Falling for a Duke (Timeless Regency Collection Book 8)

by Rebecca Connolly

  “Still thinking.” She gave a watery chuckle.

  There was only one solution. Liam flexed the arm around her waist, lifting her upward.

  Eliza, bless her, had never been slow. She pulled his head down.

  Their lips met in the middle.

  A heaven of give and take. A language unique to them alone.

  A promise of things to come.

  He pulled back.

  She tightened her grip, holding him firm, refusing to allow him to retreat. And then kissed the smile on his lips.

  “Fair warning.” He stroked her cheek. “I refuse to allow anything to come between us again.”

  “Yes. I could not agree more.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “But first, I would like to corner Nicholas and demand some explanations.”

  Liam raised his eyebrows, sitting back slightly.

  She patted his knee. “You are allowed to hurt him if he is truly the source of our sorrow.”

  “Me?” Liam flared his eyes in mock astonishment. “You know that isn’t my way.”

  “Fine. I will allow you to hold him down while I supply the punishment.”

  Liam laughed, kissing her soundly. “Ah. Now there is the Eliza I know.”

  Eliza was a woman on a mission.

  She donned her bonnet and took Liam’s arm as they strolled through town toward Ambrose Park.

  Of course, every single person in the village poked a head out a window or door to stare—their own Mrs. Robert Mail walking arm-in-arm with the Duke of Chawton.

  But he was her Liam, the sweet, kind, loving boy she had known grown to manhood.

  Her mind buzzed with questions, trying to sort through the events of five years ago. Liam had never received her letters, had never written her those awful notes. Just as her letters had never reached him.

  Nicholas had a hand in it all. It was the only logical explanation. Had he known? And if so, how could he have acted so callously?

  She smiled and nodded to her acquaintances. Fortunately, Liam’s ducal presence kept most people at bay. She was not in the mood for small talk at present.

  Nicholas was not at the inn or the lending library or the haberdasher. He was not at Ambrose Park, but a groom in the stables said he had seen Mr. Carter walking toward St. Anne’s Church atop the ocean bluff.

  Eliza and Liam strolled along the path to the abandoned church.

  “Tell me what transpired five years ago,” he said.

  And so she did. She recounted the sad tale of Mr. Wilmore and the events surrounding her ruin. Liam clenched his jaw over and over as she spoke, his arm beneath her hand flexing in anger.

  “Did Nicholas not call that scoundrel out?” he asked in outrage. “How could your cousin not defend your honor?”

  “Things were not so simple, my love. Mr. Wilmore offered for me that very night. He was contrite and apologetic. I refused him. So there was really nothing for Nicholas to contest.”

  Liam scowled. “Your dear cousin should have avoided bringing his friends home in the first place.”

  Eliza could not fault his logic. “I understand Nicholas has changed for the better in the past few years. He was . . . wild, then—searching for himself, I think. Though it is a pathetic excuse.”

  “He helped me find you,” Liam murmured. “Why betray us and then orchestrate a reunion?”

  That was the question.

  They walked up the steep path to the church, Liam going before Eliza, her hand clutched tightly in his.

  St. Anne’s appeared as it always did, enormous at a distance but deceptively small up close. The ruin was charming, however—similar and yet different from the place where they met as children.

  Liam helped her through the doorway into the roofless nave. Ivy sprawled across the church walls. Birds quarreled in the walls overhead. Sheep baaed outside.

  Nicholas was there, his lean body lounging against the wall at the end of the long central aisle where the altarpiece would have sat, vacant windows soaring above him. He had every appearance of a man who had been waiting for them. A man who knew his guilt and now awaited his fate.

  Her cousin watched them approach, his face unreadable. Solemn. Steadfast. He did not greet them. They did not greet him.

  Liam pulled to a stop six feet in front of Nicholas, brows a thundercloud.

  “Explain to me why I shouldn’t call you out and put a bullet through your black heart.” Liam’s voice carried loudly in the small space.

  Nicholas said nothing, face resigned.

