A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  She barely had time to hand Abbott her bonnet and pelisse before she found herself whisked up the sweeping staircase by a duo of giggling housemaids—Louise and Susanna, she soon discovered. The upstairs corridor was spare and neat as a pin too. A costly looking painting rested on one wall, but otherwise there were no adornments. While the maids bustled ahead, Nicole paused before the painting. It depicted a man facing away from the artist, looking across an empty field. Something about it made Nicole melancholy. She shook her head. She was just missing home. Cook and the butler. She sighed. The truth was, no one in France was her real family. She had more real family in this town (in this house) than she had spent time with in all her years in France. Which was why she wanted a baby.

  Her heart ached at the thought of a soft warm bundle cuddled against her breast. She certainly wasn’t doing a good job of getting to it by refusing Mark her bed. It was his condition, though. That was it. She couldn’t hop back into bed with him as if nothing had happened the last ten years. She needed time to get to know him. Remember him. Come to terms with the fact that they would be sharing such intimacies again. They didn’t even like each other. Let alone love each other. That was a great deal to contemplate.

  She took a breath as the housemaids opened one of the doors and ushered her into a magnificent bedchamber.

  “It’s been waiting for ye, Mrs. Grimaldi, all these years,” Louise said, a giggle escaping her lips. “The general asked us to keep it pristine for ye.”

  “It’s been empty all these years?” Nicole couldn’t keep herself from asking before blushing for what must have been the dozenth time since Mark had reentered her life.

  “Of course,” Susanna chimed in.

  Nicole blinked. That was surprising news. How long had he lived here? He’d kept up a room for a wife who until recently he’d had no intention of seeing again? Nicole briefly wondered what his mistresses thought of that. Or did he not show them this room? The thought of Mark’s lovers made her stomach twist in knots. On one hand, she desperately wanted to know, but on the other, much stronger hand, she couldn’t bear to hear it. It would make her ill. “Did he tell you I’d be coming back with him?” she asked the maids.

  “Yes, madame.” They nodded vigorously. “That’s why we aired out the space and added the flowers.”

  Nicole glanced over to see that the windows were both wide open to allow light and fresh air into the room. A huge vase of white roses sat on the silver table next to the bed. She shook her head. Of course Mark had been confident enough when he left to tell his servants she’d be back with him. Did she expect anything different of him? The man’s middle name was arrogant.

  She spun in a circle to take in the bedchamber. It was decorated in pale lavender, white, and silver. Her favorite colors, but he couldn’t possibly have known that, and they certainly hadn’t lived here the last time they’d been together. It had to be a coincidence. She couldn’t bring herself to ask the housemaids. They were probably already confused by the state of affairs between their master and mistress as it was. She didn’t want to contribute to any gossip below stairs.

  The bed was raised on a dais, a four-poster dark cherry piece that was understated but obviously costly. It was precisely the type of bed she would pick for herself. In addition to a large silver-painted wooden wardrobe, and a cozy sitting area with two lavender-upholstered chairs and a small bookcase filled with books, the room also boasted a painting that looked suspiciously like a Lawrence and a gorgeous silver-painted dressing table with a small lavender tufted stool. Silver grooming items sat atop the table, including a hairbrush, a rouge pot, and a glass vial for perfume.

  Mark had actually decorated this room for … her. They’d said a wife and that was her. She still couldn’t comprehend either the fact that it was hers, or the fact that it was so tastefully decorated. Had Mark planned to find her one day after all? No. That couldn’t be. It was unthinkable.

  There was a knock at the door and the housemaids scurried over to open it. Two footmen marched in with Nicole’s trunk, their arms straining with the weight.

  “Over here, please.” She quickly guided them to a large space against the wall near the wardrobe. It would be more convenient for the maids to unpack it there.

  “Merci,” she said to the footmen before remembering where she was. She laughed softly to herself. “I mean, thank you.”

  The two young men blushed, bowed, and rushed off.

  “They’re smitten with ye, missus,” Susanna said, giggling.

