What a Duke Wants

by Lavinia Kent

  Finally a question he could answer definitively. “I will claim what is mine.”

  Chapter 27

  “So you must tell me all. Are you really living with your brother again?” Annie burst into the parlor at an hour far too early for guests. Masters’s butler followed behind, his glance apologetic. “I didn’t think you were ever going to speak to him again. I was tempted to skip the coronation yesterday to come and talk to you. I couldn’t believe you left Violet’s home and came here.”

  “It’s a long story.” Isabella rubbed at her temple. “I agreed to meet with Masters to make Violet happy and to get into the house. There was something I needed to retrieve from my room. But—but when Masters started to talk, things changed. I feel like I suddenly have the brother I always wanted, one I can depend on.”

  “So you’ve told him everything and he’s going to help?” Annie asked as she took a seat across from Isabella. She leaned forward eagerly.

  Isabella pulled in a slow breath and considered what to say. “Masters knew about Foxworthy already—or at least most of it. Violet told him. He also wondered if Foxworthy hadn’t still been alive when he was stabbed. It all sounds strange to me. Foxworthy was dead when I left. I have no question. He seems to think that I can just come back to the family and rejoin society.”

  “He’s probably right about that. If you don’t realize it, your family is already more than slightly scandalous and yet they are accepted. I don’t see why you should be any different. And it’s not like anyone has even mentioned Foxworthy in years. I can’t believe that anyone cares anymore.” Annie sat back.

  But Annie didn’t know about the man who wanted the letters. He was supposed to contact her today, the day after the coronation. Isabella refused to even think about the future until he was taken care of. Would he leave her alone once he had the letters? “I still think I should just fade into the background and come to the country with you. I will live a quiet, unremarkable life and no one will ever need think of me again. I can visit my brother and sister occasionally to be sure they know I am happy. I do not want to give them more worry. We are all having dinner tonight. I wish you could see Violet with her niece and nephew. It is the family I have always wanted.”

  “But don’t you want your own family, your own children? What about Strattington? Why don’t you just marry him?”

  Leave it to Annie to cut to the heart of the matter. “He still doesn’t know who I am and I have no intention of telling him. He planned to return to his estates after the coronation. I doubt we will meet again. I will be in the country with you if ever he should come to London again.”

  “I still don’t see why you don’t just tell him. It seems a simple thing to me. If he wanted you enough to make you his mistress, surely he would want you enough to make you his wife.”

  “I wish it was so simple. Dukes do not marry their mistresses. And the type of wanting that a man has for his mistress is very different than the type a man has for his wife. Besides, Mark—Strattington—is trying to be a proper duke and I would only bring scandal. Can you imagine the whispers if he married his mistress?”

  “Poppycock. Nobody but me knows you were his mistress. I am certainly not going to tell anybody. And he thinks you are a maid. If he knew you were the granddaughter of an earl everything would be different.”

  Isabella was not so sure. “Miss Isabella Hermione Masters was of barely eligible birth to marry a duke at the age of seventeen. The best that could have been said of the match was that nobody would actually laugh at the idea. Now I have a mysterious past—even you thought I’d had a baby—and a scandalous family—you said that yourself. I hardly think I am duchess material.”

  “I still think—”

  “And I am a murderess. Whether or not it is ever proven, there might still be rumors. I don’t think I could place that burden on Mark. Some dreams do not have happy endings.” She had told him the truth and now hoped to never see his face again, except in her dreams. Annie’s plan might be wonderful, but it was also impossible. “Now, I am going to change the subject. Tell me about what happened at the masquerade. Did your plan work? I had a slightly unpleasant run-in with Lord Richard. Did he tell you about it?”

  “I shouldn’t let you get away with this. I have much more to say about your life.” Annie leaned forward again. “But in truth, I do need your advice.”

  Before Annie could say more there was a tap on the door and Masters’s butler entered. “The Duke of Hargrove is here to see you, miss.”

  “Doesn’t he mean the Duke of Strattington? Why would Hargrove be here? My brother-in-law never pays calls. He expects the world to come to him. Why on earth would he be visiting you?” Annie asked.

  Before Isabella could answer, Hargrove strode into the room. He frowned at Annie. “Lady Richard, don’t you have other errands you should be running?”

  “You’ll never believe who wrote Isabella’s first recommendation.” Mark collapsed into a chair by the hearth and stared at Douglas.

  Without his asking, Douglas poured him a large glass of brandy and brought it over. “I must confess I couldn’t even begin to guess. The king himself?”

  “Almost as unlikely. My dear aunt, Lady Smythe-Burke. It was apparently glowing and spoke of Miss Smith’s fine character and respectability. It sounded as if they’d known each other for years.”

  “Perhaps they had. Your aunt does keep a wide variety of friends.”

  “But a nursery maid?”

  “You’ve said she started out as a companion. Perhaps Lady Smythe-Burke employed her?”

  “It seems unlikely. The only servants my aunt takes interest in are her handsome footmen. She’s always insisted she did not want a companion and she certainly has no need of a baby nurse or a governess.”

  “Perhaps Isabella worked for one of her friends. Surely some of them must have companions.”