  A thousand memories assaulted her: Nicholas teasing and tormenting her as a child, Nicholas’s mocking comments about Liam and his “bookworm” ways, Nicholas laughing with Mr. Wilmore and his other friends.

  “I’m not particularly interested in explanations.” Eliza released Liam’s arm. “I’m perfectly fine if we go straight to justice.”

  She took several steps forward.

  Crack.

  The sound of her palm hitting Nicholas’ cheek echoed across the ancient church.

  “That is for betraying your own flesh and blood,” she hissed.

  Nicholas didn’t react. In fact, he seemed . . . relieved. Which, to Eliza, really seemed like an incorrect emotion for the situation.

  But staring into his eyes, she did not see the Nicholas of old. No teasing mischief. No mocking glint.

  Instead, she saw a man resolved on his course of action. A man determined to see something through, regardless of the cost.

  Eliza’s anger deflated.

  It was hard to punish a man who would not defend himself and instead viewed the punishment as a type of penitence. Curse him.

  “I am desperate to make amends for years of folly, Eliza.” Nicholas’s eyes pleaded with hers. “Allow me to confess my sins, and then you may do with me as you will. Heaven knows I probably deserve it and more.” He ran a gloved hand over his face. “I have waited five long years to right this wrong.”

  “What did you do?” she whispered.

  “You must understand, Eliza, I was a different person five years ago.” Nicholas angled his head, darting a beseeching glance at Liam behind her. “I behaved foolishly and racked up debts I could not repay. I applied to my father for the funds to cover them, but he refused me. He told me I had gotten myself into the predicament, and I could get myself out of it. He had no intention of paupering himself over my stupidity. I was angry and, quite frankly, terrified. I knew it was only a matter of time before I ended up in debtor’s prison.”

  “But what does that have to do with us?” Eliza turned halfway, gesturing between herself and Liam.

  Liam stared down Nicholas. She knew that look on Liam’s face, frustration and heartache. In the past, he only donned that expression when he was dealing with—

  Oh!

  Eliza’s heart sank. She knew the answer even before Nicholas’s next words.

  “Salvation arrived in the form of a summons.” Nicholas fixed his gaze on Liam. “You can imagine who, can you not?”

  “My father.” Liam’s voice was utterly toneless.

  “Yes. Your father.” Nicholas nodded.

  Of course. The previous Duke of Chawton.

  Even though she knew the answer, it still felt like a blow to the midriff.

  Eliza took a step back and wrapped her arms around Liam’s waist. He stood perfectly still. But she knew his heart as well as her own.

  This wound hurt.

  For his part, Liam returned her embrace, his hand a secure weight on her hip. She closed her eyes, momentarily sinking into his strength. How she had missed this. The simple act of someone else supporting her.

  Nicholas sighed. “Your father had collected all of my debts, you see. Every last one. He would see me rot in prison, he said, but there was a way free, a way to clear all my debts in one fell swoop. I simply had to ensure his son”—Nicholas motioned toward Liam—“did not marry my cousin, Eliza Carter. I had to convince Eliza to marry another.”

  “Oh, Nicholas,” Eliza br
eathed, refusing to look at him. “How could you?”

  Nicholas laughed, a bitter, harsh sound. “Trust me, Cousin, no one has loathed me more than myself these past years.”

  Liam ran his free hand over his face. His expression so . . . tired. “Even from the grave, my father tries to destroy every scrap of happiness that comes my way.”

  “Hush, my love.” Eliza squeezed his waist, pressing her face into his chest. “Do not waste another breath on that man. He was an angry person whose only goal was to ensure that others were as miserable as himself. He could not abide happiness because it so highlighted what he lacked.”

  “You are wise, Cousin Eliza. Wiser than myself.” Nicholas stood upright, placing his hands on his hips. “I have wanted to make amends for so long—” His voice broke.

  Liam clenched his jaw, gazing at Nicholas and rolling his hand. Get on with it, then.

  Nicholas deflated. “All those years ago, your father found me eager to do his bidding. I was foolish and desperate. So I concocted a plan, convincing Wilmore that you, Eliza, were a bit of an heiress and easy pickings. I had intended you would marry him—”

  Liam growled and took a step toward Nicholas.

