A Duke Deceived

by Cheryl Bolen

  “Would it bother you if I come? I should like to write a letter.” Bonny wanted desperately to prolong her time with Radcliff, not just because she enjoyed and craved his presence, but because she sensed a moroseness about him that deeply disturbed her.

  His face as inscrutable as ever, Radcliff said, “Not at all. Should you like to sit before the fire while I use the desk?”

  She nodded, lifting her gaze to his and smiling.

  His jaw tightened and he looked away quickly before leading her into the pea green library of dark wood, tooled leather volumes and a blazing hearth.

  Bonny took writing paper from her husband’s desk, sat beside the fireplace in a club chair and began chiding herself. She was not fit to be a duchess. A well-bred duchess would be sitting upstairs right now in her gilded lady’s study penning her letter at the escritoire in front of the rose-moire-draped window. She wouldn’t be foisting her company on a husband obviously occupied with more important matters, obviously not desirous of her presence.

  Without speaking, her husband sat at his desk going over some papers for several minutes before he set down his papers and asked, “Do you write to a friend?”

  Bonny looked up from her writing. “Yes, I suppose. Cressida Carlisle. She said she would call on me, and since we left without notice the very next day, I thought it only courteous that I write, explaining that we were suddenly called to town.”

  “Very thoughtful of you, my dear.”

  “Truth be told, I feel sorry for her. Cressida seems quite lonely and hungry for the companionship of another young woman.”

  The corners of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. “Young woman? Funny, I more readily accept her as a young woman than I do you, despite that she’s more than a decade older than you.”

  “I’m wondering if I should be offended by your remark.”

  “You may be sure that I find you a mature woman even if you are but eighteen.” His eyes locked with hers, and the air became charged, then he looked away. “On the other hand, I shall always think of Cressy as an empty-headed girl, though she be one and thirty.”

  “Do I take it that you prefer mature women, sir?”

  His gaze flitted over her body and the dimple reappeared in his cheek. “To be sure.”

  Radcliff had made her a woman, and she wore his brand as proudly as a coronet. Hands trembling, Bonny returned to her letter. A minute later, she said, “Speaking of mature women, I met a friend of yours this morning at Madame Deveraux’s.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “A Lady Lynda...”

  “Heffington.” He picked up his papers again, his face as unreadable as a stone wall.

  “She referred to you as Richard. Are you very old friends?”

  “We have long been acquainted.” He put his papers down again. “How did you find Mrs. Deveraux?”

  Bonny would oblige her husband and avoid talk of Lady Heffington. Or was she sparing her own feelings? The thought of him lying with Lady Heffington was torture. “She assisted me personally and seemed quite happy to have the patronage of the Duchess of Radcliff. I hope I can learn to act like a proper duchess.”

  He raised his chin, looked at her squarely, and spoke with authority. “You are a proper duchess.”

  Whether from the crackling fire or her husband’s words, warmth spread through Bonny like brandy.

  As she neared the finish of her letter, she spoke again to her husband. “What would you think of my inviting Cressida to London?”

  Radcliff closed his account book and chuckled. “The offer would be most generous of you, but, pray, there is a limit to how much dinnertime prattle I can tolerate. How long would she have to stay?”

  “Never mind,” Bonny said softly. “I shouldn’t want to annoy you, Richard.”

  “I am just as concerned about annoying you, my dear. I’m afraid steady doses of Cressida Carlisle would be quite tedious.”

  “I shan’t ask her.”

  He shoved his papers aside. “Now you make me feel like an ogre.”

  “You’re not an ogre, Richard,” Bonny said in her silken voice. “You’re kind and good.”

  “You, my love, are the kind one. Always worrying about the other person from dear Twigs to Cressy Carlisle.”

  “Pooh. You’re the one who’s flown to town to look after a sick friend.” She placed her pen on her papers. “What did the doctor tell you about Twigs?”

  A heavy frown creased Radcliff’s brow. “For now, he needs to stay off the leg, but the boredom has played heavily on him. The doctor gave me to understand that Twigs is threatened by severe melancholy.”

