The last time he’d seen Albert was two years before in Viana, where they’d sipped deliciously expensive port at a little café not far from the harbor. Declan had told him a story about racing to outrun pirates off the coast of Hispaniola, and his brother had laughed. But when Albert’s chuckles had subsided, envy filled his gaze. The sight had left Declan confused and uncomfortable, but instead of asking what had caused it, he’d poured himself another glass.
“You’ve done well for yourself, brother. How I wish I could travel with you and see the world. Leave England behind for salty sea air and ports unknown.”
Declan had offered him a strained smile, his insides a cauldron of bitterness and disorientation. He’d wanted to yell, “How I wish I could return home, to the place where my parents are buried. To where my brother lives.”
But he’d held his tongue, forcing himself to embrace the fact he was destined to be a wanderer and a stranger to his homeland for reasons his brother had never divulged.
Declan stared unseeing at the grassy lawn leading to the show arena, his mind replaying the words he’d whispered in Albert’s ear as he’d hugged him good-bye. “When may I come home?”
Albert had pulled back and met his gaze, his hands still resting on his shoulders. “I don’t know.” Then he’d turned and walked the gangplank to his waiting ship.
Declan had watched him go, his only surviving family member, and had breathed deeply through his nose to endure the torment that squeezed his chest.
Now a humorless chuckle escaped his lips. What had made Albert decide six months later the time had come for his wayward brother to return? He shook his head and patted his horse on the neck. Whatever it was, Declan was beginning to suspect his brother’s reasons were the possible catalyst for his death.
He removed the feed bag and rubbed behind the beast’s ears when Tamosi smacked his lips together in protest. As he ran his hands over the animal’s side and inspected the saddle straps, Alethea’s softly spoken question suddenly echoed through his thoughts.
“Do you intend to stay in England?”
He regretted his answer was tied to Albert instead of his own wishes and desires. But she deserved honesty, and with his brother gone, England had lost much of its allure. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to contend with the beau monde and their guarded reaction to him. He had a successful business to run, and he no longer had to prove himself and his worth to his partners.
Then there was Alethea herself, and the confusing storm of emotions and lust she inspired in him. She made him want to forget the snide comments that tinged every conversation. The assumptions others made of him simply because of the color of his skin. Their insulting surprise upon learning of his birthright, and then of the business empire he worked hard to build.
Declan had learned to expect such a reaction from others, but Alethea would be stunned. She’d been raised in the bosom of the ton and was a darling among them. She wouldn’t know how to handle their censure. She wouldn’t know how to protect their children from the cutting remarks and dubious looks they might receive. She’d vibrated with anger in the park at the nosy remarks of society dowagers; what then would she do should such behavior be directed at a son of theirs?
One thing he knew for sure was he had no intention of leaving until the mystery surrounding Albert’s death was resolved. With Thomas’s disappearance, his ability to do just that seemed less secure.
He untied Tamosi’s reins from the post, certain a ride down Park Lane to Hyde Park would clear his thoughts. He led his horse to the mounting block and waited for a groom to appear, when a movement to his right caught his attention. His gaze fell upon a familiar-looking boy.
“Y’r Grace, do you rememb’r me?” the urchin asked as he took a step toward Declan, his gaze scanning the surroundings in the dim overhang of the barn. Considering the way he dashed to Declan’s side and tucked himself up against Tamosi, rubbing the beast’s big neck all while nervously surveying the grounds beyond, left him convinced the boy was frightened.
“I do. How can I help you?”
“I ’eard yer looking for T’omas?” The boy’s voice quivered on the name.
Declan directed his eyes to the back of Tamosi’s head, unwilling to draw attention to the lad. “We had agreed to meet, but he never arrived for our appointment.”
“Last I saw T’omas was the day you asked me about the gray stallion.” The boy stopped abruptly and turned to the side, tilting his head as if listening. “Lat’r, after you ’ad gone, I brought a pretty black filly around and I saw T’omas with a great big brute of a man. Short ’air, tall as those great bears me Ma said lived across the North Sea.”
“What were they doing?” Declan asked, every nerve tingling.
The boy rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “Arguing, from what it looked like.”
“Arguing?”
“Aye. At least T’omas was whipping his ’ands around and talking angry like. The big man just stood t’ere looking mean.”
Thomas could have been caught up in any sort of unsavory pursuit to send big, hulking brutes after him. But why would the man show up to talk to Thomas so soon after Declan had?
“And you’ve never seen the man before then?”
“Nay.” The boy took several steps back until he was in the shadows.
Urgency rose in Declan’s throat and he latched his hands tightly to the reins, determined not to snatch up the boy and demand more information. “If you saw this man again, would you recognize him?”
“Oh yes, Y’r Grace.” The boy swallowed, his eyes wide and focused on a point behind Declan. “’e be right there.”
Declan whipped his head around in time to see the broad figure of a man disappear around the corner of the farthest barn. Shifting to thank the boy, he found he was alone. The sprite had disappeared. Smart lad.
Mounting Tamosi, Declan spurred him on with a firm nudge to his flanks, and he hastened to the spot he’d seen the man disappear. Coming to a halt just before the corner, he carefully walked his horse forward, eager to discover who the man was and what he knew about Thomas.
