If I Were a Duke

by Eva Devon

  Without meeting his eyes, she inquired, “Is the pain very bad?”

  He studied her, desperate to find his way back to her. “It’s unpleasant but that isn’t what’s causing me distress.”

  “No?” she queried as if she had no idea what the cause could be.

  “No,” he intoned. He drew in a deep breath, knowing he was already going about this in a terrible way. “Can you please impart to me what happened?”

  “You fell on your way down from the glen.”

  He closed his eyes, praying for patience, praying for the right words. Something terrible had happened up in those hills to drive her back into her protective shell. “No, Wife. In the glen and then how frantic you were when you discovered me. You’re keeping something from me.”

  “We agreed we both had secrets.”

  “Not like this. Not when you’ve shut me out like a jailor.”

  She tensed.

  “Is this how you treat people who love you?” he asked softly, changing his tactic. “I’ll say it again. Stop acting like you’re a coward. You’re not a coward, Eleanor. Do you not know it? You’re just like Eleanor of Aquitaine. You’re a bloody queen, brave enough to ride into battle, and brave enough to survive anything. Brave enough to tell me whatever needs to be said.”

  She winced then glared at him. Her mouth opened as if to reply, but then she snapped it shut.

  “Eleanor, please,” he begged, ready to get on his knees if need be. For whatever it was, wasn’t just punishing her, it was hurting her. No one was allowed to hurt her, not even herself, if he had anything to with it. “You can trust me.”

  “I know you’re trustworthy, Ayr,” she said tightly, as regal as the queen he’d mentioned.

  “Then why the devil are you calling me Ayr?” he demanded quietly.

  Her chin lifted; that beautiful, defiant chin. “It’s for the best.”

  “Oh, is it?” He sighed. His own anger wouldn’t serve in this moment. It would only make it worse, of that he was certain. “Can you not confide in me what has caused your substantial retreat?”

  “I have not retreated but drawn new lines,” she informed him. “I always told you I was not affectionate and that I would not love you.”

  “So you did,” he admitted, hating it.

  “I think you should go back to London,” she said abruptly. “You’re very effective there and I already know how to manage Castle Ayr.”

  “You wish me to leave?” he asked, aghast.

  She nodded, emotionless.

  “And you will stay here? Without me?” he clarified. Even as he did so, he felt like a fool with his series of disbelieving questions. But he was stunned. He’d never considered she might attempt to get rid of him.

  “That is correct.”

  “Eleanor, I don’t understand. Have I not made you happy?”

  Her stoic face broke for an instant and, in that moment, he knew he had his chance to help her. To help them both. It was something deep and painful driving her.

  “Eleanor, perhaps you think you are incapable of love,” he began, hoping to breach his fear with tact. “But—”

  Her gaze snapped up to his then, hard and unrelenting. “I never said I could not love. I said I would not love you.”

  His words died. His hope began to wither like a candle guttering. How had it come to this? So abruptly? So cruelly?

  “I have been in love before,” she finally said, her fingers working in her lap. “His name was Captain James Farrel and I loved him very much.”

  The honesty of her words silenced him. She had been in love. So, it wasn’t that she had a wall around her heart to protect her from everyone. It was that she did not wish him to breach it.

  “We were to marry.” Her eyes turned glassy but she did not look away as she held his gaze without flinching. “He died. Honorably, in Spain.”

  The grief in her voice was irrefutable. A horrible sensation flooded him then. It wasn’t jealousy. Not of the dead man. But jealousy of her love which he now understood couldn’t be his. “You still love him then?”

  “I do,” she replied firmly.

  “I am so very sorry for your loss.” And he was. He could not imagine the pain of it, unless it was comparable to how he felt at this moment. For surely, he was losing her.

  “My God, Tony!” she suddenly burst. “Must you be so kind?”

  “Yes,” he said simply, nearing heartbreak. “I must. What else would you have me do? I’ve known loss, Eleanor. I’ve known the hell of it.”

  “Not like me,” she retorted.

