A Heart of a Duke Regency Collection : Volume 2--A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  Forcibly thrusting aside the dark thoughts, Justina turned to thank the woman. Bunica reached inside her pocket and withdrew a ruby and pearl bracelet. Shimmery white pearls lined the gilded band that led to a gold filigree heart at the center with a single ruby in the middle. “It is for you,” she murmured, holding it out.

  With reverent hands, Justina studied the piece. Her gaze lingering on the single heart so very much like the pendant her sister had once worn and then gave to another. Several semi-precious stones were missing from the piece and, yet, there was a simplicity to the bracelet that made it far more beautiful than the gaudy baubles adorning the necks, wrists, and ears of fashionable ladies. “It is beautiful,” Justina whispered.

  “As long as the gild and pearl lie against the wrist, the wearer of the bracelet will forever know that true love doth exists.” The whispered prophecy rang loud amidst the mundane street sounds.

  Another patron approached the wagon, calling the gypsy’s notice away, leaving Justina and Nick alone.

  The whispered words of hope, rolling around her head, blended with the ominous future she’d portended for Justina. She started as Nick claimed the bracelet from her fingers. With slow, precise movements, he looped the bauble around her wrist and then pressed the clasp. Then, raising her hand to his mouth, he placed a gentle kiss to the place where her pulse pounded. “I love you,” she said softly and he went motionless; unblinking under the weight of her profession.

  Nick shook his head once.

  “I do,” she said to herself with soft surprise, as passersby rushed around them. Andrew and Gillian had spoken with a surety of Justina’s love for Nick. They saw the romantic, whirlwind courtship and not much more. Justina’s love, however, came not from what he’d done in marrying her. For that, he’d have her gratitude. Rather, she loved Nick Tallings for being a man who urged her to speak her mind and use it without apology. Who believed she had a mind, when not even her family saw her as in possession of a clever wit. She was stronger for his presence in her life. “I’m not asking or expecting you to love me,” she assured him, when he still said nothing. Not yet. Mayhap in time, he’d come to feel the same depth of emotion in his heart. “You have given me so much.” Her gaze fell involuntarily to the bracelet, lingering on that single heart. “You don’t demand or expect me to be a biddable miss.” The woman her father had demanded she be. “You applaud me for thinking and using my voice.” Which, having borne witness to her own mother’s stifled existence, Justina saw that for the gift it was.

  He dragged a hand over his mouth and glanced about, but not before she detected the panicky glint in his eyes. “Justina, there is so much…” There is so much what? Her mind screamed for the remainder of that unfinished thought. “I…” Her heart hung suspended in a breathless moment of anticipation for those words. Nick cleared his throat. “We will be late for the lecture,” he said gruffly and she managed a smile so brittle, her cheeks felt they would shatter.

  That is all he would say. “Of course,” she murmured. What did I expect? That I should confess the feelings in my heart and like those gothic tales I once read, he’d drop to a knee and pledge his eternal love?

  As they started across the street, having told herself, in time, he would come to care, disappointment struck painfully in her breast.

  Chapter 17

  It had been inevitable.

  Ultimately, all good came to an end. Time had proven as much. For Nick, that good came to an end nearly one week later as he stared blankly down at the note in his hands. He quickly snapped it shut and stuffed it inside his jacket. “When did this arrive?” he demanded of his butler.

  “Earlier this morn, Your Grace,” Thoms murmured. “A boy came ’round back and wouldn’t put it in anyone else’s hands.”

  Dread twisted in his belly and held him frozen behind his desk.

  “Do you require anything else, Your Grace?” his butler prodded, bringing him to attention.

  Nick gave his head a clearing shake. “Her Grace?”

  “She is paying a visit to a Miss Farendale, Your Grace,” the man murmured.

  “Miss Farendale,” he repeated. At the man’s nod, Nick consulted his timepiece. He’d but a short while to meet the baroness and then return. Mayhap Justina would not even arrive to find him gone. “See that my mount is readied, immediately,” he ordered, stuffing his watch fob inside his jacket.

