brow against hers. “No’ for me. No’ for any reason.”

  Turning her face away she pressed her palms against his chest.

  He released her, drawing away and fastening his breeches as casually as though it were the most usual thing in the world to make love to a woman in an alleyway. As she smoothed her skirts and tugged her hood over her hair, he watched her.

  There was, of course, nothing more to be said.

  She started off.

  He grasped her hand.

  “Amarantha, I—”

  “Allow me to do this. For, God help me, I cannot grieve your death again.” She tugged free and hurried past his horse and away.

  When she returned to the house, Constance told her that word had come from Castle Read: her father, the Duke of Read, was in London, but she had already sent a swift rider there. He should arrive within days.

  At dinner her hosts asked no more questions, and afterward Amarantha went to her bedchamber, washed her body of the remnants of her adventure in the dark with a beast who was nothing of the sort, and pretended to herself that she felt nothing. She had plenty of experience doing that, after all.

  Chapter 31

  For Love

  Amarantha was packing her traveling trunk yet again when Libby Shaw came into her bedchamber.

  “You must not marry Thomas Bellarmine.”

  “Libby! I thought you still at Haiknayes.”

  “When everybody arrived there, and Papa and I heard the news of foolish Cynthia’s ridiculous elopement, we thought it would be best to take ourselves out of the way before Mrs. Tate began screaming. Again. You were good to leave a message for me and Papa at the house in Leith so that we would know you had come here, but now Mr. Brock is downstairs and he has told me of your plan to marry Mr. Bellarmine and I cannot fathom it. Amarantha, the duke quite obviously admires you—a lot—and you like him too. Even I can see that, and I usually don’t notice such things, at least that is what Cynthia always says. Anyway, I hope you will reconsider.”

  “Mr. Brock is here? In this house now?”

  “He came in after me. He is talking with Saint. It seems he was acquainted with Saint’s brother in Jamaica. Constance is strolling down the block with the Lord Advocate’s wife.”

  With an hour yet till she was required to be at the church, Amarantha still wore the plain gown in which she had walked through the park at dawn in another futile attempt to walk away her misery. But she went swiftly down the stairs.

  “Mrs. Garland,” Jonah said, moving across the foyer as she descended. “I must speak with you. In private.”

  She went into the drawing room.

  He closed the door and said, “He has done the unthinkable.” He blinked hard several times. “I still cannot—I cannot believe what he has done.”

  “Mr. Tate?”

  “My cousin. Gabriel has deeded Haiknayes to me, the entire estate. And the property here in Edinburgh as well.”

  “But—Why would he do such a thing?”

  “Tate said—”

  “Tate? You have spoken with him today?”

  “I went over there hoping to make him see reason. I have in the past consorted with unscrupulous scoundrels, Mrs. Garland. I intended to warn him against attempting blackmail. I had little real hope of changing his course but I could not allow you and Bellarmine to take him on alone. But I found him in high good humor. Mrs. Garland, my cousin has made a vow to Tate that he will not defend himself against any accusations of villainy, concerning Cynthia or any other girl. And to prove this vow, he has given Haiknayes to me with the promise to Tate that I—” He seemed to recoil a bit. “That I will marry Miss Jane Tate.”

  Amarantha’s knees were unsteady. She lowered herself onto a chair.

  “I do not understand my cousin’s mind,” he said. “He is a far finer man than I. But I do know that Tate will not be satisfied with this. If I were to wed Jane Tate, the moment it was done Tate would renege on his word and publicly accuse Gabriel of villainy.”

  “Then you must return to Kallin. You must find Cynthia Tate and bring her here immediately. And I will go to Mr. Tate now and extract a promise of his good faith.”

  “How? What promise will suffice from a man of no moral character?”

  A lifelong familial connection to an English earl, and her father’s obliging purse.

  “It will buy us time until the Duke of Read arrives and can offer his aid. And influence.”

  Jonah nodded, but his face was still drawn and he made no move to leave.

  “Why do you hesitate?” she said. “You must depart for Kallin at once.”

  “My hesitation—My hesitation is not in that. It is that I am not worthy of Haiknayes. I am unfit to be its master. For nearly five years I barely managed to hold Gregory’s plantation together, and it was a far smaller estate. More importantly, my cousin loves that land and that damn fortress more than even he knows. I cannot take it from him.”

  “It seems to me that you haven’t any choice.”

  “But that isn’t all,” he said, his fingers crushing his hat brim. “Mrs. Garland—Amarantha—I cannot marry Jane Tate. It would not be fair to her, nor to—” His throat worked.

  “To whom?”

  “However lovely I find Miss Tate, and however gratified I am by her admiration, I am not yet healed of—of the heart broken by—by another woman’s death.” His voice scraped over the words. “A woman I loved more than I imagined I could ever love anyone.”

  “Your mistress, Charlotte?”

