A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  “I hired a carriage large enough for your maid to ride with us,” Mark said, jogging to catch up with her. He hadn’t brought his valet on this trip but he fully expected Nicole’s maid to return with them.

  “That won’t be necessary. Jacqueline won’t be joining us. Her sister is due with child any day now and she prefers to remain here.”

  “You aren’t bringing a maid?” Mark blinked.

  Nicole sighed. “No. I will have to hire a temporary one when we arrive in England.”

  “That won’t be a problem.” Mark busied himself opening the door to the coach, but his mind raced. They would be riding together alone the entire way to Calais. For some reason that made him vaguely uncertain. He’d planned to be a charming and jovial travel companion to Nicole and her maid. But he and Nicole alone would be … God. How would it be?

  The footmen loaded Nicole’s large trunk in the back of the coach next to Mark’s much smaller one. Mark helped her up into the interior of the vehicle. She did not look at him. He climbed the steps and settled in the seat across from her. Nicole had placed her satchel on the floor beside her feet and her reticule on the seat next to her.

  Before Mark could speak, an older female servant came hurrying out of the front door carrying a large basket. She bustled up to the coach and pushed the hamper inside onto the floor. She spoke in French. “Madame, I prepared food for you and monsieur. For your journey.”

  “Thank you, Madame Duval,” Nicole replied in French. “That is kind of you.”

  “When do you think you will return, Madame?” the woman asked next, tears filling her eyes.

  Nicole glanced uneasily at Mark. “I don’t yet know. I will write and tell you as soon as I have an idea.”

  “We will miss you, Madame,” the cook said finally.

  “I will miss you too, Madame Duval.” Nicole’s face filled with tenderness for the servant.

  The cook gave Mark an accusatory glare before backing away from the conveyance. The footmen pushed up the steps and closed and secured the door. Mark rapped twice on the top of the coach to signal the driver they were ready to leave. The coach took off at a steady clip down the long drive toward the road.

  “I assume you informed the comte you are leaving?” Mark couldn’t help but ask.

  “I wrote him a note this morning,” Nicole replied, without taking her attention from the scenery beyond the window.

  Mark watched her carefully from beneath hooded eyes. The jolt of the carriage gently swayed her body. The slender column of her neck strained as she stared out into the lush countryside. Her nostrils flared slightly. She was clearly angry. She didn’t like having to agree to his condition. Excellent, he thought dryly. Sex with an angry wife was certain to be a pleasure. Had he pushed her too far? Had he demanded too much? Only time would tell. The bigger part of him had already decided he’d worry about that later. For now, he’d got her to agree to come back to London with him. A smile touched his lips. Victory.

  “How is your family?” she asked, plucking at the folds of her skirts, still not looking at him. She was getting back at him for his mention of the comte.

  “If you mean my father’s family, they are well. I was in Rome not a year ago.”

  “And your mother’s family?” She opened her reticule and rummaged around inside, still not meeting his gaze.

  “From what I hear, they’re doing well,” he bit out. “My cousin John recently became betrothed. Or so the papers say.”

  “You hear about your family through the papers?” she asked, finally meeting his gaze.

  “Does that surprise you?” He slumped down, one elbow braced against the coach’s seat.

  “I suppose it shouldn’t.” She set her reticule to the side and began unbuttoning her gloves, clearly settling in for the long ride. “Who is the fortunate young lady?”

  “John’s fiancée?” he asked. “Fortunate because she’ll be a future duchess?” He continued to watch her intently while pretending not to. He was suddenly jealous of her gloves, their proximity to her delicate fingers, her milky skin. The slow, deliberate way she was removing them made him shift in his seat.

  “No. That’s not what I meant at all.” Her voice was sharp. “I meant fortunate because your cousin is a good man.”

  “Of course you did,” Mark replied, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I forgot you know him.” He shook his head and averted his gaze out the window. Best not to watch her until she finished with those damned gloves.

  “And your uncle?” she continued.

  “Not doing as well, I’m afraid. He has a disease of the lungs. The doctors are not hopeful.”

  “Was that in the papers too?” A hint of surprise registered in her voice.

  “No. I keep up on the latest with his health.”

  “Have a spy on it, do you?” she asked.

  He glanced over. The first glove came off.

  “Something like that.” Mark hated to admit he cared enough about his mother’s family to check on them, but it was true. According to his sources, his uncle was on death’s door. Mark intended to visit him soon, to say good-bye. It was the least he could do but he wasn’t about to admit that to Nicole. He’d checked on her too. Whenever one of his colleagues had been in France over the years, he’d asked them for a full reporting of Nicole’s coming and goings. They’d failed to mention the orphanage. Or the comte. He needed to have a talk with them.

  “I’m sorry to hear that your uncle’s health is failing.” Nicole’s second glove came off and she carefully folded them together and set them on the seat next to her.

  “Thank you,” he intoned.

  “Does he still not publicly acknowledge you?” she asked next. Yet another dig.

  “At my request, yes,” he replied in as unaffected a tone as he could muster.

  She shook her head and sighed. “I’ll never understand why you don’t tell your superiors at the Home Office about your family. Besides, they’re blasted spies, you’d think they’d have figured it out by now.”

