Her Mystery Duke

by Blackthorne, Natasha

  “Do you fear that you shall become mad like him?”

  “I try not to think about it. The worries of today are more than enough for me.”

  His expression became pained. “You have known too much worry.”

  “Goodness, David, I am hardly unique. When I lost that last position, I told myself that I had best focus all my efforts on developing my writing. I worked hard on my own and then later the doctor introduced me to his friend, Bernard. He is a playwright and he helped me to develop my writing.”

  “He bedded you as well and gave you rent money?”

  “Yes, of course he did.”

  “Do not ever tell me the name of this doctor or I fear I shall be greatly tempted to find him and call him out.”

  She gaped at him. He seemed perfectly serious. She hadn’t thought of a gentleman being an idealist. Women all over London were forced by circumstances into bedding men for money. It was just the way of things.

  “He is dead, David. He died of an apoplexy in late autumn.”

  “Fortunate for him.”

  At his hard and cold tone, a shiver convulsed her heart for she believed him capable of murder in that moment. It made her feel that she knew nothing of him. What the devil? She did know nothing of him.

  So, why had she told him so much of herself? She never spoke of herself to others, not if she could help it. Yet she’d poured out her whole story to him as easily as if she’d been simply reviewing events in her own thoughts.

  Suddenly, all the energy drained from her body, and she lay back and sagged into the pillow.

  “You’re tired?” He smoothed the hair off her face.

  “Yes, I fear I am.”

  “Then sleep, sweeting.” He caressed her hair. “I promise your future will be far, far better than your past.”

  * * * *

  David awoke with a start. Sunlight illuminated the tiny garret in all its stark poverty. Jeanne was nowhere to be seen.

  At last, he now remembered everything from that last day at his chambers at the Inns of Court.

  That pivotal day, over a week ago now, he had wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, still tasting the bitterness of tea and stomach juices. Dizziness had confused him as he wandered back into the Inn and leaned against the corridor wall.

  Charles Toovey had been at his side. He had aided him back outside into the fresher air and eventually had helped him into a carriage.

  Now, in Jeanne’s bed, David bent his head and rubbed the aching spot between his brows. He must have been completely out of his senses.

  Toovey was the one person he loathed with a visceral, burning passion. The hate was reciprocated. All over the one thing the two men shared: the memory of having loved Thérèse.

  Lord Toovey, an impoverished but well-connected baron, was also a leading figure on the opposite political side. It was well known that David championed the cause of better regulation for insane asylums, and Toovey would do anything he could to hurt David.

  It was past time for him to return to his own world.

  He arose from the bed, shaved with cold water, then found his clothes where Jeanne had left them, folded neatly over a chair.

  * * * *

  Jeanne returned with the day’s food shopping. David stood before her little mirror, fully dressed, and giving what looked to be the final adjustments to his cravat.

  She shut the door. At the soft click, he turned.

  Bernard had often used the term “force of presence” to describe a person. Looking at David in this moment, Jeanne knew exactly what he meant. David’s expression was that of a stranger. Cool, slightly arrogant, focused on whatever business he had out in the world. Power seemed to radiate from him, so much so that instinctively, she took a step back and then another. She felt that perhaps she ought to bend into a curtsy, but then again that would be silly given their previous carnal frolicking.

  She could also sense his urgency to be gone as if though were a tangible thing.

  Of course she was glad he was going. She looked forward to having her peace and privacy restored.

  “My man of business, Mr. Packer, will come and see you soon.” Even his voice sounded different. The voice of a man who was aware of every moment spent on trivialities.

  “It is not necessary.” She reached into her pocket and closed her hand around the bills he’d already given her, her percentage for the landlady and repayment for the shaving articles and food. That she hadn’t minded. Her funds were limited. But she wouldn’t take payment for doing what had only been the humane thing to do. More than that, she wouldn’t become obligated to a gentleman who then might feel he had the right to come and disturb her privacy any time he felt lusty or despondent with life.

  He stepped closer. His look became a shade more personal.

  It was as though she was noticing his handsomeness for the first time. She caught her breath.

  He bent toward her, smelling of inexpensive shaving soap and her clove toothpowder.

  He kissed her mouth.

  It wasn’t necessary for him to do that. They weren’t lovers now. And it should have been a brief salutation. However, their lips seemed to cling. Her mouth came open as if of its own accord. Their tongues caressed. The taste of his was all spice, sparking in her blood like fire. Her hands slid up his arms and gripped his shoulders.

  He pulled his mouth from hers and stared down with a fierce expression. “Damn.”

  Then he put his hands to her back and with one jerk, slammed her body to his. He brought his mouth on hers again, crushing her lips with his own, running his tongue over the seam, demanding entry. She opened and he thrust inside, sweeping her breath away. For long moments, she ardently returned his tongue’s strokes, desperate to imprint his feel, his taste on her senses.

  He broke the kiss and put her from him. The suddenness left her swaying, fuzzyheaded, and a little dizzy as she watched him turn and walk to the door.

