The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)

by Stephanie Feagan

  Papa and Lucy were there in the hall, waiting for them, and they all went out to the Sherbourne coach to ride the short distance to Lady Bloomsbury’s house. It was near midnight, and most everyone who planned to attend the ball would be there by now.

  Indeed, they were. Lady Bloomsbury may have waited until late in the Season to host a grand ball, but it was a smashing success, a veritable crush.

  When they arrived and were announced, she came toward their group and greeted Blixford first, Sherbourne second, Lucy third, and Jane not at all. It was as though she were invisible.

  Remembering her hurt from the last time she entered the hallowed halls of the Bloomsbury home, Jane could almost laugh. How long ago it seemed, and how unimportant.

  The announcement of their names had most everyone within the ballroom straining to look their way, openly staring as they made their way around the periphery, Blix leading them toward a less populated section of the wall.

  Jane stood next to her husband, shoulders back, head held high, meeting the gazes of those she would call friend, but for a viscous lie. They returned her gaze, unsmiling, unwelcoming, but in some, she detected perhaps a trace of admiration. That she would attend the ball was courageous, they thought. How could they know that any fear she harbored was not due to being shunned and ignored, but because she was to face MacDougal for the first time since the night she leveled her pistol and shot him in the bollocks?

  Determined not to show the slightest crack in her demeanor, she remained by her husband and gained strength from the support of his warm, muscled arm beneath her gloved hand.

  Within five minutes, she spotted MacDougal across the room, conversing with Wrotham and Miss North, along with a handful of other young unmarried misses. She stared. Blixford stared. Sherbourne and Lucy stared. Eventually, half the ballroom stared.

  At precisely the moment MacDougal realized he was being studied much like a bug in a jar, the Bloomsbury butler announced in an excessively loud voice, “James Lennox, Viscount Hildebrand. Lady Northern. Mr. John Lennox. Mr. Henry Lennox. Mr. Julian Lennox. Mr. Bramwell Lennox. Mr. Robert Lennox. Recently of Scotland, Miss Mary Anna MacGruder.” The last he practically shouted, and a hush fell over the ballroom.

  Stunned, Jane didn’t move her gaze from MacDougal, but whispered beneath her breath, “What a remarkable man you are.”

  “I can’t take all the credit,” Blix replied softly. “She replied to my letter immediately and enthusiastically vowed her assistance. Seems she also determined the make of the man, luckily before she married him. Your Aunt Northern was gracious and welcomed her as her houseguest. As to your brothers appearing en masse, I believe you’ve your father to thank for that. He sent notes around this afternoon, mentioning you would be in attendance tonight.”

  Her eyes devoured them. How she had missed them while she lived in Scotland, and barely back in England, she’d married and had gone from them again. She vowed to ask them to Eastchase Hall in summer. They would catch up at last.

  Miss MacGruder was a lovely woman, fair and blond, with incongruously dark eyes. Her petite form in the midst of Jane’s brothers made quite an impression. Those who were not already staring stopped what they were doing and joined the others.

  While they stared, Miss Mary Anna MacGruder of Scotland, on the arm of Mr. Henry Lennox, walked straight up to the earl of Haversham and said in a loud, but cultured voice, lightly accented by a soft burr, “By all the saints, my lord, this is a surprise! You’ve grown courage, it seems.” Her gaze darted toward Jane before returning to MacDougal. “Are you not afeared your cousin might again produce a pistol and shoot to unman you? She’s as great a reason to try now as she had last time, does she not? She suffered from your lies, and now suffers again.” She looked to Jane. “Ma’am, you have my sympathy for the stone about your neck that is your cousin. I’ve the great fortune of not being related to him, and praise God I cried off of marrying the louse when I realized his true character. If I could shoot half as well as you, I believe I’d finish what you attempted.”