  “It is possible, but then why not get a reference from her actual employer?”

  “You will have to ask your aunt.” Douglas poured himself a glass of the brandy.

  “I do intend to, but unfortunately she is out of London until the end of the week. I am undecided on whether to chase her down. I don’t want to arouse her curiosity. You know how she is.”

  “My brother’s wife is a lovely girl, but rather tiresome. Note how slow she was to realize the necessity of her departure.” Hargrove took Annie’s seat without waiting for an invitation.

  It had taken Annie a surprisingly long time to leave. She had clearly been trying to understand what purpose Hargrove could have in calling on Isabella. Isabella herself was baffled.

  “Perhaps she thought you were looking for her.”

  “Doubtful. I am never looking for her.” Hargrove stared at her hard. She felt like a butterfly, wings pinned to paper, unable to move. “Ring for some tea. I am quite parched.” He waved his hand, a strong male hand, the wrist surrounded in lace edged in palest mauve. A slow curl of dread formed in her stomach at the sight of it. “Though once I found where my sister-in-law had gone my course was clear. You do keep making it easy to find you.”

  He waved his hand again, the lace fluttering about it. Mauve lace.

  Mauve, that was a name they had never used to describe that awful bedroom.

  She didn’t know why she’d had the thought, not now when she was trying to understand why Hargrove was here.

  And then she knew. Her gaze moved up from that lace-edged arm to the Duke of Hargrove’s face. He was staring at her, his eyes harder than the diamond stone adorning his finger.

  Shock took her. She had been right. It had seemed an impossibility, but . . . She had not even been sure such things were real. And then—her chest loosened as if her corset had been unlaced, her lungs filled with air, blood rushed to her brain.

  She wished she could pull out the sheaf of papers and wave them in the air. She raised her eyes to Hargrove. Direct might be the best approach. “I believe I have something of yours.”

 
“Do you, now?”

  “Do you wish to pretend? If so, you should give up the purple lace. It is rather distinctive.”

  Hargrove laughed—harshly. “Do you know I hate lavender and mauve? I have tried to develop a taste for them, but I cannot, and now they bring only unpleasant memories.”

  “Then why . . . ?”

  “Because he liked to see me in them. Isn’t it strange? Lord William’s been dead years now and I still cannot break the habit. It was our special code and it has become part of me.”

  She had been right. “Is it all coincidence, then, my ending up with Strattington? It seems impossible that I should be with him when you were his cousin’s . . .”

  Hargrove did not look away. “Lover is I believe the word. No matter what society may think, it is the only one that fits. And yes, it is nothing but irony running amok. I find it quite unbelievable that you should end up with Strattington. I search for you high and low and when I find you it is with him. I would much have preferred you anywhere else. He is such an unworthy replacement to my sweet William, no taste, no refinement—and horrible political views. And then he installed you in our house, in our room. I could have killed him for that.” The look he gave Isabella made her believe him.

  “I can assure you neither of us knew. I imagined it was the old duke who kept the house, not his son.”

  “Originally it was, but the old man was such a stickler I am not sure he ever used the place.” Hargrove tapped a finger on the table. “He certainly never intended it for the use we put it to.”

  “And the bedroom, that was Lord William’s design?”

  “Hideous, isn’t it? I never understood his love of the color, but it was such an easy whim to give in to. It always made him quite amorous.”

  That was more than Isabella needed to know. “I still cannot quite believe it at all—and that I should come to stay with Annie, to place myself in your power, that seems almost too great a coincidence.”

  “I must agree. I was in quite the mood when my man said you had left Strattington and he was not sure where you had gone. You are quite the runner. Then I visit my brother and there you are, just waiting for me. And when you disappeared again—despite my warnings—I had only to wait for Annie to lead me to you.”

  “I was not trying to run. I had to come here to get what you required. I left the papers here, in my brother’s house, when I left.”

  “So you have them?”

  Isabella rose and walked to the writing desk. Did she just give him the letters, or did that leave her without defense? “I am still not sure how you knew I had the letters.”

  “I watched you take them. I have been waiting for your blackmail attempt for years—and preparing to do anything necessary to get them back.” His hand slipped into the pocket of his coat.

  Isabella felt the threat in his words and walked away from the desk. “You were there?”

  “I think I mentioned that when we met at Georgiana’s masquerade.”

  “I wasn’t sure that was you. Why did you not let me know you were there, at Foxworthy’s?”

  “I had come to kill the man. It did not seem like the time to renew acquaintances.”

  “You were going to kill Foxworthy?”

  “Damn you, yes. I had it all planned out. The man was going to suffer. And then you came and ruined everything.”

  “I didn’t mean to kill him—although it is hard to say I am sorry when I would do the same thing again.”

  “If only you could have stayed away. An accidental death was not enough, he deserved to suffer for what he did to William.”

  And suddenly even the few pieces of the puzzle that had not made sense slipped into place. “You stabbed him. I never understood why everyone thought he was stabbed when I knew that he slipped and hit the mantel.”