  Eliza held him back. “Let him finish, my love.”

  Nicholas didn’t react. Just stared at Liam with sad eyes. “Part of me rejoiced when you refused to be cowed into a marriage of convenience, Eliza. But I had to keep you both apart—”

  “You took our letters.” It was not a question.

  Her cousin nodded. “I did. I had an arrangement with Mr. Johnson—”

  “The innkeeper?” Liam asked.

  “Yes. He acted as postmaster, too. For a small sum, he passed letters on to me. I promised him I was giving them to you, but of course, I was not.” Nicholas looked at Liam. “The old duke lent me your seal as Strathclyde, and I was able to create a fair mimicry of your handwriting and pass off notes as your own. Eventually, you both ceased writing each other. Eliza moved away, my father telling us all that she had married someone else. It was only recently that I learned of your true whereabouts, Eliza. I did not know your husband had passed away.”

  “Why keep silent all these years?” she asked. “You could have written Liam at any time and disclosed the truth.”

  “The old duke swore me to secrecy. He promised to ruin my entire family if I said or did anything. Besides, you had married and moved away, Eliza. A quick marriage is not uncommon for a woman who has been ruined. I thought the matter done. Marriage is quite final.”

  Eliza clutched Liam tighter, horrified at how close they had come to never reconciling. All over the foolishness of one boy and the vanity of a bitter man.

  “Why now, then?” Liam asked.

  “With the old duke’s death, I decided to ensure Eliza was well. Then, my father said something in passing that made me think your husband might no longer be among the living, Eliza. It was simple from there to hunt through my father’s correspondence and find your exact whereabouts. I could not continue to keep this terrible secret. I had to make what amends that I could, particularly if it turned out your husband was, indeed, deceased.

  “I went down to London as soon as I heard Chawton had arrived from the continent. I ensured that our paths crossed and mentioned you, Eliza. When Chawton expressed his intent to find you, I called in favors to ensure you were reunited. At least, to allow you to air your grievances and find some peace, if nothing else.” He glanced at their arms wrapped around each other and flashed a taut smile. “I can see that you have reconciled.”

  Liam sucked in a deep breath beside her. Eliza looked up at him askance.

  He patted her waist, released her, took four steps forward, and punched Nicholas square in the face. Liam followed up the first blow with two more to the stomach and jaw.

  Eliza gasped.

  Nicholas sagged against the ancient church wall but, as with Eliza earlier, he made no other move to defend himself.

  “I deserved that.” He coughed and rubbed his jaw. He would surely sport a purple eye by evening.

  “Yes, you did. You deliberately destroyed the happiness of two innocent people to cover your sins.” Liam shook his right hand and glared down at her cousin, every inch the commanding army officer dressing down an insubordinate. “You deserve to be flogged within an inch of your life.”

  Nicholas worked his jaw. “To be honest, I would welcome the pain. My behavior has been inexcusable. I should have come to you at the time with my sorry tale—”

  “Yes. You should have.” Liam continued to stare Nicholas down. “I am sure we could have found a way to deceive my father, may he rot in his grave.”

  “I know it is too little, too late, but please know how desperately sorry I am.” Nicholas slid down the wall, ending up on his knees atop the mossy flagstones. “I would beg, but I can’t bring myself to ask for forgiveness. I am unworthy of it.”

  “Forgiveness?” Liam snorted, dragging his eyes up and down Nicholas.

  Silence hung in the church. Eliza shifted her feet, eyes darting between her cousin on his knees and her love standing tall above him.

  Liam opened and closed his fists, chest heaving. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Finally, he let out a long, deep breath, raising his head to gaze out the glassless windows of the apse above them.

  “My father sent me to war.” Liam’s voice toneless, quiet. “He forced me into the midst of chaos and horror. I have stood witness to butchery and death on such a scale . . .” He shook his head.

  Oh, Liam. My poor love. Eliza’s throat tightened.

