My Duke Until Dawn (The Duke's Secret, #6)

by Devon, Eva

  She had never and never would recover from what had befallen his father.

  Nor would he.

  It was the reason he would not risk trapping someone like Penelope in eternal married hell with him.

  The thought caused his heart to sink and his soul to flag. Despite the fact she could never be his wife, he needed to see Penelope.

  She was his other half. He couldn’t deny it.

  She would lift his spirits, and she would renew his vigor in life again.

  By God, he’d had no idea how desperately sad he’d been these last years, pretending to be a merry rake.

  He’d pretended and masked and lied to everyone, including his best friends. But that was to be done now.

  He couldn’t carry it off anymore. He had to tell the truth to the men who had all vowed to protect each other.

  Yes, the dukes were the best people to confess to.

  After all, they all guarded other secrets well.

  And once he had allowed that burden to be freed from his shoulders, he would see Penelope and hold her in his arms.

  Then, all would be well with the world.

  Rafe urged his stallion on faster and faster, determined to return to London, determined to return to her.

  Chapter 17

  Rafe rode up to the small house by the river.

  It wasn’t imposing but rather charming.

  The beautiful white facade was covered in winding roses, and the green grass around it was manicured to perfection.

  It rolled down to the River Thames.

  It was such an inviting place. The house looked like a refuge of peace, but it still astonished him that he was there, for his friend the Duke of Drake had sent word that his wife had left him, and such a thing had been confirmed by the note from Penelope. Penelope said she had gone to stay with Persephone.

  Rafe dismounted from his stallion and passed him to a waiting groomsman.

  Drake needed to come to his senses.

  The man was being a fool.

  He’d seen that over the last weeks. Whilst staying with them, in the country, Rafe’d seen Drake’s wife was good for him. A kind soul, feisty.

  And Drake needed a kind, feisty soul.

  He drew in a relieved breath, lifted by the thought of seeing Penelope.

  By God, he could spend his life in her bed, something he’d never thought about doing with a woman before.

  So as he strode up to the door and knocked, he savored the expectation of a passionate and joyous reunion.

  The butler let him in and took him through the small, elegant, hallway and into a small, yet cozy salon.

  Penelope sat by the fire.

  She looked a bit green.

  That gave him pause. And a strange sensation of apprehension danced down his spine.

  Was she ill?

  Was that why she had summoned him?

  And suddenly he was frightened.

  Frightened.

  He, Rafe, the Duke of Royland, frightened for a young woman.

  He was fairly certain he’d never known fear until he met her.

  But there it was.

  “Penelope?” he asked quickly.

  She looked up at him and there was something in her eyes. Fear.

  Well, not fear exactly, but uncertainty.

  How he wished he could take that from her, for she was such a certain and stubborn creature that he had never thought to see such a look upon her face.

  There was a sort of resignation to her that he’d never seen.

  Her beautiful soft-green gown was fanned out about her legs. She still had the spine of a poker, and her hands were clasped in her lap. Her dark hair was coiled about her beautiful face, but her face was not its usual pale cream color.

  No. There was definitely something green about it, and it looked as if she had lost weight.

  “You’re unwell,” he said stupidly, unable to say anything more intelligent in his concern.

  The butler closed the door behind him, and Penelope lifted her chin.

  “Not unwell exactly,” she assured gently.

  “You do not look well,” he countered firmly. “Don’t keep it a secret from me. I promise that I will take care of you.”

  She swallowed. “You might not feel that way in just a moment.”

  He shook his head. “Of course I will feel that way, no matter what you tell me. We are friends, are we not?”

  “I hope so,” she said, sitting a little straighter if such a thing were possible. “Friendship can be tested.”

  “Of course it can,” he said, “but I am loyal to my friends. I think you know that.”

  She nodded, but she still looked doubtful.

  “I have been ill,” she said, “but not in the way you think.”

  “What way else could there be?” he asked. “You look rather terrible, if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  She laughed then.

  “I feel rather terrible,” she moaned. “I eat barely at all, and I barely get out of bed.”

  “Indeed?” he said. “That sounds dire. Has a physician seen you?”

  She nodded, her face most serious. “Yes. One was here the other day. A discreet one,” she said.

  “A discreet one,” he echoed, and then suddenly, it crashed down upon him. “My God, Penelope, are you. . .”

  She drew in a deep breath then answered without hesitation, “Yes, I am with child. Your child.”

  He didn’t need any clarification.

  Of course, it was his.

  There was no thought in his mind that it might not be, but still, he had not expected this. All the years when he’d been so careful with all the women he’d known, there had never once been a chance accident, and suddenly now here he was.

  He was going to be a father with Penelope, the woman he most admired in the whole world, and they weren’t wed.

  She looked at him carefully then as if she was scanning him for emotion or reaction.

  “You look as if you are about to keel over,” she said, her lips turning in a wry smile.

  “Well, I will say it’s hit me rather strongly,” he found himself smiling despite his shock. “But I’m trying to stay upright.”

  “Good for you,” she said. “I was rather astonished myself to discover it.”