  Hargrove rose to his feet. “Yes, I bloody well stabbed him. I’d have done it a dozen times if I hadn’t heard voices. There was little enough satisfaction in it. I wanted to feel him squirm beneath my hand, but I’d have done worse if I could.”

  He was too near. Isabella could feel the menace leaking from him like mist off a bog. “But why?”

  He stepped even closer. “Do you know how my William died?”

  “No.” She hadn’t heard anything beyond that Mark had inherited after the death of both his cousin and his uncle.

  “He killed himself, and it was because of me—only it was Foxworthy who drove him to it.”

  “I am afraid I don’t understand.” Her back was against the wall. If he stepped any closer they would be touching.

  “Lord William and I were happy—or as happy as any two men could be in the circumstances. We knew that we could never be open, but we knew that once he inherited nobody would question us. Two dukes working together to improve the empire. If we met frequently it was only because we had so much to discuss. I was even going to marry that twit Georgiana to lend us respectability. The greatest problem we had was that blasted purple bedroom. He loved it and I felt trapped in a jar of plum jam.” He glanced down at his cuffs.

  She tried to step sideways. “I don’t see what Foxworthy has to do with any of this.”

  “As I am sure you are aware, Foxworthy was in the habit of collecting bits and pieces of information he thought might be useful. There was a certain measure I wanted to be sure passed in Lords and Wimberley was opposed. Blasted man is too damn persuasive. In any case, Foxworthy hinted that he had something that would keep Wimberley contained. I invited him to dinner to discuss the matter—only after he left did I discover he’d taken William’s letters with him. I should have destroyed them when I received them, but I did not. They were a little piece of him that I could keep with me. I could only be relieved that we had kept our identities secret. Even William had the sense not to sign a love letter between two men—still they could have been damaging. It clearly does not take a great intellect to figure them out.” Hargrove gave her a dismissing look.

  “And so Foxworthy blackmailed you?”

  “If only he had. No, he went after William. I don’t know how he knew who the letters were from, but he did. William should have come to me, but he did not. Instead he had a ‘hunting accident.’ He was afraid the old duke would hear. I didn’t know what had happened until Foxworthy came to me afterward, still seeking a prize. I should have killed him then.”

  Isabella tried to put it all together in her mind. It was such a tangle. How could simple feelings end in such tragedy? “So you blame yourself because Foxworthy found the letters at your home.”

  “I was careless. I will not be so careless again. Where are they?”

  It took great effort to keep her eyes from wandering to the desk. She didn’t know why she hesitated to give them to him, he certainly had a right to them. “I do not have them with me.”

  “You lie.”

  Her gaze shot up to his. She could feel his breath upon her cheek. “I don’t know why you would say that.”

  Hargrove reached out and grabbed her arm, painfully. “I am an expert on lies. I tell so many of them myself.”

  “That is not reason—”

  He cut her off. “Before, when you said you did not have the letters, you spoke the truth—but now—now it is different. You know just where they are. Give them to me.”

  “Let go of me.” She glanced down at his hand. “Then we will talk.”

  “I think you misunderstand the structure of power between us.” His fingers tightened further.

  “And what will happen if I do give them to you?”

  “Then there will be no need for us to ever speak again. You can run off to whatever bolt-hole you have in mind this time. I am sure you already know where you plan to run—probably to my sister-in-law. I don’t even care as long as you stay far from me. I will go on simply being Hargrove. That will be the end of it.”

  Why did she not feel convinced? “There will never be any mention of Foxworthy again?”

  “Why would there be?”

&
nbsp; He was lying. She didn’t know why she thought so, but she did. She could discern no reason for him to lie. What he said made sense, but . . . “I don’t know, but you make it all seem so easy.”

  “It is.”

  “A man died. That should never be easy.”

  “Two men died. Do not forget William.” His eyes lost their focus.

  “And you do not forgive me for that?” It made no sense. She had not known either man at the time.

  “I do not forgive you for killing Foxworthy.” His voice grew hard.

  “And you want me to pay for it?” She had already paid, lost years of her life, lost Mark. Would there still have been magic between them if they had met for the first time at a ball before the coronation? She rather thought so.

  Hargrove released her suddenly and stepped back. His body twitched with emotion. “Give me my letters. Give me something to remember him by.”

  Chapter 28

  His words moved her. With firm, decisive steps Isabella walked to the desk and opened the box. Lifting out a packet of papers tied with a satin ribbon, she turned and held it out to Hargrove.

  Hargrove grabbed it with unnecessary haste, paging through the letters quickly. “It looks like they are all here.”

  “I did not take any out. I do not know if I took them all at the beginning.”

  Hargrove skewered her with his gaze. “I would hope they are all here, if I were you.”

  “How quickly your tone changes now that you have what you want.” She should have been surprised, but she was not. “I am probably foolish to have given them all to you, but I will not play your game—your game and Foxworthy’s. You want to believe that you are different and yet you did everything you could to bend me to your will.”

  “I did only what was necessary.”

  “So we are done.” She tried to sound strong.

  “As long as you disappear again. I do not wish to see you and remember. If you do go with my sister-in-law, I suggest you stay in the country when she comes to Town.”