The Unworthy Duke

by Charlotte Anne

  Oh, she loved being in control. She loved the freedom and the daring of it. Her hands reached for something to grasp, her fingers frantic, and she leaned forward to fist her hands in the dark, luxurious bedsheets. Her nipples rubbed against Calum’s chest, and his cock hit a spot inside her that had her gasping.

  Pleasure speared through her body, and Calum wrapped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her down for another kiss. He swallowed her cries as her internal muscles convulsed around him.

  A second later, Calum grasped her by the hips and lifted her off him. As he tensed, his own release washed over him, and it was Ellie’s kisses muffling his cries and her hand holding his convulsing cock.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Ellen jerked awake. She was spreadeagled over Calum’s bare chest, his shoulder her pillow. Something had woken her. A noise?

  ‘What was that?’ Calum sat up, an arm about her waist, bringing her up with him. His hair was decidedly rumpled, and she instantly wanted to run her fingers through his short locks.

  She blinked sleep from her eyes. ‘It sounded like one of the downstairs windows.’

  ‘Ye stay here. I’ll go.’ He kissed her cheek, barely pausing long enough to grab his dressing gown.

  Ellen groped down by the side of his bed for her dress. She’d hardly pulled it over her head before she was hurrying to follow. She paused for a second by her own chamber, checking on Gwen, but her daughter was fast asleep in Ellen’s own bed, Maggie devotedly sleeping on a trundle beside her. Neither of them had been woken by the crash.

  Maybe what they’d heard had just been Lady Faye returning home with Owen. But when she poked her head into the dowager’s room, the first thing she noticed were the soft snores of Lady Faye and Tzar. And, of course, Owen was no longer staying here now Calum was back.

  Satisfied her family was safe, she slipped down the stairs, searching for Calum.

  It was later than she’d first realised, well after midnight. All the servants had retired for the night, leaving the house almost impossibly quiet. She found Calum in the drawing room, silhouetted against the dying fire. One of the windows was open, letting in a cold wind that stirred the curtains and pulled at the folds of Calum’s dressing gown.

  He held out his arm, waylaying her progress further into the room. ‘Careful. There’s broken glass.’ And he gestured at the remains of the armorial window. Sharp pieces of stained glass littered the floor, heraldic blues and yellows shining dully in the light of the embers.

  In their haste, neither of them had grabbed shoes.

  ‘Was it the wind?’ she asked even as cold started creeping its way into her veins.

  ‘Nay.’ He bent down to pick up something from the worn rug. It was a large rock wrapped in an old sheet of newsprint. ‘Very original,’ he grumbled.

  Moving carefully to the fire, he smoothed the page open. The newspaper was dated several days ago. Someone had circled their engagement notice, and scrawled a handwritten note underneath. They pressed their heads together to read Geoffrey’s message.

  Did you really think it would be so easy?

  ***

  Last night the Honourable Miss Ellen Burney, future Duchess of Woodhal, was seen at the theatre accompanied by the Dowager Marchioness of Faye, Mr Owen Tattershall and the elusive duke himself. She wore a simple pale gown trimmed with pink silk. But it was her long sleeves that caught the eye of many a keen observer. Word is, they shall be all the fashion by the morrow.

  — The Daily Tatler

  Is this is beginning of the end of the duke’s self-imposed exile? Perhaps a wife is just what he needs to set him on the straight and narrow.

  — The Ladies Gazette

  The axe sank into the wall with a satisfyingly loud thwack. Pieces of plaster littered the floor around Cal’s feet and a cloud of white dust bloomed into the air, catching the sunlight.

  So, Geoffrey wasn’t easily deterred. It hardly signified. After their exclusive engagement ball, Ellie would be nestled within the deep folds of Society’s skirts and no respectable person would be caught listening to any rumour Geoffrey tried to spread about her for fear of incurring the cut direct from his peers. In the face of that, not even the most steadfast of men could possibly continue this fiddle-faddle attempt to punish Ellie for whatever crimes their deluded minds had conjured up.