  Her reply gave him pause. It would be so easy to argue. But what was the point? That’s not what she required. “Tell me about it then.”

  “I dunna deem that necessary.”

  “If you want me to leave, at least give me the solace of understanding fully, of knowing why I can never win you.”

  Her stoic face crumpled then, tears slipping down her face. “You werena supposed to be like this.”

  “Like what?” he asked, hating to see her pain.

  “Likable,” she bit out. “Lovable.”

  Lovable? She found him lovable? She wasn’t acting thus. God, it was terrible riding the waves of this complicated relationship. “Please, confide in me. I promise I won’t disappoint you.”

  With a cry, she stood. “Dunna you understand? You never do, Tony. You never disappoint me. Time and again, you show me your kind heart, your good soul. It is killing me.”

  “You wish me to be cruel?” he asked.

  “Indifferent,” she gritted. “I knew you’d be unlike what I hoped for in a husband. Not like an old man and his darling. But I thought you’d be a rake. A rake who kept his wife and his mistresses and who never gave love a second thought. But that is not who you are. You are a beautiful soul who wanted love from the first moment you saw me, despite my unkindness to you. Despite my proclamation that you’d never have my affection.”

  He was silent for a long moment. What could he say? Perhaps if he bared his soul, she might be free to bare hers. So, gathering his courage, he spoke slowly. “I loved my mother very much, as I’ve told you. She was a grand woman.” He swallowed. The words shouldn’t give him pain after all this time, but his throat tightened nonetheless. “But my father left her. She didn’t know she was with child when he went. He went off on his high sea adventures and never looked back. She tried not to show me that she longed for him. But she did. I never hated my father then because he’d given her some happiness and she and I had each other. But when she died, I was alone. Completely alone. I didn’t have a shilling in my pocket. I had no idea where to go or what to do. I was adrift.”

  She paled.

  “I knew hate then,” he said honestly, willing himself to imbue her with his heart. “I hated the Duke of Aston with every fiber of my being.”

  “What happened?” she asked, softer now.

  “I found him,” he replied, a wry smile pulling at his lips. “He knew, at once, I was his son. I look too much like him and my mother to deny it. We have the same mannerisms. Sometimes, it’s uncanny.”

  “I’ve seen it,” she replied.

  He nodded. “I wanted to kill him at first. I took work on his ship and, sometimes, I’d dream about it. Killing him. Or making him suffer as I had done. But then. . . I began to know him. And I could not stop myself from loving my own father. For his big heart, his willingness to acknowledge his mistakes, and the way he always stood for those in need. And you’re quite right. I’ve always been determined to have love. I saw the love between my father and his wife. What fool wouldn’t want that? You’ve had it, too. I am so very sorry that you’ve lost it. But do you not think, in time—”

  “Tony, I will not risk you,” she said so quietly, so intensely, her words were like a whip in the room.

  “Risk me?” he echoed.

  “Everyone I have ever loved is dead,” she bit out. “Do you understand? Dead. My parents died one winter’s night. Gone. Burned out by a fe
ver. They left me with a wound in my heart that I thought would never heal. People told me it would. They lied. Then I met James. And I felt hope for the first time in my whole life. I could have love. But then he. . .”

  “Died,” he finished, his heart breaking for her. Breaking for the madness of her inevitable conclusions. “Eleanor, do you think if you love me, I will die?”

  She crossed to the fire and focused on the flames. Her white knuckles gleamed like marble as she gripped the mantel.

  “That’s it,” he breathed. “You believe if you love me, or if I love you, I will die.”

  It took her several moments before she turned and gave a nod.

  Cursing his damned ankle, he forced himself to stand and make his way towards her. Carefully, he cupped her chin in his hand. He knew what he had to say. And she might hate him. Hate him forever.

  She flinched. But there was so much desolation in her gaze, he did not pull back.

  “I must tell you something now,” he said, bracing himself for the hardness of it.

  She licked her lips, her pain palpable, her fear coating her. “Yes?”

  “You’re right,” he said clearly.