  When the other man rushed off, Nick let fly a string of curses. The problem with a venomous serpent was one could never rid oneself of the poison. And in his case, in Lady Carew, he’d embroiled a lethal creature who would not rest until she spread that venom. Shoving to his feet, he stalked from the room.

  A short while later, braced for the impending meeting, Nick guided his mount through the streets of London. The baroness was displeased. And history had proven the perils of a spurned lover. They had been united in their goals for Rutland…and she would expect all the Barretts to suffer for their connection to the marquess. Everything had changed…and yet, at the same time, nothing had.

  After a seemingly endless ride through the quiet streets of London, Nick dismounted and motioned over a small boy. The lad sprinted over and collected the reins. “There will be more,” he promised handing over a small purse. Then, he bounded up the steps of the museum and entered the soaring main entrance. He blinked, struggling to adjust to the dimly lit space. Once his eyes became accustomed to the faint light, he did a quick survey of the antechambers.

  Carefully avoiding the handful of patrons circulating at this unfashionable hour, Nick skirted the perimeter of the museum, reading the antechamber signs. His gaze snagged on the far right corner and he squinted at the sign there. “Egyptian Room”. With a sick dread and frustrated anticipation, he made his way forward. The hum of silence rang loudly. He moved slowly, deeper into the room, past a row of cat mummies and Egyptian sculptures of pharaohs. He stopped at the back of the room, amongst the monuments that served as his only company.

  A pair of arms snaked around his waist and he jerked erect as the baroness’ sultry laugh echoed damningly off the walls. “Caught unawares,” she whispered against his neck. She caressed her fingers over the front of his breeches. “Were you thinking of me, Huntly? Is that what has you so distracted? How delicious would it be to rut here amongst the naughty Egyptian art?”

  “My lady,” he bit out tightly. He removed her hands from his person and turned to face her. How had he ever desired one such as her? Her rouged cheeks and kohl-lined eyes were an overblown false attractiveness that could never rival Justina’s effervescent beauty.

  She fingered the plunging line of her décolletage. Her large, white breasts nearly spilled from the scandalous garment and distaste soured his mouth at her blatant display. “You’ve, no doubt, missed a real woman in your bed.” She parted her legs slightly, the satin rustling noisily. “Would you like to take me here, hmm?”

  How had he ever been attracted to this viper? “Despite Wessex’s demands on your family, you’ve come to London all to have an itch scratched,” he said coldly.

  A breathy laugh bubbled past her lips. “If ever there was a lover to brave it for, Huntly, it is you.”

  Panic swelled inside and he fought to battle it down. It had been one thing when the baroness had been shut away in the countryside, afraid to defy the Viscount Wessex. It was an altogether different matter when she was this fearless, determined figure before him. Those who were emboldened could not be contained or controlled.

  As such, she’d never be content if she believed he’d formed a real marriage with Rutland’s sister-in-law.

  “What do you want?” he whispered. If they were discovered together, the gossip would be vicious, and Justina would pay the ultimate price.

  “You ask what I want?” Her lips hardened into a brittle line. “It has been a week since you married the mousy chit.” An eerie chill skittered along his spine at the maniacal glimmer in her eyes.

  Nick swallowed back the sting
ing words for her disparagement of Justina. With the baroness’ blinding jealousy, any words would be wasted. “And?” he snapped.

  The lady planted her arms akimbo. “Society is claiming yours is a love match.”

  His skin pricked with the sense of being studied and he glanced about, finding the room empty still. Nick returned his focus to the vindictive creature flashing hatred from her eyes.

  “Lower your bloody voice,” he ordered. None of their originally planned goals had been achieved. Nor would they be. It was a truth that had slowly come to him…not simply because of Cecily and Chilton’s urging, but rather for an understanding of what he had become and what he didn’t wish to be—Rutland.

  A shuddery gasp burst from the lady’s lips and he looked to her. “Why…why…the gossips are true?” she whispered, her eyebrows shooting to her hairline. “You…you care for her.”

  “My feelings for my wife do not signify,” he lied, dusting his gloves together. Nor would he discuss Justina with this viper.

