A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  Their coach pulled to a stop in front of an imposing town house not far from theirs. The footmen let down the stairs and Mark alighted, then turned to help Nicole. When he lifted her, his hands around her waist, the scent of her lavender perfume filled his nostrils. He set her on the ground next to him, his grasp lingering to steady her. She glanced up at him and smiled, and white-hot heat shot straight to his groin. He clenched his jaw. Would they make love tonight? He was more than willing, but after his first failed attempt on the journey to England, he wasn’t about to push her. His pride was too great to be rebuked again. She would need to give him some sign that she was ready.

  Her gaze lingered on his mouth. “Ready?” she asked. The question emerged low and throaty.

  He widened his eyes, his heart hammering. Surely, she didn’t mean …

  “To go in to the party,” she clarified, obviously responding to the confused look on his face.

  He shook away the momentary pang of lust. “I’ve been ready for this for years. Are you ready?”

  “I might be slightly rusty on the proper decorum at an English dinner party.” Her smile turned rueful. “But it’s certain to come back to me quickly.”

  He returned her smile. She certainly looked the part. She’d always been at home among these people. She was the perfect wife for a man with political aspirations.

  * * *

  Lady Nicole’s grandmother’s ballroom was bright and raucous. The dance floor was filled with couples dancing, the refreshment table overflowed with sweets and drinks, and the noise and temperature rose along with the number of drinks consumed by the crowd. It was downright stifling in the enormous room.

  Mark waited for a break in the crowd before darting over to stand next to Lady Nicole on the sidelines of the dancing. She had a smile pinned sweetly to her face, but he could tell she was fantastically bored. Her eyes weren’t sparkling. The smile hadn’t reached them.

  He’d never met anyone like her. She was irreverent about the aristocracy. She seemed to scoff at a marquess and she clearly had a sense of both humor and adventure. He’d never met a delicate young miss who was so forthright. Nor one who would chase down a thief in the mews while wearing her ball gown.

  He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Having fun?”

  Her smile widened when she realized it was him, but she kept her gaze pinned on the crowd. “Loads of it,” she drawled.

  “It’s hot in here,” he said next.

  “Yes.” Her smile reached her eyes now. “I’d adore a stroll in the gardens.”

  Ah, she’d said precisely what he hoped she would. “If you’re not worried about talk, then meet me there in ten minutes.”

  He left, confident she would meet him, but also slightly apprehensive. If she was as adventurous as she seemed, she would be there. If she wasn’t, he’d probably leave after waiting a few minutes, and never see her again.

  He waited an excruciating fifteen minutes by the count of his pocket watch before she arrived. She’d sneaked around the side of the house from the other end and met him under the rose arbor. The moonlight cast a glow on the glossy rosebushes and neat hedges that surrounded them. The sweet smell of jasmine floated on the night air.

  “I did a sweep before I came. No one is out here but us,” she informed him with an impish smile.

  A sweep? That was an odd phrase for a debutante. She sounded more like a spy. “Is that good or bad?” he asked with a grin.

  “Good. Very good. We don’t want any talk.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at her. She was positively adorable. “What would your grandmama say if she knew you were out here with a corporal?”

  Lady Nicole’s lip curled ever so slightly. “She’d tell me to get back inside to the marquess, of course.”

  “And why don’t you?” Mark couldn’t stop himself from asking.

  “Because the marquess has a bulbous wet lip that makes me shudder, and you—” She blushed a glorious shade of pink.

  “I what?” He stepped closer and dropped his voice.

  “Don’t,” she finished sheepishly, examining a rose.

  “How would you describe my lips?” He studied the delicate, plump curve of her mouth, dying to hear the answer.

  She tilted up her head to look at him. “Firmly molded?” She took a breath. “Enticing.”

  He arched a brow. “Enticing?”

  “Yes,” she breathed.

  His mouth quirked, aching to smile. “How so?”

