The Duke's Deceit

by Sherrill Bodine

  This was not the same man who had stormed out of the parlor this morning. There was no anger, no confusion, no vulnerability in this face—just a smile of such warmth and power, heat washed through her trembling limbs.

  “How did you find me?” she blurted out in confusion.

  He reached out a well-shaped hand to cup her chin. “I’ve come to rescue you. And take you home.” She hardened her face, lifted her chin sharply out of his reach, and stepped back one pace.

  “As you can see, I was rescuing myself. And I am going home—my home. After I fetch Lottie from the Thistle and Sword.”

  “There is something I need to tell you first. Afterward I will take you wherever you wish to go.” “If it’s an apology for the dreadful things you said this morning you can just…” Her anger trailed away as she realized he’d come after her.

  “I believe there are two apologies forthcoming. If my memory serves, you insulted me tit for tat.” He stroked his cheek and his mouth twisted in a small half smile.

  Bitter tears for all the lies that lay between them burned her eyes. Would she never learn? “It would seem we have both said more than enough to each other. There’s nothing more. I’m going to find Lottie and return to Hexham where I belong.”

  Sparks struck in his dark eyes. He caught her wrist in a grip of steel. “Maybe it would be best for Lottie to be present when I tell you what I must. Come!”

  She twisted her wrist uselessly within the trap of his fingers. “Where are you taking me?” she sobbed in frustration, running to keep up with his relentless pace.

  “The Thistle and Sword!”

  He tossed her up before him on Wildfire and clattered out of the inn yard. They traveled with such speed that the wind tore at her hair, whipping it wildly across her face, blinding her. Disoriented and frightened, she would have tumbled headfirst over Wildfire’s flying mane if Richard hadn’t kept her firmly secured against his chest, one arm low and intimate across her stomach.

  The air whistled past so loudly it was impossible to speak, impossible to think of what she should do next.

  In a remarkably short time she spied another inn, with a hanging sign proclaiming it the Thistle and Sword.

  The instant Richard reined Wildfire to a halt, he released her. She slid out of his arms and off the horse with no help. After flinging him one withering look she rushed inside.

  The taproom was shuttered. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark. If she had been the type of female prone to the vapors, she might have succumbed at that moment.

  Lottie was clasped in her uncle’s arms, pressing a fully reciprocated kiss onto his lips.

  Mary tried to back out the way she’d come but was stopped by gentle hands on her shoulders. Richard cleared his throat pointedly.

  Finally breaking free of his passionate embrace, Ian glanced up and saw them hovering in the doorway.

  “Mary my girl! And Avalon! Wish us happy. Lottie and I are off to Gretna to be wed!” Ian’s fiery beard split in a wide happy grin.

  “Uncle Ian, how did you get my message so quickly?” Mary gasped, grateful for Richard’s steadying presence. Her head was swimming. “It couldn’t have possibly reached you in Hexham.”

  “Wasn’t in Hexham. I was on this very pike, making my way to London because of your first letter. When I spied Avalon’s insignia, I stopped the messenger.”

  Lottie positively cooed, standing in the haven of his arms. “He was coming to fetch me home.” Mary’s eyes filled with tears. At least some happiness could come from this.

  “Is there somewhere more private we can talk, Ian? I have a matter of great importance to impart to all of you.”

  Something in Richard’s voice made Mary step hastily out of his range. Lottie indicated a narrow door.

  “Here, Richard. We can use the private parlor.” The room was small, and the fire in the grate warmed the chill spreading through her. What else could Richard want? A great tiredness crept over her. If she could just go home, by herself, she was sure that in time she’d be back to normal.

  But if she had to face him, or go back to London, she would never recover.

  She turned to face him, to plead for mercy.

  He stood in the middle of the room, his legs braced apart. A strange energy emanated from him, and his chocolate eyes melted over her with liquid warmth.

  “Mary, this will no doubt come as a shock. So I’ll tell you straight out. You’re a great heiress.”

  “What?”

  “Your grandmother’s cousin amassed a great fortune in the colonies. When she died five years ago, she left it to your mother. Your grandfather has been keeping it for himself. I have made certain that it will come to you, where it belongs.”

  A great wash of anger surged over her, and she caught the back of an armchair to steady her knees. “Do you mean my parents could have seen their dream come true before they died?”

  “Yes, Mary.” He held up a hand when she tried to speak. “Don’t worry. The old baron will pay. I made him promise to stay away from you and from London. He’ll be forced to sell all those things he’s been collecting with your money.”

  Her anger ebbed away, and she looked at Richard wonderingly.

  “Now you can do anything you wish.” Richard laughed, a rare true note that wiped all the cynicism from his face and left her gasping at his beauty. “However, at this precise moment I believe we must send the happy couple off on their elopement.”

  She was trembling, her thoughts capering like leaves before an autumn wind. She couldn’t miss the long look that passed between Richard and her uncle before she was engulfed in Ian’s powerful hug.