  Mark pulled off his hat and let it fall to the seat next to him. “Some of them know. The astute ones do.”

  Her eyebrows shot up. “Do they?”

  “Yes, and they also know I have little to do with my family.”

  “And the others?” she prodded.

  He shrugged one shoulder. “The others are politicians, not spies. All they care about is themselves. They can’t imagine someone being related to a man like my uncle and not claiming it. It’s been a simple task keeping the truth from them.”

  She shook her head slowly. “And you want to be one of them.”

  “I want to be in politics, yes. But for very different reasons. I want to actually make a bloody difference.” The anger in his own voice surprised him. He drew a deep breath to temper it.

  Nicole lifted her eyebrows as she plucked at the buttons to her pelisse. “Yet you refuse to use the connection to further your career? You’d rather chase me down in France and cart me back to England than publicly admit you’re the grandson of a duke.”

  “If I claimed my grandfather and uncle, I’d be no better than the lot of them,” Mark bit out. He stared out the window, contemplating her words. She knew how to rile him. In fact, she was one of the few people on earth who could rile him. Once, in the middle of the night after they’d made passionate love and lay naked and tangled in each other’s arms, he’d told her he wanted nothing to do with his English family.

  It had been the beginning of the end of their relationship … because that was when her lies had begun. At least the outright ones.

  “Who is your family?” she had asked, all wide-eyed and innocent, blinking at him. She’d pretended she didn’t give a damn about money or titles or lineage. And the entire time, she’d known. She had bloody well known who his grandfather was and merely feigned ignorance, like the scheming, lying member of the ton she was.

  Mark met her gaze and gave her a calculated smile. “Seems chasing you down in Fr
ance and dragging you back to England has an added benefit that claiming my family doesn’t.”

  “What’s that?” She shrugged off her pelisse from both shoulders.

  He gave her a lazy smile. “I get to make love to a beautiful woman tonight.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Nicole woke from her nap when the coach hit a nasty bump in the road. She started and blinked, taking a moment to recall where she was. Her vision adjusted to the closeness and darkness surrounding her. Oh, yes. She was in a coach with Mark, heading back to England for the first time in ten years. She stretched her arms in front of her and let out a long sigh. Life was unpredictable. If, a week ago, someone had told her this is where she’d be, she would have informed them they were mad. Yet here she was, reposing in a rented coach not a stone’s throw from her ass of a husband, of all people.

  “Is it nighttime then?” she asked in a sleepy voice, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head.

  “Nearly,” Mark replied.

  She couldn’t see his features, but his eyes glittered like a wild animal’s in the profound darkness.

  She didn’t have to ask to know he hadn’t fallen asleep. He’d been on the lookout for highwaymen or trouble along the roadside. She didn’t want to admit to herself that knowing he was there had made her feel safe enough to fall asleep. She’d had such trouble sleeping night after night in the big bed in her French country house. In fact, as she yawned and stretched more, she realized this long day in the uncomfortable coach was some of the best sleep she’d got in an age. “How much longer to the inn?”

  “An hour, perhaps.”

  They’d stopped at midday at a roadside inn for a break and to use the conveniences. They’d changed horses and shared a lunch from the large picnic basket Cook had provided. Mark had informed Nicole they’d be staying at an inn tonight and would make it to the ship at Calais by tomorrow night.

  Soon after their journey had recommenced, Nicole had fallen asleep against the side of the coach, using her bundled-up pelisse for a pillow. She glanced down at herself. There was a cozy blanket tucked around her. Obviously Mark had got it from his trunk and covered her with it. She couldn’t help but smile. He could be considerate when he wasn’t being a domineering ass. It reminded her of the time when they’d been together and she’d taken ill with an awful head cold. He’d made her chicken broth and tucked her in bed, coming to check on her periodically and feel her head for fever. He’d even mixed up some potent-smelling herbs he’d claimed would cure her. She suspected there was a great deal of garlic involved. He’d had to convince her to drink the vile liquid, and damned if she didn’t feel right as rain the next morning.

  Nicole sat up, pushing the blanket down to her lap. She was famished of a sudden. She leaned over to rummage blindly in the basket for more of the bread, meat, and cheese they’d discovered there.

  Mark assisted by opening the window to let in the moon light.

  “Want some?” she offered as she pulled a linen napkin, the loaf of bread, and what remained of the cheese onto her lap.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “How long have I been asleep?” She handed him a clump of bread and a lump of cheese wrapped in a second napkin.

  “Hours.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him about her trouble sleeping, but what good could such a story serve?

  “Did you nap too?” she ventured.

  “No.”

  “You must be exhausted.”

  “I learned a long time ago to live without much sleep.”

  “I wish I could learn,” she mumbled.

  “What’s that?” His brow furrowed.

  “Oh, nothing. I sometimes have trouble sleeping. That’s all.”

  He stared thoughtfully out the window into the darkness. “Me too.” He smiled a humorless smile. “I don’t think I’ve slept through an entire night since…”

  She watched him carefully. “Since?”