  Jane realized it was her cue. Reaching into Blixford’s pocket, her hand closed around the small pistol he had given her, the beautiful wee thing with a pearl handle and engraved barrel. Lifting it free, she pointed it toward MacDougal. A collective gasp resounded through the ballroom and the distance between she and MacDougal hastily cleared of people, all of them moving back out of her line of fire. “It occurs to me, Miss MacGruder, that you’re correct. I’m shunned, so what have I to lose by shooting him? I will, at least, gain satisfaction for myself, my husband and my family. Blixford would have called you out, MacDougal, but it would imply you deserve the honor of a level field. Instead, you’ll be shot by a woman and thus unmanned in more ways than one.” She lowered the barrel and pointed the pistol directly at his crotch, her hand amazingly steady.

  His eyes widened with fear. “Jane, you would not!” He looked about at the shocked faces of Lady Bloomsbury’s guests before refocusing on her –and her pistol. “Tell them the truth, Jane. Despite being ruined to any gentleman, you pursued me endlessly, determined I would marry you, instead of merely keeping you as my mistress. When my betrothal to Anna was announced, you went into a fury and shot me.”

  The tide turned, he sounded so certain, his tone and demeanor lending an air of reality to his words. It was remembered then that she’d been ruined when she arrived in Scotland. More credence to his claim was given.

  Jane ignored the accusing faces of the guests and her world narrowed. There was only him and her, the pistol and the lie. “I’m married now to the man I fell in love with when I was but sixteen. Circumstances kept us from our happiness and I fled to Scotland, to the bosom of my mother’s family, where I thought I could safely nurse my grief. Instead I spent much of my time deflecting your advances. When Blixford didn’t come after me, as I wished him to, and instead took a third bride, my sorrow led me to finally accept your proposal, to allow liberties afforded a fiancé, only to hear your father’s announcement of your betrothal to Miss MacGruder, that very night.”

  The tide turned again as another collective gasp went up round the room.

  “That is why I shot you. Now, you again misuse me by your lies, and I’m compelled to respond.” Closing her right eye, she aimed carefully. Be the missile. Eye, hand, missile and target in harmony –all are one.

  He didn’t believe she’d do it. He didn’t move.

  She fired, someone screamed, and when the smoke cleared enough to see across the room, she saw that MacDougal sat upon the floor, clutching his thigh. “Hell and damn,” she said to her husband, “I forgot it kicks a bit to the left.”

  “Hmm, yes, so it does. I should have reminded you.”

  “I say, daughter, excellent shot! But you may have missed your mark slightly.”

  In truth, she had aimed exactly right, hitting him with but a graze across the fleshy part of his thigh, just enough of a wound to bleed impressively. The ball would be found somewhere behind him. She held the pistol before her and looked quizzical. “Shall I try again?”

  MacDougal shouted, “No! Mother of God! I cannot believe you shot me!” He paused. “Again!”

  She walked with Blixford across the dance floor and they stared down at MacDougal, at the bloom of blood spreading from his leg.

  Blixford raised his quizzing glass and observed in a detached manner before he frowned his displeasure. “You must get up at once. You are bleeding all over Lady Bloomsbury’s floor.”

  Her cousin clearly remembered it was what he had said to her, after taking her virginity, that she should get up immediately as she was bleeding on his mama’s divan. He had the good grace to look ashamed. And the good sense to look worried.

  “Lady Bloomsbury,” Jane called, “I believe a set of footmen might be useful.” She looked at the blood. “I daresay a parlor maid is also in order.” The marchioness moved toward them. It was the moment of reckoning. If she ignored Jane, their little stage play had not worked a
nd she and Blixford would be shunned forever. As she drew close, Jane said in her very best duchess voice, “My heartfelt and sincere apologies, ma’am. It appears I’ve disrupted your lovely ball, and injured this man such that he is making rather a mess upon your floor. I hope and pray you can forgive me.”

  The older woman tapped her fan against her multitude of chins as she looked at Jane, then down to MacDougal, then to Anna. She looked at Blixford, at Sherbourne, Lucy, and all of her brothers, who’d moved close, and finally, she looked around at the faces of her guests.

  “For God’s sake, woman, have you no mercy? I’m in danger of bleeding to death while you decide whether to forgive my cousin for shooting me!”

