The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  “There’s the temper I remember,” he said with a smile in his voice. His expression remained sober, though. “I don’t say it’s the correct thing to do. I merely state facts. You have nothing to bargain with, nothing to sway the Regent to your side.”

  She began to argue, but he put a finger over her lips.

  “Let me finish, and then you may rail at me all you like.” The finger slid down, and despite the tingles it caused to course through her, she did not press her lips together.

  “If you go to Town and approach the prince, you have little chance of success and you expose yourself to danger. What I propose is writing to His Highness and gaining his support in absentia. One of my neighbors, the Duke of Stoke Teversault, always holds a ball this time of year. He and the Regent are old friends, and the prince always attends the ball. We arrange to speak with the prince at Teversault. He will be in good spirits and that, coupled with my persuasive letter, gives us the best chance I can think to assure your petition will meet with success.”

  The plan made sense. She was infinitely safer here, under the duke’s protection, than she would be without a protector at court. That was, if the duke could really control his staff and keep her presence a secret.

  “There is one problem you have not considered,” she said.

  He arched a brow.

  “Whether I am here or in London, I still have nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer the prince to induce him to support my petition for protection and asylum.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. There are those in the prince’s inner circle who might be willing to persuade him…for a price.” He allowed the words to hang in the air for a long moment.

  He was intimating she might become a powerful man’s mistress. The very thought of sharing the bed of a man simply for gain made her ill. Had she really been reduced to a state where she had nothing to offer but her body?

  “But if that sort of arrangement is not to your taste, perhaps you might allow me to bargain for you.”

  “What can you bargain?”

  “The prince needs an advocate for several bills he would propose in Parliament. I can offer to support those. If that is not enough, there’s always the promise of money.”

  “I cannot allow you to pay for my safety.”

  “You could consider it a loan.”

  “When I have no possible way of ever repaying you?”

  “Then it’s a gift. Surely in your royal capacity, you have been given many gifts.”

  She had. And he was right that she’d never felt the need to repay the giver, although favors were certainly implied and even expected. For the first time, she did feel some obligation and a sense of duty. Wyndover owed her nothing and seemed to expect nothing in return. The more he offered her, the more indebted she felt.

  Which was ridiculous. She should accept his generosity and cease questioning it. From the statements he’d made in the carriage, she could surmise he had been infatuated with her at one point. He might still be infatuated with her. He still wanted her—not that he offered assistance because he hoped to bed her in return. She knew better than to even suggest such a thing now.

  But perhaps this was a means of courting her. Courting her? Did he want her for his duchess? She could not imagine why. A duchess with assassins after her would make a very poor duchess indeed.

  Or perhaps he thought to seduce her…

  Or perhaps he was just a kind man who wanted to help her.

  Why was that so difficult to believe?

  Because she’d never known kind men or women, only those who grabbed and grasped at every morsel of power they could. In the royal court of Glynaven, nothing had been free and everyone wanted something.

  She did not think England was so very different. And so she would wait and watch.

  “Very well, I accept your gift.”

  He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. When she didn’t, he gave a short laugh as though chiding himself.

  “You’re welcome.”

  He’d wanted her to thank him. Of course. She should have realized.

  “If you are feeling better, I will take my leave.”

  Her fingers tightened on his hand. She’d be alone again with the sightless eyes. She forced her grip to loosen. She was a princess, not a frightened child, and she could hardly keep the man from his rest because she did not want to be alone.

  “Good night, then.”

  He bent, and she drew back instinctively. He caught her chin with two fingers. “It’s not that sort of kiss, Your Highness.”

  She stilled as the soft flutter of his breath whispered across her cheek. And then, very slowly, he dipped his mouth and brushed his lips over her temple. She closed her eyes, her heart swelling at the sweetness of the gesture. It thudded hard in anticipation when his lips trailed down and kissed her cheek. She wanted to turn her head, to meet his lips with hers. If she kissed him, took him to bed, she would not have to be alone, would not have to face those sightless eyes.

  Instead, she held very still, and his lips kissed the corner of her mouth. He smelled of wine and bread and the spices that had been in the broth he’d had sent for her dinner. He smelled delicious.

  Desire flooded her body with heat. It had been months and months since she’d even thought about a man in that way, and the sensation surprised her. She didn’t act on it, though.

  She knew he would refuse her, that his honor would compel him not to touch her. But that wasn’t the only reason she resisted. This was a man of honor and principle, not some rake intent on seduction. If she bedded him, it would mean something to him and, she suspected, to her.

  Best for both of them if they remained acquaintances.

  But as he drew back and lifted the lamp, carrying it to the door, she knew remaining just an acquaintance would be far more difficult than she had anticipated.

  Chapter 5

  She was still the most fascinating woman he’d ever known, Nathan thought the next morning as he watched her walk in the gardens. Like her, the flowers were in full bloom, resplendent with blossoms in purple, pink, red, and white.