  “What?” Nicole’s eyes widened. She pressed a hand to her chest. “Them? With me?”

  “Yes, I heard them when they saw ye getting out o’ the coach. ‘Oy, but who knew the stone man would have such a mighty fine-lookin’ wife?’ they said.”

  Louise nodded and giggled again too. “It’s true. They both said it.”

  Nicole shook her head. It was pure silliness to think such young men would be enamored of her, but it did soothe her confidence. Did Mark think she was “mighty fine-lookin’?” She certainly thought he was, which made it more difficult to contemplate hopping into bed with him. If he’d become old and scarred and ugly over the years, she might be able to close her eyes and get it over with, but the man made her knees weak even still. Just like he had the night they met …

  * * *

  When she saw him again, she sucked in her breath. There he was, her soldier from the mews, standing near the refreshment table, surrounded by a group of her friends. For some reason she’d been startled to see him. He should have been a figment of her imagination, conjured from thin air and her vivid thoughts of what a truly handsome dashing young man would look like. But there he was again in the flesh. His hair was just as dark and ruffled as it had been outside. His eyes seemed darker when countered with the bright light of the ballroom. He was even more handsome than her memory.

  He glanced over at her and raised his glass in silent salute. She blushed and turned away. So he did recognize her. At first she’d wondered how well he’d been able to see her outside. Now she had her answer. Soon she would have another answer … to the question he’d refused.

  “Mother?” she asked, turning toward the older woman next to her. “Mother, who is that?” She nodded across the ballroom to the group he was in. He’d returned his attention to the many young women who were vying for it. Suddenly, Nicole was inexplicably jealous of the other girls.

  “Who?” Mother said, scanning the room. She pushed a blond-gray curl away from her forehead.

  “The soldier in the middle of that group over there. The one Lady Elizabeth is standing next to.”

  Mother narrowed her blue eyes. “I’ve no idea. No one of importance, I daresay.” Mother turned away to speak with friends.

  Not to be deterred, Nicole dodged the Marquess of Tinsley’s small entourage and made her way to the other side of the ballroom where her grandmother held court. She wiggled into the middle of Grandmama’s circle.

  “Ah, Nicole, darling, there you are. Aren’t you a vision?” Grandmama dropped her voice to a whisper. “Has the marquess asked you to dance?”

  “Not yet, Grandmama.” She left out the part of how she hadn’t allowed him to see her long enough to ask her to dance. That would only worry the older woman.

  “Well, off with you then. He’s not likely to find you over here with all of these decrepit old things. Go, enjoy yourself with the youngsters.”

  “I will, Grandmama, I promise, but I came to ask you something first.”

  “What is it, dear?” her grandmother asked, turning her purple-silk-turbaned head in Nicole’s direction.

  “Who is that man standing in the group near the refreshment table? The soldier?”

  Grandmama narrowed her eyes and squinted across the room. She plucked her golden-handled eyeglass from her bosom and squinted through it too. “Oh, that’s Corporal Grimaldi.”

  Grimaldi? Nicole blinked. The name surprised her.

  “Doesn’t sound very English,
does it?” Grandmama sighed.

  “No.”

  “His father’s Italian. Just met the lad tonight. Clever young man.” She gazed after the soldier with a fond smile.

  Nicole pursed her lips. “Hmm. Do you know anything else about him?”

  Grandmama shifted her attention from the handsome corporal and gave Nicole a mock-stern stare. “I’m afraid not. Now off with you. You’re keeping the marquess waiting.”

  Reluctantly, Nicole turned back to the other side of the ballroom. She danced with the marquess as she was bid, but mostly because she’d never hear the end of it if she did not have at least one dance to speak of later when her mother and grandmother asked. The entire time they waltzed, she tried not to stare at the portly man’s wet bottom lip but she couldn’t seem to help it. It was like looking at a carriage accident. One didn’t want to see anything truly heinous but one couldn’t help but glance from time to time.

  After the dance ended, the marquess deposited her back on the sidelines. She’d long ago learned that the best way to dodge his further advances was to send him in search of a refreshment and then become scarce.

