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

by Christi Caldwell

  “You’ve still not said where we’re going,” she observed, falling in step beside him.

  “No, I haven’t.”

  At that veiled, secretive reply, she wrinkled her nose. “Is it to Lord Marlborough’s?”

  “Those details are still being worked out,” he said, offering nothing more.

  “Are you conducting a sale?” she pressed, gesturing to the velvet sack tucked in the nook of his left arm.

  Vail offered her another one of those teasing winks. “No.” He cradled the package in his arm with the same devotion she had Virgil.

  At the thought of Virgil, a wave of wistfulness swept over her. All her life, she’d believed she was enough for him…that she and Nettie were the only family he needed. Now, walking beside Vail, a man who’d risen up from uncertain beginnings, and made a fortune and future for himself, she realized how horribly naïve she’d been. No matter how much she’d devoted herself to Virgil, he still so very desperately needed the influence of a man in his life.

  “You’ve gone melancholy again.”

  She started. How very well he knew her. “I’m not sad,” she lied. “I’m simply wondering after your mysterious appointment.”

  Her answer seemed to satisfy him, for he again grinned.

  However, Vail had been correct. She ached with missing Virgil. At times, it was easy to lose herself in the distraction of her work and Archibald’s scheming, for remembering him was too hard.

  “Here we are,” Vail announced, bringing her to a stop outside a white stucco townhouse. As he rapped on the front door, there should be a modicum of interest in the secretive visit. All she could think of, however, was the sobering truth: she could not have both Vail and Virgil in her life at the same time. Those two could never know one another and she could never have anything with the baron. Not that he’d truly indicated a desire for there to be more.

  The front door was opened, interrupting her whirring thoughts. The young butler bowed and then smiled the way he might in greeting a familiar friend. “His Grace is expecting you,” he explained, stepping aside to allow Vail and Bridget entry.

  His Grace. A duke. One of those powerful peers just a step below royalty.

  Helping them from their cloaks and turning them over to the waiting footmen, the butler guided them through the grandiose townhouse. With white, Italian marble floors and gold satin wallpaper, the household bespoke wealth. She peeked about, stealing glances at the gilded frames lining the halls. Her own family had once been of similar wealth and prestige, but all of that had faded with her brother’s whoremongering and wagering. Bridget, shut away from the world, however, had known even less of that grandeur.

  “Who is he?” she quietly asked, from the corner of her mouth, mindful of the servant several paces ahead. Was the gentleman another one of those fanatical collectors?

  “This is not a business meeting,” he murmured, close to her ear. His breath stirred the sensitive spot upon her neck and sent delicious shivers racing through her.

  Then his words registered. It was not a business meeting.

  “He is my closest friend in the world, like a brother to me.” …I found friendship… Oh, God, this was the man he’d found as a boy. “The Duke of Huntly and I go back to…”

  His words came as if from a great distance, with her mind slow to process and make sense of that revelation. His closest friend…a man who was like a brother to him was in fact—“The Duke of Huntly?” she repeated hoarsely, interrupting Vail mid-speak.

  The butler cast a curious glance back.

  “I assure you, Huntly is no more a pompous, self-righteous lord than I myself. He was born to modest beginnings and made his own way in the world. The only reason he found himself titled was through the death of a distant, distant relative.”

  The contents of her stomach revolted and she swallowed back the bile stinging her throat. The man Vail called another brother was, in fact, married to the woman Bridget’s sister had nearly killed. Her legs weakened and she caught herself against the wall.

  “Bridget?” Vail asked, quickly wrapping his arm around her waist and steadying her. “What is it?”

  And then in her desperation, she gave him the absolute worst words. “I cannot be here.” They were the truest ones and, yet, he’d hear nothing in them beyond her insecurity in being part of this foreign world.

  Vail gave the butler a meaningful look and, averting his eyes, the servant faded to the end of the corridor. But she was aware of him, lingering there. “Come, love,” he said with such a gentleness, it threatened to shatter her. “What is this about?”