  The marchioness’s expression didn’t change at all. She remained inscrutable as she looked down at MacDougal. “It’s unfortunate that you’re bleeding to death, but I cannot find it within me to call for assistance until I know the truth.”

  “I’ve told you the truth. She was my mistress. That she coerced marriage to a duke would be laughable, if it were not so pathetic.”

  “Deuced rude to call you pathetic, Blix,” Wrotham said. “And I believe he called Lady Bloomsbury ‘woman’. Such disrespect should surely not go unpunished.”

  “I agree. Jane, love, would you be so good?” He handed her a bullet from his pocket.

  “Delighted, husband.” She loaded the pistol and pointed it at MacDougal’s crotch.

  Incredibly, the marchioness said, rather loudly, “You’re a tremendously good shot, Duchess, and I believe I may just take up pistols as well. I believe I might be up to the challenge, but it’s really not very sporting to shoot him at this close range.” She waved her arms, shooing the guests back. “Do step away and give the man a chance to save his manhood.”

  For the barest moment, she met the older lady’s eyes and saw admiration and acceptance reflected there. She and Blixford stepped back and she aimed once again.

  MacDougal cried out and cowered into a ball of fear. “Do not do it, Jane! I beg of you!”

  “I will pull the trigger if you don’t tell the truth.”

  This time, he believed her, which was rather ignorant on his part because she wouldn’t shoot him again. He might die if she did, and she wouldn’t kill him, no matter the provocation.

  “All right! It’s untrue that you were my mistress.” He glared at her with bitter resentment. “But it’s not a lie that I bedded you! That you allowed it!”

  The third gasp of the evening rose to the very high ceiling of the ballroom.

  Blixford moved forward then, reached down, grasped his collar and hauled him to his feet. “She didn’t allow it,” he said in a low, even voice. “She said no.” He drew back his arm and planted MacDougal a facer, sending him flying backward. Blixford followed and bent to repeat the process, but MacDougal was unconscious. Raising up, he turned to face Jane. “I’m sorry, love, but he’s ruined his comeuppance by fainting.” He moved close and crooked his arm. “Perhaps you’ll waltz with me while I wait for him to wake up.”

  She looked to Lady Bloomsbury. “With your permission, ma’am?”

  Their hostess nodded. And smiled. “By all means.” She waved at the orchestra leader. “A waltz, my good man!”

  ***

  Two hours later, after dancing with Miss MacGruder, Lucy, Aunt Northern, and the Marchioness of Bloomsbury, then going down to supper and feeding bits of smoked trout to the marchioness’s mouser, Michael waltzed again with Jane. The floor was crowded and he thought he’d never been smiled upon quite so much. “Perhaps we should create another scandal, only so we might have the dance floor to ourselves.”

  “The idea has merit, but let’s wait a while.”

  Spying the open doors to the garden terrace, he waltzed her in that direction until they were outside.

  “Blix, what’s this? I thought you wanted to waltz.”

  He led her down the steps. “We have done so. Now I’d like to stroll through the garden with you. Ah, what lovely paper lanterns the marchioness displays in her trees. Hmm, but what’s this? They appear only to illuminate the front half of the garden, and back here, it’s quite dark, but for the moonlight through the leaves. Quite romantic, you’d have to agree. Now, if only the opportunity would present itself to engage in sexual congress with my wife. I say, will you look at that, Jane? A lovely bower we might duck into. Can you see me? No? Ah, well, no matter. I’ve no doubt you can work my fastenings with your eyes closed, and as for your gown, well it’s quite easy to lift, as you see . . . well, I suppose you can’t see, but you get the idea. Where the devil are your lips? I’ve found your eye it appears, and your eyes are lovely, but not what I had in mind at the moment.”

  He dove into a kiss, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, kissing her as no gentleman ever kisses a lady.