  A moment later, her door closed and he was gone. Out of her life forever.

  Chapter Six

  “Hold up, Hartley.”

  David stopped and turned.

  Toovey approached him, a grin on his face.

  While staring at that idiotic smirk, David reminded himself that Toovey was not worth the price to his reputation and standing in the House. The former Duke of Hartley, David’s father, had been a hotheaded, rash man. David had worked hard to prove himself a sane, rational-minded, and responsible man. Throttling a fellow peer in the corridor outside his office wasn’t exactly going to help boost that image.

  “Ah, Hartley, that’s a devil of a fearsome glare.” He laughed softly. “You can’t possibly still bear a grudge? It was very like a prank in the old Cambridge days, eh?”

  “A prank, you say?”

  “I told my driver to drop you on Aldgate High Street that your carriage was being repaired and you had an urgent appointment there. I stressed that he mustn’t bother you with questions or tell anyone. I paid him well to assure he didn’t.”

  Apparently, Toovey counted on David’s reluctance to tarnish a hard-earned reputation as well. But then again, the younger man had always been a loose fish. Whether from the effects of too much water pipe or any number of other dissipations in the life of a dissolute nobleman, Toovey seemed increasingly unbalanced of late. And never more so than when he chuckled. “Just the thought of you stumbling around, not even knowing where you were—I haven’t laughed so much since I was a boy. I must say, I didn’t expect you to remain absent for so long.”

  “I developed a lung fever.”

  Toovey’s grin widened. “And picked up a pretty little tart to nurse you back to health?”

  Not liking the sound of that, David scowled. “I was recovering at my house.”

  “Liar. You were ensconced with a certain overripe wench, Miss Darling of Wentworth Street.”

  Before he could think of where he was, David hand shot out and grasped Toovey by the cravat. The other man’s body went limp as his
back hit the wall and he collapsed into a fit of laughter.

  “Stay the hell away from her.” David gave Toovey’s throat a warning squeeze then gave him a thorough shaking. “Do you understand me?”

  Toovey had never been a fighter. In their more youthful days, when David had challenged him to a duel over Thérèse, Toovey hadn’t shown. Instead, he had used the time to run off to Ireland with Thérèse.

  “Good God, Hartley, you’re just as knotty-headed as your father ever was. Oh yes, Thérèse told me all about that part. Your little carnal games with her, and the times when you pushed too hard. Tell me, does your little harlot from the gutter enjoy your games?”

  The disarming disgust of hearing Thérèse’s name on Toovey’s lips had caused David to slack his grip on the other man’s neck. Now he tightened it again. “Shut your mouth or I shall shut it permanently.”

  “In the House, David? I know you’re bluffing. I know you’ll allow nothing and no one to tarnish your reputation.”

  David released him. “You’re not worth killing.”

  Toovey fell back, appearing stunned a moment. Then he chuckled softly. “She’s really beneath your usual standard.”

  David straightened his jacket and waistcoat. “I didn’t ask for your evaluation.”

  Toovey curled his lip, though his gaze still glinted with amusement. “That you would even sully yourself with a slut like her is an insult to dear Thérèse.”

  “Stay away from Miss Darling,” David repeated.

  Toovey’s eyes narrowed as if in speculation. “Such a murderous rage, over a gutter rat?”

  “You’ve been warned.” He released Toovey and walked away.

  * * * *

  The man had been waiting for Jeanne in the parlor of her boarding house. Neatly dressed in sober colors, he was an elderly man with slate gray eyes who wore his yellow-white hair in an old-fashioned queue.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Darling. I am Mr. Packer. I have come here on behalf of a gentleman known to you.”

  “Oh.” At the mention of David, her palms went damp. In the week since he had walked out of her life, she’d been up late every night, drinking black tea laced with brandy, and writing. During the days, she slept, and dreamed such vivid scenes. In addition to the final story for the leather-bound collection, three new stories had flown from her imagination to the page. All that remained now was for her to flesh them out.

  In this way, she’d avoided thinking about any of the events which occurred during David’s stay.

  This reminder wasn’t welcome but she would get it out of the way as expediently as possible.

  “Please, let us sit, Mr. Packer.” Jeanne motioned to the old, dusty looking pink settee, the sole piece of furniture in the tiny parlor of her boarding house.

  He recoiled slightly. She couldn’t blame him, but she sat as though there were nothing amiss. He slowly followed suit and then pulled a rolled paper from his satchel. “The gentleman wishes to give you some compensation for your trouble.” He unfurled the parchment. “Shall I read it for you, Miss Darling?”

  She reached for the page. “I’d prefer to read for myself.”

  Mr. Packer nodded and handed her the document.

  She scanned the page.

  David wanted to gift her with a small house and a carriage for her use during the remainder of her natural life. But did she want him to give her such grand gifts? All she had done was care for him through an illness and bed him. Goodness, it was like a fortune to a girl like her. But what would he expect in return?