  He shook his head. “No, though God knows I deserve every misery now for having used her as I did.”

  “Then who?”

  His face was stark. “My wife.”

  “You were married?”

  “For three short months before she sent me away.”

  “Sent you away?”

  “She was ashamed of me, Amarantha. Ashamed of the man I had been and even more ashamed, I think, of her attachment to me.”

  “I am sorry, Mr. Brock, for your loss and for your unhappiness now.”

>   He made a sound of hard, hopeless laughter. “You offer your condolences to the thief who stole your happiness years ago?”

  “Years ago. While your grief is obviously still fresh. When did your wife perish?”

  “Last summer,” he said, his blue eyes empty now. “But I only learned of it at Kallin. Until then, I had thought her well and still in Jamaica.”

  “At Kallin?”

  “I overheard you speaking of it.”

  Understanding came swiftly.

  “Penny,” she gasped.

  “Yes.”

  The single syllable abruptly made everything clear.

  “You and—Penny. You became acquainted with her through my husband, didn’t you?”

  “He cared nothing for her. But she cared for him. When she learned that a man of my stained reputation was meeting him, she came to me to tell me to leave him be. After that”—he looked down at the floor—“she came only for me. Despite herself.”

  “You married her? But she was—”

  “Remarkable. Beautiful. Extraordinary. And strong willed. She would not have me without the vows.”

  Amarantha’s heartbeats came painfully.

  No’ until you are no other man’s.

  Tears caught in her throat.

  “Yet she parted from you,” she said.

  “I took passage eastward until my funds ran dry. I did not know what my destination would be. I barely even recall where I went or what I did. I’d no idea she had left Jamaica. When I discovered you at Haiknayes, I longed to ask you about her.”

  “She came to Scotland looking for you.”

  “For me?”

  “I believe that when she could find no trace of you here, she attempted to find your cousin.”

  “She sent me away. I never imagined she might come after me.” He clamped his eyes shut. “And if he weren’t so elusive, she might have found him.”

  “Mr. Brock, Penny had good reason to search for you. You have a son.”

  All the pride and self-derision slipped away from his features. “A son?” he said very quietly.

  “He is on a farm not far from Kallin, with the family who took Penny in and where I found her after months of searching for her. She had left Kingston without warning or explanation, and I feared for her safety. When I discovered her, I discovered him too. Your son is safe and well.”

  “Amarantha.” Tears slid down his handsome face. “Thank you.”

  “Do not thank me. I did not do it for you. I think perhaps that I did not even do it for Penny. Mr. Brock, we must hurry now and do whatever necessary to save the most obstinately generous man in the world. For he is about to make a sacrifice of himself for all of us.”

  “The lading papers, Tate. Accurate to an ounce.” Gabriel put the stamped documents into the merchant’s outstretched hand. “You’ll have no trouble with the customs house in Bridgetown. An’ if by chance you do, give them the assurance that I stand behind it. They willna know yet that I’m gone, o’ course,” he said more acidly than he intended. But a man was bound to let slip a snarl or two when he was agreeing to his own exile.

  “Ha ha! If the cargos o’ these vessels net what they should, lad, you might escape the noose yet.” He had the gall to chuckle.

  “Aye. Now, as you dinna own this ship, I’ll be asking you to disembark so I can make ready to sail.”

  Tate tucked the documents into his coat. Patting them to his chest in satisfaction, he glanced about the stateroom. The night before, Gabriel had dismissed the shipmaster. He’d no money to pay the man, and he could sail the damn brig to perdition himself.

  “Do you know what convinced me to let you keep this little beauty?” Tate said. “Brock’s promise to hand over to me half the annual income o’ Haiknayes.”

  “He’ll no’ inherit, Tate, till the powers that be see my corpse.”

  “No need to hurry that along, lad. No’ unless Mr. Brock gives me trouble.” He strode to the door, chuckling. “Aye, ’twill be a banner year for Tate Mercantile.” He mounted the causeway to the main deck.

  “Uncle!” Thomas Bellarmine came running from the quay. “There you are! I went to the customs office and the fellow there told me—Loch Irvine?” He skidded to a halt and sketched an awkward bow. “How do you?”

  “No need for pretty manners, nephew. His Grace is my man now.”

  “Your—?” Bellarmine looked between them. “I don’t understand. What has happened?”

  “Bellarmine,” Gabriel said, “I’m on a tight schedule. The harbormaster’s given me a three o’clock departure an’ I’ve a crew to collect from the pubs before then, and provisions to take on, so I’m a busy man at present. That, an’ I’ve had enough o’ your uncle for—well—for the remainder o’ my life, however brief ’tis likely to be. Get him off my ship.”

  “There he is!” Iris Tate scampered up the gangway. “Duke! We’ve looked all over town for you! But Libby and the doctor don’t know your address here and Mr. Brock said nobody at the Mariner’s Club had seen you in weeks and—” She stumbled to a halt, frowned, and crossed her arms tight. “Papa,” she spat. Then she swiveled around and ran back to the rail. “He’s here! They’re both here!”