  “Vail…”

  “Chilton!”

  Her stomach lurched at the jovial greeting that echoed down the corridor. A tall gentleman with golden curls and an easy smile came forward, arms outstretched.

  Bridget instantly shrank back, thankfully forgotten as the two men greeted one another. By the air of confidence and strength to him, there could be no doubting the gentleman before her was, in fact, the Duke of Huntly.

  And my sister attempted to kill his wife.

  The gentleman looked over to her and then back to Vail.

  She immediately sank into a deferential curtsy. “Your Grace,” she murmured, directing that greeting to the floor. How did one go about meeting the eyes of a man who’d been so terribly wronged by one’s family?

  “Huntly, may I present my…” His brow wrinkled. Yes, how did a nobleman otherwise go about introducing a mere servant he’d arrived with? “May I present Mrs. Hamlet,” he settled for.

  Bridget braced for a cool derision, welcomed it, particularly from this man.

  The duke smiled. “Mrs. Hamlet, I am so happy you are able to join us.”

  Join us?

  What in blazes? Her mind raced and she stared beseechingly at Vail. What was this exchange? Either ignoring or failing to note her gaze, he turned over the velvet sack in his hands. The other man widened his smile and collected it with a word of thanks. “Justina will thank you. I thank you.”

  “Think nothing of it,” Vail assured. “May I have a moment with Mrs. Hamlet before we join you? We’ll be along shortly.”

  “Of course,” the duke murmured, taking his leave but not before Bridget spied the interest in his eyes.

  “Huntly requested a copy from my collection for his wife to read from. Her Grace holds a salon inside her home.” Her Grace. That young woman Marianne had been sent away to Bedlam for attempting to murder. “This visit is not motivated by my business or a need for your services, but rather simply one that I thought you’d enjoy.”

  And through the horror and shame of being in this household, her heart quivered. “Why must you be so bloody nice?” she whispered, blinking back a sheen of tears. “Why can’t you,” And Lord Huntly, “be a cold, unfeeling nobleman who looks down upon others outside your sphere?”

  He stroked the pad of his thumb in a little circle over her right cheek. “You wouldn’t want that and you don’t deserve that.”

  He was wrong on both scores. Had he been cruel, her plans for him would have been easier and she should be the recipient of his loathing. And I will be.

  Vail extended his elbow and waited.

  She shook her head and he slowly let that limb fall to his side. “It is scandalous enough that I’ve joined you. What will the duke and duchess’ guests think of a baron arriving with his housekeeper?” He needn’t answer. Bridget knew precisely the opinion Society would form—that she was his lover.

  “You should care less about Society’s opinion and more about your own happiness,” he said softly.

  Bridget gave him a sad smile. “And this from the man who’s dedicated his whole life to caring for others.”

  He frowned. “I’ve never complained or resented the role I’ve taken on.”

  She shook her head. “No. But you’ve also taken on the role of father for nine others, without a thought of your own happiness.” Before he could speak, Bridget gestured around the hallway
. “You’d bring me here and challenge me to find my own joy in life and, yet, all you do is work, Vail.”

  A muscle jumped at the corner of his eye. “I enjoy what I do,” he said tightly, through his teeth.

  “What do you enjoy about it exactly?” she challenged. “Everything can be bought, everything can be sold,” she said into his silence. “That is what you said.” She took his hands in hers and gave a light squeeze. “You have one of the largest collections in England and, yet, of all those books, you’d keep but one volume for yourself.” She shook her head sadly. “And even that book is one that only reminds you of the darkness that exists in life.”

  He flinched, and the evidence of his tangible struggle hurt her like the physical lash she’d received from her brother for threatening to shame him before all Society if he didn’t allow her to care for Virgil. “Oh, Vail,” she murmured, caressing his face with her gaze, memorizing each sharp angle, the slight curve of his aquiline nose, his hard lips, all of it so when she was gone she’d carry him with her still. Before she did leave, she needed him to know the truth. “What happened to Erasmus was not your fault.” She pressed her fingertips to his mouth, silencing his protest. “Having returned earlier and found him sooner could not have cured his heart. You gave him the best life you could have when you did and that is what matters most.”

