The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  He frowned.

  ‘Or ineligible ladies, if that’s what you prefer,’ she quickly added.

  His frown deepened.

  ‘Don’t try to tell me you weren’t a rake before the war? No woman would have been able to resist a face like yours.’ She laughed. ‘Mark my words, Calum Callaghan. There’s nothing so appealing to woman than a rake with sad eyes. Especially an exceptionally wealthy rake with sad eyes and a ducal estate.’

  ‘I don’t have sad eyes.’ He clambered to his feet, feeling much older than his thirty-three years.

  ‘Not right now you don’t,’ she conceded, leaning forward the better to see. ‘In fact, you’re looking more than half peevish.’

  ‘And it’s entirely your fault.’ Incorrigible woman! It wasn’t his life they were supposed to be meddling with. ‘I don’t want women of any eligibility chasing me, thank you very much.’ None but the one seated before him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  His Grace, the Duke of Woodhal, to wed the Honourable Miss Ellen Burney, eldest daughter of the late Baron of Blackford. The soon-to-be duchess appears to be even more of a recluse than her bridegroom. Rumour has it, she’s to make her first public appearance at the Theatre Royal this coming Tuesday. She hasn’t even yet been introduced at the drawing room of St James. Let us hope news of the duke’s scandalous past reached whichever corner of the English countryside this innocent rose has been hiding in.

  — The Ladies’ Gazette

  ‘Chin up, dearest. An evening at the theatre won’t kill you.’ Lady F tapped the underside of Cal’s chin as she spoke. ‘It was your idea, after all.’

  ‘Don’t remind me.’ He crossed his arms. With four of them in the hired carriage, space was scarce, particularly for his long legs. Ellie was sitting across from him, and it was all he could do to keep their knees from touching.

  The last few days had been filled with preparations for their fancy-dress engagement ball. Invitations had been sent out that very morning. His grandmother had devised the guest list, including His Royal Highness, the Prince Regent himself. Then this afternoon had been consumed with preparations for their evening at the theatre. Who’d have thought being social took so much work! They’d all been rushing around the house with last-minute dress fittings and the procurement of shoeroses, hairpins, boot polish and other such ‘necessities’. He’d hated every single second.

  Now, trapped in the carriage, Cal’s eyes once again seemed to have a mind of their own. And they were firmly set upon Ellie. No matter how many times he turned his head, they always drifted back to her. She was looking positively virginal in a new muslin gown of softest pink, almost the same colour as her skin. Instead of washing her out, the gown made her dark hair and eyes shine all the brighter.

  For just a little while, the world would wonder how scarred, damaged Calum Callaghan had managed to capture such a stunning lass. Then Geoffrey would leave London, and Ellie would break the engagement, and the world would quickly realise it was his heart that had been caught, not hers.

  The carriage jostled to the side, and Owen practically tumbled into Cal’s lap. Scowling, he pushed his cousin away.

  ‘Careful!’ Owen scolded. ‘I’ll have you know my waistcoat is new.’

  ‘Don’t mind him. You look positively modish, Mr Tattershall,’ Ellie assured Owen with a warm smile. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a waistcoat as yours.’

  ‘Modish’ was certainly one word to describe his cousin’s appearance. Tonight he was sporting not only a pineapple-coloured waistcoat so bright it actually hurt Cal’s eyes whenever he looked directly at it but a black opera hat—a crescent-shaped hat that was designed to be flattened and carried under the arm rather than actually worn on the head. Though apparently common sense alone wasn’t enough to dissuade Owen from wearing his opera hat and almost poking everyone in the eye each time he turned his head in the cramped carriage.

  ‘Yes,’ Lady F agreed with Ellie. ‘You’re sure to draw the eye. Which is more than I can say for you.’ She gave Cal’s new monochrome ensemble a dark look. ‘A little colour won’t kill you.’

  ‘These clothes are the height of fashion.’ He tugged at his starched cravat, procured especially for this evening. Following the illustrated instructions in a fashion pamphlet Owen had lent him, he’d finally managed to tie the ornate Waterfall knot rather than his usual Oriental. And it was devilish uncomfortable.

