What a Duke Wants

by Lavinia Kent

  She dabbed at the tears on her cheek with the edge of the sheet, the embroidery abrading her cheek. The dark of the room lay around them, isolating them from the purple madness. This was their time. The small hours of the morning when passion and caring met. She wiped at the tears harder, willing them to stop. She knew her emotions were not leaving her rational. “Why could you not just give me money and let me go? You’ve given me more in this last week than I would have needed to survive a year. Why could you not have done this days ago? Before—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You say you don’t pay me, but if the money is a gift, why wait? Why not give it to me before I became your mistress?”

  “I did not force you to come to me. I never have.”

  “Then let me go.”

  “I am certainly not stopping you. As you’ve said, I’ve given you enough funds.”

  She wanted to leave him. Mark stared at the purple pansies embroidered on the bed’s canopy. He could not really see them, but he knew they were there. He had forced her into this situation. He wished he could deny it, but he must be honest with himself. He had wanted her and he had taken her.

  He had been very much the duke. Perhaps he was learning far quicker than he had believed.

  He tried to ignore the tears that still leaked down her cheeks, tried to resist the urge to wipe them.

  He had not meant what he said. He had spoken in anger at the thought that she was not happy. He certainly did not want her to leave.

  She was better off with him. He could not begin to imagine all the trouble she could land in if she left. A young woman alone was not safe. And even if she found employment it could be for somebody like Mrs. Wattington, someone who would abuse her with words and perhaps even hit her.

  That was not what he wanted for his Bella.

  And she was his.

  Only. . .

  Only she wanted to leave him. He could see it in each tear that trickled down her soft cheek. He longed to kiss the tears away, but feared that would only make them flow faster.

  He stared at the flowers he could not see and awaited her answer.

  “Is that what you want, for me to leave?” She followed his lead, rolling onto her back to look up into the darkness.

  “It is you who speaks of wanting to leave. I make no such demands.”

  “So you want me to stay?”

  Such a simple question, such an easy answer, but the words would not come. She was better off with him, he could keep her safe—but he could not give her what she wanted, what she needed to be happy. “You need to do what you think best.”

  She rolled further, turning onto her side—away from him.

  The inches between them could have been feet, or yards—but they were as uncrossable as an iron fence. He swung out of bed and went to stare out the window at the silent street. Not even the leaves on the trees moved to distract him. He had hoped for the first traces of daylight, some marker that things would soon begin afresh. There was only black.

  He grabbed his pants off a chair and pulled them on. “I shall return home. Divers will be happy not to be dragged over here to dress me in the morning. It will be a very long day preparing for the coronation and I will have events to attend until late into the night.”

  She did not reply, did not tell him she would miss him, did not tell him he was welcome at any hour.

  He grabbed the remainder of his clothing and headed to the door. He slipped through it quietly, closing it with barely a click.

  It felt more final than a slam.

  He’d never left her before. It felt as if he no longer wanted her. She’d always heard that about men, heard that once the pursuit was over, the challenge gone, they lost interest. She had not expected it to apply to herself.

  Granted, she had tried to make it so he would not be surprised if she left. She just hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

  Not that she thought he would kick her out. Isabella dropped the brush on the dresser and turned to survey the purple room.

  This was the moment. Did she stay or did she go?

  She wanted to stay. Despite everything, she wanted to stay.

  But she could not, not while the whispering man’s threats surrounded her.

  She did have more than enough money to keep herself for quite a while and Annie had given her a place to go. If she could sneak over to Annie’s house and stay out of sight once there, she would be safe. She refused to believe that the whispering man would find her again.

  Why was she even debating? She had been over this before. There really was no choice. She would run as she had before.

  If she could have trusted Mark with the truth she might have been able to stay, but she did not trust him. If he could not even consider marriage to her now, then how would he feel if he knew the truth? He would never protect a murderess. And even if he did, what would that do to him? She knew how he cared about his station, his duties; helping her could only hurt him.

  Her dreams had been false.

  Leaving felt like cutting a piece out of herself, but it was a piece she would have to live without.

  She began to plan.

  “I am so glad that you have come.” Annie grinned from cheek to cheek as she led Isabella in through the kitchen door. “I was worried that you would not—and I realized that I could not get in touch with you if you did not. I suppose I could have asked Strattington tonight . . . Oh, don’t look at me like that. I am joking. You know that I would never do that. I must guess that you have come to stay, given your method of arrival. It quite confused me when the maid told me the cook said that I had a visitor in the kitchen. That has never happened before. But do come in now and have some tea—or would you like to go to your room first?”

  “Tea would be fine.”

  “I will have someone take your bag up. Come. I have so much to discuss and I find I need your help.”

  “You need my help?” Maybe Annie’s problems could distract her from her own. She would not think of all she had left behind, not think of Duchess. Mark would care for her.

  Mark. She promised herself again that she would not think of him, not consider what she had lost. She would think only about what Annie needed and nothing more.