  After a time, when he was so hard he was afraid he’d climax before he’d yet touched her, he continued, “I’ve missed taking you in unusual places, had a dream, in fact, just the other night, and I made love to you atop a horse. Yes, love, there is a bench, I’m certain. Place your hands there, and I will be just here, behind . . . forgive me for blathering, but anyone who ventures near will hear the sound of a voice and go away, though I am speaking quietly so hopefully they couldn’t know what we’re about. As I was saying, I suggest we try it again, as soon as we return to Eastchase, though not on Grendel, since she’s breeding and possibly more tetchy than usual . . . ah, love, yes, this is marvelous. You are marvelous and I love you so, I may fair die of it . . . if this doesn’t kill me first. Amazing how we fit together, is it not? I have missed this, more than you know, and I’m probably a brute not to ask first. Jane, I’m not hurting you? I’d rather die . . . ah, good, you are fine . . . what’s that? Better than fine? Yes, I begin to comprehend, for I can feel . . . great God, Jane, you are already . . . ? I’m sorry to half smother you, but we can’t have you crying out and announcing our activity. I was only joking about creating another scandal. Ah, love, you’ve no idea what you do to me, so tight, so beautiful, so. . .” Curled around her, covering her, feeling the weight of her breasts in his palms, he exploded within her softness and couldn’t speak any longer.

  Breathing so hard, she was panting, Jane turned to throw her arms around him, the hem of her gown returning to her ankles. “Will you take me home now, Michael?”

  His embrace was fierce and tight.

  Home.

  It had the loveliest sound to it.

  “Yes, Duchess, let’s go home.”

  About the author

  Author of the RITA winning Pink Files series, Stephanie Feagan has had a love affair with romance novels since she was eleven and discovered there are kissing scenes in Victoria Holt books. Stephanie also writes Young Adult and New Adult paranormal romance as Trinity Faegen. A practicing CPA who loves travel, books, new pencils, old keys, and smart guys, she lives in the oilfields of west Texas with her engineer husband and a mean cat. She’d love to hear from you.

  She answers to Stephanie, Trinity, Hey Lady, and Mom, and can be reached at Stephanie@StephanieFeagan.com

  or Trinity@TrinityFaegen.com.

  For information about upcoming releases, please visit www.stephaniefeagan.com.

  Coming Soon!

  The next sexy book in the Lennox Series, The Iron Duchess.

  He wanted easy. Instead, he got Helen.

  After walking away from a love affair gone horribly wrong, Henry Lennox is all about easy. He wants a wife who is pleasant, affectionate, and passably pretty, but despite an abundance of potential brides, he can’t muster the enthusiasm to woo any of them. Instead, he’s constantly, irresistibly drawn into a battle of wills with the Duchess of Hartsborough, a striking widow who taunts him from behind an impenetrable wall of iron. He really can’t abide the woman, yet he can’t stop thinking about her, can’t resist sparring with her, can’t control imagining her in his bed. And he’s certain she’s hiding something troubling, that she’s in peril. As much as he wan
ts to walk away, he can’t. Not this time.

  After her husband and his brother died in an accident five years ago, Helen discovered the Hartsborough dukedom was bankrupt. For her sister-in-law, Lara, and her infant nephew, now the Duke of Hartsborough, Helen works tirelessly with the family solicitor to regain what her weak husband and his wastrel brother lost, all while maintaining a façade of wealth and idle privilege. Focused on her goal, she has neither interest in nor time for men, but when Henry Lennox keeps turning up like a bad dream, she finds it harder and harder to ignore him. The handsome devil is infuriating, rudely inquisitive, and far too observant.

  Then Lara falls for a fortune-hunter, and unless Helen can convince her he’s a bounder, everything she has worked for will be lost. Even worse, her beloved, gentle sister-in-law will be ill-used and hurt. As disaster looms, Helen is determined to beat the cad at his own game, but when outfoxing the fox becomes dangerous and she fears all is lost, she needs an ally. Who better than Henry Lennox and his knowing blue eyes? All she has to do is ask his help, get rid of the threat, and save the dukedom. Then she can walk away from Henry Lennox. Easy.

  Visit www.stephaniefeagan.com for more information about upcoming releases.