  And yet, in her ugly gray dress with a hideous white collar, she was more beautiful than all of them. The dress was too long for her, even though he supposed one of the younger maids had given it on loan. Vivienne had to hold the hem off the ground as she made her way through the paths his gardeners tended. Nathan imagined they would be thrilled someone was enjoying the garden. He had a perfect view of it from his bedchamber window, where he stood now, but he never actually stepped foot in it.

  He never had time. Too much to do.

  Even today was full of correspondence to answer and that most-important letter to the Regent on Vivienne’s behalf. He’d spent most of the night pondering what to offer the prince, what might sway the Regent to offer Vivienne and any other refugees from Glynaven his royal protection.

  Nathan could think of nothing enticing enough until he had hit upon the idea of a ship of the line. Those were ridiculously expensive to build. He would offer to build one for the prince—no, he would build three. The expense would make a dent in his fortune, but would not deplete it. If he managed his estates well—and he always managed his estates well—he could replace the funds in a decade or so.

  Vivienne was worth that much to him and more.

  It occurred to him as he made his way out of his room and toward the garden—the garden he never visited—that he intended to marry her. He had no reason to think she would agree. She hadn’t loved him eight years ago when he’d first met her, and she didn’t appear to have fallen in love with him last night.

  But the truth was, he was in love with her. He’d never fallen out of love with her. That was why he’d resisted marriage all these years, despite his mother’s cajoling and her reminders about that American cousin. He’d told his mother he hadn’t met a woman who could do honor to the title she’d held for so long, and when practically every fourth debutante he met fainted at his feet, that w
as not wholly a lie.

  On the other hand, there were many very lovely, very acceptable ladies who did not faint at his feet. They might sway a little, but they showed promising fortitude.

  And yet he’d tarried. Because he still wanted Vivienne. If anyone had asked him two days ago why he did not marry, Vivienne would not have crossed his mind. He didn’t think of her daily, hadn’t realized she was the reason he’d put off the leg-shackling.

  Until he saw her again. And then he’d known he wanted her for his duchess. Seeing her last night, sitting on that bed, her fragile shoulders hunched, her small body shaking with fear—he’d wanted her for his wife. When she’d patted the space beside her on the bed, he hadn’t refused the invitation out of propriety, although that was a consideration, he’d refused it because he would not have been able to resist wrapping his arms around her and stripping that sheet away.

  The sight of her bare shoulders, her small pink feet, her long dark hair falling down her back in slightly damp waves had fired his blood. And those green eyes set with determination and filled with pain. He wanted to wipe that pain away, make her eyes dark and unfocused with passion.

  He shouldn’t have kissed her. He’d been able to keep the kiss innocent, but it had made him want more. The feel of her soft lips on his, even if only a corner of them, made him wonder what her mouth would feel like under his.

  Nathan’s thoughts had occupied him all the way to the door leading to the garden, and now he paused with a hand on the knob. He had to tamp down his lust. Somehow he had to make her fall in love with him. What could he do or say to engage her affections?

  Poetry?

  He didn’t know any poetry.

  Flowers?

  The garden was full of them.

  Money? Title? She didn’t want his money and already had a more prestigious title than he could ever give her.

  The one thing she wanted was the one thing he could not give her, no one could give her. Her family back.

  He stepped through the door and was immediately enveloped in the scent of flowers and soil. Bees buzzed and birds chirped and somewhere nearby one of his servants shouted.

  “Dilly, where’s that water I asked for?”

  Nathan headed toward the section of the garden where he’d last seen Vivienne and was surprised when she stepped out before him.

  “I heard you coming,” she said. Her eyes were wide, and she looked a little pale.

  “You thought I was someone else.” He looked pointedly at her hand, where she clutched pruning shears.

  She dropped them with a pretty blush that brought the color back to her skin and made her radiant. “I suppose I am a bit jumpy.”

  “Do you mind if I walk with you?”

  “Of course not, but I don’t wish to keep you from your duties.”

  “I have none at the moment.” That was a lie. He always had duties. At present, none of them seemed to matter.

  She placed her hand in the crook of his arm, and they walked in silence for a few moments. “My sister would have loved this garden,” she said after some time.

  “Which one?” he asked.

  “Berangaria. She loved gardening.”

  “I remember that. She was known for her prize roses.”

  Vivienne nodded.

  “Your sister Angelique was quite the musician.”

  “Did she play when you visited?” She tilted her head up to look at him, her green eyes vivid in the morning light. He realized she had no bonnet, no gloves, but she did not seem concerned.

  “She played several times and sang as well. She had the voice of…” He trailed off. “A songbird. What is a bird with a lovely song?”

  “The lark?”

  “Yes. I’m no poet.”

  “I am glad. Besides, with that face, I imagine you’ve never needed to learn any poetry.”

  He waved a hand. His good looks were his least favorite topic of conversation.

  “And your brother was known for his horsemanship. He gave me a tour of the stables. Quite impressive.”

  “Lucien never met a horse he didn’t like.” Her smile wobbled.