  She took a step closer to him. “I’ve never wanted to kiss a man before.”

  There it was again, that refreshing forthright honesty. “Have you ever been kissed?” he asked, ensuring that his tone remained conversational, as though they discussed the evening’s temperature. The last thing he wanted was to scare her off.

  She shook her head slowly, her eyes wide and liquid, shining in the moonlight.

  “Well, then, we must rectify that situation.” He pulled her into his arms and his lips crushed down on hers.

  * * *

  The door to Lord Allen’s house swung open, shaking Mark from his memories and loosening his grip on Nicole. The memory of their first kiss had made his fingers curl more tightly around her lower arm. She gave him a questioning look and he released her, straightening his coat and clearing his throat.

  A butler showed them into a well-appointed drawing room that held a variety of guests from both the aristocracy and the political arena. A footman offered them glasses of champagne. Mark exchanged greetings with several guests before both Lord Allen and Lord Tottenham emerged from the crowd to greet them.

  “Grimaldi, there you are. I heard you left the country. Was wondering if you’d make it,” Lord Allen said, with a friendly, gap-toothed smile.

  “I just returned last night,” Mark replied. “Gentlemen, may I present you with my wife, Nicole?”

  Nicole executed a perfect curtsy and extended her gloved hand first to Lord Tottenham, who bowed over it, and then to Lord Allen, who did the same.

  “Mrs. Grimaldi,” Lord Allen said. “So nice to finally meet you. I would love to tell you I’ve heard all about you from your husband, but I’m afraid he’s earned his ‘stone man’ moniker. I had no idea you existed until a few weeks ago.”

  “Nicole has been in France for some time,” Mark replied quickly before Nicole was forced to invent an excuse.

  “Yes, so I’ve been told,” Allen replied, eyeing Nicole with obvious approval before taking a sip from his own champagne glass.

  “Family issues,” Nicole interjected. It was the safest thing to say. They had discussed their story in the coach. The fewer details the better, they’d agreed.

  “Grimaldi,” Lord Tottenham boomed. “Good to see you again.” Mark shook the older man’s hand. “I had no idea you were married. And to such a beautiful woman. Why on earth have you been hiding her?” He waggled his bushy eyebrows in Nicole’s direction.

  “You know me,” Mark replied, clenching his glass in his fist. “I prefer to keep my private life private.”

  “You spies and your secrets.” Lord Tottenham shook his mane of gray hair and laughed. His generous belly bounced. “I must say, I’m pleased to learn you’re a family man.”

  Nicole shot Mark a quick, ironic glance before turning her attention to Lord Tottenham and giving him a warm, genuine smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

  “How in heaven’s name did this blighter manage to convince a gorgeous woman like you to marry him?” Lord Tottenham asked, laughing heartily.

  “He had his ways,” Nicole replied dryly.

  Mark could feel her looking at him sidelong. He cleared his throat.

  “Yes, well,” Allen said, directing his words to Lord Tottenham. “You know Grim here is my first choice for Secretary of the Home Office.”

  “Yes,” Mark interjected. “I’d like nothing more than to steal a moment of your time, Lord Tottenham, so that I might share with you my ideas for the
position. I have many—”

  Lord Tottenham waved his hand in the air. “Yes, yes, there will be plenty of time for that, General. At the moment, my champagne glass feels a bit light.” He lifted the nearly empty glass in the air and turned to locate a footman to give him another.

  Lord Allen snapped his fingers and a footman rushed to provide a new glass.

  “Mark has a great many ideas I’m certain you’ll be eager to hear,” Nicole said to Tottenham. “His plans to organize a police force are particularly impressive.”

  Tottenham, who seemed much happier with a full glass of champagne in his hand, looked at the couple and sighed. “Yes, well, Grimaldi, we’ve never had an Italian in the position, you know.”