  He let out a shuddering breath. Ellie’s essence was rooted so deep beneath his skin every inch of his body remembered the feel of her against him. And last night he’d told her as much. With actual words. Like some goddamn normal functioning person.

  Aye, she hadn’t responded in kind. But he hadn’t really expected her to. It was Ellie, after all. She needed space. She needed time. She needed to know she was in control of the situation.

  Last night it had just been important that he be honest with himself and with her. And it was even more important that she realise how loved she was.

  He chuckled. Who knew he’d ever be the romantic one in the relationship? Hell, when had he become the settling-down type?

  The moment I met Ellie, of course.

  He pulled back for a second swing, hoisting the axe over his shoulder and really throwing his weight behind it. Another bang, another hole, more flying plaster.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Cal jumped. Ellie stood in the doorway to the ballroom, hands on hips. She wore another of her old, faded gowns. Her hair was a tangle of curls around her shoulders. She’d obviously recently woken.

  What a stunning sight. If only she’d woken in his bed, instead of returning to her own after the mess of the broken window.

  ‘It’s barely six in the morning,’ she scolded lightly. ‘You’ll wake the whole house.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He couldn’t help but grin, and she smiled in return, flashing pearl-white teeth at him. Her lips were still red and a little swollen. The only evidence of last night. Hell, he wanted to shout it from the roof for all the world to hear.

  I love Ellen Burney.

  He leaned the axe against the half-destroyed wall and strode forward, fully intending to pull her in for another kiss, but then he noticed large eyes watching him from somewhere down near Ellie’s waist. ‘Uh-oh. I didn’t mean to wake you too, wee one.’

  Gwen didn’t smile, but she didn’t turn her face away from him either. And she was still holding the paper bag from yesterday, which was now looking a rather worse for wear. He brushed a finger lightly down one of her baby-smooth cheeks, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. ‘Did ye finish your honeycomb last night?’

  She nodded, slipping her thumb into her mouth.

  ‘And now there are sticky crumbs in our bed.’ Ellie nodded to the wall behind him, the one that cut the ballroom in half. ‘You know the builders will be arriving this morning. You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘It just felt right that I be the one to take it down—at least part of it.’ After all, the whole reason Grace had commissioned the dividing walls in the first place was him. It was only years later that Cal had stumbled across his father’s old receipts—evidence of the bribes he’d paid to ensure the builders kept their silence. He couldn’t imagine what Hammond must have paid the servants over the years to keep the secret. To this day, all the wider world knew of the changes was that the house now had two front doors.

  That was all about to change in just three days’ time, when the house would be awash with London’s brightest and wealthiest to celebrate his and Ellie’s fake engagement.

  ‘I see.’ She stepped forward and pressed a light kiss to his scarred cheek. ‘Good morning.’ A whisper. Another shared smile.

  ‘Good morning.’ Excellent morning. The best of all mornings. ‘Did ye want to help me?’

  Her eyes widened. ‘Is it dangerous?’

  ‘It’s just laths and plaster. The wall isn’t even strong enough to hold up a painting. Ye just—’

  Even before he’d finished his sentence, Ellie rushed the wall
, kicking it. With a loud crack, her petite boot smashed a hole.

  ‘Woo!’ She hopped backwards until her foot came free, her eyes flashing with excitement. ‘I’ve never broken anything on purpose before.’ And she set to work with that same dedication she applied to all her tasks.

  He shrugged off his jacket, using his hands to tear at the broken plaster. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gwen, still tangled in her mother’s skirts, kicking her own small hole with the toe of her tiny boot until the entire room was filled with the glorious sounds of destruction.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  One week later

  Once again Cal’s house had descended into chaos. He sped up, limping towards the sanctuary of his bedchamber. The servants were like spinning tops, rushing around all over the place, putting together the last-minute touches for tonight’s engagement ball.

  They’d had to hire most of the ballroom furniture, including chaperone chairs and long tables for the buffet. The larger pieces were this minute being taken apart and reassembled upstairs thanks to the too-narrow passageways. For that task, Lady F had hired a whole battalion of labourers, who were traipsing up and down the stairs in shoes that might well have been made from steel for all the noise they were making.