  He clenched his eyes tight. “Him living mattered most.”

  “No,” she said softly. “Knowing happiness while you are living is what is truly important. Otherwise, we’re just surviving.” Her throat worked spasmodically.

  “Vail, are you…? Oh, forgive me.”

  They looked to the end of the hall to where a golden-haired, elegantly clad woman smiled uncertainly.

  “Lady Justina,” he greeted, his voice revealing none of the hoarsened emotion of before.

  Lady Justina. The Duchess of Huntly. For a horrifying moment that hung on to forever, Bridget feared she’d been discovered for the fraud she was and that this young duchess knew Marianne’s blood flowed in her veins.

  She stiffened as the young duchess swept over with her hands outstretched. Bypassing Vail, she took Bridget’s in her own. “I understand you’re also an admirer of Petrosinella.” Bridget blinked wildly. That is what she’d say? “His Lordship explained you also appreciate that work,” she explained, answering that unspoken question. “He was good enough to loan me the edition so we might read from it,” she said on a loud whisper. “And he thought you would wish to join me for the discussion.”

  Bridget’s breath caught and she swiveled her head back to face Vail. He’d done this? “But I thought…I assumed…” That there had been something pertaining to one of his transactions. He, who’d claimed nothing mattered more than the sale of his collection would allow his friend’s wife to read from it…and he’d invited her to take part. How was it possible to feel equal parts joy and equal parts shame at the same time?

  Vail winked at her; that subtle movement of his eyes that was so patently his.

  “I would be honored to join you,” she said and allowed herself to be tugged along by the duchess.

  Chapter 15

  Seated in a shellback chair at the back of Lady Justina’s salon, Vail remained with his focus on where Bridget conversed with the young duchess at the front of the room. He took in the gathering of lords and ladies assembled, and assessed their every movement. If a single one of them gave her the cut direct, he’d destroy them.

  “This is merely a reading and not a battle,” Huntly drawled at his side.

  He grunted noncommittally. For Bridget, who feared Society’s reprisal, it may as well have been. Lady Justina motioned to a gentleman in the crowd. The tall, dark-clad future Viscount Waters came forward. Vail narrowed his eyes as introductions were made between the two. Once one of Society’s most foppish dandies, Barrett had shed his satin-clad garments for dark ones, ceased using the oil in his hair, and now possessed a jaded hardness that marked him dangerous to a young lady. The gentleman said something that earned one of Bridget’s coveted blushes.

  A primitive rage simmered inside, threatening to boil over.

  Bridget looked behind Mr. Barrett’s shoulder and a little smile hovered on her lips; a secretive expression of mirth and warmth reserved solely for him. And some of the tension eased. Lady Justina spoke to her, calling her attention once more.

  “There will, of course, be gossip.” His friend casually observed.

  Vail stiffened. “If her being here is a problem, we’ll leave.”

  Huntly looked stricken. “Come,” he scoffed. “Surely you do not take me as one who’d pass judgment on whose company you keep.”

  Whose company he kept. Somehow in hearing that, there was a wrongness to it. Huntly’s word implied Vail’s relationship with Bridget was something disrespectable. “She is in my employ and has an appreciation for literature. Whatever Society believes in her being here—”

  “Being here with you.”

  “Then, they can go hang,” he said tightly, rolling suddenly tense shoulders.

  Huntly went silent. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder, gazes trained forward. It was his friend who broke the taut silence. “I merely intended to point out that the gossips will make something of your being together, regardless of the truth.” He paused. “But given your protectiveness of the lady, as your friend, I would mention it does appear there is more there.”

  A flush heated Vail’s neck. “Don’t be…”

  Bridget glanced over again in his direction and smiled. The sight of that easy grin, earned one from him in return.

  “Well?” Huntly’s droll question shattered the exchange.

  Reluctantly he shifted his attention over to his friend. “Well, what?”

