My Wild Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 8)

by Eva Devon

  “Oh, Duke. You’re in for it.” Aston chortled. “Splendid chap. Absolutely charming.”

  “I know,” he confirmed without relish, his hand ever tightening on her cane, tempted to just start braining people. Aston first. “He’s a friend.”

  “Perhaps, he’ll ask you to be his best man,” observed Aston with exaggerated seriousness.

  “They don’t even know each other,” Adam growled. “Not properly.”

  “That sort of thing doesn’t matter in the ton,” Aston stated flatly, his eyes glittering as he played out the facts. “He wants to marry. She wants to marry. They’re both from good stables. No doubt, there will be little lords and ladies popping forth in ten months’ time.

  “Aston, for your wife, I shall leave your cravat in place.”

  “Thank you, my boy,” the duke drawled, tucking his arm about his wife’s waist in the most scandalous fashion. “I do love this cravat.” Aston’s gaze dropped. “Lovely cane. Why don’t you give it to me?”

  “I thought we were going to dance,” protested Rosamund.

  “Shh, love,” Aston purred, his face awash with love as he squeezed her gently. “I’ll hold you closer in a moment. But we must do great work here.”

  “Matchmaking again?” she sighed.

  “I excel at it,” he said proudly.

  “I wish I could argue,” she moaned.

  “Hush, or I’ll kiss you in public.”

  Rosamund batted her lashes up at him, clearly daring him to do just that. “Half our guests would faint on the spot.”

  “Very tempting.”

  “There are not enough smelling salts in the world,” she laughed.

  “True. We mustn’t have a ballroom floor covered in prone lords and ladies, must we?”

  She tsked. “I suppose not.”

  Aston gazed down adoringly at her. “Now, to the work at hand.”

  Adam followed their conversation wondering if all their conversations went like this. He had an alarming feeling that they did.

  “You must go into battle, sir,” Aston ordered.

  The very idea nearly caused him to shudder. Not out of horror but at how tempting it was. “She’s made up her mind.”

  Aston scowled. “She thinks you’re not interested.”

  “I’m not,” he replied, the half-heartedness not even convincing himself.

  Aston rolled his eyes.

  “Not in matrimony,” he added, which would at least give some legitimacy to his argument.

  The merriment vanished from Aston’s face. “Then you best depart.”

  “What?” he asked, gaping.

  “She wants to marry,” Aston stated. “You want her. The solution is obvious, but if you’re not up to it as I thought you were. Well. . .”

  “Oh, do be quiet,” Adam growled and he thrust the cane at Aston.

  “That’s it, Duke,” Aston laughed, his eyes wicked. “Into the fray!”

  “You’re mad,” Adam pronounced. “You’re both barking mad.”

  “What fool in love is not?” Rosamund exclaimed, her lips twitching with amusement.

  Unable to take it or the sight of Beatrix in Ellesmere’s arms another moment longer, he set off around the dance floor. Determined to head them off, he had no idea what he was going to do. But whatever it was, he knew he had unequivocally lost whatever reason he had.

  And it was all because of her.

  Chapter 14

  “I’ve heard your home is very lovely.”

  “Oh, it is,” Ellesmere agreed, his hands strong and assured. “But I have doubts as to your true interest.”

  “Oh?” she blinked, barely knowing what to say. Her thoughts were still lost upon a certain American.

  Ellesmere’s lips twitched. “Haven’t you been to Dorset?”

  “Blast!” A flush of embarrassment burned her cheeks. “I’d quite forgotten.”

  “The county is so forgettable,” he teased, clearly not offended. In fact, he seemed terribly amused.

  She sighed. “Do forgive me. It was not my excuse. I believe the duchess came up with it on the spot.”

  “Why were you in need of an excuse?” he asked, unaware of what was about to befall him.

  She hesitated. But why should she? There was no use prevaricating. “I asked her to facilitate our dancing.”

  Ellesmere’s dark brows rose. “Did you?”

  She nodded, biting her lower lip all whilst trying not to put too much weight on her left leg. It was decidedly difficult. “I’m honored.”

