The English Duke

by Karen Ranney

  As much as her father or Gran, and more than Josephine or Reese.

  “Yes.”

  “Then let me handle this. It would be difficult to explain your presence at this hour of the morning.”

  He was right. Annoyed nevertheless, she left the Queen’s Rooms.

  Chapter 32

  Shame should have rooted him to the spot, but instead Jordan was curiously enthusiastic about the day. At two o’clock he was to be married. A little more than nine hours from now. Nine hours—time enough to divert the course of his life.

  He rang for a servant, surprising the young maid who answered the bellpull with an apology.

  She blinked at him several times, giving him the impression of a sleepy kitten.

  “Oh it’s no bother, Your Grace. I’m on night kitchen duty, in case anyone wants anything. It’s what I’m here for.”

  “Would you fetch my valet for me?” he asked.

  Henry had evidently introduced himself to the staff, because the girl’s round and shiny cheeks turned pink and she bobbed two or three curtsies in a row.

  “Of course, Your Grace. I’ll go and get Henry right this minute.”

  Ever since Henry had come to work for him, Jordan had noticed the man’s effect on women. More than one member of his female staff grew flustered in his presence. Even Mrs. Browning was known to giggle around his valet from time to time. No doubt it had something to do with Henry’s height and the bulging muscles that could be detected through any of his shirts.

  He thanked her and she grinned brightly at him, revealing a wide space between her two front teeth. Despite the hour and his errand, he couldn’t help but smile back at her.

  His entire outlook had been changed and he knew exactly why.

  When Henry arrived, he told the man he wasn’t ready to dress in his morning coat for the ceremony quite yet. Instead, he was content to wear a white shirt and black trousers.

  His valet only nodded. Henry wasn’t without curiosity, but his tact was greater. He didn’t say a word about the messed-up sheets or the fact that Jordan couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Is your leg better, Your Grace?” Henry asked after he was shaved and dressed.

  Jordan nodded, the question taking him aback. Not because Henry had asked it, but due more to the fact that this was the first time he’d given his leg any attention.

  “Yes,” he said, hearing the surprise in his own voice.

  Before he left the room he gave Henry instructions about the preparations for his wedding. He would be at the church exactly at two o’clock.

  He headed for Reese’s room, certain his friend hadn’t awakened yet. He knocked twice and waited.

  Reese had always been ambitious as well as patriotic. Perhaps he should have expected his friend to do something as outrageous as steal Martha’s ship.

  He could understand ambition. He’d had his share of it when attached to the War Office. Each man was desperate to make his mark and attract the attention of his superiors.

  But Martha wasn’t working contrary to the interests of her country. As one of the heirs to York Armaments, anything Martha devised or invented would probably be turned over to the company. They had a long and prosperous working relationship with the British government.

  Reese, however, evidently believed he could circumvent proper channels and make a name for himself at the same time. No doubt his superiors in the War Office would be interested in a self-contained ship that could, without incurring casualties, target an enemy vessel. All the better if they didn’t have to work to get it.

  He knocked a third time and the door was finally opened by a blinking Reese dressed only in trousers.

  “Can’t sleep?” Reese asked, threading his fingers through his hair. “Matrimonial nerves?”

  “More like preventing a theft,” he said, pushing against the door. “Or are you going to deny you’ve stolen the Goldfish?”

  Reese stumbled back.

  “A goldfish? What the hell are you talking about, Jordan?”

  “Martha’s ship, the newest York Torpedo Ship,” he said. “I hear you’ve stashed it in your carriage. Is it true?”

  “You can’t come in here,” Reese said, glancing toward the bed.

  For the first time Jordan realized the other man wasn’t alone. There was a person-sized lump in Reese’s bed, but the woman had burrowed beneath the covers until not even her hair showed.

  “Seducing the maids, Reese?”

  “There’s a plethora of attractive females at Griffin House,” he said. “I would advise you to do the same at Sedgebrook, but I suspect your bride will only allow you to hire ugly women.”

  Although he would have preferred to have no witnesses to this encounter, Jordan had no intention of leaving until he got some kind of answer.

  “Well? Are you going to admit it?”

  “Why should I? You’ve evidently already discovered it.”

  “Is stealing the Goldfish worth losing my friendship?”

  “It has nothing to do with you, Jordan.”

  Reese’s words irritated him.

  “Like hell it doesn’t. It has everything to do with me. I didn’t figure out the guidance system fast enough, so you had to steal Martha’s work. There’s no need for you to remain for the ceremony, Reese. I’d prefer you leave for London immediately. Without the Goldfish.”

  Before Reese could say anything else, he left the room, heading down the stairs with greater ease of movement than he’d felt the day before.

  He’d always believed he was an honorable man. Honor had been as near to him as his skin. He couldn’t peel it off and dismiss it when it became too onerous. He’d always believed that, given any set of circumstances, he’d choose the correct path.

  He hadn’t acted that way around Martha.

  His world had been shaken on its axis. He’d awakened in the middle of the night without the blinding headache, feeling refreshed, and, even better, out of pain.