  Mark wanted to snap his glass in two. Only a man who was preoccupied with things like people’s lineage would mention his father’s heritage. He was about to bite back something about overbred snobs when he felt Nicole’s soft hand on his. She gently squeezed his wrist. A spark shot straight to his groin. God, she had touched him—and of her own accord—at last. To help him maintain his temper, perhaps, but suddenly the barriers between them felt … surmountable. He stared down into her tender, stormy eyes and temporarily forgot what Lord Tottenham had said.

  Mark took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do to say something reckless to the man who would determine his future. Nicole knew his temper. He kept it in check most of the time, but there were a handful of issues, one being his bloodline, which brought it to the surface with frightening speed. She’d saved him already. She understood him.

  Nicole’s hand slid away from his and Mark took a sip of his champagne to afford himself time to both think of a more appropriate reply and allow his cockstand to subside.

  “He’s half English too, of course,” Nicole said for him judiciously. “And has spent his life in service to the Crown.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Lord Tottenham replied. “And he has an utterly charming wife.” He smiled approvingly at Nicole, his bright blue eyes sparkling.

  “Shall we go in to dinner?” Lord Allen said to the room at large.

  The guests lined up two-by-two up in front of the double doors. Once everyone was in position, the procession made its way into the dining room.

  “Thank you for that,” Mark leaned down and whispered to Nicole as they slowly walked together toward the dining room still clutching their champagne glasses.

  “You’re welcome,” Nicole whispered back.

  “Know anyone here?” he asked, his eyes scanning the queue.

  “No one stands out. London’s changed quite a lot since I was last here.”

  “It has, indeed.” Suddenly, the fact that he hadn’t seen her in ten years seemed incomprehensible to him. Their brief romance was another life. Many things had happened since then. Many things had changed. He’d changed. Had she?

  They took their seats side by side toward the middle of the long rosewood table in Lord Allen’s grand dining room. Candlelight danced in golden flickers along the bright butter-yellow walls, playing shadows across the imposing portraits of Allen ancestors along with some great historical Englishmen including Henry VIII and Charles II. The dour faces seemed to stare down at them while the guests situated themselves.

  Mark and Nicole made small talk with their tablemates while the footmen rushed forward to place napkins on the guests’ laps and pour the first course of wine. The guests had barely been sitting five minutes when the butler entered carrying a silver salver with a note on it. The man stalked to Lord Allen’s side, leaned down, and whispered into their host’s ear.

  Lord Allen’s eyes widened and he glanced down the table at Mark and Nicole. “General Grimaldi, it seems an urgent message has arrived for you.” Lord Allen motioned for the butler to deliver the note to Mark.

  The butler made his way down to him, and with a frown, Mark plucked the missive from the salver. Nicole watched him from behind her wineglass, apprehension in her eyes. Mark ripped open the note and scanned the words. He hadn’t seen the handwriting in years, but he recognized it. It belonged to his uncle.

  “Please come quickly. I need your assistance. Your cousin John is dead.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Nicole studied Mark’s face. Something was wrong. He’d gone a shade paler and the lines around his mouth had tensed. What did the note say? Something to do with his work, most likely.

  He pulled his napkin from his lap and stood. “We must go.”

  “What is it?” Nicole asked from his side, standing too.

  “Everything all right?” Lord Allen asked from his perch at the end of the dining table.

  “A family matter.” Mark glanced at her. “Some bad news. I fear we must leave immediately.”

  “Of course,” Lord Allen replied. He ordered the butler to have Mark’s coach brought round.

  Mark and Nicole said their good-byes to the other guests, including Lord Tottenham, who looked especially sorry to see them go. They made their way to the dining room door. Lord Allen accompanied them, leading them down the corridor to the foyer.

  “Are you quite all right, Grimaldi?” the minister asked as they marched toward the front door.

  “My cousin is dead,” Mark intoned, his profile like stone.

  Nicole gasped, but the look on Mark’s face told her she should not say more in front of the minister. It had to be John who had died, but Mark wouldn’t want that side of his family discussed in front of Lord Allen.