  “Then your presence has helped already,” she said cheerfully, “for he did not seem melancholy in the least this afternoon.”

  “I hope that you may be right.”

  “I heard what you said about the drinking of spirits. Is Twigs overly partial to drink?”

  “To be sure, but all the bucks of our circle are so inclined.”

  “Then I am most happy you decided to marry and quit such a silly crowd.”

  He looked at her with hooded eyes. “Are you, Barbara?”

  “Most heartily,” she said with determination.

  God’s eyes, he could not get that odious Dunsford out of his mind. To think that the earl had come calling on his wife her very first day back in London. Could the man not accept that Bonny had married another and get on with his life?

  Could he, Richard Moncrief, the Duke of Radcliff, ever have been able to put Bonny out of his life? It would be easier to quit breathing.

  He tried for the fifth time to read the column of figures, but again his mind was otherwise engaged. He turned his attention back to his wife. “I recall your mother speaking of your legacy from your grandmother. Would you like my stockbroker to invest it for you?”

  “How thoughtful of you,” she said with a shaky voice.

  “I shall see him tomorrow.”

  “I...I don’t know if I’m quite ready yet.”

  The worry in her face tore at his heart. Rising, he crossed the room to her side and took her hand in his. “My dear, I don’t mean that you need your own money for any reason. Remember when I told you my body would be as yours and yours as mine?”

  She nodded, her face grave, her eyes downcast.

  He swallowed. “Everything I possess is yours, Barbara.”

  She brought her hand to his cheek, and he fell to one knee before her chair. “You don’t have to do anything with your grandmother’s money if you don’t want to.” He trailed a finger across her cheekbone. “I promise you, you will never need it. You might wish to keep it for our daughter—or a second son.”

  Her face brightened. “Oh, Richard, I hope we shall have a house full of children.”

  “I shall do my best to oblige you.” He drew her tightly into his embrace and buried his head in her breasts, reveling in the feel of her arms gathering around him, the brush of her lips on his hair, the sound of her racing heart beneath his ear.

  Freeing his hand, he cupped her breasts, reverently stroking the soft muslin that covered them until her nipples went rigid. Then, his mouth closed over them. She gasped with pleasure. He kissed a trail up her neck until he took possession of her mouth. Her breath coming ever faster, she reached to stroke the swell in his breeches.

  Without breaking the hungry kiss, he slowly got to his feet, pulling her with him, holding her so close it was as if there were no clothes between them.

  When he pulled away, she moaned and met his gaze, her face like one delirious with fever.

  “If we stay here another moment,” he said throatily, “I shall have your clothes off, and it will never do to have Mandley see the Duchess of Radcliff disrobed. Shall we go upstairs to finish what we’ve started?”

  She answered him with a hungry nod.

  If only he had the power over her heart that he seemed to have over her body, he thought.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Bonny’s chamber was more
dark than light as she slipped from the bed. Her movements had not disturbed Radcliff, who lay on his side, his breathing heavy. She quickly dressed in a brown riding habit Emily had discarded, glad that her husband could not see her. Of course, he was too kind to ridicule her meager wardrobe, but she hated to bring him shame. Already she felt totally unprepared to be a duchess and feared the servants mocked her. If only she could have fallen in love with a plain mister or even a mere viscount!

  When she finished dressing and went downstairs, shafts of hazy morning light angled through the tall casements. The drowsy footman rose from the low marble bench at the bottom of the stairway.

  “Please have the groom bring around an easy stepper for me,” Bonny instructed.

  He bowed. “Yes, your grace.”

  The smell of baking bread wafted up from the basement as Bonny looked in on a sleeping Twigs, assuring herself of his well-being.

  The lad Rusty brought her horse around. “Ye plannin’ to go off by yerself, yer grace?”

  “Just for a ride around the park,” Bonny said, favoring the freckle-faced youth with a smile.

  “I dunno if his grace would be ’appy about that.”

  “You may be right, Rusty. That is why I do not intend to tell him.” She swung around to mount her horse.