  Cal quickly shut the door behind him, resting his forehead on the cool wood. But even in here he could hear the shrill voice of his grandmother, who was barking out orders like Nelson himself, and Tzar, who was just barking. Cal’s head was beginning to ache. He needed to stuff his ears with cotton. Hell, he needed a drink.

  He limped towards his bed, stopping short. Someone had laid out his costume for tonight, and he instantly wished he’d hidden behind the rosebush in the back garden instead. There was no way he was wearing that.

  A pox on Geoffrey!

  And a pox on that daft barking dog. Why wouldn’t he shut up? It was wholly unlike Tzar to make such a racket. He was usually so mellow, even more now he was deaf.

  Grinding his teeth, Cal headed back downstairs. Tzar probably enjoyed having strangers in the house as much as Cal did and needed recusing.

  Also much like I do.

  ‘Vouchers to Almack’s already.’ Lady F practically purred with delight when he stuck his head into the ballroom. ‘And to think you and Ellen didn’t even to stay until the end of Act II.’ She waved him closer.

  ‘You’ve had an open invitation for Almack’s since the day it opened,’ Cal reminded her, crossing the room and narrowly side-stepping a pair of labourers hurrying back towards the stairs.

  ‘Calum! Haven’t you been taught never to make reference to a lady’s age?’ She gave his arm a scolding tap. ‘Lady Jersey was practically begging me to bring Ellen along. She even asked after you.’

  ‘Did she?’ He didn’t even attempt to keep the dry sarcasm from his voice. He couldn’t care less who or what Lady Jersey asked after.

  ‘Don’t you see? They simply love Ellen. She’s their queen bee after one appearance.’

  ‘That might be a bit of an exaggeration. But, yes, everything is going to plan,’ he conceded, sounding rather ungracious even to his own ears.

  ‘My plan.’ She puffed out her chest. ‘Didn’t I tell you this would work?’

  ‘Yes. Do you know what Ellen intends to do after all this is over?’

  Lady F shrugged. ‘I’m not a crystal ball. She and Gwen are very welcome to stay with me for as long as they wish.’

  ‘But you’ll return to Faye Park at the end of the Season. Has she said anything—’

  ‘Pish posh. Why all the questions? Ellen is a grown woman and perfectly capable of deciding her future all on her own.’

  ‘I know but—’

  ‘But nothing. You’re just nervous,’ she said dismissively. ‘Nerves always make you grumpy.’

  He most certainly wasn’t nervous. He was… What was the word for a combination of defensive, contemptuous and bitter? Bedevilled perhaps? On that note: ‘There’s nothing you can do that will convince me to wear the costume you’ve picked out.’

  But he’d already lost her attention. Lady F had returned to scribbling notes in the margin of a book entitled A Companion to the Ballroom with a small graphite pencil. That certainly wasn’t a book from his father’s library.

  On the other side of the room, the formidable Miss Miller was examining a list of her own. It was so long he could have used it to climb out the first-storey window, like Rapunzel’s hair.

  ‘Stop being ridiculous,’ his grandmother said, not sparing him another glance. ‘Your costume is in theme with the decorations.’ Lady F waved the pencil vaguely around the room.

  Begrudgingly, he silently had to admit the ballroom did look rather magnificent. The builders had removed all remaining evidence of the dividing wall. They’d also refreshed the wallpaper, repainted the moulded ceiling and replaced the chandeliers with ones that were neither dusty nor cracked. They’d also taken down the boarding and opened the double doors leading out onto the balcony, letting crisp, fresh air carry away the last of the plaster dust.

  Entire bolts of white crepe had been draped in swathes over the walls, and what looked like an entire flower shop had been arranged into large urns, creating small and seductively private alcoves of each of the four corners. Alcoves that he would undoubtably not have the privilege of visiting tonight, not when he and Ellie were to be under so many watchful eyes.

  Turning a full circle, he frowned at a wooden placard that had pride of place by the main entrance.