  She cleared her throat, gathering her courage as she attempted to keep step. Truly, it was quite difficult. “I’m glad you feel that way because. . .”

  “Because?” he prompted kindly.

  “I’ve heard you wish to wed,” she rushed.

  He stumbled and, for one moment, she was certain they were going to go down together. But then he caught himself, pulled her to his chest to secure her footing, and effortlessly led her down the ballroom.

  “I do,” he finally admitted after he had apparently accustomed himself to her statement.

  She smiled tentatively. “Perhaps, it could be me.”

  “Steady on,” he teased.

  “I do not jest,” she said gravely. This was not going well, but at least he was being a terribly good sport about it.

  “I see.”

  She winced. “Are you horribly shocked?”

  “Yes,” Ellesmere admitted easily, his handsome face a mask of confusion. “This isn’t how it’s usually done.”

  “I realize that. But I have my reasons.”

  “You’re in a hurry to wed?” he asked softly.

  She gasped, realizing why such a thing could be necessary. “Because my father’s title has reverted to me.”

  “Oh,” he breathed, relief softening his features.

  “So, you see,” she soldiered on. Now that she’d begun, she would not quit until she had reached the end of her argument. “I wish to marry and secure the earldom.”

  He nodded and was quiet for several moments as he led them about the floor, easily navigating the other couples.

  “I beg your forgiveness.” She bit down on her lower lip, trying to think of what to say or do next. She could think of nothing adequate, so she bumbled on. “I’m behaving appallingly. I’ve not been out much in company and I feel so determined—”

  “Lady Beatrix, this might be out of turn, but might I say something?”

  That brought her prattling to a stop. “Of course.”

  Sympathy tainted his voice as he said, “I’m not sure you’ve given this sufficient thought.”

  “I haven’t?” She frowned. She thought she’d spent hours thinking it over.

  A small groan escaped him, but he hid it rather well. “My God, this is an indelicate conversation for a ball.”

  “Shall we retire to another room?”

  A strangled sound came from his throat. “I have no desire for us to be forced to wed if we might come to that natural conclusion.”

  Natural conclusion. He was actually considering it then!

  “Do go on,” she urged, hopeful now.

  “Have you realized that if you were to. . . Er. . .” His brow creased as he looked for a delicate way of putting whatever indelicate thing he was about to utter. “Give me a son. . . He would be my heir.”

  “I suppose yes and—”

  “That will be his primary duty,” he continued, determination strengthening his words. “To be The Earl of Ellesmere.”

  Her foot caught on the hem of her gown and his strong hands kept her upright.

  A touch of despair hit her then. “You’re saying. . . You’re saying that my father’s title would be less important than yours.”

  “No. Of course not,” he assured kindly. “Many peers hold several titles. . . But if you were hoping that your son might put your father’s earldom in a place of most immediacy. . .”

  The truth of his statement eradicated whatever hope she’d been
feeling. “Then marrying a man such as you might not serve my purposes.”

  “Exactly,” he confirmed.

  Ashamed, she glanced away. “Well, this is a coil.”

  “I’m terribly sorry. I can see you care about this deeply.” He hesitated then ventured, “I know your loss has been great.”

  Tears stung her eyes. “Yes. It has.”

  Oh dear God!

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “I- I’m so very sorry. I—” She stopped right at the side of the dance floor and buried her face in her hands, unable to stop the tears. She had not allowed herself to cry in so long. Why did the tears have to come now? Here? With this gentleman?

  The mortification of the moment burned her to her core. How could she have been such a fool? Why hadn’t Hyacinth mentioned it? Had the dowager duchess’ desire for her to make a great match overshadowed this? Or had she simply not considered it essential that Beatrix’s son be the Earl of Westport first and foremost?

  “Lady Beatrix,” Ellesmere began softly, “Let me—”

  “What the hell have you said?” an American voice roared and then Ellesmere was flat on the floor.

  An exclamation of astonishment pealed from her.

