A Duke Like No Other

by Valerie Bowman

  She straightened her spine and ran both hands over her damp cheeks. This weeping would not do. When had she become such a crier? Good heavens. She must pull herself together.

  A soft knock at the door that separated her bedchamber from Mark’s made her jump. “Come in,” she forced herself to say in a false-bright voice.

  Mark entered the room. He wore his breeches, a shirt opened to reveal his muscled chest, and little else she surmised from a quick, enlivening glance down to his beautiful bare feet. Had he come to make love to her again? She wanted him to. Oh, how desperately she wanted him to.

  “Are you recovered from the journey from Surrey?” he asked, coming to stand near the bed, only a few paces from her.

  “Y-yes. Are you?” She couldn’t meet his gaze for fear she would weep again.

  “I think so.”

  She wrapped her arms around herself tightly. It was cold in the room of a sudden. “You got everything you wanted, didn’t you?” she murmured.

  “I got the one thing I wanted. I never wanted the duchy.”

  “Ah, of course.” She moved toward him and hesitated, then reached to place a hand on his elbow. “Mark, I don’t think you should take the duchy if you truly don’t want it.”

  He searched her face, confusion written across his expression. “What?”

  “It’s not worth it. Your uncle will manage it. There will be someone else to take it. There always is.”

  He bit his bottom lip as if considering her words, then he said slowly, “I’m surprised to hear you say that. Don’t you want the duchy … for our child?”

  She couldn’t talk to him about their child. Their nonexistent child. The lump in her throat blocked any words on the subject from coming out. Instead, she said, “I never expected to be a duchess or the mother of a future duke.”

  Those words emerged more poignant than she’d meant them to be. They both remained silent for several moments. Mark’s dark gaze was relentless on her, while hers darted about, for if it were to land on his beloved face, the tears would start again.

  He gave a small shake of his head and wandered away, toward the window, where he pushed aside the curtain to stare out into the inky night sky. “And did you get what you wanted, Nicole?” Was it her imagination or was there a slight tremor to his voice?

  Nicole’s hand went to her belly. This was it. The moment to secure her freedom from this mad bargain she never should have made. “Yes,” she forced herself to say. “I believe I have.”

  His shoulders dropped slightly. He let the curtains close and turned back to face her. “Are you certain?”

  “Relatively certain.” Her voice quavered. God strike her down for lying, but it was the only way she would be able to refuse him her bed. The only way he would understand why she was leaving. She’d worry about the consequences later. She could always inform him by letter that she’d been mistaken or that she’d lost the babe.

  “So, that means…” His words trailed off.

  She cleared her throat. “I’d like to return to France. Until after the baby is born. If that’s all right with you.”

  “Is that what you want?” His eyes searched her face.

  She turned her gaze to stare at the wall and bit the inside of her cheek. “It’s what I prefer, yes.”

  “Very well,” came his calm, measured voice. “You know I won’t force you to stay.”

  “Thank you.” She could barely push the words past the lump in her throat as he started past her to leave the room.

  “Mark?” she called.

  He stopped at the door. “Yes?”

  “Are you angry? That I was investigating at Colchester Manor?”

  The hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth when he glanced at her over his shoulder. “Of course not. You were the one on the right path all along.”

  She smiled too. “I must say I was surprised to hear you admit it.”

  He hung his head and stared at his feet. “I’m no longer the arrogant young man I used to be, Nicole. I’ve seen too much of life and its atrocities.”

  Fresh tears stung Nicole’s eyes, born not of grief for her own heartache but of compassion. She never thought she’d hear him say such a thing. “I always believed you hated me for not telling you I was affiliated with Bow Street until after we married.”

  “No, Nicole. I didn’t care that you worked with them. I cared that you kept it from me.” He turned to face her and took a few tentative steps toward her. “Your work with the runners frightened me. I didn’t want you to be hurt. What I blamed you for is the fact that you knew who my family was. I was convinced you’d only pretended to love me. I thought you wanted to marry a duke’s grandson, not a corporal in the army.”