  He gave her a leg up and she rode off without looking back.

  Not far inside Hyde Park, Bonny observed the waiting barouche bearing Dunsford’s crest and pulled her mount beside it. Dunsford instructed his groom to help the lady dismount and watch after her horse.

  Before she got in the carriage, Bonny gave Dunsford the address on Kepple Street, which he conveyed to the driver. Then, Bonny looked around to satisfy herself that no one was watching.

  “I am so very nervous,” Bonny told him as she settled back on the soft squabs. “Pray, how would I ever explain this to my husband?”

  The lanky blond man across from Bonny shrugged and shook his head sympathetically. “I would not wish to jeopardize your marriage.”

  Bonny only looked away distractedly.

  When the barouche pulled up in front of the house on Kepple Street, Lord Dunsford got out first and looked up and down the street before he allowed Bonny to disembark. Then the two hurried up the steps of Number 17 Kepple Street.

  As Mrs. Davies opened the door, a healthy baby wail greeted them. The round old woman with capped head shot Bonny a warm smile. “Lord love a duck, but the babe’s as spoiled as last week’s milk.” Mrs. Davies reached to hug Bonny. “She takes to squallin’ the minute I set her down.” She glanced at Dunsford. “Is this yer husband?”

  Bonny kissed the old nurse’s kindly face. “No, this is Harriet’s uncle. Harriet was named for his brother, Harold.”

  Mrs. Davies started walking toward the source of the wailing. “Here we comes, little Miss Harriet. Don’t ye be frettin’. Ye’ve got company.”

  The minute Bonny saw Harriet’s little blond head poking up from the side of the cradle, she flew to the baby and picked her up. “Good morning, pretty little girl.”

  The baby’s tears shut off as if a faucet handle had been turned. She met Bonny’s babbling with some good-natured babbling of her own, and soon Bonny had her giggling.

  “Uncle Henry has come to see you, pretty girl. You must behave yourself and show him how very sweet you are.”

  Bonny turned to him. “Would you like to hold her?”

  He quickly shook his head. “Oh, not now. I might... I might break her or something.”

  “Such a silly man,” Bonny said to the baby. “Let’s go sit on the divan and invite Uncle Henry to sit beside us.”

  “Sometimes she’ll take to squallin’ if you go and sit down,” Mrs. Davies said. “That one likes to walk the floor, she does. Or rock. She don’t like to sit still.”

  “It was the same with Harry!” Dunsford said, smiling.

  Bonny and Dunsford sat beside each other, with Harriet in Bonny’s lap. “Mrs. Davies, we’ll watch if you have things you’d like to do.”

  “That I do,” the old woman said, striding to the door. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

  Bonny set the baby on her lap, facing Dunsford. “Talk to her, Uncle Henry.”

  “By God, she’s got Harry’s mouth!”

  Bonny sat quietly and took pleasure in Dunsford’s happy discoveries while her hands absently stroked the baby’s soft blond hair.

  “Look at that!” Dunsford exclaimed. “She smiled at me!” Then he began to talk to the baby, not quite in baby talk but in a voice very different from his own. Softer. Shriller. “Would you like your uncle to bring you a pretty doll?” He wrinkled his nose as he spoke. “When you’re a big girl, Uncle Henry will get you a pony.” Now he glanced at Bonny and spoke in a shaky voice. “She’s really beautiful. I’m glad she was born.”

  “Her mother is, too.”

  “From a good family, eh?”

  Bonny nodded.

  “Of course, she would be. Harry said she was all that was perfect.” His moist eyes returned to the babe. “And just look at Harriet. So beautiful!”

  Harriet reached out a chubby hand to pull at Dunsford’s mustache. “Ouch!” he shrieked.

  The baby giggled at his reaction and reached for his mustache again. At this, he put out his arms and took the baby from Bonny. “Don’t guess I can drop her if I’m sitting down.”

  He played with her, kept her giggling. Eventually he got up enough courage to stand up with her. Dunsford seemed fascinated by everything about the baby and was genuinely disappointed when an hour was up and Mrs. Davies returned.