  “Yes, I am afraid I do. I have set up this perfectly wonderful masquerade for tonight and now I find myself in need.”

  Isabella followed Annie into the parlor and sat. The room was just as pretty as before. The rest of the home might seem lacking in feminine flourishes, but here every delicately arranged flower and figurine hinted at her friend’s touch. She took a chair across from Annie, running a finger over the flocked cotton upholstery. Soft green had always been Annie’s favorite. “What could you possibly need from me? It is I who am here seeking your help, in your debt.”

  “What nonsense. We are friends, we help each other. There is no debt involved.”

  After a statement like that, how could Isabella do anything besides help her friend? “What do you need?”

  “I need you to come to my masquerade tonight.”

  “You what?” That had not come out as graciously as she had meant. “Do you need another maid?”

  “Of course not. How could you even think such a thing? I need you to come as a guest.”

  “But I will be recognized. I cannot risk it. You should not risk it.”

  “It is a masquerade.”

  “But when the masks come off . . .” What was Annie thinking? She could never do such a thing. She had come here because she could think of no better hiding spot than heading off to the country with Annie. This was not in the plans.

  “That is the beauty of what I need. You can be long gone when the masks are removed, the dominoes lowered. I only need you to pretend to be me for a few hours.”

  “Pretend to be you? A few hours?”

  There was a tap at the door and the maid entered bearing a full tray, not just the cup and teapot Isabella had been expecting. There were more of those fabulous cakes. Her mouth watered at th
e reminder of the thick, rich chocolate cream. The memory of the flavor filled her mouth—but her distraction lasted less than a single second. She waited for the maid to leave. “I don’t understand. Why do you need me to be you? And how would we ever accomplish such a thing?”

  Annie took a cake and smiled, the grin spreading from ear to ear. “I’ve planned that already, but the friend who was going to help me cannot. Do take a cake. My physician has assured me it is not healthy for a woman to be too thin.”

  That was far more than Isabella really wanted to know. “So tell me about tonight.”

  “Oh, yes.” Annie leaned forward, her excitement palpable. She lifted her cake but did not bite into it. “I am going to the masquerade as the three Graces. I have the most delightful costume and wig—revealing, but not too much so.”

  “You’re going as the three Graces?”

  “Oh, stop. I am going as one of the three Graces, but I have friends who will dress as the other two.”

  Ah, now Isabella understood. “And one of them dropped out?”

  “No, but . . .” And now Annie hesitated.

  A but was never a good thing with Annie. “Then why do you need me? I can’t imagine you want four Graces.”

  “No, I definitely don’t want four—only I do.”

  “That makes sense.” Isabella placed as much irony as she could in her voice.

  “I am explaining this badly.” Annie bit into her cake and chewed.

  Isabella bit into her own and waited.

  “I want there to always be three Graces and I don’t want to always have to be one of them. I want to be able to slip away if I choose.” Annie began to turn red as she spoke.

  “And why do you want to be able to slip away?” Isabella was afraid she already knew. There was only one person it was likely Annie would wish to hide from.

  “I don’t wish my husband to know if I leave.”

  Isabella closed her eyes. She should ask why, but surely there was only one answer. If Annie wished to hide from her husband, it had to be because there was another man.

  She bit into her cake again, but it no longer tasted so sweet. “I thought you were trying to have a child.”

  “I am.” Annie put her cake down, stood, and walked to the empty fireplace. She ran a finger along the gray-lined marble. “I am just not sure with whom.”

  “Your husband, I would have thought.” The cake was beginning to taste like sawdust. Isabella could not believe that Annie meant what she said.

  Annie picked up a delicate figurine of a couple embracing. She ran a finger down the line of the man’s back. “I thought so too. I cannot pretend to be happy with what I contemplate, but . . .”

  If there was one thing Isabella knew, it was that life did not always grant fair choices. She would try not to judge her friend until she knew the full story. “I still can’t believe your plan would work. Even if we wore the same costume surely someone would notice the difference between us.” She gestured to her own figure and then Annie’s. “We are not exactly the same.”

  Annie put the figurine down and turned back to Isabella, her soft green skirt swirling about her. “That is the beauty of my plan. With three, or four, of us dressed the same there will always be confusion about who is who. As long as three are visible nobody will question too closely if they do not recognize whichever one is closest to them. Lord Richard will just assume I am the Grace across the room.”

  Isabella still had her doubts. She wanted to refuse—but how could she with all Annie was prepared to do for her? “Let me see the costumes.”

  Chapter 22

  “I am surprised that she did not slit your throat as you slept.” Brisbane spoke quietly, but the words held their own power.

  Mark kept his eyes focused ahead, looking only at the king, not looking at Brisbane or inviting others to listen to their conversation. “It is that bad? I asked my valet and trusted what he said. He has never steered me wrong before.”