  “This is the new housekeeper then.”

  He puzzled his brow. What in blazes did the other man know of Bridget?

  “You didn’t have to mention her. Servants talk and there’s been gossip making its way around ballrooms.” He cast Vail a sideways glance. “Though, I’d hope, as your best friend, should there be something with a lady you might at the very least mention it.”

  “There is nothing to mention,” he said defensively, damning the gossips. Hating that Bridget was being spoken of about town.

  “Servants whisper and nobles talk,” Huntly casually noted. “She is not your lover, then?”

  A muscle ticked irritatingly at the corner of his eye. The ton was gossiping about Bridget. He silently cursed loose-lipped servants. “She is not,” he said frostily. Though, I want her to be. This woman he’d shared so much with.

  He stared contemplatively at the woman in question. “But she matters enough that you’d bring her here to Justina’s reading.”

  Huntly’s was an observation more than anything. And a deuced accurate one. Then, this man and his sister had been the only friends he’d ever known in his life. Until Huntly, he’d believed other boys incapable of anything but cruelty and viciousness. The other man was correct…he had deserved more than veiled innuendos about…Bridget.

  “She serves on my staff, hired by Edward as my housekeeper. But she has proven invaluable in her understanding and capability with valuable texts.”

  “Ahh,” Huntly murmured, with a slight incline of his head.

  Do not ask. Do not ask.

  His friend, however, required no encouragement from Vail. “Is this the recent addition to your staff who called you away so quickly from your club at our last meeting.”

  Damn Huntly for being the clever bastard he was.

  “She is,” he bit out. The roomful of guests claimed their seats as Lady Justina took up position at the pedestal. When she began with her introduction of the reading, Vail spoke in hushed tones for his friend’s ears. “I haven’t made her my lover.” Yet. He’d already come dangerously close and wanted to take her to his bed with an aching hunger no warm, eager body could satiate—except her. “I trust you should know me enough to know I’ve more honor than that.” He fol
lowed Huntly to the two ends seats at the back row.

  “If you care for her, then I wouldn’t begrudge you a relationship with the lady, regardless of her position on your staff.”

  “I’d not be a lecher like my father,” he shot back.

  Huntly snorted. “I assure you, Ravenscourt wouldn’t be worried after any lady’s reputation and he’d certainly not have brought her along to a salon.” When Vail made to protest, his friend spoke over him. “All I mean to say is if you care for the lady, you can expect support from Justina and from me.”

  The duchess paused in her reading and glanced pointedly over the heads of the guests to her husband.

  Huntly touched a hand to his heart. “My apologies,” he mouthed.

  With a twinkle in her eyes, the lady resumed her reading.

  Through the remainder of the afternoon, Huntly remained quiet, with no more pressing Vail for information about Bridget. Yet, through the quiet of Lady Justina’s reading and the discussion that ensued among the lords and ladies present, he stared contemplatively at the back of her head. Perched on the edge of her shellback chair, she hung on to every word read from that text. This kindred connection he had developed in their short time together went against the logical existence he’d formed for himself after Adrina’s betrayal. Some businessmen made rotted transactions and lost. In reflecting upon Adrina’s deceit, he’d gotten himself through the agony of heartbreak by likening their relationship to a failed venture. It had made him cautious of again letting any woman too close. And eventually, he’d found purpose in his business and his family.

  What Huntly proposed, that there could be something more with Bridget, ran anathema to everything he trusted. So why did he want her, anyway?

  Lord Langley stood and exited, clearing a place at the front of the hall.

  “If you’ll excuse me?” Huntly murmured. Not waiting for permission, he hurriedly stood and found a place nearer his wife.

  Vail studied them. That closeness was one he’d naively hoped for—a family. Mayhap that is why he’d not allowed himself to see Adrina’s avarice, because he’d been so fixed on attaining what he’d wanted. And mayhap—he looked to Bridget, now seated beside Huntly—mayhap, he might know that special bond, after all. He braced for the slithering of dread such vulnerability would bring—that did not come.