  “Good God, man. Anything I can do?” the minister asked.

  Mark’s face was grim. “No, but thank you for your hospitality. I do hope we can reschedule. Next time at our house?”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Lord Allen replied.

  The butler handed Mark his hat and the moment their coach pulled to a stop in front of the minister’s house, Mark opened the front door, clutched Nicole’s hand, and led her quickly down the stairs toward the coach.

  Once they were settled inside the conveyance, Nicole said, “It’s John, isn’t it?”

  One terse nod from Mark. “I must go to my uncle’s house immediately.”

  “Of course.” She nodded too. “When’s the last time you saw John?”

  Mark leaned forward and braced his forearms on his thighs, staring down at his booted feet. “I’ve seen him … in passing.”

  “I know you haven’t seen Regina in at least seven,” Nicole added. Regina was Mark’s other cousin. She was the granddaughter of Mark’s grandfather’s sister, Lady Harriet.

  Mark narrowed his eyes on Nicole. “How do you know that?”

  Nicole shrugged one shoulder. “Regina and I have kept in touch.”

  “I see.” Mark opened the small door behind his head that connected to the driver. He turned back to face Nicole briefly. “I can drop you at our house first.”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m coming with you.”

  “That is not necessary,” Mark intoned.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “It may be unnecessary, but I’m coming nonetheless.”

  “Very well.” Clearly he didn’t want to argue with her at a time like this.

  Mark hadn’t grown up close to either of his cousins, Nicole knew that, but blood was important to him. Even his blue blood. John was only thirty years old. What in heaven’s name happened? Had he got sick? A carriage accident?

  Mark gave the driver his uncle’s address. Not a quarter of an hour later, they pulled to a stop in front of the grand Mayfair town house of the Duke of Colchester. Mark helped Nicole alight yet again and they hurried to the front door.

  Mark pounded the brass doorknocker, but minutes passed before an elderly and somber butler opened the wide black-lacquered front door.

  “His Grace isn’t taking visitors at the moment,” the butler informed them in a nasally tone, blinking at them with wide-eyed somnolence.

  Mark pushed his way into the foyer, pulling Nicole in with him. “I’m General Mark Grimaldi,” he said in his most authoritative voice. �
�The duke’s nephew. He asked me to come.”

  The butler raised his thick eyebrows and looked down his nose at the taller man, his skepticism thinly veiled, perhaps because no such nephew had ever shown himself at this residence. However, he clearly wasn’t about to argue with a man of Mark’s size and confidence. “Very well. Come with me,” he intoned.

  They followed the slender man up the massive staircase and down the upper corridor. The butler knocked twice on the imposing door to his uncle’s bedchamber. “Your Grace, a General Mark Grimaldi is here to see you. He claims to be your nephew.”

  “Show him in,” came the duke’s reedy voice.

  Nicole glanced at Mark. His nostrils flared. Uneasiness lurked in his dark eyes. He wasn’t looking forward to this, but was doing it out of duty. Duty was always on his mind.

  The butler pushed open the door and Mark stepped inside with Nicole right behind him. The room was dark and smelled of peppermint and turpentine. A nurse who’d been sitting in a chair in the corner quickly stood and excused herself.

  Nicole nodded to her as the woman swept past. Once she was gone, Nicole hovered near the door while Mark strode to his uncle’s bedside. The bed was strewn with handkerchiefs and a great many papers.

  “Thank you, Bigsby. You may leave us,” the duke said to his butler.

  The butler bowed and retreated, giving Nicole a disapproving once-over before he left.

  Mark crouched down beside his uncle’s bed. “What happened?” he asked, his voice low.

  The duke seemed to be studying Mark’s face. “It’s good to see you, Mark.”

  Just like he did with any sort of emotion, Mark shook off the words. Nicole could almost see him physically do that. “What happened?” he repeated.