  Her catlike eyes formed thin slits. “Then you’ll destroy the Barretts.”

  He let his silence serve as his answer. Having colluded with one such as the baroness, there could be no simple abandonment of his earlier intentions without recompense. His father-in-law and brother-in-law’s misery would have to suffice. His man-of-affairs had already begun calling in Andrew Barretts’ vowels. Why did that not bring anything more than a deep-seated self-loathing?

  Because I’ve become Rutland. Isn’t that what he’d wanted? Had worked for.

  The lady gave a pleased nod and spoke through his tumultuous musings. “See it through, Huntly. If all of Society isn’t abuzz with word of their ruin in five days, I’ll see it done.” With a promise of retribution in her cold eyes, his former lover marched off.

  His mind churned slowly with Lady Carew’s pledge. Everything was set. Had been the moment he’d signed those marriage papers in Waters’ office. He’d begun shoring up the remaining, outstanding debt belonging to the father. It was everything he’d worked toward. And yet, there was no thrill.

  It’s because Rutland has not yet learned what I’ve done. When he does…when I see the horror and pain in his eyes, I’ll find peace at last. With that hollow assurance ringing in his mind, he left the Egyptian Room. Keeping his head down, he took his leave of the museum.

  A short while later, with the duplicitous virago’s threat whispering around his mind, he found himself at the back table of Brooke’s. He rolled his snifter between his hands and contemplated the amber depths of his brandy.

  “You look like hell.”

  Bleary-eyed, he glanced up from his drink at the owner of that voice.

  His friend, Chilton, didn’t bother to ask permission, but tugged out a seat. He motioned over a servant. The liveried footman rushed over to set out a glass for him. “Have the reports in the gossip columns been to the contrary then?” he asked after the man had gone.

  “I don’t attend the gossip columns,” he said tersely and took a long swallow. He once had. All to obtain invaluable information about Rutland and those connected to the man. Nick downed his drink.

  “The ton has remarked on the blissfully wedded union between the Diamond and the duke. Tell me, are you the gloriously happy, lovesick peer Society takes you as?” By the mocking edge to that statement, the baron had already formulated his own opinion on the state of Nick’s happiness.

  The usually erroneous gossips had proven, for once, correct. He was happy. A lightness within her soul… with the strength to save… He grimaced and quashed the futile verse. Rather, he had been happy. When previously he’d believed only Rutland’s misery could bring him peace. Nick took another sip, waging a war inside that should not exist. That hadn’t existed until Justina.

  His friend filled his own glass.

  “I have to do it,” Nick said quietly and Chilton froze mid-pour. The baron glanced over at his friend with surprise in his gaze. “There can be no peace unless Rutland is ruined,” Nick repeated. “I vowed to destroy him,” he said, his words a hoarse entreaty, needing strength suffused from someone who’d known him through those darkest days.

  Chilton leaned forward and shrank the space between them. “And your wife?” His friend eyed him over the rim of his snifter. “I take it you’ve not yet…told her about your connection to the gentleman.”

  Nick shook his head once. It hardly mattered, anyway. “Nor do I suspect the lady will forgive such deception on my part,” he said, voicing the gripping fear that had kept him awake beside her when they lay twined in one another’s arms after they’d made love.

  “She certainly won’t if you destroy her father and brother.” Chilton chuckled, that sound devoid of mirth. He finished his drink and set down his empty snifter. “There will assuredly be no love if you see through your plans.” Those matter-of-fact words twisted Nick’s stomach in knots. “I would rather wager my happiness in telling her all and hoping she can see that my love proved greater than my hate.”

  My love? Nick opened and closed his mouth several times. “I…” The denial died from his lips. Love her. The staggering truth slammed into him with all the force of a fast-moving carriage. I love her. He loved her wit and her smile. He loved her ability to hope, despite the ugliness the world had shown her.

  “You’ve known my opinion, all along. You cannot do this.” Chilton cut across Nick’s whirring thoughts. “Speak to the lady. Tell her all and tell her you love her.” Nick’s gaze took on a faraway quality. A spark of pain resonated in their depths. “Because if you do not, the regret will someday threaten to destroy you in ways Rutland or no man could.”