  Nathan paused. “Forgive me. Does talking about them upset you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I am glad to talk about them, remember them. My life has been a nightmare. Talking about them reminds me what it was like when my life was normal.”

  He gestured to a stone bench, took a seat beside her. “It will never be like it was, I’m afraid.”

  “No. It won’t. And I will never forget—”

  He put his hand over hers. “Tell me.”

  She swallowed. “You don’t want to hear it. I will give you nightmares.”

  “Doubtful. I rarely dream of anything except account books and columns of numbers.”

  When she remained silent, he brought her hand to his lips, kissed it.

  She looked at him, her eyes wary. She still didn’t trust him, perhaps she never would. She might not be capable of trust.

  “Talking about it might help,” he said.

  She nodded, released his hand, and looked down at her skirts.

  “What did you see?” he murmured. “What plagues you?”

  “Death.” Her voice was quiet, little more than a whisper. “The stench of it, the sticky feel of it beneath my bare feet, the sight of it. Masson told me not to look, and I tried. I tried. But I saw some of them, and…and…”

  He heard the catch in her throat and felt the way she tensed.

  “Have you ever seen death?” she asked.

  “Once,” he said. “I was the second at a duel. The men were supposed to shoot into the air. My friend did so, but the other man did not. The ball ripped a hole in his chest, and he died on the field. Bloody, awful way to die, and there was nothing I or the physician present could do to save him.”

  He hadn’t thought about that night in a very long time. He’d not even been twenty, and he’d thought a duel a splendid diversion. He couldn’t even remember what Edmund had done to earn a glove flicked at his face. Nathan knew only that he had not hesitated when his friend asked him to stand second.

  His mother had not chastised him when rumor spread that he was there. She’d reminded him dueling was illegal, but he’d expected her to be much harsher. When he asked her about it later, she told him he’d been punished enough, having to watch his friend die.

  Whatever perceived crimes she might have committed, she hadn’t deserved to see her family die.

  She sighed, her body seeming to relax and leaning into his. His words had the effect of calming her, and he could be grateful for that much.

  “So much death. I could not avoid it. And then there was my mother…” She paused and swallowed.

  Nathan put his arm around her. “You don’t have to say it.”

  She nodded. “I saw her in the corridor outside the safe room. She’d been trying to escape to safety. She’d been so close.”

  Her voice was thick with emotion, but she didn’t cry. He wondered if princesses were given lessons in retaining their dignity no matter the situation.

  He pulled her closer, and she laid her head on his shoulder. Nathan hoped none of the servants was observing them. He did not want talk about Vivienne circulating. He trusted his staff to a point, but the more plentiful the gossip, the harder to keep it contained.

  “That’s not the worst part,” she murmured, her voice so quiet he could barely hear her. “That’s not all I see in my nightmares.”

  “What do you see?” He could not imagine anything worse than seeing your own mother murdered.

  “The eyes.” Her body shuddered. “When I try to sleep, I see all those sightless eyes staring at me. “So many pairs of eyes and so many colors—brown, blue, green, hazel. All dead. I might have been another pair of sightless eyes. I feel as though I should be.”

  She straightened and looked at him. Nathan wished there was something, anything he could say to ease her pain.

  “Why should I be alive when so
many were murdered? What did the kitchen maid ever do? The laundress? If someone is to pay for the crimes the reavlutionnaire accuse us of, it should have been me.”

  “Are you guilty of the crimes?”

  “Of the excesses? Probably, to some extent. Of making secret treaties and imprisoning innocent people? No.”

  “Your death would not have saved any of the innocents.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “Your life will ensure they are remembered.”

  She seemed to study the flowers surrounding them. “I hadn’t thought of that. There is more to you than a pretty face.”

  He lifted her hand, kissed it. “Much more.”

  Nathan spent the afternoon in his library, crafting the letter he hoped would sway the Prince Regent to offer British protection for the fugitive princess from Glynaven. When he’d finished, he sent one of his grooms to London, although the prince might very well have removed to Brighton or Bath now that the Season was over.

  Nathan had other work to attend to throughout the afternoon, but his mind continued to wander to the princess. He’d known she was beautiful, known she was intelligent, but the fact she’d escaped the slaughter—there was no other term for it, not in his mind—at the Glynaven palace and then made her way through the English countryside alone made her far more resourceful than he would have believed. She had inner strength as well. She couldn’t stop the nightmares that plagued her sleep, but she had not shed a tear or lost her composure once in the garden when recounting the horrors she’d seen.

  He knew hundreds of women, and not one could hold a candle to her.

  There was a small hitch, of course. He needed a duchess, and the difference between those hundreds of women and Princess Vivienne was that the other women were literally swooning to be his duchess. Vivienne had all but told him he was far too pretty for her taste.

  Well, he couldn’t do a bloody thing about his looks, but he would show her he was much more than a handsome face.

  “Chapple!” he bellowed, even though he had a bell pull within reach. There was something quite satisfying about bellowing for Chapple. Perhaps it was the way the butler burst into the room, eyes wide with concern.