  “I never cared that you were a duke’s grandson,” she said softly. “I loved the corporal. Can you believe that now, Mark?”

  He searched her face, and a hint of vulnerability flashed in his eyes. “Does it make a difference?”

  She had to pinch her arms to keep the tears from falling. “No,” she whispered, hanging her head. “I suppose it doesn’t. Not after all these years.”

  “Do you … still want to go?” he asked, the vulnerability in the question undeniable now.

  It felt as if an invisible knife carved a hole in her chest. “I must.”

  He drew a deep breath, closed his eyes, released it, and finally gave a nod of surrender. “Very well,” he said, as he slowly opened his bedchamber door. “Have the maids help you pack. I’ll provide my coach for your journey to Dover.”

  She didn’t allow herself to weep until he shut the door behind him.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  The Curious Goat Inn was filled with its regular midday patrons. Men drinking and laughing, the odd woman sharing a pint, and children selling papers in the street outside. Mark strode in and immediately saw his colleagues sitting at a large round table in the middle of the room. The Cavendish twins and Daffin Oakleaf looked like a trio of Nordic gods in the midst of mere mortals. Mark strolled over, grabbed a wooden chair, turned it around, and straddled it.

  “If it isn’t the stone man, himself,” Rafe Cavendish said, clapping Mark on the shoulder.

  “And if it isn’t the viscount spy,” Mark rejoined, folding his arms across the chair back.

  “Ah, ah, ah, careful making fun of those of us who have a title, Grim. I hear you’re about to become a marquess any day now,” Rafe replied, a sly grin on his face.

  “Is that true?” Cade Cavendish shook his head. “Can’t believe it. The good general, a future duke?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Oakleaf replied, taking a quaff of his ale. “Now I’m the only one of the lot of you who doesn’t have a title. Woe is me.”

  “Shut it, Oakleaf. You know we envy you for it,” Cade replied, elbowing the runner in the ribs.

  “Yes, enough to pretend you’re me from time to time, eh, Cade?” Oakleaf, arched a brow in the privateer’s direction.

  Cade shrugged. His grin didn’t falter. “At the time, I was persona non grata in London. Needed your good name to get me through the door. We look alike, or so I’m told. Though I think I’m a sight more handsome than you’ll ever be.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I pretend I’m you the next time I’m in a pinch?” Oakleaf asked Cade, blinking innocently.

  Cade bristled and sucked down a healthy portion of ale. “Ugh. I suppose I do owe you one.”

  “Perfect,” Oakleaf replied, setting down his mug with a satisfied sigh. “The next time I need to pretend I’m a pirate knight, I’ll be certain to invoke your name.”

  All four men laughed.

  “What are you doing here, Grim? Got another mission for us?” Rafe called over a barmaid and ordered himself and Mark a mug of ale.

  “No,” Mark replied. “I’m completely devoid of missions. Now that I’m Home Secretary, I’m working on my new plan for the police force.”

  Oakleaf whistled. “Yes, well, the police force sounds far less ex
citing than being a runner.”

  Mark cast him a wry look. “It might be, but I’m attempting to secure funding from the government so you and your lot won’t have to rely on bounties.”

  “Can’t say I’ve ever disliked relying on bounties. They’ve made me a wealthy man,” Oakleaf replied with a grin. “I reckon if this police force business takes off, I’ll go into private practice as an investigator.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you, Oakleaf,” Mark replied. “The police force won’t earn the same purses you have.”

  The barmaid returned and plunked down an overflowing mug of ale in front of Mark.

  “Where’s the missus, Grim?” Cade interjected. “I was hoping you’d introduce us at long last.”

  “Yes, Daphne and Danielle want to have you both over for dinner sometime soon,” Rafe threw in. “They nearly had fits when we told them you’ve been secretly married for ten years.”

  “It wasn’t a secret,” Mark said, some of his joviality slipping away. “I was merely … judicious about whom I informed.”