  “You trusted your valet.” It was said as a statement, but question and irony rang in each syllable. “You trust your valet that your cravat does not make you look a fool. You trust your valet that the stitching on your waistcoat is not too garish. You can even trust him to tell you that your court dress is too simple. But you never ask your valet how to pay your mistress.”

  “But you do pay her?” Mark was feeling the fool and it was a feeling he did not like.

  Brisbane sighed without making a sound. It was evidently one more aspect of being a duke that Mark would need to practice.

  “You do not pay a mistress. You keep her. I do not believe coin has ever passed between myself and a woman whose company I enjoyed. It would be vulgar—in the extreme. A man should never be vulgar, unless he chooses to be.”

  “Then what does she do for coin?”

  “All her accounts are sent to you, discreetly.”

  “What if she needs funds for something small, some worthless trinket?”

  “I do not actually know, but I imagine that either the household accounts are exaggerated or that some piece of jewelry you have given her, that she does not care for, may disappear. That is her concern, not yours.”

  Mark pondered this as he watched the king discuss how to maneuver with a cloak of such length and weight. And warmth. Why the man chose to wear ermine in July Mark would never understand. Why be king if you could not be comfortable? If he were king he’d outlaw neckwear that reached above one’s chin.

  He was glad he had asked Brisbane about Isabella—not directly, no names had been given. It had been difficult to approach him about the question, but there had been nowhere else to turn. Still— “I am not sure I understand why it makes such a difference. Is it not payment no matter what form it comes in?”

  Brisbane nodded to another gentleman across the room. “All I can say is that it matters. And I think it matters for us as well as them. If it’s as simple as throwing down a coin or two then you might as well visit a brothel. A mistress is for much more than that—at least mine always were.”

  Mark did see the sense in that. His relationship with Isabella was about far more than sex.

  “I trust I will see you at the Tenants’ this evening? It will be an event not to be missed. There will, of course, be other required stops throughout the evening. It will be a nuisance to stop home and change before heading to the masquerade.” Brisbane glanced at the king. He rose from his chair like a large cat stretching. “But Lady Richard throws a party not to be missed.”

  “There’s nothing to it,” Isabella exclaimed.

  “I think the half mask will cover your face quite well,” Annie answered. “I wanted to be quite sure that nobody could see our features. I made sure the mask was raised slightly above the eyes to leave them cast in shadow. The lips, of course, I left uncovered, but I did specify that we all wear the same color of rouge—and perfume. Perfume is always important.”

  Isabella slipped her hand under the many layers of sheer silk. “It is not my face I was worried about.” In fact she had not even considered the mask, which demonstrated just how shocked she was by the bodice. “My chemise would show.”

  “The Greeks and Romans did not wear chemises and neither shall we.”

  “The other women agreed to this?” It was impossible to imagine any lady agreeing to such a costume. Even her sister, Violet, would have questioned the dress.

  Annie picked the dress up and held it against her body, smoothing it over her curves. The single shoulder that held it up was clasped with a silver pin. The rest of the dress—if one could call it a dress—consisted of layers and layers of fine chiffon draped to drift with every movement. If the wind blew, the wearer was likely to be left completely bare—not that there was much wind in a ballroom. “I would admit there was some trepidation, but yes, they have agreed.”

  “Can you wear anything under it?”

  “You could probably wear Roman sandals, but I am considering that we should all have bare feet.”

&n
bsp; “Bare feet? In public?” Isabella was not sure why this shocked her even more than the slightness of the dress.

  “It will make a statement about how free we are feeling, about all the rules and propriety that we are willing to slip off for the evening.”

  “I’ve never said I am willing to slip anything off for the evening.” Isabella looked at the single silver clasp that held the dress together. No, she was not slipping anything off.

  “Oh, don’t be silly. I am talking of myself—and my other Cinderellas.”

  “Why do you call them Cinderellas? I thought you were going as the three Graces. And who are they? If I am going to help with this plan then I should know.”

  “So you will help? I cannot tell you who they are. I have promised to keep that a secret. And I call them my Cinderellas because they, like you, could never appear at my ball as themselves. Although of good birth, circumstances have forced them from society. I wanted to offer them a chance to attend a ball before the coronation, a ball in all its glory.”

  “So I am one of your Cinderellas also?”

  “I had not planned it that way. I truly do need your help, but I did think you might enjoy the chance to dance and flirt once more, to wear a gown, and drink champagne.”

  It would be wonderful to dance. She had always loved dancing, the twirling, the patterns, the subtle movement and signal when palm met palm—and this time she would not be wearing gloves.

  In truth, it was an opportunity she had never imagined having again. After the last days of worry, all her years of worry, the chance to be carefree for one night was too much to resist. “I’ll do it. But are you sure the dress will fit?”

  “Trust me. I am sure.” Annie grinned. “One of the good things about the pattern is it really will fit anyone.”

  “I suppose that is true. Let me go to my chamber and try it on.”

  “I have put you up where the governess would go if we had one. I would normally put you next to me, but I do not want Richard to question anything until it is done.”