  Captain Adam Duke stood, fists balled, face enraged, over the Earl of Ellesmere. “You made her cry, you bastard.”

  “Have you lost your wits?” she demanded, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

  As if from nowhere, her cousin, Lock, who she had not known was in attendance, appeared, “Duke, I know you’re an American but this isn’t a tavern. Now take your barbaric self off. If you don’t, I’ll call you out.”

  “Go ahead,” Adam countered, clearly having lost all reason. “Call me—”

  “Stop!” she cried.

  Both men swung towards her as did all the eyes in the entire room. Ellesmere peered up at her from the floor.

  “He made you cry,” Adam said softly as if that explained everything in the world.

  “No, he didn’t, you great dolt,” she suddenly bit out, clinging to her anger over her tears. “My life did. Now, what in the blazes did you do with my cane?”

  The Duke of Aston popped beside her. “Here, my dear. Do you need an arm?”

  “I’d sooner brain you all,” she snapped. “Now leave me alone.”

  And with as much dignity as she could muster, she strode from the room. Head high. Hopes dashed. As she slipped into the dark hall, all she could wonder was, now what the devil could she do?

  *

  “Well that was far more exciting than I had imagined,” the Duke of Aston said brightly.

  Adam closed his eyes, wishing himself an ocean away. Not since those first days after seeing the ship sink off the coast of Africa had he done something so rash.

  Somehow, Aston had maneuvered him, Lockhart and, Ellesmere into a side room. He was grateful to be away from the gossips.

  “Now, if you pups start up again,” Aston stated blithely. “I’ll beat you all into the carpet.”

  “I apologize for causing a scene,” Adam managed, placing a hand over his eyes.

  “I love scenes,” Aston countered, his stance bold and not bothered. “Cause them all the time, myself. But Lady Beatrix won’t have liked this one. In fact, this is fairly ruinous.”

  “Ruinous?” Adam repeated, lowering his hand, barely noticing the dimly-lit study.

  A dark laugh rolled out of Lockhart. “God, you’re a fool. Yes, ruinous. After that display, all in sundry will think you’ve been in her bed.”

  Adam nearly took a step back. “That’s ludicrous.”

  “It had better be,” Lockhart said coldly.

  “I’ve no idea where her bed is,” Adam replied, unable to hide his own rancor.

  Lockhart lunged forward and Aston grabbed his shoulder, holding him with surprising ease.

  “Now, now,” Aston tsked. “As you said, young Lock, my home is not a tavern. More’s the pity. We must settle this like gentlemen.”

  “He won’t marry her,” Lockhart snapped. “We won’t have another American.”

  “I never suggested it,” Aston said in mock horror. “The very idea.”

  “I could marry her,” Ellesmere said softly. “She’s a fascinating woman.”

  Adam swung his gaze to his friend. “I should have killed you instead of punching you.”

  Ellesmere’s eyes widened then he winced, his cheek already swelling. “Bloody hell, you’re in love with her.”

  “I am not,” he replied indignantly.

  “Then why mind if I marry her?” Ellesmere scoffed. “But I don’t think she’ll have me.”

  “She clearly came here with the express purpose of pursuing you,” Adam drawled, knowing that Ellesmere wasn’t really the source of his anger, but he was a damned good target.

  “Yes,” Ellesmere agreed, adjusting his cravat which had gone askew. “I suppose she did. But I don’t think she thought it out. . . When I told her what would happen. She began to cry. I have never felt like a bigger bastard than I did in that moment.”

  “You’re not as big a bastard as him,” Lockhart growled, pointing at Adam.

  “Now, now, we can all compete for the title of biggest bastard on a later day,” Aston broke in, throwing his arms wide. “Now, we must solve this.”

  Ellesmere looked at the carpet. “She wants to continue her father’s line. I’d heard parliament just gave her the title to pass on.”

  “Aren’t you the perfect candidate,” Adam mocked.

  Ellesmere’s mouth tightened.

  “No,” Aston said softly.

  “He’s not.” Even Lockhart agreed, though he looked like he was chewing glass as he said it.