  “Spoken like a true spymaster,” Rafe replied with a grin. “When will you come to dinner then?”

  Mark shook his head. He stared down at the scarred pattern on the old tavern table, then lifted his mug and took a drink. “I’m afraid there will be no dinner.”

  “What?” Cade asked. “Why?”

  Mark wiped a hand across the back of his mouth and set the mug on the table with a hollow thump. “Because Mrs. Grimaldi, soon to be the Marchioness of Coleford, is even now on her way back to France.”

  Oakleaf choked on the ale he was drinking and slammed his fist against the table. “The devil you say. Thought the two of you had finally set things to rights.”

  Mark groaned and ran a hand over his face. “I rather thought the same thing, but apparently I was wrong.”

  “Look,” Rafe said, bracing his forearm on the table and leaning across it toward Mark. “Cade and I have had issues with our wives in the past, believe me. Why don’t you tell us the problem and we can help you solve it?”

  Mark stared at the viscount spy as if was torn between astonishment and the urge to laugh. “You cannot be serious.”

  “Go ahead. We’re happily married men, you know,” Cade prompted.

  The barmaid returned with two more mugs for the twins. Rafe spun one across the table to Cade before saying, “I know what you’re thinking, Stone Man. You cannot tell your former subordinates about your private life. But we don’t work for you anymore. You’re the Secretary of the Home Office now, not the spymaster.”

  Mark eyed him carefully. Rafe made a certain amount of sense.

  “Yes,” Cade added. “We’re your friends now. And friends tell each other things.”

  Mark glanced at Oakleaf, one brow quirked.

  The runner shrugged. “Can’t say I know much about how to keep a wife, being a bachelor myself, but I’m game to listen and help however I can.”

  Mark shook his head. This conversation was quickly making him uncomfortable. He’d never had friends—he hadn’t had time. But something about their offer held a certain appeal. He took a deep breath and glanced at their somber, earnest faces. By God, they were actually waiting to help him. He couldn’t believe he was even considering this. He’d run the details of his last talk with Nicole over and over through his mind for days now and was no closer to a solution. Perhaps the Cavendish brothers and Oakleaf could help. Stranger things had happened. Nicole was gone. Telling them about it couldn’t make the situation worse. What did he have to lose?

  Mark grabbed his mug, bellied up to the table, and spent the next ten minutes recounting the basics of his final conversation with Nicole.

  “She’s going to have a baby?” Rafe Cavendish’s crystal-blue eyes were wide as saucers.

  “Yes,” Mark mumbled. “At least that’s what she told me. I suspect she may have only said that to get away from me, however.”

  “What? Why are you letting your wife and possibly an unborn child sail off to France?” Oakleaf gave Mark a look that clearly indicated he thought he’d lost his mind.

  “It’s not my choice. It’s hers,” Mark retorted. “I’m not about to order her to stay after everything we’ve been through. I’m not a complete Neanderthal.”

  “But what if she thought you wanted her to stay?” Oakleaf pointed out. “You don’t think she would?”

  Mark scratched his head. “What do you mean?”

  Oakleaf planted a fist on the table. “You fool. Did you ever tell her you wanted her to stay? Did you ever ask her to?”

  Mark glowered at the runner. Oakleaf wasn’t even married. Why was he the one suddenly making sense?

  Mark frowned. “No.”

  “Why not?” Rafe asked in complete bewilderment.

  “I didn’t think she’d say yes,” Mark bit out, his neck growing hot. He wanted to punch all three of his so-called friends in the throat at the moment.

  “You mean you were too proud to tell her,” Oakleaf replied.

  Mark clenched his jaw. “Perhaps.”

  “So you don’t know what she’d say?” Cade asked.

  Mark tugged at his cravat. “I suppose not … officially.”

  Oakleaf slammed his mug on the table. “Well, you’re officially an idiot. Go find her and ask her. Tell her you want her to stay. Tell her you cannot live without her. Tell her you want her and your baby in your life permanently.”