  Nick stared back. His friend spoke as one who knew. They all carried secrets. Which ones belonged to Chilton? A commotion sounded at the front of the club and they both looked to the entrance of the elite establishment as a young gentleman stumbled and staggered through the club. He found a table, collapsing into one of the leather chairs.

  His brother-in-law’s loud slurring call for a drink roused another flurry of annoyed whispers from the other patrons. He frowned. The young man’s misery shouldn’t matter. Nick had begun calling in the younger Barrett’s vowels. This misery was his doing and he should be reveling in it. Just leave him there, blubbering into his drink. But just as Justina had slipped past his defenses and penetrated a wall of hatred, her impressionable, always-grinning brother had, as well. Bloody hell. “If you’ll excuse me, Chilton?” Nick asked, shoving to his feet.

  “Of course. Go. Go,” the baron urged, waving a hand. “I suspect you’ll have need of my carriage to see the gentleman home.”

  Murmuring his thanks, Nick made his way over to the man whose vowels he owned in their entirety. “Barrett,” he greeted.

  Justina’s brother lifted his head, revealing bloodshot eyes.

  “May I join you?”

  Gone was the youthful grin. In its place was a stark emptiness that Nick had learned too young. “Huntly, myyy friend,” he slurred. “Care for a driiink?” He swiped a hand about and jostled the decanter of brandy.

  Nick quickly rescued it and set it to rights. He sat, at a loss for words since he’d brought about this misery.

  Barrett looked like he’d dueled with the Devil and lost. His usually greased and immaculate hair hung tousled. His cravat in disarray. “She ended it.” Andrew’s voice broke and, with his throat working, he reached inside his jacket and fished around. He withdrew a letter.

  The cloying scent of roses slapped at Nick’s senses while the younger gentleman rambled on. That was what the man was sobbing over? Not his rapid descent into dun territory, but rather… a young lady. Then, wasn’t that the effect a good woman had on a man? They made one forget logic and order and flipped one’s world upside down.

  “Saaid we couldna ever be and we only lived in a world of pretend.” Justina’s brother stared at him through bloodshot eyes. “Told her I was going to end up in dun territory, but that we could make our future work togetherrr.”<
br />
  Rutland would be devastated by the young man’s suffering. So why then did Nick sit here with this hollow ache, as well? Because he’d been the one to shatter both his youth and his heart. Nick had thieved away Andrew’s romantic innocence by breaking his financial standing. Just as I’ve ultimately done to Justina’s innocence. “If she loved you enough, it would not matter, Barrett,” Nick said quietly. “Your love would be enough.” Will that be the case for Justina? A slow-building dread twisted in his belly.

  Barrett’s upper lip peeled in a cynical grin. He’d been forever changed. “It is far more complicated than that. There is another…gentleman and she belongs to him, and always will.” His words ended on a whispery hush and he began to weep.

  Another round of whispers and censorious stares were cast Barrett’s way and Nick frowned. He’d not subject the young man to any further whispers and gossip. No more than I’ve already secretly done. “Come,” he urged, taking to his feet once more. “Let me help you home,” he said gruffly. Wrapping an arm around Barrett’s shoulders, he helped him to a stand.

  “Goooddd of you, Huntly,” Barrett said, borrowing support from him as they made their way through the club. “It’s why you deserve love.” Guilt stabbed at Nick like a vicious dagger being plunged inside his person and twisted around. “Where IIIII?” Barrett tripped and Nick quickly righted him. “I’ve been a lousy sonnn and bruther,” he slurred. “Alwayyys asking for Justina’s help. And Phoebe’s. And Edmund’s.” Edmund. That name stirred the embers of Nick’s hatred. A stark, necessary reminder that he desperately required in this moment.

  They reached the front of Brooke’s and with a curt order, Nick called for Chilton’s carriage. “Yes, I,” Barrett continued over the exchange between him and the servant at the front of the establishment. “I was an equally rotted…” He creased his brow. “Rotten? Rotter?” Justina’s brother looked to him. “Is it rotted or rotter?”