  He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” He turned to face her. “The Duchesse de Frontenac tells me you spend your time at an orphanage. Is that true?”

  Nicole swallowed. Why had Louisa told him that? What else had her friend told him? “I spend some of my time at the orphanage, yes.”

  “Why?”

  She smiled and laid her head against the seat, closing her eyes. “I happen to like children.”

  “I never knew that.” His voice was quiet, tender.

  She straightened and concentrated on her meal. “I was much younger when we were together.”

  “She also said you’re lonely. Is that true?”

  A wave of anger rolled through her. Why had Louisa told him that? Nicole hadn’t ever shared that news with her friend. Was it that obvious? She sighed and closed her eyes briefly. “I don’t know.”

  “Even with the comte by your side?” Mark prodded.

  “Let’s not talk about the comte.” She’d been thinking about Henri today during the long ride, before she’d fallen asleep. She’d written him a short letter that morning, telling him she was going back to England temporarily. She’d asked Jacqueline to ensure he received it. Of course Nicole hadn’t mentioned the fact that she hoped to return enceinte. That would be a discussion for another time.

  Henri had told her he loved her. He was a good man. The type of man she should have been happy to marry once. But she was already married and her heart did not belong to Henri. Henri was a dear friend. He’d been there for her during some dark days, but she could never return his affection the way he wanted her to. It was best that she’d left. She’d been relying on him too much of late. It wasn’t fair to him.

  “Very well, then,” Mark replied, snapping her out of her reverie. “What would you like to talk about?”

  She glanced over at him. His long legs were stretched out on either side of hers, the basket resting between them. His hair was slightly rumpled, but as tempting to the touch as ever, and he had an indecipherable look on his face.

  “Why don’t we discuss why you stubbornly refuse to let anyone know your grandfather was a duke and your uncle is one now?” she asked.

  His body tensed. He clenched his jaw and turned his head to stare out the window at the shadowed trees along the roadside. “No. Next topic.”

  Why was he so stubborn? How could she convince him to tell her about his family? She contemplated the matter for a few moments while she chewed and swallowed a bite of bread and cheese. Then she snapped her fingers. “You continue to ask me about Henri, yet you aren’t forthcoming about your family. How about for every question you answer about your family, I will answer one about Henri? Up to, say, three questions each?”

  Mark batted his lashes at her. “Henri? His name’s Henri?”

  “Yes. There. That’s one answer. Now you must answer a question of mine.”

  Mark groaned, laid his head back against the seat, and closed his eyes. “Fine.”

  “I already asked it. Why are you so stubborn that you won’t use your grandfather’s name? Surely it would assist you in your political career.”

  Mark poked his tongue into the side of his cheek. “Becoming the Secretary of the Home Office has nothing to do with my family.”

  “But it could,” she persisted. “How do you know it might not help you secure the position?”

  Mark rubbed his knuckles across his forehead and groaned again. “Fine. If you must know, I … promised my father I would never use my mother’s familial connections to get ahead.”

  Nicole sucked in her breath. “Why did he ask that of you?”

  Mark cocked his head to the side. “I believe it’s my turn to ask a question.”

  Nicole sighed impatiently. “Very well. Go ahead.”

  “Do you love Henri?”

  She narrowed her eyes on Mark. “You ask if I love him, not if I’ve made love to him?”

  “That’s a question and I’m the one asking at the moment.” His voice had an edge to it.

  “Fine. No,
I don’t love Henri. Not that way.”

  He lifted his head to look at her. Their gazes met. “And have you made love to him?”

  She wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, my turn to ask.”

  “I already know what you’re going to ask … why did I make that promise to my father?”

  “Yes, please answer,” she replied, feeling smug.

  Mark took a long deep breath. “My father was dying. I was fifteen.”

  “He asked you on his deathbed?” Her eyes filled with unexpected tears.

  Mark clenched his jaw and looked out the window into the darkness. “Yes. My mother’s family detested my father. They never accepted him and they barely accepted me.”

  Nicole gasped. “That can’t be true.” She covered her mouth with her hand, tears still burning her eyes.

  “It’s entirely true, I assure you. It’s one of many reasons I have little use for the aristocracy. They’re a lot of vultures who have no regard for the true meaning of love and family.”

  She took a deep, fortifying breath. Merde. She’d given him another opportunity to take a dig at her. “But why? Why did he ask it of you?”

  Mark’s eyes lost their focus. He was obviously remembering. “My father was proud. He believed a man should make his own way in the world, forge his own path. He disliked most Englishmen because they rely too heavily on their family names and fortunes. He warned me against it my entire childhood.”

  She cleared her throat. “And your promise to your father is worth more to you than your promotion?”

  Mark’s teeth flashed in his smile. “I have every intention of getting my promotion. I’ve got all of them to date without mentioning the Duke of Colchester once, and I intend to get this one the same way. On my own merit.”

  She ground her teeth. “But why don’t you—”

  This time he wagged a finger at her. “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

  She sighed and nodded. “Very well. You want to know if I’ve been with Henri. But before I answer, think long and hard about whether you’re going to be willing to tell me whom you’ve been with. What if that’s my third question?”