  Mark stared at them in astonishment. By God, his friends were right. He’d been a complete fool. He shoved back his chair and shot to his feet, his heart hammering a resolute rhythm in his chest. He only hoped he could find Nicole in time. Her packet to Calais was set to leave in the morning. He’d have to ride hard for Dover.

  He tossed coins on the table to pay for his ale and offered his friends a vibrant smile, feeling truly alive for the first time in days … weeks … hell, years. “Wish me luck, chaps.”

  “Good luck, Grim,” all three shouted in unison, holding up their mugs and clanking them together.

  Mark turned on his heel and raced for the door.

  “Would you look at that?” Cade Cavendish whistled from behind him. “Looks like the stone man ain’t made of stone anymore.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Nicole and Susanna stood on the dock, waiting in a queue to board the packet to Calais. They’d traveled to Dover over the last two days, Nicole sick with unhappiness. Leaving Mark hadn’t saved her heart. Her heart was long shattered, and she didn’t even have a baby for her trouble. She’d been a complete idiot. She should have known from the moment he arrived in France that their bargain would end up benefiting him and hurting her. She’d spent the last ten years steeling her heart against the man, only to let all the barriers come crashing down in a matter of weeks. It was her own fault. Fool that she was.

  Susanna had agreed to travel with her. The girl had never been to France and was looking forward to it. Nicole told her she could decide once there if she’d like to stay and would pay for her travel back to London if she decided not to.

  Susanna’s constant chatter was the only thing keeping Nicole from launching herself into the Channel. She was exceedingly grateful for the girl’s cheerful company. They began the slow ascent up the gangplank. Nicole felt as if lead weighed down the bottoms of her shoes. Each step she took was more difficult than the last.

  “We sure were surprised when ye arrived,” Susanna said. “Louise didn’t think ye’d stay. But the rest of us, we thought ye would. The general’s been a sight happier to live with since ye’ve been there, I’ll tell ye. I’ll be sorry ta come back and see him sad.”

  “Pardon?” Nicole stopped and stared at the girl. Had Susanna just said Mark had seemed happier since she’d been in London? Was that possible?

  The maid opened her mouth to reply when a commotion behind them in the throng of coaches and people swarming the dock caught their attention.

  A young man jumped up on some barrels and waved his cap
frantically in the air. “Make way! Make way! The Duke o’ Colchester’s coach is comin’ through and it’s urgent!”

  “Colchester?” Nicole murmured as her pulse took flight. “Surely there’s been a mistake. He couldn’t have meant the Duke of Colchester.” Using her gloved hand, she shielded her eyes from the morning sunlight to squint through the crowd.

  “Well, I’ll be,” Susanna said, shielding her eyes alongside Nicole. “He was right. That is the Duke of Colchester’s coach if ever I saw it.”

  The large black coach with the emerald-green crest made its way through a throng of vehicles that all moved to the side for it. Nicole watched in wide-eyed surprise as the vehicle progressed slowly but unerringly toward the dock and the packet she was boarding. She stood arrested, halfway up the gangplank when the coach pulled to a stop in front of it.

  The moment the carriage stopped, the door flew open and Mark jumped out. His gaze met Nicole’s.

  “Are ye the Duke o’ Colchester, sir?” a boy at the bottom of the gangplank shouted.

  Mark was already racing toward the gangplank, dodging people and trunks. “I will be one day,” he shouted back to the child.

  Nicole’s breath stopped. She clutched a gloved hand to her hammering heart. Was this truly happening?

  “Gor, me lady,” Susanna said, pulling on the strings to her bonnet. “I can’t believe that man’s running up this plank after ye. Ye’d best ready yerself. It looks as if he’s about ta cause a right big scene.”

  Nicole’s eyes filled with tears while her knees wobbled with relief. “He already has, Susanna. He already has.”

  “Nicole!” Mark yelled, never breaking the contact of their gaze as he dodged more people, ropes, and crates to push up the gangplank toward her.