  Of course, she knew what he would expect. Unlimited visiting rights, just as any man would. The visits themselves weren’t anything to dread. . She’d enjoyed being under him more than any other man before. Yet his continued visits to her home could only lead to greater and greater emotional intimacy. Dependency. It would be the gradual opening of herself to the type of association where she might be expected to give all of herself. To be drained. Unable to focus on her own work. To have no peace anywhere but to be at the beck and call of another, every day and night.

  “I would like to draw your attention to item number thirteen.”

  She searched for number thirteen but Mr. Packer spoke before she could find it.

  “You agree to never attempt to contact the gentleman again.”

  The shock of that statement wiped everything from her mind.

  Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

  “The gentleman wishes to assure that you do not try to contact him. If contact is needed, he shall contact you.”

  Heat flamed over her face and she began breathing far too quickly. It hadn’t mattered that he didn’t want to share his real identity. But for him to so coldly demand in this agreement that she would never, ever try to find out who he was! Even though she’d had no intention of taking the offer, she was insulted to the marrow.

  He would know where she lived, her name, everything about her. Presuming she allowed it, he would be able to come and go from her life and to disturb her peace and privacy as his whims dictated. But she wasn’t to try and learn who he was or to attempt to contact him in return. She was done with these men and their selfish carnal needs. Their one-sided way of relating to her, wanting to impose on her whenever they willed. But this was the most galling request she’d ever known.

  She took the parchment by the top edge and tore it down the middle.

  “Miss Darling!”

  She took the two halves and tore them again. Then she handed them to him. “You may tell the gentleman that I have no need of his compensation. I merely took care of him in a time of illness. If he is so afraid I shall impose upon him in the future, he should simply forget me, as I intend to forget him.” She lifted her chin. “Everything about him.”

  * * * *

  The dimmed lights, dark-colored walls and furnishings, and soft music failed to soothe David’s mind. Lightheaded with intoxication, he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair. He’d come here to one of the most expensive brothels in London with the express purpose of fucking himself into mental and emotional oblivion.

  His companions, Lord Cade and Lord Sable were already each entwined with a comely Cyprian, their gazes glazed with lust.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Vaguely, he noticed the brunette who stood before him. He mumbled a greeting and, automatically, he opened his arms as an invitation and allowed her to slide into his lap.

  Her lips brushed his cheek. Violet. He supposed she could be considered his current favorite. Two months ago, they had certainly shared a few pleasant hours upstairs. Tonight, however, her spicy, musk perfume began to cloy.

  “You’re so distant this evening.” Violet reached for the bottle on the table. “Shall I pour you another?”

  David accepted another brandy and appraised his companion. Her heart-shaped face looked all sharp angles, painted perfection with a pointed little chin. He couldn’t help recalling Jeanne’s softly rounded face. Her lush body.

  Jeanne had torn his offer to shreds.

  Torn it to shreds.

  He drained the last of the brandy.

  Since that day, he’d sent Mr. Packer back twice, and twice Mr. Packer had been denied audience, left standing on Jeanne's doorway. David hated to leave a debt unpaid. More than that, he’d been plagued with thoughts of her living in that depressing little garret. Yes, he’d been touched by her. It did no good to deny it and he was really too old now to lie to himself. Her blue eyes, large, slightly wistful, direct and penetrating by turns, haunted his thoughts. Like a man in his twenties in springtime, sensual memories kept him on the edge of arousal, even at the most inopportune times.

  Already from the little contact they’d shared, she proved too much of a distraction. Going out for an evening, having a fuck, that was certainly beneficial to his overall well-being and concentration. Keeping a regular mistress with the associated emotional entanglement was not. It was a wholly draining experience that could eventually suck a man�
�s soul dry. And he could allow nothing to divert his energies or attentions from his work. He couldn't risk indulging his fancy for her. Hence the clause he had asked Mr. Parker to add at the very last moment. An afterthought born of sheer self-preservation.

  Sweet, giving, lovely Jeanne. If only he could improve her lot. Then when he thought of her, he could picture her living in comfort and safety, not huddled in that depressing little garret. He could regain his former peace.

  It was so easy a thing for him to improve her living situation, to provide the small house and carriage.

  Why wouldn’t Jeanne just accept what he wanted to give her? It was all to her good and cost her nothing, for he expected and wanted nothing in return.

  Violet’s broad, round bottom, squirming in his lap, brought his mind somewhat back to the moment. He should take her upstairs and give her a thorough tumbling. He would feel better afterwards, he always did. And then perhaps he’d even be able to catch a few hours deep slumber.

  That was another thing that Jeanne had done. She’d made it completely impossible for him to sleep. His dreams were full of memories of her youthful body, her ecstatic cries, her tight little cunt hugging his cock. Such dreams would leave him aching, unable to go back to sleep or do anything but wonder what she was doing and if she were comfortable and safe. The disruption to his concentration was intolerable.

  She'd been rather rude to his man of business.

  Would she dare be so rude to David himself? He’d thought never to see her again but could she so easily turn down his offer if he visited her, just once, to present his case personally?