A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  “What are you saying?” Arabelle sobbed, her blue eyes bright with tears.

  “I’m saying, I wasn’t about to stand by and let you become a marchioness and a duchess while I married a nobody. Mr. Cartwright was the next in line and I intended to finally be one step ahead of you.”

  Arabelle shook her head. “You would murder an innocent person in your quest to become a marchioness?”

  “I wouldn’t have had to murder anyone if it wasn’t for you,” Molly screamed. “If you hadn’t horned in on Lord Coleford when he was clearly interested in me, none of this would have happened.”

  Molly’s eyes were wild as she swung her gaze about the room, lighting on each pale, pitying face. She scratched at her arms and turned in a wide circle. “I’ve always been overlooked. No one cared about me. No one looked twice at me. Lord Coleford barely noticed me. He asked about Arabelle when we danced. But when Mr. Cartwright was so kind and sweet and looked at me as if I were a person…” Her face went soft for a moment. “I thought I’d found someone who truly liked me. And … he was so close to becoming a marquess. So very close. I knew I couldn’t allow Lord Coleford to marry Arabelle and possibly produce an heir. That would complicate everything.”

  “Yes, must do away with him before he produces an heir,” Mrs. Lester agreed, nodding, her eyes unfocused. She looked small and sunken into the chair she’d collapsed into, even as her daughter’s sanity crumbled to dust.

  Molly lifted her chin and glanced around the room. “I know I was wrong, but they were wrong too.”

  “Who?” Daffin asked, carefully.

  “All the people who ever overlooked me,” Molly replied in a voice that had gone high, little-girl-like. “Everyone who ever treated me unkindly. Mr. Cartwright was kind to me. Mr. Cartwright saw me for who I truly am.”

  Mr. Cartwright had a horrified expression on his face. He took a step away from her. “No, Molly, that’s not true. I failed to see you for who you truly are, a scheming murderess. I thought you were a sweet, quiet young woman who was looking for someone to share the rest of her life with and who didn’t mind that I didn’t have a title. I’d no idea the lengths you’d go to in order to get one.”

  Molly stared up at Mr. Cartwright, aghast. “You’re going to denounce me too?”

  Mr. Cartwright shook his head in disgust. “You killed Lord Coleford. Of course I denounce you.”

  Molly let out an ungodly scream and threw herself toward Cartwright, stabbing at his eyes as if to scratch them out, but Daffin Oakleaf stepped in the way, blocking her path. He grabbed her wrists in one large hand and spun her around, wrestling her into the pair of darby handcuffs he’d pulled from his jacket pocket.

  Molly tried to struggle out of Daffin’s hold.

  “Careful,” he said against her ear. “Don’t make me use my truncheon on you.”

  From her position near the doorway, Regina gave Nicole a little smile.

  Daffin carted both Molly and her mother out of the room while everyone else stared at one another aghast.

  “My apologies,” the duke said, clearing his throat and addressing the room at large. “I had to tell a bit of a fib there in order to get Miss Lester to confess. I’m exceedingly grateful it worked.”

  “A fib?” Lord Anthony echoed.

  “Yes,” the duke replied with a faint smile. “The truth is that Mr. Cartwright is not the heir, as he’s already been told. Thank you for your help, Mr. Cartwright.”

  Mr. Cartwright gave a grave nod. “I’m only glad we’ve found the culprit. Shocking as it is.”

  In the back of the room, Lord Tottenham cleared his throat. “Then who is the heir?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  Mark swiveled on his heel. It was time. He had to tell the truth. “Lord Tottenham,” he intoned. “Before His Grace makes the announcement, may I have a word with you … alone?”

  Tottenham’s face wrinkled into a confused frown, but he nodded and followed Mark to the door.

  “We won’t be long,” Mark informed the occupants of the room. On his way out, he whispered to Nicole, “Please join us.”

  “Me?” Nicole pointed to herself.

  Mark grinned at her and nodded.

  Regina pushed Nicole toward the door. “Go,” she mouthed.

  Nicole followed the two men from the room. The three of them entered the green salon next door.