  Even half-asleep he’d known the truth long before he’d consciously accepted it. Why else would he have dreamed of her with such regularity over the past weeks? Why would he have felt a sense of acute loneliness on waking?

  He’d known who she was immediately. It hadn’t stopped him from seducing her.

  No, he’d definitely not behaved with honor around her, a fact he was going to rectify as soon as he took care of securing her torpedo ship.

  Dawn lit the eastern sky, tinting it pink and blue, promising a fair summer day.

  He headed in the direction of the stables. He hadn’t been around horses since his accident over a year ago. He carefully avoided the stables at Sedgebrook, but now, at Griffin House, he had no choice but to enter them.

  It wasn’t that he’d developed an antipathy for horses. Yet every time he saw one, he couldn’t help but relive the moment when Ercole had refused to take the fence, and had, instead, thrown him onto it.

  Today, however, was the perfect time to confront his weaknesses, especially if he was going to do the right thing, the proper thing, the act that honor itself demanded of him.

  His future depended on what he did in the next few hours.

  One day, he might walk without a limp. He might even be able to throw away the detested walking stick. If and when that day came, he wanted the rest of his life to be bearable. No, more than bearable. He no longer wanted to live a hermit-like existence. He didn’t want his life to feel shadowed and gray as it did when he took the elixir. He wanted to live wholly, completely, and experience happiness.

  Perhaps he didn’t have as many talents as Simon. He knew he didn’t possess his father’s effortless conviviality, but neither was he a spendthrift. He didn’t ignore the future; he planned for it. In addition, he had the ability to focus and concentrate and apply himself to a situation and a problem until its answer was found.

  He was dogged and determined and refused to quit. When Dr. Reynolds said he would never walk again, he hadn’t listened.

  He was goi
ng to use that same determination today.

  First, however, he was going to locate Reese’s carriage and retrieve Martha’s ship. Then, he’d take care of the rest of his life.

  “Are you a bedlamite?” Josephine said, popping her head out from beneath the covers. “He almost caught me!”

  “Jordan is too much a gentleman to insist on knowing the identity of my partner. Shouldn’t you be leaving? You have a role to play, that of innocent young bride.”

  He tilted his head a little and inspected her in the most insulting way possible.

  “Will you be able to manage the charade?” he asked. “However will you explain your expertise?”

  “That’s nothing you have to worry about,” she said.

  Sitting up, she didn’t even bother clutching the sheet to her bare chest. Let him look his fill. Today, as she married another man, let him wish the circumstances were different.

  “You don’t love him,” he said.

  “Love has nothing to do with this marriage. It doesn’t, in most cases. I simply found a way to advance myself. Do you fault me?”

  “Actually,” he said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed, “I don’t. Your frank amorality is almost refreshing.”

  When he reached out and touched her shoulder, smoothing his hand down to her elbow, she slid away from his grasp.

  “There’s no time for that now,” she said.

  “It’s barely dawn.”

  He pulled the sheet free until her entire body was revealed. She made no move to cover herself. After today, she would have to maintain a certain decorum, at least for a little while. She would be the Duchess of Roth and expected to behave in a certain manner.

  There would be no taking of mongrels to her bed.

  “I know you don’t love him,” he said. “But I suspect you feel something for me.”

  She allowed herself a small laugh. “Gratitude,” she said. “Last night was pleasant.”

  “Is that all?”

  Was that disappointment in his eyes? Or was he just teasing her? She had the feeling Reese was quite adept in handling women. She found she didn’t want to be just another conquest. Instead, she wanted to remain in his mind and memory for a long time.

  When he reached for her, she planted her hand against his chest.

  “You don’t seem upset about Jordan finding my sister’s ship.”

  He shrugged. “There’s always a way to get what you want, if you really want it.”

  She moved her hand to the back of his neck and pulled his head down for a kiss.

  There was time, before she dressed as a bride, to enjoy herself once more.

  Martha sat in her room, reliving the events of the past hours. She didn’t feel as guilty as she had the first time she’d loved Jordan. Did sin become natural after a while? Did you lose all perspective of whether you were committing a shocking act?

  Why didn’t it feel scandalous? Why wasn’t she ashamed?

  It hadn’t felt wrong. What felt wrong was Jordan’s marriage to Josephine later today.

  Yet he’d said nothing to her about changing his mind. He couldn’t, could he? He was obligated to carry through with the ceremony, just as she was to attend it.

  If she could, she’d find a reason not to be in the congregation. She’d come down with a sudden fever, perhaps, or a stomach upset. Something she could claim might be contagious. From the information she’d overheard, most of the inhabitants of both villages were going to attend either the ceremony or the reception or both.

  But she had to be there for Gran’s sake and because she was a York.

  Would hundreds of eyes be on her? Would they be speculating as to her feelings?

  The girl didn’t have a good season, did she? How does she feel to have her younger sister marry before her? Is she destined to be a spinster?

  Not one of them would know she’d spent the night in the groom’s arms, that she bore the marks of Jordan’s night beard on her breast.

  She really should be ashamed of herself.

  Instead, she wondered if Jordan had met with Reese. Had he recovered the Goldfish?