  “I’m sure you were,” he said, both longing to hold her in his arms and trying to understand what the devil was happening exactly.

  He searched her face and then knew exactly what he needed to say. “I suppose we must be married at once.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

  “What else could I be?” he returned lightly. “You are with child. It’s my child, and it’s an heir potentially to a dukedom.”

  Her mouth dropped open. “But you don’t wish to marry.”

  “No, I don’t,” he agreed. “Nor did you. But this was the risk that we were willing to take.”

  “No,” she reminded him, “this is not the risk at all. The risk was that if something was to happen, you would take care of me, and I would—”

  “No,” he rushed in, “not in this particular case. That risk, the one you are speaking of, was if we were to grow tired of each other, but I’m not tired of you, Penelope. Are you tired of me?”

  Tears filled her eyes. “No, I’m not, but I don’t wish to have you this way. I don’t want you to be forced into a corner and be marrying me because you have no choice.”

  “I have a choice. You just gave me one,” he protested, amazed she could be so noble and self-sacrificing. Really, he ought to put some sense into her, but he found his heart doing the strangest things. “You literally just gave me a choice, and I’m choosing you and our child.”

  She swallowed. “This isn’t how I wanted it to be,” she said. “I didn’t wish to imprison you, and I wanted a life of independence, a life of interest, a life of good conversation.”

  “All of which you can have with me,” he said. “Ask any of my friends’
wives; they’re all independent. They all have their own causes. They all have their own ideas. I would never stop you from any of that.”

  “But this could make you very bitter in the end,” she warned, her voice deep with emotion. “And I don’t wish to see you be a bitter person.”

  He stopped. Here it was. The truth. Could he tell her? “The reason why I don’t wish to marry you or any other woman is very difficult to explain, Penelope.”

  “Explain it to me,” she urged.

  “The reason I don’t wish to marry you. . .” His throat tightened. “I don’t know how to say it. I don’t even know if I can.”

  Her eyes widened, and she leaned forward. “Rafe, blurt it out.”

  “I can’t, love.” His hands tightened, hating that he was a prisoner of this. “I can’t tell you the reason. . . but I can show it to you.”

  Hope lit her gaze then. “You can?”

  “Yes, but it will require a journey.” He crossed to her and knelt at her feet. “Are you capable of it?”

  “Of course. Whatever it takes to know your secret,” she said, laughing through a sheen of tears. “At long last. I’ve been wanting to know it for some time.”

  “You must know it before we are wed, but there’s one thing.” He couldn’t laugh with her. How he wished he could. “After I’ve shown it to you, you must promise to tell no one.”

  She took his hands into hers and kissed them. “I promise, but how can you think it would be so dire that I would not wish to marry you?”

  “You’ll see when it’s time,” he said, his insides twisting.

  What if when she saw it, she wouldn’t marry him?

  What if she understood his fear, that her future could be one of great unhappiness if she were to do it? It was a chance he was going to have to take.

  “Let us go now,” she said, her gaze locking with his.

  “Now?” he asked, wishing he could delay and keep her like this for a little longer.

  “I do not wish to wait,” she whispered. “I wish to know if you will always be mine.”

  “I’ve missed you too,” he said, unable to deny it, but there was a dread building in him now.

  A dread that once Penelope saw his dark secret, she would not be able to accept him or the life ahead. He wasn’t even certain that once she saw it, he could do it to her, that he could drag her into that, but now there really wasn’t a choice.

  A child was involved, and that child was his.

  “So, I will arrange for the coach,” he said.

  “Thank you,” she said. “Rafe, now that you’ve asked me, I wish to marry you as soon as possible.”

  “Careful,” he said. “You may not feel that way as soon as we arrive.”

  “Oh, I doubt that very much,” she said. “You make me happy in a way that I’ve never been before. Content, really,” she said. “Isn’t that the word we’ve used once? Content? You make me content. You make me feel as if this world—”

  “Please, Penelope, don’t,” he cut in, feeling a tide of panic rise within. “Don’t proclaim yourself thus to me. It would be far too hard and brutal to have you take it back.”

  She nodded. “I understand. I won’t, then, until I can assure you and assuage this fear that you have. I want to be yours, Rafe. I think I’ve wanted to be yours—”

  “Stop,” he said. “Please don’t. Not until you’ve seen.”

  “All right, then,” she said. “Not until I’ve seen. But then once I have, you better be prepared to listen to me. And you better be prepared to say some things yourself.”

  He laughed. “All right, then. I take you up on that bargain.”

  And with that, he turned and strode into the corridor, ready to order a carriage, ready to order a journey which could change his life forever.

  Chapter 18

  Penelope sat tucked against Rafe, wanting to die. Not literally, of course. But she was miserable. The long coach journey had perhaps been a mistake, but it wasn’t a mistake if she was finally going to be allowed into Rafe’s life.

  Still, every bump, every turn, every bounce seemed to make her feel worse. He was being the kindest of souls, cuddling her gently against him, stroking her face with a cool cloth, and giving her fresh lemonade to help quell her illness.