  A moment later, Lottie’s tear-streaked face was wreathed in a smile, for Ian pulled her back into his embrace and said, “We’re all goin’ to be happy, Mary my girl. See if we aren’t.” Then he whisked his blushing, blissful bride through the door.

  She forced herself to be calm; whatever had happened in the past, some good was coming of it. There was no use holding on to an impossible dream.

  “What will you do, Mary? You can do anything, you know. Stock the finest horse farm in all England. Or stay in London and take the ton by storm.”

  Mary lifted her chin, resolutely ignoring the flutterings in her stomach as he stepped closer.

  “It was always my parents’ dream to have the horse farm be successful. I must fulfill the dream for them,” she answered as honestly as she could.

  “Why must you fulfill it?” His voice was laced with such tenderness that she moved back a step from its undeniable appeal.

  “Because it vindicates the choices they made,” she whispered through the tears choking her throat. “For my mother to leave her world. For them to be together. For all they endured because of my grandfather’s tyranny.”

  “But what of you, Mary? Of your dreams? Your grandfather has no power over you any longer. Surely you never accepted the ravings of that cruel heartless man. You belong wherever you choose to be. Only you can make that choice. What do you wish to do now?”

  She half turned away from him, for fear he’d see her real wish in her eyes. Then she felt his breath at the back of her neck, and a searing finger of flame devoured her.

  “Do you remember once telling me you hadn’t known you were lonely until I came? Was that the truth?” The harsh urgency in his voice spun her around, practically into his arms. There was no place to retreat from him, with the fireplace at her back.

  Truth and lies. Half lies and half truths. All that lay between them quivered in the air. If she could go back and change one moment of their time together, would she? Hadn’t he brought her to this moment? Wasn’t she much stronger, more resilient because of him?

  The truth would leave her exposed before him. Once, she wouldn’t have had the self-confidence to brave
that moment. Now it was possible to meet and hold his gaze.

  “Yes, I meant it. You … you made me feel, and grow inside. I’m sorry I lied to you about the engagement.” Her voice gained strength. “But I’m not sorry for the moments we’ve shared.”

  Slowly he lifted her right hand, kissed the inside of her wrist, and laid her palm against the cheek she’d slapped that morning.

  “I’m not sorry for any moments we’ve shared.” His arms closed around her, and he brought his lips to within an inch of hers. “Will you kiss me, Mary?”

  It was too much to resist, and always would be; his touch was as beguiling as his voice.

  Raising her face, she met his lips eagerly. She shivered as his fingertips traced a slow, intricate pattern on her throat.

  He pressed her closer, muttering endearments onto her cheeks, her eyes, the curve of her neck, and again on her eager mouth.

  “Stay with me, Mary. There’s no pretense in the way we touch each other,” he whispered into her hair.

  She was transported by the feelings of pleasure only he could inspire. For a moment she allowed herself the luxury of hope … until it was shattered by an equally strong reaction of guilt.

  She pushed herself as far out of his arms as she could. That amounted to pressing her palms against his chest and making him look into her eyes, for he wouldn’t let her go.

  “But you are betrothed to Arabella!”

  “If you’d seen Bella kissing Charlesworth, you would know my engagement is off. At this very moment they are no doubt discussing wedding plans with my mother back at the Hare and Hound.”

  Obviously her confusion was mirrored on her face, for he chuckled deep in his throat.

  “Bella and Frederick saw Sir Robert take you up in his coach. They followed, but Freddie had the presence of mind to send a message back to Avalon House. My mother followed them, and I followed her. By the time I arrived, Lancaster had landed Charlesworth a facer and Bella was weeping all over him, displaying an overwhelming and undeniable affection.”

  “What happened to Sir Robert?” she asked, her head swimming again with the news of all these unforeseen, but much hoped–for, events.

  “Rest assured he won’t be bothering us again. I fear I became violent,” he drawled with obvious satisfaction.

  “I’m glad,” she sighed, resting her cheek contentedly against his fine lawn shirt.

  She felt the heat of his skin and was aware in new, exciting ways how their bodies touched and knitted one to the other.

  He licked at her ear, slowly tracing its shape. “I love you, my bloodthirsty Mary. Dare I hope the sentiment might be returned?”

  The pattern of her breathing changed. She tilted her head back to gaze up at him.

  Vulnerability flickered behind his blazing eyes. The expression on his proud face tore at her heart. Surely he couldn’t doubt her response.

  “I’ve loved you nearly from the beginning,” she spoke in a voice rich with feeling. “Perhaps … perhaps I could finance the horse farm for Uncle Ian and Lottie. Then I could stay in London. We … we could be together.”

  His husky laugh caressed her face, as his fingers tangled gently in her hair. “My sweet life, it doesn’t matter where you choose to be. I’ll follow.”

  “You’d do that for me?” she whispered.

  Their eyes found each other, the meeting achingly sweet, full of promise for the future.

  “I would do it for the same reason your mother followed her heart—the same reason she was content with her choice. It doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I’m with you.”

  Mary believed him.

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