  “In the midst of all that carnage, I determined that I did not need to become the horror myself. Other men felt the same—soldiers on both sides of the conflict. Through their actions, those men showed me that mercy comes in many forms.” Liam’s shoulders slumped. “I am so weary of hate. It eats away at the very fabric of life. My father . . . that man . . . does not have my forgiveness for his part in this. But you—”

  Liam pointed a finger at Nicholas.

  Her cousin flinched.

  “You . . . I can eventually forgive.” Liam held out his hand, a gesture of pardon.

  Nicholas looked at Liam’s outstretched palm. “I do not deserve your mercy.”

  “I know.” Liam nodded. “But then, none of us deserve mercy when it is granted.”

  Nicholas took the offered hand, and Liam pulled him to his feet.

  “Thank you.” Nicholas bowed over Liam’s hand, voice hoarse. “I-I have carried this burden for so long, a simple thank you hardly seems enough.”

  “It is enough. I do not want to waste another moment feeling bitter over what has passed. I simply want to be grateful for the future I see ahead.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. I don’t know how to repay you.”

  Liam jerked his chin. “You can start by taking yourself off. I have things I want to say to Eliza.”

  Nicholas offered her a quick bow and took his leave.

  Eliza turned to Liam, eyebrows raised.

  He stared at her, her Liam of old. He doffed his hat, tossing it atop a pile of stones. He walked toward her, eyes smiling.

  Eliza laughed, years of separation and heartache melting away. How she adored this man.

  He stopped in front of her.

  “Twenty-one?” he asked.

  She smiled and nodded.

  “Do you love me?”

  Her smile went from wide to giddy.

  “Yes, Liam Trebor, I do love you.” She paused. “Do you love me?”

  Now it was his turn to smile.

  “What do you think?” He closed the distance between them, swinging her into his arms.

  Eliza clasped her hands around his neck, pressing her nose into the space between his ear and jaw, chuckling into his throat.

  Liam set her down, pressing his forehead to hers. “You once married the pretend Robert Mail. Do you think you could marry the real Liam Trebor?”

  Eliza tried to laugh, b
ut it came out a choked sob.

  “Yes.” Words whispered against his mouth. “Absolutely yes!”

  “I love you, Eliza. I never stopped loving you. Even at my most bitter, when I thought I hated you, I loved you.”

  Eliza didn’t reply.

  She simply popped up on her tiptoes and kissed him.

  Kissed the shy, quiet boy he had been.

  Kissed the man she had thought lost to her.

  Kissed her best friend come home.

  “Well, Mrs. Young? What do you see?” Mrs. Finchley tapped her tall friend on the shoulder.

  For her part, Mrs. Young stood on tiptoe, trying valiantly to see inside the church without being too obvious about it.

  Word had spread quickly through Rothsbury. The Duke of Chawton had left overnight and returned two days later with a special license.

  Mrs. Robert Mail had been seen more than once out walking in the company of His Grace, and the duke had called on her multiple times. Was one of their own to become a duchess? How the mind boggled at the thought.

  “Well?” Mrs. Finchley hissed.

  “Oh! Oh my!” Mrs. Young murmured, eyes peering inside.

  “So help me, Beatrice Young, you tell me right now—”

  “The vicar is marrying them. Only the vicar, his wife, and Mr. Nicholas Carter are in attendance. And His Grace and Mrs. Mail, of course.”

  “The vicar is marrying them?”

  “Yes, t’would appear so. They are exchanging rings.” Silence for a moment. “Mrs. Mail is wiping away tears. Oh! And so is His Grace.” Mrs. Young’s voice went all wobbly.

  “You cannot cry now, Beatrice,” Mrs. Finchley admonished. “You must keep your eyes clear.”

  “It’s simply too beautiful, Mariah,” Mrs. Young whispered. “I had always hoped that Mrs. Mail would find it in her heart to love again. Sergeant Mail meant so much to her. And here she is, receiving a second chance at love.”

  “I knew something important would happen with His Grace coming to town. My nerves told me so.”

  Mrs. Young turned away from the window, studying her oldest friend. “Well, for once, your nerves have done a good deed. Now come. The newlywed couple will be exiting the church any moment, and I have prepared a small bag of rice for us to throw.”