Once Upon a Duke

by Sandra Masters

  “You cannot stop me!” Geoffrey pounded his closed fist on his desk, shaking the ink well.

  “I can, dear friend, and I would save you from your own humiliation. Go ahead, get angry with me if it pleases you. At least you dispel your hatred for the moment.”

  The gurgle of the Waterford decanter seemed to echo in the room as its liquid refilled their glasses. The memories of the times he lavished cognac over her body, when his tongue laved to his heart’s content, taunted him. He didn’t want to think any more, yet the consumption of alcohol did nothing to dull his brain.

  Geoffrey rose, walked in front of the fireplace where his father’s picture hung. He pounded the wall with his fist, time and time again, until the picture shook on the wall. “Liar. Liar. Liar.” Curses fell from his mouth, his anger a fury of rants. The veins on his neck bulged and corded.

  Carleton grabbed his wrist. “You will break your hand and do no good. Come back and sit.” He guided his friend to his chair as one might a wounded child.

  Geoffrey stared into space. He’d showered her with affection. Memories of the harlot tasted like days old bile.

  She repaid him with her wanton treachery.

  “I have lost control of my senses, Carleton. I need to reclaim them.”

  “Indeed. You will put aside these thoughts and find another woman to warm your loins,” his friend offered.

  Geoffrey took another deep swig from his glass. At last, his mind became fuzzy. He welcomed the sweet bliss of oblivion. “Women are all the same. One is as bad as the other. In the end, their sole purpose is to deceive you with bed sport. There was nothing special about Serena. Just another wanton.” His words slurred, “Though, I do admit,” he laughed, “her wondrous port tempted, and I, the willing vessel, sailed into it.”

  Carleton counseled, “We shall not speak of her further. She is no longer a concern. Move on, Geoffrey. We shall pretend she is dead.”

  “It would be easier to forget if she were. There would be no other alternatives,” Geoffrey mumbled.

  Carleton opened the door and called to Neville. “Bring us some food. We need to fill our bellies since we are drunk. Sickness would befit us in the morning.”

  Fifteen minutes later, the majordomo presented a tray laden with meat, cakes, and fruit.

  Carleton filled the plates. “Here.” He handed Geoffrey a helping. “Nourish yourself.”

  Geoffrey took what Carleton offered, wrinkled his nose. “I do not know if I can eat.”

  “You can—you must, unless you have a desire to make love to the chamber pot in the morning.”

  After forcing the first few bites, the food offered some comfort and Geoffrey cleaned the plate. When they finished, they sat near the fire, silent. The clock struck three times.

  “My friend, I need to lay my body on a soft bed.” Carleton patted Geoffrey on the shoulder.

  “Take any of the spare rooms upstairs. Neville will attend to your needs. I will enjoy the fire a bit longer.”

  “Good night, then.” Carleton bid.

  Geoffrey stretched his legs toward the hearth and stared into the crackling fire. His eyelids became heavy, his mind drifted. The flames before him danced and hidden in their movement was an image of Serena dancing—no, struggling with a man who held her wrist, bruised her face with his harsh blow. He yanked her into the air then slammed her against the stone floor.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  London

  At the townhouse, Geoffrey and Carleton met in the breakfast room where Neville had prepared a hangover recipe for them, tomato juice laced with cognac.

  Geoffrey lifted the glass to his lips. His rebellious stomach protested the remedy after their overindulgence the night before.

  Lord Carleton groaned and placed his finger to his temple. “My headache is horrendous. I haven’t done this in some time.”

  “My lords, I suggest something light, perhaps coddled eggs over toast?”

  They looked at each other in disbelief. The mere mention of the food caused them to roll their eyes, yet they both nodded to the majordomo. Geoffrey held a hand to his head hoping to stop the room from spinning. The butler filled their cups with strong black coffee.

  “We did not quite solve all the world’s problems last night,” Lord Geoffrey managed to speak. “I am glad we did not go to Madame Odette’s. I might have embarrassed myself. Besides, to pay for sexual pleasures would not bode well with me.”