  “What?” she gasped.

  “You are right,” he said slowly. Firmly. “If you love me, I will die.”

  She drew in a shuddering breath and tears began to spill down her cheeks. “You understand then?”

  How he longed to take her pain away, to soothe her, but he had to finish this. “I will never understand the depths of your pain, but I sympathize with it.”

  “Then you see why we must remain distant,” she rushed. “Why we canna—”

  “I’m not done yet.” He cradled her face then, wishing he could pull her towards him and hold the girl who had been so wounded. But he couldn’t. Not yet.

  He forced himself to remain true to his course. To say what he must. “If you love me, I will die. But Eleanor, if you don’t, I will die anyway.”

  She shook her head. “What are you saying?”

  “Darling Eleanor,” he whispered, taking her face in both his hands, willing her to understand him, to open her eyes past the barricade she’d erected to protect herself. “My heart. Perhaps, I will slip on the stairs tonight. Perhaps, I will perish of a fever next year. Perhaps, I’ll be stabbed in an alley in London. Perhaps.” He drew in a slow breath and caressed her cheek. “Or perhaps, I will die an old man, in my bed holding your hand. I pray to God, the last is true. But that will be entirely up to you. We can never know the time we will have together, to love each other. But I promise you, if we part now, if we live as you suggest, we will both suffer. And we both will die alone, unloved with no one there to hold us in the end. Let me hold you through this life, Eleanor. Let me be there for you until the end, because it is too late for me. I love you. I only hope that you can love me, too.”

  Gently, passionately, he kissed her then, knowing this might be the last chance, the last chance to kiss her with all his heart.

  He swallowed her up in his arms, holding her rigid form. He prayed with every breath in his body that she would let go of the pain and find a new future with him, despite the fear.

  Her mouth softened under his and he gave to her. He gave her all his love and hope in one kiss, determined to brand her with his love, hoping it would keep her with him.

  When he lifted his head, tears had slipped down her cheeks.

  Stepping back, he knew there was really only one thing left to do. “I’ll go to London,” he said hollowly. “Since it is your wish.”

  He waited. Waited for her to stop him. But she did not.

  As he walked from the room, he heard the death knell to his hopes. She whispered out, “Tony, I’m so sorry.”

  He was sorry, too. So very, very sorry.

  Chapter 23

  “Tony!”

  “Sod off, Da.”

  The Duke of Aston stopped in the large receiving hall, arms outstretched in his traveling cloak, his big befeathered hat fluttering.

  “Tony?” he called, a poignant note in his voice.

  “Unless you wish to drink with me, leave off,” Tony denounced, unable to hide his pain. “Besides, we’re headed to London at first light.”

  “But Ros and I just arrived,” his da said, disbelieving. “To see how you’re getting on.”

  Tony gave his father a single look and the bombastic air so natural to his father faded. “Son, I apologize.”

  “You bloody well should.”

  “Come on then.” Aston took Tony by the shoulder. “Let’s find a bottle.”

  Tony clamped his mouth shut, unwilling to speak of it just yet.

  “Where’s the wife?” his da asked, his whole demeanor serious.

  “In the library,” Tony replied, his voice wooden.

  “Ah. I’ll just fetch our drinks then.”

  Tony grabbed his father’s arm. “It won’t work, Da. Your matchmaking has finally failed. With me.”

  His father merely nodded. “Where shall I meet you?”

  “On the ramparts. I’m going to throw myself off,” he drawled.

  His father gaped at him.

  Tony rolled his eyes. “Come on, Da. You know I’m not one for self-slaughter.

  “Well, you don’t look particularly lively just now.”

  “A loveless marriage will do that, Your Grace.” Tony headed towards the winding stairs, as best as he was able. He was not quite willing to bear his father’s kindness or sympathy just now. In fact, he needed to be alone. To decide what the devil he was going to do now.

  *

  Eleanor sat in the spot Tony had just occupied, her face in her hands, her heart aching more than it ever had. How had this occurred? She’d tried to protect him. To protect herself. But now, she felt raw, broken.