But there was no one in sight.
Chapter Eleven
March 1814
I long to pull her into my arms and bestow all the love and affection I keep buried deep down in the farthest caverns of my soul. But my pride will not allow it.
-The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon
Late morning traffic crowded the dusty streets, many returning from the morning market with their fresh meat or produce for the day’s meals. Still others ventured out to the shops that lined Bond Street or Piccadilly, eager for a deal before the fashionable crowd arrived and bargains were locked tightly away.
Alethea and Flora waited on the street corner with their maids for a break in the traffic. Alethea rocked back and forth on her feet, nervous anxiety making it difficult for her to stand still. Ever since the gossip article appeared in the paper, and her father’s scolding, she’d been on edge. She used to look forward to her twice weekly visits to the foundling home where she taught French, but now, just stepping out the front door of Rockhaven House had her gritting her teeth.
“Are you waiting for trumpets to sound and a royal escort to take you across the street?” Flora’s humor-filled voice sounded in her ear.
“My apologies,” she mumbled, allowing Flora to grasp her arm and tow her to the opposite corner.
“I’m guessing your thoughts are on the article in the paper.”
A long sigh slipped through Alethea’s lips. “I know it’s ridiculous to be bothered by it, but I am.”
“Is it because they linked you with Darington?”
A lump lodged in her throat as she considered how Declan was trying to establish himself in society, intent on representing the Darington title the way his brother had. Continuously having his name linked in the gossip pages to clandestine affairs could hinder that.
“Possibly,” she admitted, refusing to share her thoughts.
Instead she said, “My father was also annoyed.”
“Why would he be annoyed?”
Alethea frowned, recalling the look on his face. “No doubt he feels the talk casts aspersions on my character and, most importantly, the Swinton name. Don’t forget it’s all about family honor with him.”
“You’d think he’d be keen on seeing you linked so frequently to a man of Darington’s standing. Who wouldn’t want their daughter to be a duchess?” Flora voiced with a disbelieving laugh.
The women walked in silence for several blocks, Flora seeming to sense Alethea needed time to sort through her thoughts. They turned a corner, the lane becoming narrower, along with the buildings. While still respectable, they no longer tread where the wealthy and fashionable did. Within minutes, they came to a stop in front of a neat townhouse with a blue door.
Flora nodded to their two maids who waited a few feet away, and they turned to the back of the house and the servants’ entrance. “You need to know that the gossip has been much worse than what’s been reported in the papers.”
Dread bored a hole into her chest. “What are they saying this time?”
“They’re saying you were brazen during your dance with the duke. That he’s newly returned and unaware of the proper dictums of society, so he might not even be aware of how the waltz is danced in London. But you should know better.” Flora’s recitation was dry and without inflection, as if she were reading from a script.
“At least they’re not blaming him.”
“It’s nonsense, but I wanted you to be aware.” Flora looked toward the Little Windmill foundling house’s front door, her jaw hardening. “Praemonitus, praemunitus.”
Alethea nodded. “Forewarned is forearmed.”
Many spiteful ladies and their mothers would delight in her topple from grace. Just the hint of scandal floating around her name would have their jaws snapping with unfettered anticipation.
It was what her father warned her of. A campaign of whispers could harm her reputation as well as if she’d been caught in a footman’s closet with a rake of the highest order.
And even if her father approved of a match with the duke, Declan had made it clear he only intended to stay in England for as long as it took to bring Albert’s killers to justice. She could not count on him to save her reputation, so why did she keep harming it to spend time with him?
The smell was not something Alethea thought she could ever get used to. She’d been inside stables throughout her life, but the stench on the grounds of Ascot was more potent and concentrated than anything she’d experienced. The pungent scents of manure, hay, sweat, hopeful expectations, and crushed dreams was a combination that made her nose crinkle.
Alethea had slipped away from Lord Connington’s gathering to amble about. A throng of illustrious guests filled the space, each eager to witness the prime racehorses compete in various races and bask in their owners’ successes. Her father had quickly found friends and acquaintances to chat with, but she grew tired of the sycophants and their tedious, vapid conversations. Even the presence of old acquaintances, women who made their debut with her, did little to ease her boredom. All of them had long since married and become mothers, and Alethea found she had little in common with them to carry a conversation…if she didn’t want to speak of Declan, that is. A walk about the grounds seemed in order.
Unfortunately, she had underestimated how busy the course would be and grew tired of dodging the crowds, the afternoon heat causing her to seek the cool, dim interior of the barns.
Now she stood in the far corner of the structure, away from the bustle of the grooms and trainers preparing their mounts for their races. Alethea discreetly rubbed her gloved hand under her nose, hopeful her position away from the action would hide her. How Flora was able to spend so much time around such a scent was beyond her.
“Are you contemplating trying your hand as a jockey? Have you moved on from shocking unsuspecting game wardens to scandalizing all of England?”