  As soon as the door shut behind them, Tottenham turned to Mark, tugging at his waistcoat that bulged over his belly. “I know what this is about, Grimaldi. I promised you your promotion if you solved the case. Not to worry, I’m a man of my word and you shall have it. I hardly think we needed to delay the announcement because of it, however. I, for one, am on tenterhooks to hear the news, especially since I learned the heir is not Cartwright.”

  Mark folded his arms behind his back and braced his feet apart. He faced Tottenham head-on. “I believe once you know what I have to say, you’ll agree this meeting was necessary, my lord.”

  “Eh?” Tottenham’s face puckered into another frown. “Very well, then. Proceed.” He crossed his arms over his girth and waited for Mark to speak.

  “First,” Mark began, pacing toward the windows. “I could not have solved the case without my wife.” He smiled at Nicole, who returned his smile. She’d never looked more beautiful. “I was convinced the killer was either Lord Hillenbrand or Mr. Cartwright. It was Nicole who spoke to Miss Lester and realized she was hiding something.”

  “Perhaps I should make your wife the Home Secretary, then,” Tottenham replied with a hearty laugh.

  “She would be a fine choice, my lord,” Mark replied humbly. He looked at Nicole and felt something that went beyond pride, something that sent warmth through him and put a knot in his throat.

  “I, however, don’t aspire to be the Home Secretary,” Nicole replied, crossing to her husband and twining her arm through his. She gently tugged him back toward Tottenham. “But my husband does and he will gladly accept your offer, my lord.”

  “Excellent,” Tottenham replied, lifting his fleshy chin.

  Mark winced and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “First I must tell you something. Something that is certain to come as a surprise.”

  “What’s that, Grimaldi?” Tottenham’s craggy brows dropped lower over his eyes.

  Mark took a deep breath. This was it. If he said the words that hovered on his lips, there would be no turning back. “When the duke makes the announcement, he’ll be naming me as the heir to the Duchy of Colchester.” He hung his head.

  Nicole squeezed Mark’s hand. Mark glanced back up. His entire future hung in the next few moments.

  “The devil you say?” Tottenham’s eyes were wide as carriage wheels. “What are you talking about?”

  Mark straightened his shoulders. “I am the son of Mary Grimaldi, the duke’s sister. The will contains a codicil naming the next male in the direct family as heir. That is me.”

  Tottenham’s eyes instantly filled with what could only be described as joy. “By God, man, are you telling me my new Home Secretary is also a marquess?”

  “I’m afraid I am, my lord.” Mark swallowed the lump that had been lodged in his throat since he’d asked to speak with Tottenham alone.

  Tottenham clapped his hands. “Are you quite serious? It couldn’t have turned out better if I’d planned it.”

  Mark stared at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. This was hardly the reaction he expected. “It’s not a role I aspired to, my lord, that of marquess, I mean.”

  Tottenham tugged at the lapels of his coat. “Are you mad? Do you realize the type of influence you can bring to the position as a marquess?”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him,” Nicole added, a wide smile on her face.

  “I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Mark replied. He covered Nicole’s hand with his own and smiled at her warmly.

  “Well, start thinking of it that way, Coleford. You’re bound to be able to pas
s any reforms you want with the Colchester name behind you.”

  Mark stood there, dumbfounded. Could he really do more good as an aristocrat? The role he’d rejected his entire life. Damn. He’d been a fool and an arse for not recognizing it sooner.

  “I won’t let you down, my lord,” Mark promised. He let go of Nicole’s arm and bowed to the older man.

  Tottenham stepped forward and clapped Mark on the shoulder. “I know you won’t, Grimaldi. I know you won’t.”

  “Shall we get back?” Nicole said, her eyes suspiciously bright. “I presume the rest of the drawing room is eager to hear the news.”

  “By all means,” Lord Tottenham replied, gesturing for Nicole to precede them to the door.

  The three of them filed back into the other room, where Mark nodded at the duke.