  “Would you care for a glass of punch?” the marquess asked right on cue.

  “Oh, yes, please. That would be lovely.” No it wouldn’t. Punch was never lovely. Unless it was spiked with wine, which, sadly, tonight it was not, but the marquess seemed pleased with her when she said such inane things. She smiled at him and watched him waddle off. As soon as he disappeared into the crowd, she grabbed her skirts, turned … and ran smack into a wall. Or it seemed like a wall, but it turned out to be Corporal Grimaldi’s chest.

  “Enjoying yourself?” his deep smooth voice asked from above while she blinked and rubbed her smarting nose.

  Corporal Grimaldi grinned down at her. In addition to the wideness of his shoulders and the darkness of his eyes, she was starkly aware of the fact that he was nearly a foot taller than she was. He also looked like a dream in his red coat and form-fitting white breeches. “Ah, it’s you, Corporal Grimaldi,” she said, smiling at him. “My apologies for running into you, but at least you’ve given me a chance to thank you properly.”

  “My fault entirely,” he said with a bow. “I was standing far too close. You’ve learned my name, I see.”

  “I have.” She smiled up at him.

  “And I have learned that you are Lady Nicole Huntington, granddaughter of the dowager Countess of Whitby and daughter of the late earl.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But then you already knew that.”

  “I didn’t know your given name.”

  She glanced around, worried that the marquess might return and find her if they didn’t leave the area quickly. “Come and take a walk around the room with me?”

  One dark eyebrow arched. “Won’t it cause talk?”

  “It might, but if I stay here I’m in danger of having to drink the punch the Marquess of Tinsley is fetching for me, and I find that more tedious than talk.”

  “We can’t have that,” the corporal said with a laugh.

  “No, we can’t. Because the punch is bad and so is the company.”

  They strolled toward the French doors that led out to the balcony, but didn’t go outside. Instead, Nicole propped her back against the wall next to the doors and surveyed the room. Mark joined her.

  “If you dislike the marquess so much, why do you dance with him?” Mark asked.

  “Because my mother and grandmama bid me to.”

  “You can’t tell them no?”

  She withheld a snort. “You don’t know my grandmama. It’s much easier to do what she asks than argue the point with her.”

  “A formidable woman, your grandmother?”

  “Yes, quite formidable. She was the one who told me your name, however.”

  “Really?” He arched his brow again. “I’m surprised she remembered me.”

  “Oh, yes. You made an impression, Corporal. Grandmama tells me you’re Italian.”

  “Half Italian.” He tugged at the throat of his uniform.

  She found it difficult not to stare at the sharp-edged line of his jaw. “So, your mother is English?”

  “Yes.”

  “What was her family name—”

  “I’m much more interested in why a young woman like yourself decided to chase down a rogue in the mews.” He met her eyes again and smiled disarmingly. “Why don’t you tell me that story instead?”

  She sighed. “I’ve never been good at sitting still and doing what I’m told, I’m afraid. I’m always watching people, noticing things.”

  “Like what?”

  She gave a cursory glance around the room. “Like how Sir Winstead has a handkerchief sticking out of his pocket with lip paint on it that is decidedly not the same color as his wife’s. Lady Hidemore is desperately trying not to stare at Lord Pengree, who is with his new wife after tossing over Lady Hidemore last Season, and Lord Markham is fighting off a case of hives, which happens each time he loses too much whilst gambling, and he has just come from the study where gambling is no doubt in full swing.”

  The corporal glanced around. Even though he obviously didn’t know the people she was speaking of, he narrowed his eyes and regarded her down the length of his nose with a newfound respect. “Did anyone ever tell you, you would make a fine spy?”

  “Actually, I—”

  Her words were lost as Grandmama came sweeping up to them. “Corporal Grimaldi,” the older woman said. “It’s good to see you. There’s someone I think you should meet. Lord Warren, the head of the Home Office, is here and he’s asked about you.”