  ‘Fashionable, yes. Adventurous, no,’ muttered Owen, cleaning his immaculate spectacles on a crimson handkerchief.

  ‘At least the audience will be able to tell me apart from the actors,’ retorted Cal. He was unfairly taking out his feelings on his cousin, but anything was better than contemplating jumping from the speeding carriage and scuttling back home again.

  ‘Of all the nerve—’ Owen spluttered.

  Cal allowed his eyes another quick glance in Ellie’s direction. Her hair had been pinned into an elaborate bun with curls framing her face and tickling the back of her neck. He wanted nothing more than a few moments alone with her in the carriage. He wanted her to crumple his perfect cravat and rumple his styled hair. He wanted her to kiss him until his lips were deliciously red and swollen.

  ‘I really don’t understand why the two of you won’t just be married for real,’ said Lady F, catching the direction of his gaze. ‘He’s not such a bad catch, you know, gel. He still has all his teeth, and it’s not like you pay much attention to his temper. You could easily—’

  ‘We’re here.’ Cal threw open the carriage door and jumped down before the footman could lower the steps. As soon as the steps were lowed, he offered his arm, helping the ladies down. Ellie followed his grandmother, but when she started to remove her hand from his, he tugged her closer. Purely for show. Not at all because he wanted her near.

  Owen jumped down last, waving their box tickets and leading the way into the theatre. The building itself was new, at least new to him. The old one had burned down or fallen down or something. He couldn’t quite remember—or care.

  They were relatively early but still a crowd had gathered in the entrance foyer. A hush fell and the crowd eyed his family warily. Cal faltered, but Lady F raised an arm to wave at a friend—if any of these coxcombs could be called friends—and dived into the crowd, apparently at ease. Owen followed suit.

  ‘They’re not going to eat us,’ Ellie muttered. ‘At least I don’t think they are.’ She tugged on his arm, pulling him forward also.

  The crowd parted like the Red Sea. Nobody gave him the cut direct, which was an improvement on the last time he’d been in Society four years ago, but they didn’t exactly acknowledge him either. Sideways glances and mutterings behind fans and hands were his only greetings.

  To Ellie’s credit she neither abandoned him to his fate nor seemed to take any notice of their mutterings. In fact, if it weren’t for her arm, his wounded knee probably would have given way under the weight of all the judgemental backstabbing.

  Slowly, they made their way to their seats. The hired box provided them with an excellent view of the stage—which was a shame because Cal had never been much of a Shakespeare fan, particularly not miserable Romeo and Juliet—and an even better view of the crowd in the pit below. He and Ellie took the front seats; Lady Faye and Owen sat behind them.

  Unfortunately, or was that supposed to be fortunately, everyone had a perfect view of them also. Even the dandies in the pit below turned around to stare up at them.

  He wiped his sweaty palms down his thighs. Damnable crowds. All the pushing and shoving, the not being able to see what everyone was doing, the threat of unknown danger—it all brought up too many old memories of being back on ship, cramped onto the deck with seven hundred other men, all waiting for the enemy’s next attack.

  Excitement and expectation hung in the air like a heavy fog.

  After all these years of self-imposed isolation, why the hell was he subjecting himself to this torment again?

  Ellie. He turn
ed his head to look at her. His love.

  His fake fiancée.

  ***

  Just looking at the back of Cal’s head, Lizzy could tell he wasn’t happy. Not even close. His shoulders were tense and he kept running his hands through his hair in a way that made her sure he was trying very hard not to touch his scars.

  The players took up their positions on the stage, but Lizzy barely spared them a second glance. She’d seen Romeo and Juliet too many times for it to be of particular interest. And judging by the chatter coming from the rest of the audience, they weren’t paying the stage much attention either. Tonight, the cloistered Duke of Woodhal and his intended bride were the centre of everyone’s focus.

  Cal shifted in his seat, his long legs cramped against the front of the box.