  ‘From chaos into light,’ he read. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘What?’ Lady F looked around, distractedly. ‘Oh-oh, that. It was the only excuse I could think of to explain the rest of the house.’

  ‘What about my house?’ He pulled back an inch.

  ‘Don’t sound so offended. You know what it means—the garden looks like hedgerows and the house is crumbling down around your boots.’

  ‘It’s not.’

  With a sigh, she finally looked at him again. ‘Dear boy, the wallpaper is peeling something dreadful, and the furniture is about a decade out of date. But most importantly, the dining room is where the lady’s parlour should be, the stairs used to be the billiards room, and I surely don’t need to remind you that there’s a wall running straight down the central hallway. I dread to think how some of the ladies are going to squeeze down there in their costumes. The builders simply didn’t have time—’

  ‘I get your point.’ He cut across her. ‘Maybe we should just cancel this whole damned thing.’

  ‘Cancel?’ Her near-invisible eyebrows rose. ‘We’ve only just whetted their appetites. If we cancel now, they’ll never forgive us for denying them the chance to meet the mysterious Miss Burney in person. Did I tell you that every single invitation we sent has been accepted? Every single one.’

  Except for the one sent to Grace, who hadn’t responded either way. And just because the Prince Regent has said he’d attend didn’t actually mean he’d show. Cal wasn’t exactly George’s favourite duke, not since Cal had voted so obviously in favour of curbing rising taxes. But he didn’t remind Lady F of that.

  ‘Yes,’ he said instead. ‘You might have mentioned it once or twice or a million times.’

  ‘Not there!’ She waved at a short man carrying a chaperone chair. He wore a hat pulled so low it cast shadows over his face. ‘Have you even bothered to look at the floor plan I made for you? The chairs go along the other wall.’

  ‘Why are you doing all of this? You haven’t known Ellen all that long and…well, you’re going to a lot of trouble.’

  ‘I’m not the one posing as her fiancé.’ She swallowed, looking away.

  ‘What is it?’ He narrowed his eyes, watching her carefully. ‘What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just… Well, Ellen’s mother was a friend of Owen’s mother, before they both died.’

  ‘You knew Ellen’s mother?’ His mouth opened. Sure, he’d always known Owe
n’s family was originally from Evendale, but that was so many years ago. Owen’s parents had died when he’d still been in leading strings. ‘Does that mean you also you knew about Gwen and Geoffrey all along?’

  She nibbled her bottom lip.

  ‘You did!’

  ‘I haven’t been back to Evendale since just after Ellen was born. I kept in touch with her mother though, and, when Guinevere died, I started writing to Maggie. It was Maggie who told me about all the trouble Ellen and little Gwen were having with Geoffrey.’

  ‘So you didn’t advertise for a lady’s companion after all?’ He’d thought that had been out of character. His grandmother had never been one to sit around expecting others to keep her entertained.

  ‘Not exactly…’

  ‘Does Ellen know?’

  ‘Of course not. Maggie said Ellen would never accept charity. She wants to be an independent woman, not a single mother accepting handouts. Besides, if Ellen had known about me, then there was a chance Geoffrey would have found out too. It’s safer this way. At least, it was supposed to be.’

  It was all starting to make sense now—why Lady F had taken such a liking to Ellie when they’d first met and how Geoffrey had found her so quickly. He must has remembered Lady F despite all the years.

  A light sheen of perspiration gathered on the Lady F’s upper lip and she clutched the book close to her chest. An uncomfortable swell of guilt churned in Cal’s stomach. Without her interference, whatever her motivations, whatever secrets she’d kept, he’d never have met Ellie.

  ‘You look lovely.’ He nodded to the costume she was already wearing. More swathes of white fabric engulfed her large frame. The hem was stitched with peacock feathers and she’d changed her normal white wig for one of tight brunette pin curls. To top it all off, she’d placed a small beauty patch on one cheek like a dimple formed by a smile—a throwback to the last century.

  ‘I’m Hera, Queen of the Greek gods.’ The bright smile she turned on him just made him feel even worse. Had it really been that long since he’d paid her a compliment? Hell, what had he been doing with his life these last few years?