  “It is mercenary—the oldest form of trade in the world.” Lord Carleton smiled. “You are philosophical this morning. Why not go to the theatre again? You can ogle the actresses. Maybe bring one back here with you?”

  “It is not my custom to bring women to my home, but I will go to the theatre with you and Angelique this evening. I will pick you up since we are using your box. It will help clear my head and heartache. My wound will not heal in haste. Cupid’s arrow struck deep.”

  Lord Carleton agreed. “That, my friend, is obvious.”

  “Is Jenny Gladstone still doing her one-liner?” Lord Geoffrey jested.

  “It is a different presentation. Perhaps she will have two lines this time. Why? Do you have an interest?”

  “No. I took a dislike to her, became rude. It is not my nature to offend, but that night was a case of the wrong woman at the worst time.”

  “You could apologize to her and start over. Why not, Geoffrey?”

  “Actresses are in love with who they think they are. To them, life is another scene in the play.”

  “And you know this how?” His friend laughed.

  “I have known many. They are enamored of the drama, playacting all the time, not able to separate reality from the fantasy.”

  “My, you are serious. I hope we are not going to watch a tragedy unfold.”

  “As far as I am concerned, it already has.” Geoffrey smiled at his loyal friend. “Should you not go? It is no longer necessary to nursemaid me.

  At the theatre later in the evening, Geoffrey watched a half-naked Jenny Gladstone with some interest. Her part had increased to three lines, which were awful and risqué. Bawdiness didn’t suit her at all.

  At the after play party, Geoffrey asked Miss Angelique what she thought about the performance.

  “I think there could be theatrical value in the shock factor, but I do not find it an amusement. This is my opinion as a woman. A man might disagree and find it provocative.”

  When Geoffrey saw Jenny staring at him from a quiet corner, he reached for two champagne-filled glasses and walked toward her. “Would you care for a glass, Miss Gladstone? If you wish to refuse me, I will understand after my abominable behavior the other night. My anger with someone else caused me to take umbrage with you.”

  Jenny gave him a radiant smile, accepted the champagne, and took his arm to walk through the crowd. She leaned into him. Her half-naked breasts pressed against his chest. “My lines were terrible, weren’t they?”

  “Let us just say I think you capable of a better performance. Whoever wrote the play should be pilloried.” Lord Geoffrey laughed and so did she. “To play a tart, one must feel like a saucy woman in her mind, and her body will react. There is emotion in this and it radiates sensuality. I can help you to refine the part.” His voice contained mischief. “It is not the number of lines you have, but the way you say them.”

  He looked to where his friends waited. “I see my party is ready to leave. Perhaps we can converse at leisure another time?” Geoffrey took her ungloved hand and kissed it. He saw the invitation in her eyes and knew that with a simple wink, he could have her.

  And that precisely was the problem.

  “Good night.” He saw the disappointed expression on her face, yet he turned and strode away.

  Lord Geoffrey felt better about his rude behavior to the actress. Even though an admitted rake, he didn’t abuse women. Jenny could be a diamond in the rough. What a challenge it would be to change her into a cultured and refined lady. It could occupy his time and erase Serena�
��s memory from his mind.

  He would send flowers to the theatre and attend most performances. For the theatrical company to have a Duke in attendance would attract a more upscale audience, and it might help Miss Gladstone get larger parts.

  At least she could be a diversion from the loss he endured.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Portsea Island, Portsmouth

  After Madame Yolanda gave instructions to a servant, she summoned Serena to the main hall.

  “You asked to see me?” Serena asked in a quiet tone.

  “Yes. My daughter told me you didn’t have time to purchase a wedding gown. I have spoken to my son and he has approved a seamstress to come and fit you. I have asked her to bring samples of suitable fabrics from which to choose.”

  “Dear Madame, it is no secret this is an arranged marriage inspired by my brother and your son’s needs to advance their careers. I am the pawn in this chess game. I have no interest in the gown. You may select whatever you like.”