  He’s always been handsome, even as a child. Both he and Pierce. Although it had been impossible to find two half-brothers so completely different in appearance. Still, it was a shame Cal didn’t look a little more like his father, if only to stop everyone speculating.

  Lizzy hadn’t doubted Finella for one heartbeat. She’d known Cal’s mother in passing, mainly by reputation, but she’d come from a good family and there was no reason for her to have lied about the identity of Cal’s father. Her own family had been almost as wealthy as Hammond.

  What if she did lie? asked the rebellious voice at the back of her mind, the one she never heeded. Well, she told that voice sternly, I’d love him all the same. He was her grandson, regardless of blood—or the lack of blood as it was. Just as Owen was her adopted son even though the law didn’t recognise him as such.

  Almost as though Cal could sense her watching him, he twisted in his seat to look at her. Lizzy smiled innocently, completely ignoring his suspicious look. She wasn’t always up to something, for goodness sake.

  And even if she were, Cal would never be able to prove it. She was an excellent secret keeper.

  Evidently content with what he saw, he shifted back around to face the front. Lizzy gave herself a mental pat on the back. Nobody could outsmart Elizabeth Debelle! Even if she did say so herself—or think so herself…?

  Cal might be a duke now, but she was still the matriarch of this family—of the Callaghan and the Debelles and the adopted Tattershalls alike. Her stomach sank with the thought. Three families combined into one and there were only four of them left in all the world. And Grace wasn’t talking to her.

  So much death. So much loss.

  So much heartbreak.

  Ellen leaned fractionally closer to Cal and whispered in his ear even as an over-eager Romeo exclaimed: ‘She speaks, O, speak again, bright angel!’

  A thrill of excitement ran through Lizzy. Four family members plus the two Burney gels. Six was a nice number. A much nicer number than measly, lonely four. Her family was slowly but surely growing.

  Yes, one could argue that technically Cal and Ellen weren’t engaged. But that could be easily fixed with the gentle administrations of Grandmother Lizzy.

  Why, if the two of them weren’t married by Michaelmas, she’d… She looked around the box for an adequate punishment and caught sight of Owen’s cocked hat on the chair by his other side. He’d been loath to part with it when the theatre attendants had collected everyone’s outerwear. If Cal and Ellen weren’t really, truly married by Michaelmas, she’d eat Owen’s beloved hat.

  If anyone deserved a happy, loving family it was little Gwen. That poor gel. She’d called out in her sleep last night. Lizzy had heard the yelling through the wall that separated her room from Ellen’s, Ellen having insisted Gwen sleep with her.

  Lizzy ground her teeth. How many nights had Ellen laid awake, guarding the youngest Burney child from the ill temper of her brother? He was a bully if ever she’d seen one. An insufferable blustering hardhead!

  Even now, dear Maggie was back at Roseworthy, minding Gwen, trying to keep the nightmares at bay.

  ‘What are you planning? You’re huffing and puffing on the back of my neck.’ Cal hissed, again looking at her over his shoulder again.

  ‘Nothing.’ Lizzy feigned innocence, quickly moderating her breathing.

  Ellen was also watching her suspiciously.

  ‘Why don’t I believe you?’

  ‘Because you’re a deeply distrustful young man.’ And she tapped his cheek lightly with her closed fan so the two of them would turn back to the front.

  There’d be no point having come to the theatre if Cal and Ellen spent the whole night staring over their shoulders, their faces turned away from the eyes of their gobsmacked audience. And then Ellen touched a hand to Cal’s cheek, looking like a woman in love, and the audience gave one collective sigh.

  From her stage balcony, Juliet pressed her hand to her heart: ‘If that thy bent of love be honourable, Thy purpose marriage, send me word tomorrow.’

  Ha! Owen’s cocked hat couldn’t have been safer. Wedding bells would be ringing before too long, even if she had to procure the special licence herself!

  ***

  Two minutes earlier

  A lifetime would never acclimate Ellen to the heat of the Herculean man seat beside her. It seeped through the delicate crepe of her new evening gown despite the inches of space between their plush seats, a welcome contrast to the cool stares of the audience. She rubbed at the back of her neck and then didn’t know what to do with her arms. Resting her hands in her lap seemed too meek an action when so much was at stake.