  “So how did the little flirt like her uncle?” Mrs. Davies asked.

  “She likes him very well,” Bonny said.

  “I wasn’t sure how she’d take to a man. She’s never been around one that I know of.”

  “I plan to remedy that,” he said, hugging the soft little body, a winsome look on his face.

  It quite brought a tear to Bonny’s eyes and she hurried to wipe it away before he saw her. This was too happy a day for tears.

  On the ride back to Hyde Park, Dunsford was far more animated than he had been earlier. “By Jove! That was fun. She’s quite the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. When can we come back?”

  “When her mother—who comes often—is not going to be here. There is also my husband to consider. He doesn’t know about the babe, and I hate being deceitful.”

  “To be sure,” he said thoughtfully.

  Through the years, Radcliff and Twigs had shared many a raucous adventure, but seldom had they shared such a domestic scene as they did this morning. The two gentlemen silently took breakfast in the sickroom, sipping their coffee while reading their newspapers. Twigs perused the Morning Post while Radcliff tried to read the Gazette, attempting to get his mind off his wayward wife. Where had she gone so early this morning? Why wasn’t she back yet? His eyes scanned the news from the Peninsula. Did Wellington never make a false move? The man must be a bloody military genius.

  Action in the Peninsula likewise held Twigs’s interest. “I say, Richard, those bloods in the army are having a devilishly good time. I’ve a mind to purchase colors as soon as I can stand on this blasted leg.”

  Radcliff lifted his eyes from the newspaper. “Your life has always been the pursuit of adventure. How old are you now?”

  Twigs put down his Post. “Same as you, and well you know it. Four and thirty.”

  “We’re both too old to live life from one escapade to another. It’s time you were settling down.”

  “You know I’m not in the petticoat line.”

  “That’s not exactly accurate. Beginning with the fair Denise at Oxford, I believe you’ve had your share of encounters with women.”

  “Not with women of quality. Wouldn’t know how to talk to a proper lady.”

  “It’s time you learned.”

  “Too old.”

  “Nonsense.”

  “Can’t talk of anything but horses and boxing. Women don’t wa
nt to hear such.”

  “Some women will feign an interest in anything to catch a gentleman like yourself.”

  Twigs shook his head. “Maybe for a handsome, titled bloke like you but not for a scrawny, tongue-tied man such as myself.”

  “You do yourself a disservice. Any number of women are attracted to men who are tall and lean, like you.” Radcliff thought bitterly of Dunsford, who was tall and rather thin.

  Twigs held out his cup while Radcliff poured more coffee and measured a heaping spoon of sugar into it. “That so?”

  Radcliff returned the coffeepot to the silver tray. “To be sure. Brings me to mind of the Earl of Dunsford. He’s built very much like you. You know him?”

  “Don’t I, though. Just before my...my unfortunate accident, I had the pleasure of winning a hefty sum from him at hazard. Fellow’s taken to drink and gaming in a big way of late. Mourning his brother.”

  Say what they will, Radcliff knew it was his loss of Bonny, not his brother, that pushed the earl into the depths of the hells. He folded up his paper. “How about a game of backgammon?”

  Twigs’s eyes brightened and he straightened, wincing.

  “Leg bothering you?” Radcliff did not remove his gaze from his friend.

  “No. Just need to be careful how I move.”

  “Today we are going to force you to walk about a bit. Doctor insists.”

  Frowning, the patient folded up his newspaper and placed it on the bedside table as his host readied the backgammon board. “Be back to my old self in no time.”

  His optimism pleased his friend very much. “Guinea a game again?”

  Twigs nodded. “And I know you will pay up—not like that Dunsford. Still owes me twenty quid.”

  His friend’s remarks hit Radcliff like a blow to the chest. Dunsford needed money. Could it be Barbara had given money from her grandmother to him?

  The door opened. “There you are!” Bonny said happily, flowing gracefully into the room. She had changed into a day dress from the riding habit. Her laughing eyes met Twigs’s. “How’s the patient today?”