  The duke smiled and returned Mark’s nod, then turned to the room at large whose occupants had fallen utterly silent. The atmosphere grew instantly thick with anticipation. “Everyone, it’s time for me to introduce you to the heir to the Duchy of Colchester, my nephew, Mark Grimaldi.”

  A gasp went up around the room and the duke grinned proudly as Mark explained to everyone how he was related to the family and why he’d inherited the title.

  Lady Harriet and Regina beamed. The rest of the group offered Mark their congratulations. Even Mr. Cartwright looked pleased for him.

  “Remember, this means you must get to work on an heir right away!” Lady Harriet declared, nudging Mark in the side.

  Mark and Nicole exchanged a glance. Her hand stole into his and his fingers closed around hers, anchoring her to his side.

  * * *

  Two hours later, they gathered with Regina in the grand foyer to bid farewell to Daffin, who was on his way back to London.

  “I’m pleased that our little team was able to find the truth,” Daffin said, a broad grin on his face. “Mrs. Lester and Molly are already on their way back to London to face the magistrate.”

  “Thanks to Nicole.” Mark gave his wife a fond, tender smile.

  “Oh, no,” Nicole replied. “Not just me. I couldn’t have done it without my steadfast assistant, Regina. I daresay she’ll make a fine investigator one day.”

  Regina bumped her shoulder against Nicole’s. “I daresay we make a fine team. Two female minds are better than one.”

  Daffin narrowed his eyes on the ladies. “Why did you two suspect Molly in the first place?”

  “Honestly, we questioned her first only because she was there,” Nicole admitted. “But once we listened to her story, we were able to see through her because we know what it’s like to be that age and looking for a match.”

  “Something Oakleaf and I know nothing about.” Mark shook his head.

  “You’re willing to admit that ladies make good investigators?” Nicole asked him with a pointed look.

  Mark laughed. “I’m even willing to admit that at times they make superior investigators.”

  “I’ve known that since I last worked with you, Nic,” Daffin said, placing his hat on his head. He bowed to Nicole. “Job well done, my lady.” He turned to Mark. “I’ll see you back in London, Grim.”

  Mark clapped the runner on the shoulder. “Yes. You’ll have to come for dinner one night soon, Oakleaf.”

  “I’d like that,” Daffin replied. He turned to Regina and his smile grew warmer. “Will you be there too, Lady Regina?”

  “I might be persuaded to join you,” Regina said. “Though I’ll still be in mourning for the next three weeks.”

  “Of course.” Daffin ran a finger along the brim of his hat and nodding. “Until we meet again then, my lady.”

  The runner strode out the door, down the steps, and pulled himself up into the waiting carriage. Regina watched him go and sighed.

  * * *

  Mark shut the door to the study behind him and faced his uncle, who sat behind the large desk. “You wanted to speak with me?” He cleared his throat. “Privately.”

  “Yes.” The duke nodded.

  “At your service.” Mark folded his arms behind his back and braced his feet apart.

  His uncle eyed him carefully. “Thank you for finding the people who killed John.”

  Mark swallowed. “It was the least I could do, Your Grace.”

  “You still refuse to call me ‘Uncle’?”

  “No, I—”

  “Are you going to take it, Mark? The duchy, I mean.”

  Mark hung his head and scrubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He’d known this moment would come and was prepared for it. He’d had time to fully digest the import of his mother’s letter. “Yes,” he breathed. “I will take it when the time comes.”

  “I am quite sick. The time will be upon us soon. There is much I must tell you, Mark. Things you must learn.”

  Mark gave his uncle a solemn nod. “I understand.”

  “I suggest you begin coming to my house in London, say, twice a week. We can discuss the estates and books and the tenants.”

  “As you wish. I will speak to my solicitor. He’ll come too.”

  “A fine idea.”

  Mark turned toward the door to leave.

  “Wait.” His uncle’s voice stopped him.

  “Yes?”

  “What about Nicole? Are you and she reunited … truly, for good? Will she serve as your duchess?”

  Apparently, they hadn’t done as good an acting job as Mark had believed. He refused to lie to the old man. “No. We’re not. She returned to help me. She’s been doing me a favor all this time.”