  “I sympathize, but we as women must do as we are told. That seems a difficult notion for you to embrace.” Madame was reserved. “My son has one request and that is the gown should not be white. It would be inappropriate since you do not come to the marriage as a virgin.”

  “As you and your son wish, Madame Yolanda. When is the seamstress to come?”

  “In the afternoon. I will call for you. You are dismissed.”

  “Thank you.” Serena curtsied and climbed the steps to her chambers. She took her heavy hooded black cape and went to the parapet to look at the cloudy sky. While the wind refreshed her, she clutched at the fasteners to ward off the chill.

  Once the brute married her, he would make her life miserable. She could not allow it to happen. The surging water broke on the beach, the ominous sound echoed in her ears, and the foaming waves beckoned her. The wind picked up and she would have sworn she heard the waves echo her name.

  Serena, a wave crashed. Serena, another wave pounded. Serena, a third wave thundered. Come to us.

  What kind of evil surrounded her?

  An eerie sensation rained over her. She turned her head to the right and could see LeBran as he watched from his window, his eyes focused on her. Even from a distance, he threatened.

  Geoffrey consumed her thoughts, yet he could not help her. Fear tore her apart. As time passed, it became difficult to visualize the Duke’s face and his body on hers. She needed the memory to endure the days ahead. The cloudy sky opened and rain began again, fierce and pelting. She retreated to her room and left her damp cloak on a hangar to dry near the scant fire.

  Serena had to find a way to freedom.

  In a few minutes, a happy Josephine came to her and announced the seamstress had arrived with the samples. “Where is Emma?” she asked.

  “Busy with her chores,” Serena answered. “I can fend for myself. She has much to do for all of us.”

  They descended the steps and went to the main hall. Madame Yolanda introduced the seamstress to Serena and Josephine. In addition to the wedding dress, both mother and daughter were to have gowns. Later Serena heard Madame tell the seamstress that Sir Henry, her brother, would honor the invoice.

  Serena didn’t care about the fabric selection, but she continued the charade. She fingered the fabrics and looked at a pale blue silk. “Josephine, this color would suit your blue eyes. Do you not agree, Madame Yolanda?”

  “I believe I do, Serena. You are kind to think about her first. It is appreciated.” Madame Yolanda smiled.

  “There seems to be a progression of colors in the same hue. Madame, this color is a shade or two deeper than the pale blue. It would flatter your hair’s silver color.”

  Madame Yolanda instructed the seamstress, “Bring the mirror to me. I would like to see how it looks against my face.” She placed the fabric around her neck and preened. “I do agree. Josephine, do you like it? We’ve had so little time to address fashion and this becomes a happy circumstance.”

  “Yes, Mother. You look beautiful.”

  “What color will you choose, Serena?” the matron asked, still gazing in the mirror.

  “Perhaps the deeper color which is more of a teal?” LeBran’s comment to not wear the virginal white color stuck in her craw like a sharp chicken bone.

  Josephine clapped her hands. “It is perfect for you and we will all be in harmony. It will be a wonderful day. I cannot wait.”

  The seamstress asked about Serena’s gown preference. “Since I have been married before, I would prefer something classic and simple. No ruffles or long train. It should have long sleeves and a collar up to the neck.”

  To hide my scarred back—and my fractured heart.

  “However, Josephine, perhaps, a wide skirt, a modest bodice, and puffed sleeves. Would you like that?”

  Josephine looked to her mother who nodded and smiled.

  “Yes, it is also possible we will find a suitor for you, daughter, among the eligible men who are wedding guests.”

  “Madame Yolanda,” Serena said. “I envision you in silk, a fitted long-sleeved jacket with a beaded collar, and a skirt of rustling fabric.”

  “Oh, my.” Madame looked to the seamstress, eyebrows arched.

  “It can be done, Madame Yolanda, although it is more expensive.”

  “Cost is not an object.” Yolanda dismissed the comment. “I do not need my son’s approval. I commission this project. I like the joy I see on my daughter’s face. We will all require matching slippers and reticules. Can you bring sketches tomorrow?”