  “Hello, my dear. Where’s the brandy?”

  She shot to her feet at the sound of that unmistakable voice, desperate to hide the depths of her despair. “Your Grace!”

  He shook his head. “No more Your Gracing me. You may call me Da, or Father, or interfering fool. Whatever suits you.”

  As he strode to the grog table, somehow knowing where it would be, she gaped at the man who did not seem to hate her. He must have seen Tony just now. The two were so close. Surely, he’d surmised the breadth of his son’s suffering.

  “Why are you being so kind to me?” she asked. “Surely, you just saw your son.”

  “Oh, I did. I did.” Aston nodded. “He looks like the devil.”

  She looked away.

  “As do you, my dear. But you’re my daughter, too. And I shan’t leave a broken heart untended.”

  “What makes you say my heart is broken?” she asked, bleakly.

  He gave her an arched look. “Now, you can lie to Tony if you like. He’s an honest lad. You could probably tell him you danced for the devil in the moonlight and, because he adores you and wants to do whatever he can for you, he’d believe you. I’m a wily old sod. So, you can’t fool me the same way. I’m also not in love with you and so I am not blind to things.”

  “I havena lied to him,” she protested, twisting her hands.

  “Oh?” Aston uncorked the decanter. “He seems to think you cannot love him.”

  She winced. “I have given him that impression.”

  He pinned her with an assessing stare.

  “I told him I’d hold no affection for him,” she confessed. “Even before we were married.”

  “Ever hopeful, my son,” Aston sighed. “That’s his mother’s doing. Bless her for it.”

  “I’ve ruined that,” she lamented, knowing she’d never be able to forgive herself.

  “I don’t think so,” Aston countered, though there was no cheer to his words. “You’ve a great deal of power, but I don’t think even the woman he loves can crush my son. He’s stronger than that. You are, too.”

  She dropped her gaze to her feet, feeling more pain than she could ever recall feeling. More disappointment. In herself. “You dunna know
me.”

  “Don’t I?” he queried.

  “No. How can you?”

  “You see, Eleanor,” he said pouring out two stiff brandies, his lace cuffs dancing about his strong hands. “I have a specific gift. I see people. Not their exteriors. But them. Their hearts. Their souls. Their intents. It’s a curse sometimes. But you. I saw you some time ago, and something deep within me said, she’s the one for Tony.”

  “That’s absurd,” she replied. And yet, she found herself wondering if it were true, he was so strange.

  “It is, isn’t it?” Aston gave her a dark smile. “But it’s the truth. I watched you when you first came to London. You intrigued me with your spine of steel and cold reserve. I saw your strength and resoluteness in the face of hardship. And I also saw that you’d known pain, just like my son. I knew you’d understand each other. But it seems you prefer pain to love.”

  She sucked in a breath at the terrible accusation. “That’s not true—”

  “Then why the devil is my son making quips about throwing himself off the ramparts?” Aston demanded.

  Her eyes flared. “He would never do that.”

  “You’re right, of course. Tony loves life too much to cast it all away.” Aston cocked his head to the side. “Are you going to do that? Cast it all away?”

  “I thought you’d wish me to protect him?” she breathed.

  “From what? Pain?” A deep rolling laugh came from the Duke of Aston just then. “Dear girl, whatever fool told you that life isn’t a daily escapade in pain did you great disservice.”

  The duke thrust a glass in her hand. “Drink that.”

  She gazed stupidly at the glass for a moment as she listened. But then she did as the duke bid, eager to feel the burn.

  “Life is a struggle,” Aston continued, swirling his brandy. “It’s a storm. We’re all in it, naked as the day we were born. But you’ve been thrown an anchor. Now, the question is, will you continue to twist in the wind or will you take it?”

  “Surely, not everyone has so much pain in their lives?” she asked, barely able to breathe with her own suffering.

  “No,” he agreed. “Some barely suffer at all. There’s little sense to it. But for some of us special few. . . Well, we learn to accept the suffering and find the joy.”