  A moment later Amarantha was ascending the ramp and boarding his ship and Gabriel felt the oddest sensation of history ending and beginning again at once.

  She had never come aboard the Theia. He had invited her to tour his ship many times. She had always declined, holding firmly to the separation of their realities beyond the hospital.

  Now she came to him and stood not two feet away and lifted her beautiful eyes to him. Her hair, tied in a ribbon, was in disarray, her cheeks were pink beneath the damp gray sky, and her gown was plain and creased. She was a heaven of haphazard beauty and it required every ounce of his self-restraint not to grab her and kiss her.

  “Lass,” he said with a ridiculously thick tongue. “I imagined you on the way to the altar by now. What are you doing here?”

  “Obviously not going through with our plan to rescue you from the noose, which you have made obsolete.”

  Relief was so thorough he made a sound—a sigh, a grunt. He was a beast in truth.

  “’Twas a poorly conceived plan,” he finally managed. “Truly.”

  Spots of crimson leaped onto her cheeks. “Yes, well, desperate times . . .”

  “You’ve come to kiss me goodbye, an’ I’ll no’ refuse that.” He grinned his scoundrel’s grin. “But first, I’ve a word to say to you.” He moved close to her and his head got full of her scent and her eyes were bright and by God he wouldn’t leave without touching her again. He clasped her hand and heard her little intake of air. Her fingers were cold and trembling. He spoke quietly. “I’ve sent word to Du Lac that if anyone is in trouble beyond which Mary Tarry can assist, they’re to contact you.”

  Her face jerked up. Her lips were within easy kissing distance now.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “I’d rather no’ have put you in the way o’ the blackguard’s notice”—he cast a glance toward Tate—“but you are the only person I trust, an’ you’ve family to protect you if—”

  “No. You needn’t do this, because you are not going anywhere.”

  He entwined their fingers and brought them against his chest.

  “Lass, I knew this would happen someday. I’ve expected it. ’Tis true I’d wished to delay it as long as possible. An’ I’d hoped to have assurance that you would be—” His damn throat closed. Best that way, though. If he told her about the pact, she’d think him madder than she already did.

  “No,” she repeated. “You are not leaving.”

  He breathed in deeply, simply to smell her and the sea at once.

  “Now,” he said, lifting her hand. “For that goodbye kiss.” Bending his head he touched his lips to her knuckles.

  She snatched her hand away. “You will not kiss me goodbye.”

  Abruptly he was aware of a cluster of people, none of them sailors, gathering on his
deck: Iris Tate, Alice Campbell, Libby Shaw, the doctor, Mrs. Aiken, and Jane Tate.

  Jonah came forward through the crowd.

  “Gabriel, you mustn’t agree to any of Tate’s demands,” he said. “If he goes to the police with false tales, Dr. Shaw and I will stand as character witnesses for you, and I’m certain Bellarmine will as well.”

  “Of course!” Bellarmine said.

  “I’ll send you straight to jail, nephew,” Tate said.

  “Not without implicating yourself,” Bellarmine retorted. “I’ll do it, too, if you continue this wicked crusade against him. It’s the honorable thing to do.” Thomas glanced at the others, his gaze resting for a moment on Mrs. Aiken.

  “The Duke of Read is en route from London,” Jonah said, “as well as the Earl of Vale and his son-in-law, Lord Egremoor.”

  “Ha ha!” Tate laughed as he strolled toward the rail. “’Twill be a festival o’ nobles. The more the merrier, I say, to hear the proof I’ve gotten o’ the Duke o’ Loch Irvine’s diabolical deeds!” He spoke at booming volume. On the quay, a pair of passersby paused to listen.

  “Lass,” Gabriel said softly, bending his head to her again. “Only you know the reason Jonah mustna do this, so only you can halt it.”

  “We will find another way.”

  His eyes were beautiful, dark and confident.

  “I dinna need protecting. A man like me never does. They do.” He turned from her. “Now, everybody, I’ll be setting the sails shortly. So unless you’ve business in the East Indies, you’d best disembark. Miss Shaw, thank you for your work on my father’s collection. Jonah, you’ve an estate to see to. Bellarmine, mind your own business. Tate, I’ll see you in Hell.” He bowed. “Good day, all.”

  With a smile to her that carved a hollow in Amarantha’s insides, he strode toward the gangplank and down to the quay.

  A hackney coach clattered to a halt beside the ship. Cynthia Tate hurled herself out of it and fell against the duke’s chest.

  “I am here!” she cried, righting herself with the assistance of his big hands and shaking out skirts of fluffy yellow tulle. “I am here!” she shouted again, twirling in a circle and shouting yet again to the passersby, “See, I am here! I am well! I haven’t even a scratch on me!”