  She trained her gaze on the ardent lovers currently gracing the stage, but the actors could barely be heard over the jostling of the crowd. People were pointing. People were whispering. People were not bothering in the slightest to keep their fascination with the duke a secret.

  By now all of London must be alight with the news of Calum’s sudden engagement. Surely all of London was in the pit below, pointing up at them. And there was no way of knowing if Geoffrey had started gossiping about Gwen’s illegitimacy.

  She let out a shaking breath. Gwen was worth every single second of pain she’d suffered these last two years.

  Calum shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Although the box itself was generous in size, he always seemed too large for any enclosed space. And it didn’t help that Lady Faye was muttering excitedly under her breath behind them. What was she even saying?

  She watched Calum from the corner of her eye. The candelabras overhead sent flickering light directly over his face. There was a tightness to his jaw that suggested he was having a hard time keeping control of his rising anger. And then suddenly his gaze snapped down to the crowd as though daring anyone to call out in mockery.

  A hush rippled through the theatre. Everyone below was holding their breath, waiting for a glimpse of Crazy Calum.

  ‘Look at me.’ She moved to the edge of her chair, desperate to close the gap between them. He was putting himself through this torture for her and Gwen.

  ‘Calum,’ she hissed, tugging on his arm. ‘Love, look at me.’

  Finally, with what seemed to be a monumental effort, he wrenched his gaze from the crowd, turning his dark, stormy eyes to her face.

  ‘They don’t know you. Not like your family does. Not like I do.’ And she raised a hand to his scarred cheek, claiming the wickedly handsome man sitting before her as her own for all to see.

  A flash of surprise crossed his face, as though he’d forgotten she was seated beside him. It was quickly replaced by something much darker and more possessive. He turned in his seat, his whole body facing her, her hand still on his cheek. ‘I think the crowd’s had its fill. Let’s get out of here, bonnie lass.’

  Chapter Twenty

  Calum’s gaze burned its way down her body. His legs were stretched out before him and even in the dim light it was clear he was enjoying the freedom of a partially empty carriage.

  A knowing smirk played over his mouth, and wariness stole over Ellen. She’d seen that look before—back in the library when he’d seduced her, when he’d persuaded her to throw caution to the wind if only for
a couple of minutes. Back then, he’d had a hand up her skirt and that same glint in his eyes.

  ‘You’re staring.’ She kept her voice steady even as her heart started dancing an enthusiastic quadrille in anticipation.

  ‘After everything, I declare tonight a raging success.’

  ‘Oh, you do?’ She grinned despite herself. ‘And did you enjoy yourself, Your Grace?’

  ‘Immensely so.’

  ‘Ha!’ A very unladylike laugh escaped her mouth. He couldn’t have been more obviously lying if he’d been standing on his head and telling her he had his feet on the ground.

  His mouth slipped into something more serious but equally dangerous. ‘I thought I asked ye not to call me that.’

  ‘Oh?’ she pretended innocence. ‘I’m not sure I remember…’

  He slipped off his seat and moved onto hers. One of his large legs pressed along the length of her leg and his arm bumped gently against her shoulder with each small jilt of the well-sprung carriage.

  The look he bestowed upon her this time was something hotter, something filled with promise. Vibrant, happy Calum had come out to play once more. Oh lordy. She should not have teased him. She should not have tempted fate.

  ‘You’re just delighted we left the theatre early.’

  ‘And that Owen has to stay until the end.’

  She laughed. ‘Well, someone has to keep your grandmother company since we ran out without her. It will probably cause a scandal you know, and after all our hard work.’ Guilt twinged.

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no act more chivalrous than a besotted fiancé escorting his soon-to-be bride home when she was suddenly struck down with a headache.’ He chuckled, a sound she’d never thought to hear him make, and relaxed back into the padded seat. ‘I imagine all the gentlemen are wildly envious of me right now.’