Like honeyed brandy, Declan’s voice sent heat coursing down her spine. She met his gaze, taking in the half smile that curved his sinful lips. “I honestly had not considered it, but now that you’ve given me the idea…” She tapped a finger against her mouth. “Although I’m quite sure I’m not built to be a jockey.”
“Too voluptuous?” he asked, his mien serious, but his coal-colored eyes laughing.
“Too tall,” she managed, cheeks aflame.
“Oh yes, that would be a hindrance.” He clasped his hands behind his back, the action allowing her a fleeting perusal of his person. His buckskin trousers highlighted his taut, muscular thighs. The gold of his waistcoat complemented his dark skin, and his green superfine coat showcased his wide, wide shoulders. He’d managed to contain most of his ebony curls under his top hat, but a few lone strands brushed against his neck and cheeks.
Catching his cocked eyebrow, Alethea ducked her head, confident she was as red as her hair. She blurted out, “I should have known you’d be here. You always fancied a good race.”
He paced to a stall where a chestnut horse watched them with big brown eyes. He ran his hand along the horse’s neck. “You remember that I see. A supplier invited me, and I was hard-pressed to say no.”
“Lord Connington invited us.”
“So I was told.” He dropped his arm and rocked back on his feet. “After that gossip article, people seem very inclined to tell me all about you.”
“Lud, I can imagine the things they’ve said,” she grumbled. Straightening her spine, she continued, “If we’re caught together, the innuendos will be deafening.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” He took a step toward her, his gaze intent on her face. He didn’t seem at all concerned about the possibility of being discovered together. “I don’t understand why our actions are of such concern to everyone. We knew each other as children. Our families were close. It seems to reason we’d have plenty to talk about.”
“But you’re a duke.” She swallowed. “And everyone now knows we were almost promised to each other.”
“Almost.” He chuckled, but his gaze quickly grew somber. “You’re a diamond of the first water. If I weren’t now a duke, the ton would have thought Lord Rockhaven quite wise to have kept us apart. Albert would have made a better husband.”
“Ridiculous,” she exclaimed, even as she felt a pinch in her chest.
“Even with the stain on the Darington name, no one would have questioned a marriage between you and Albert. You would have been well suited. A match between us…well, it would raise brows and wag tongues for years to come.” When she opened her mouth to argue, he added, “And Albert would have stayed, Allie. He would have been attentive and doting, but more importantly, he would have been present.” He scrubbed a hand across his brow, dislodging his hat. “With my business, I can’t promise to do the same. Even if I could, I wouldn’t subject you to the scrutiny.”
“Oh, how kind of you. You’re so magnanimous to take from me a decision that should rightfully be mine to make.” A painful lump lodged in her throat, and she gritted her teeth around it. “Since that’s what you think is best, I think we should do our best to quiet the gossip, starting with avoiding each other.”
“I don’t know if that’s possible.”
An inferno of attraction fired between them, and heat streaked under her skin. His hooded eyes held hers and any coherent reply she formulated evaporated into mist. She resented him for it. Alethea stepped back, desperate for room to gather her wits when a voice interrupted.
“My lady, I was sent by Lord Rockhaven to escort you back to the grandstands. Are you ready?”
The pair jumped apart—when had they come to stand so close?—and Alethea turned to the waiting groom. “Of course. Thank you.”
With a gulp of air, she looked at him. “Good-bye, Dec.”
She managed to walk out of the barns at a stately pace, the groom following behind, knowing Declan watched her every move.
…
A ship was expected into port that afternoon with a hold filled with sugarcane Declan needed to inspect, but here he was. When he learned about the horse race, and the possibility Rockhaven would be in attendance, he could not pass up the opportunity to finally speak with him.
Seeing Alethea, observing the sway of her hips as she walked away, more than made the sacrifice worth it.
“Darington.” The Earl of Rockhaven said his name with all the warmth of a midwinter tempest as he stepped out from a dim side corridor. “I wish I could say I was surprised to find you here but that would be a lie.” The earl smacked his hat against his thigh, the gesture more irritated than the sangfroid expression on his face. “If I remember correctly, you always were horse mad.”
“You have a good memory, my lord.” He linked his arms behind his back, hoping to appear friendly. Nonconfrontational. “I’ve been hoping to meet you for weeks. How fortuitous to encounter you here.”
“Yes, well I’m happy to finally be able to squeeze you into my schedule.” The earl had his gaze trained on the viewing stands behind Declan when he said, “What is it you’ve been so keen to discuss?”
Declan’s heartbeat accelerated. “I was hoping you could tell me about the last time you saw Albert.”
Rockhaven continued to look over Declan’s shoulder. “I hadn’t seen Albert in months. We conducted most of our business through letter.”
“Do you know of any business he may have had that would have brought him to Spitalfields?”
“Not that I’m aware of.” The earl met his gaze for a passing second before looking away again. “I have to say I was surprised to learn he was there of all places. Surely he could have found company at any of the more upscale establishments in Covent Garden, but I suppose a coarser sort of woman has her place.”
Only years of masking his emotions aided Declan in suppressing the cutting words he wished to throw at the earl and his vile assumption. Still, his voice was a tad rough when he said, “His former groom told me he’d met someone at a tavern there.”
To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal) Page 9