  His uncle’s brows dropped. “For what in return?”

  Mark shifted on both feet. “Suffice it to say, we both got something we wanted out of it, but she will be returning to France eventually.”

  “Do you love her?”

  Mark steeled his jaw against the unexpected question. He only needed to repeat what he’d been telling himself every day since she’d come back into his life. If he said it often enough, he might even begin to believe it. “I never even knew her, Uncle. Nicole and I never should have married in the first place.”

  The duke arched a gray brow. “You won’t be sorry to see her go?”

  He’d be sorry to see her go all right, but what did that have to do with anything? “We’re two different people, Nicole and I.”

  “That’s not what I asked. Will you be sorry to see her go?”

  Mark straightened and stared out the window. This was more difficult than he thought. The sooner this conversation ended, the better. He ground out the words between clenched teeth. “It’s best for both of us if we return to our normal lives as soon as possible.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  Nicole stared at the blank piece of vellum again. She’d put it off long enough. She must write her mother. No doubt Mother’s letters to her had been stacking up in France. The woman was probably worried about her. Why was it so difficult to scribble the words to tell her mother she was living under the same roof as her husband again? Perhaps because a letter had started all the trouble to begin with. Nicole tossed down the quill and let her head drop in exasperation.

  She and Mark had been back in London for two days. Mark hadn’t touched her. She’d slept in her bedchamber, next door to his, wondering if he would come. But he hadn’t. She doubted he’d come tonight, either, and after what she’d overheard him say to his uncle in his study in Surrey, she doubted he’d ever return to her bed.

  “It’s best for both of us if we return to our normal lives as soon as possible.” Those words slashed through her heart each time she remembered them. She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. She’d merely been seeking Mark, to ask him about their plans to return to London. She’d heard his deep voice coming from his uncle’s study and made her way down the corridor to the room. She’d raised her fist to knock when she’d heard the duke ask, “Do you love her?”

  Her heart had stopped beating. Her breath caught in her throat. God help her, she’d stood in stone silence waiting with bated
breath for Mark’s reply. “I never even knew her,” he said. She closed her eyes, letting the pain wash over her. Of course she’d read too much into their nights together. While she’d been falling in love with him again, he’d merely been fulfilling his side of the bargain.

  She pressed the heel of her hand against her eye. A dark thought had crept through her mind after Mark had received his promotion. He didn’t need her any longer. He’d got everything he wanted. And then some. The Duchy of Colchester would be his eventually in addition to the position as Secretary of the Home Office. She was unnecessary, unneeded. His own words confirmed it. He wanted to return to his normal routine as soon as possible.

  She pinched the bridge of her nose to disperse the sting from the threat of tears. That was it. She’d made her decisions. Both of them. First, she dropped the scribbled upon vellum in the rubbish bin beside the desk. She wouldn’t write to her mother from London. She could write to her from France. Second, she was going back. As soon as possible. She’d done what Mark had asked of her. She refused to overstay her welcome. It had been foolish to want a baby with him. Foolish and selfish of her. The whole idea had been ridiculous, but even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t. It was torture. The nights with him in Surrey had been magnificent, but they’d come with strings attached. Long, tangled strings.

  She impatiently dashed away tears that formed as quickly as the realization. She’d known from the beginning that she couldn’t just sink back into bed with him and feel nothing. She’d known when he touched her body and made her feel like he was a virtuoso playing a violin that she wouldn’t be able to keep her emotions from becoming involved. And they were. She’d fallen in love with him again. She loved him and he still blamed her for the same thing he’d blamed her for ten years ago. Nothing could change that.

  Staying with a man who didn’t love her was impossible. It would kill her. There was no telling how long it would take to get with child. What if she couldn’t conceive? They could potentially stay together for months, years. She’d be breaking her heart open again. She had to leave. As soon as possible. The longer she stayed with him, the more entrenched her heart would become. She swallowed hard, tucked her chair beneath the desk, and turned to face the door. There was only one way she knew to convince him to let her go with few questions asked. The thought of leaving made her heart ache, but the thought of staying made her miserable.