  Corporal Grimaldi’s eyes widened with obvious interest. “I’ve been trying to catch the ear of Lord Warren for weeks,” he whispered, looking at Nicole with obvious regret. She nodded and said, “Go on then,” not willing either to keep him from meeting Lord Warren or to defy her grandmother. Grandmama was obviously trying to free Nicole’s time in favor of the Marquess of Tinsley, who was even now headed her way with a half-full glass of no doubt lukewarm punch.

  “Until we meet again, Corporal,” Nicole said with a bright smile, before darting through the crowd to escape the marquess.

  * * *

  Another knock scattered Nicole’s thoughts and her memories faded, but this time the knock was from a door in the sidewall of her gorgeous new bedchamber. “Come in,” she called.

  The door opened and Mark strolled in. He’d changed from his traveling clothes into buckskin breeches and a blue waistcoat. The skintight breeches left little to the imagination. Nicole glanced away.

  The maids, who had been unpacking Nicole’s trunk, both giggled and rushed off through the main door to the corridor.

  “How are you settling in?” Mark strolled to the vase of flowers and plucked off a dead leaf.

  “It’s a lovely room,” Nicole murmured.

  “I’d hoped you’d like it.”

  “Louise and Susanna said you’d told them I’d return with you.”

  He turned to face her. His grin was wicked. “Confidence never hurt anyone.”

  “Least of all you.” She couldn’t help smiling a little. She gestured to the painting on the wall. “Is that Lawrence?”

  “Of course not. I’m a spymaster, not the prince.”

  Nicole walked up to the painting and studied it. “It looks quite a bit like a Lawrence.” The one she’d told him years ago was her favorite, actually.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, averting his gaze when she glanced over her shoulder at him. “I don’t know much about art. I found that at a market and decided it would match the room.”

  She decided to let it go for the moment. She gestured to the door he’d come through. “Is that your room?”

  “Yes.”

  She swallowed. “And you want me to stay … here? Next door?” She gestured to her room.

  “It is customary for a husband and wife to have adjoining rooms, or have you forgotten that during your time
in France?”

  “I hadn’t forgotten,” she managed to force past her suddenly dry lips.

  “It’s especially convenient for a husband and wife who intend to create a child,” he added with a sly grin.

  All she could do was nod.

  “Do you like the flowers?” He turned to regard the vase again.

  “White roses are my favorite,” she said softly, watching him caress a petal with a single fingertip. She couldn’t help but remember the last time he’d purchased white roses for her. She swallowed hard.

  “Are they?” He sounded as nonchalant as she’d ever heard.

  She narrowed her eyes on him. It couldn’t possibly be a coincidence that all of these things, her favorite things, were gathered here in this room. What in heaven’s name did it mean that he’d gone to all this trouble to prepare them for her? She wasn’t about to ask him. He’d simply deny they’d been chosen with purpose.

  This was their first night in London and she’d all but told him this was the night they would make love again. Was she ready? She would have to be. She wanted a child, after all, and delaying the means by which to get one any longer was only foolish.

  Mark took a step toward her, grasped her hand, and bowed over it, lightly kissing the delicate skin. “I’ll leave you to rest and prepare for an evening out. We are going to a dinner party at Lord Allen’s house. It’s time for you to begin playing the role of my loving wife.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Everything was riding on this dinner party. Before leaving for France, Mark promised Lord Allen he would be here tonight. He’d barely made it back in time. If Nicole had hesitated just one day longer, he would have missed it. Lord Tottenham would be here as well, and he’d be watching Mark closely to size him up as a potential candidate for Secretary of the Home Office.

  Mark glanced across the coach at Nicole, who reposed in serene silence. She was dressed in a gown of costly peacock-blue silk with lace trim and her glorious hair was piled atop her head. Long white gloves and a beaded reticule completed her ensemble. She looked more like a goddess than a mortal woman. She was the perfect companion tonight; a member of London’s elite haute ton, she knew exactly how to comport herself at such events. She would never be an embarrassment to him. On the contrary, her being the daughter of an earl would be nothing but advantageous to Mark’s cause, although he had no intention of telling Tottenham who her family was.