  What on earth had inspired Josephine to help Reese steal the vessel? Did her sister hate her that much? Didn’t she realize that making the Goldfish work wasn’t Martha’s victory as much as proving their father’s success? If nothing else, she’d get the answer to that question today.

  She left her room, intent on talking to Josephine.

  Chapter 33

  Josephine wasn’t in her bed. Martha was surprised since her sister had never been an early riser. She knew Josephine was not briefing the housekeeper or visiting with Gran who did have a tendency to wake with the sun.

  Had wedding nerves kept her awake? Was she walking in the garden? She doubted Josephine had gone to the library to select a book. Another point on which she and her sister were different. Josephine didn’t like to read. In fact, she even commented that while Martha was content to read about adventures, she preferred to have them.

  The maids would be in here shortly to straighten the room, close the jewelry box, collect the wadded handkerchiefs on top of the bureau, hang up the clothing strewed over the bed, the floor, or on various pieces of furniture. Josephine always left proof she’d been somewhere, as if she was a whirlwind.

  Sarah and Amy both would probably be pressed into service to help her in a few hours.

  A few hours. Only a few hours until the wedding.

  The wedding dress was hanging outside the armoire, no doubt to prevent any wrinkles. Martha glanced at the gown, away, then back again.

  The pale yellow garment was elaborate and festooned with lace, a work of art the seamstress and her four helpers had labored over for weeks. The lace was French, of course, as was the nightgown and peignoir for the wedding night, a fact Josephine had expounded on at length. No doubt they were packed in the trunk sitting beside the vanity. Another tangible bit of evidence that the wedding would be held today and the bride would depart Griffin House with the groom.

  Martha removed some clothing from one of the chairs and sat, waiting for Josephine to return, deliberately not thinking of the wedding any longer.

  A quarter hour later, Josephine slipped through the door, stopping abruptly when she saw Martha sitting there.

  “Have you come to check on me, sister?”

  Josephine’s hair was mussed, her lips slightly swollen. She looked as if she’d come from a lover’s bed.

  “Do you need checking on, Josephine?” she asked.

  Josephine only smiled.

  “I came to ask why you did it.”

  “Did what?” Josephine walked into the bathing chamber separating their two rooms.

  Martha stood and followed her. “Stole the Goldfish.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you talking about, Martha.”

  Josephine bathed her face and carefully blotted it dry.

  “Reese didn’t know where I kept it. You had to have told him or even shown him. Why, though?”

  Josephine returned to the bedroom, sat at the vanity, and began to take down her hair, one gold pin at a time.

  “It wasn’t just my work, Josephine. It was our father’s, too. Did you think so little of him to simply let someone steal it?”

  Josephine half turned on the vanity stool, pointing her brush at Martha.

  “Not our father. Yours.”

  “What?” Martha frowned at her sister.

  “He was your father, but he wasn’t mine.”

  She felt as if she was suddenly encased in a bubble. The world outside was normal, the servants already stirring, excitement building about the big day. In hours hundreds of people would be at Griffin House but now, inside the bubble, time was slowing then crawling to a stop.

  “Tell me what you mean,” she said, feeling as if even her speech was stretched out, each separate word pulled thin.

  “He wasn’t my father,” Josephine said, turning back to survey herself in the mirror. “That’s what I
mean.”

  Martha stared at her in the silence. Was she going to explain?

  Finally, Josephine spoke again. “Maman told me when I was thirteen.”

  Martha sat down on the chair she’d occupied minutes earlier, focusing her attention on the well-polished andirons in the fireplace.

  She’d known her father’s marriage hadn’t been idyllic, but surely Marie hadn’t cheated on him to that extent.

  “I don’t believe you,” she said.

  Josephine shrugged. “It’s not important if you believe me or not.”

  “Why would Marie tell you such a thing?”

  “It was a present,” Josephine said.

  Martha looked at her.

  “When you went off to London and everyone could only talk about you. How pretty Martha was. How talented Martha was. How smart Martha was. She knew I wasn’t happy and she wanted me to know you weren’t my sister. We aren’t related at all.”

  The worst part wasn’t Josephine’s comment, but the evident enjoyment with which she announced it.

  “Does birth matter?” Martha finally asked. “Father treated you like his daughter. Gran treats you like her granddaughter. I’ve always seen you as my sister.”

  “It matters to me,” Josephine said. “My father was an important man. A titled man. He didn’t fiddle with inventions all day long.”

  “The man you so easily dismiss left you a fortune,” Martha said.

  “Payment, don’t you think, for enduring this family? For putting up with your oddness and your father’s? For listening to all of Gran’s rules? Once I’m married I never have to see any of you.”

  The words were said with a tight-mouthed hatred. What reason did Josephine have to feel vengeful? She’d always been the spoiled darling of the family, the princess who was never refused anything.

  Martha couldn’t think of a thing to say. Not one word came to mind. Standing, she faced the woman she’d known as her sister.

  Josephine had always been more concerned with herself and what she wanted than anyone else, but she’d never been actively cruel. She had more than a few saving graces. She adored her mother. She was pleasant to the servants. She ignored people who didn’t interest her instead of going out of her way to make them miserable. At least until now.