  “What can I possibly be missing?” Adam asked, looking from grim face to grim face.

  Lock scowled then said tightly, “If she marries a man with a title as important as Ellesmere’s, her father’s title will become little more than an embellishment to a long list of Ellesmere’s or of someone with similar lineage.”

  The cruelty of it hit Adam. Beatrix was in a terrible position. “I see.”

  “Do you?” Lockhart sneered.

  “Oh God, I do,” Adam groaned. “She doesn’t wish her father to be forgotten. Or his line.”

  “For an American, you’re astute,” Lockhart snapped.

  “Look here, Lockhart. I understand that you’re the walking wounded, but can you put that aside for just now,” Adam riposted. He stared at the fire and it hit him, hit him so horribly hard he felt winded. “So this is why she wished to marry.”

  “It would seem so,” Aston intoned. “I told you women made such decisions out of a place of logic. They don’t suddenly decide to marry for no reason when they had not planned it before.”

  “So if not Ellesmere,” he asked, his brain hurting and his heart plummeting for her. Surely she was clinging to the revelation about the title like a raft. It explained her abrupt ending of their relationship. “Who then?”

  “Planning on punching him, too?” Ellesmere asked, though his anger at the surprise attack had diminished.

  Aston examined his nails, before lifting his focus to Adam. “You realize you’d do nicely, old boy, especially since you’ve all but ruined her. What with that scene in my ballroom, second and third sons are out of the question now.”

  A muscle tensed in Lockhart’s jaw. “You said—”

  “Shh, puppy. Not just now.”

  “She won’t like this,” Adam cut in. “It’s her decision. All of it.”

  “So it is. Glad you can see that,” Aston declared, bracing a hand on the polished table behind him. “But you could convince her.”

  “Convince her?” he nearly choked.

  “You just knocked down a man in public to defend her,” Aston pointed out coolly. Cooler than Adam had ever seen him. “Are you still planning to argue you are not in love?”

  Adam flung himself into a chair. “How the devil has this happened?”

  Aston shrugged. “Love is
ever a mystery. Now, while we all pontificate and rail at the tempestuousness of the universe, there is a very unhappy young woman somewhere who needs help.”

  Tensing, Adam realized he had trusted that she’d been taken up by one of the ladies. But what if she was alone? With her dark thoughts and broken hopes?

  That was something he could not allow.

  “Ah good, Captain.” Aston smiled, a strange knowing smile. “I see you’re ready.”

  “Sod off, Aston. Sod off. And I know exactly where she is.” He hauled himself up. “Where’s your library?”

  Chapter 15

  The tears had stopped as she stared at the wall of books before her. Tucked in a chair that faced away from the door, she remained quiet. It was, perhaps, selfish to have vanished after such an uproar but she’d needed time to gather her thoughts and her dashed dreams.

  She ran her gloved fingers over her ivory skirts. The gown was beautiful but it was for naught.

  How could she have been so impulsive? So thoughtless. She was supposed to be intelligent. Had she been so desperate that she’d been determined not to see any obstacles?

  Yes. She had been.

  She dropped her head back to rest on the chair. It had not occurred to her that this night would end badly.

  In fact, she’d been fairly certain it would be a triumph. Now? Now what chance had she to marry? Well, she had a vast fortune. She could surely pay someone to marry her. But she would not find a man of good character.

  He’d bloody ruined her.

  Well, she hadn’t helped. She couldn’t deny that.

  Bursting into tears in the middle of a ballroom did not a good impression make.

  But regardless, she was now very damaged goods. She had come with a great many problems before. After tonight, it would be irreparable.

  Soft steps on the carpet penetrated her reverie and she sat as still as she was able, desperately hoping some trysting couple had not come to the library for privacy.

  The steps drew closer and she tensed.

  “Beatrix?”

  The American accent was unmistakable. She winced. She didn’t wish to see him. She didn’t. What had possessed him to search her out?

  “Beatrix,” he called softly again. “I’m fairly certain you’re here. I’ll leave you alone if you truly wish it, but I’d like to speak with you.”