  The sourness seemed to just do the trick.

  He said that he’d read a midwifery book all through the night so that he might be able to help her. Lemons and tart things were advised, apparently.

  They had not been able to leave immediately as he had suggested, because well, a journey of such nature took at least a few hours to put together.

  Her maid had packed her things. Rafe had ordered a sumptuous coach brought up from his London townhouse, and he had arranged for food to be brought as well.

  They had not left, therefore, until the morning.

  So, as they rode along the countryside, growing ever nearer and nearer to the Duke of Royland’s estate, she drew in a slow breath and tried to keep her nausea down.

  It was hard to believe that, according to the doctor, she was three months gone.

  There was only just the slightest swelling to her stomach. She’d lost weight in every other place.

  Finally, the sickness was beginning to abate, but some days, it was just absolutely terrible, and she could barely lift her head from her pillow.

  And some days, she was able to go about like a normal person.

  She felt joy, she couldn’t lie. She absolutely wanted this baby.

  It was going to be the most beautiful thing in the whole world, a child that she and Rafe made.

  And yet, there was the fact, that moment when she had wondered if the baby would be a bastard, and what that would mean for them.

  She’d considered her father.

  She didn’t think he would be disappointed.

  He would accept it of course, and he would have love for the child as well. But she knew she would not have been able to stay in England, and that would have been difficult, to go away from Persephone and to go away from her father.

  She still might have to, and if she did, she knew her father would join her. They might find a place in Italy or in Bavaria to go create a small comfortable home like birds in a nest to create a family of kindness.

  Penelope tried not to think about it.

  She wanted her baby to know peace and happiness even while in the womb.

  And so, she had to do the best she could not to think of unpleasant things or of the fact that, for some strange reason, Rafe thought she might forsake him over some secret at his estate.

  The truth was she was on absolute tenterhooks wondering what it could be.

  After all, something had to be terribly shocking, and she began to wonder what those things could be.

  No, she stopped herself.

  It would do no good.

  The coach pulled into an inn as night fell. Rafe took her down from the coach steps and guided her to the entrance. It was a dark place, but well made as such.

  The courtyard was large and square, lined with paving stones. And the old building looked as if it had been around since about the time of Henry the Eighth. It was a beautiful, old place. Its swinging sign bore the name The Bulldog.

  A fiddle was playing raucously from inside, where the innkeeper was pouring ale. Rafe took her hand gently and led her indoors, his coachman taking care of the vehicle.

  The moment they stepped into the dim room, the innkeeper looked up from his long bar, and his brown eyes widened.

  He wiped his hands on his pristine apron and marched across the crowded room.

  “Your Grace,” he exclaimed. “It’s a joy to see you.”

  “Why, thank you, Thomas,” Rafe said. “It’s a pleasure to be seen.”

  The innkeeper looked for a long moment at Penelope and said, “And a gracious welcome to His Grace’s friend.”

  “Why, thank you, Thomas,” he said again. “This is indeed a good friend of mine, Miss Penelope Finley.”
>
  Penelope nearly fell through the floor. He’d just declared to the world that he was traveling with her. And they had no chaperone. What the devil was he thinking?

  Well, they were going to cause a scandal anyway, so she supposed they might as well start now.

  And she found she didn’t really mind that too much.

  But the innkeeper’s eyes did widen.

  “Never fear, never fear, Thomas,” Rafe assured. “All is in good order. All is in good order. Miss Finley is my affianced bride. Did you not know? We are on our way to the castle to wed.”

  Thomas blinked. “I did not know, Your Grace. But I’m delighted. Of course we must welcome Miss Finley into our corner of the world. She will be an absolutely wonderful addition to Your Grace’s home and family, no doubt.”

  “Why, thank you, Thomas,” she forced herself to say happily.

  “Two rooms, then, Thomas,” Rafe declared brightly.

  “Two rooms,” Thomas repeated, clearly relieved.

  But obviously, it was also clear that he would have said absolutely nothing if Rafe had proclaimed her his mistress.

  Thomas bobbed his head, his dark hair fluffing about, and then gestured towards the hall. The innkeeper took them up a narrow flight of stairs and to two beautiful, yet simple rooms.

  “The best rooms are available for you, Your Grace.” Thomas gave a tug of his forelock. “I think you shall enjoy your room too, very much, Miss Finley.”

  “Oh, I’m sure I shall, Thomas,” she said, feeling most tired, but wishing to show her appreciation. “Thank you so very much for taking such good care of us. I’m feeling rather tired, though, do you think you could send up some hot wine for me?”

  “Of course, Miss Finley, of course,” he said. “It would be my pleasure to help you.”

  “You seem a very good sort, Thomas,” she said.

  “Why, thank you,” Thomas said, all but preening.

  And then, Thomas left.

  “Did you really just tell him I was your affianced bride?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rafe said without apology, “I absolutely did. I’m not about to start lying and telling people that you’re someone you’re not, when you might come back here as my wife.”

  “I see your point,” she said. “That could prove most difficult indeed, but even now. . .”