  The seamstress agreed, and then proceeded to take their measurements.

  Madame Yolanda spoke about the flowers to be tied to the pew benches and at the altar.

  “Do you have a favored bloom, Serena?”

  “I prefer calla lilies, but they are white.” She knew they also put them on caskets, did they not? “The seamstress could tie them with a bow which matches my gown.”

  The matron nodded, and checked off something from an incomplete task list. “We will need an organist and a small choir. This is an auspicious occasion for my son.”

  And a disaster for her.

  “If you like, Josephine,” Serena said, “I will help dress your hair.”

  She looked toward her mother for approval.

  “It is a special occasion and quite appropriate for you, child. Who knows, one day we might plan Josephine’s wedding together.”

  I won’t be there, Madame, for I shall be dead soon if I cannot find a way to halt these proceedings.

  Later that afternoon, while she sat in the main hall alone with her thoughts, Lord LeBran approached, a newspaper in his hand. “There you are. I was looking for you.”

  “I am not hard to find,” Serena answered.

  He held up the paper. “I do like to read the gossip columns since they sometimes can be useful to a politician. Here’s something on your former lover, Lord Geoffrey Austen. Shall I read it to you?”

  “He is not my former lover. I married the only man who knew me in the biblical sense.” God, forgive her for this lie.

  “I will read it to you anyway. Seems the dashing rake Lord Geoffrey A. has been seen squiring around the actress, Jenny Gladstone. Could he be smitten with her acting charms or is it something else? He peered over the top of the paper at her.

  Serena summoned control, kept a stone face. “Why would you think it would interest me?” She struggled to breathe.

  Had Geoffrey forgotten her so quickly? Could it have been a mistake to plot to send Emma to him?

  “According to your brother, you were lovers. I would take his word over yours any day.”

  “It saddens me, you feel it is the truth,” Serena replied.

  He whirled around like a devil, his hand raised to strike her. She stepped back. “I will inform you only this once. You are to address me with proper respect. I am your lord and soon to be your master. You will acknowledge me as Lord LeBran or Your Lordship. After we are married, I will teach you insolen
ce has its consequences. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes.” Defiance would get her nowhere. She arched an eyebrow. “Lord LeBran.”

  “That is better. At least you can learn.” He stomped away and left her alone. He didn’t see her fisted hands.

  Could it be possible the newspaper gossip held truth?

  The dreary day outside the walls lent to the bleakness inside her heart, pitch dark and desperate.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Lord Geoffrey, alone in his London townhouse, heard a tap on the door.

  “Come.” He didn’t welcome the interruption, his mind was abuzz with financial matters,

  “Your Grace, were you expecting visitors? They are in the foyer and seek an audience with you,” Neville announced.

  “I have no appointments. Send them away.”

  “Your Grace, the woman advises she has word for you from her mistress.”

  “What mistress?”

  “A Lady Serena, I believe she mentioned. She is here with a man who holds a basket and a portrait. I did not want to disturb your work, but I thought I should inquire. The woman became emotional when she thought I’d turn them away. She assured me you’d be pleased to acknowledge them.”

  “What is her name?” Lord Geoffrey’s breath raced.

  “Emma Nolan, your Grace.”

  “Send them in, and wait outside the door.” He stood, placed his hands behind his back, his heart palpitated.

  Why would Serena send a message to him?

  Promise, if you need me, you will seek me. Promise, Serena.”

  Perhaps she sent a farewell note, to tell him of her decision to marry LeBran.

  Emma entered the room with a man behind her.

  “Come in.” He motioned to them both. But when Geoffrey recognized John, the groomsman to Sir Henry, he seethed with rage. Did he come to taunt the fact he drowned the pup? Damnation, he would kill him.

  Geoffrey’s breath exited his nostrils like a dragon’s flame. His nails cut into his clenched palms. Why the hell didn’t he pummel the man who drowned the precious Adonis?