The Duke’s Scandalous Secret (Regency Romance) (Regency Tales Book 7)

by Darcy,Regina

  “Very good, sir. I believe I hear footsteps.”

  Mr Wilder was not an easy man to contain, but there were enough men pouring into the cabin door to subdue him. The Duke held Hermione in his arms so that she was not caught in the fray and so that he could protect her from the snarling invective that issued from Wilder when he realised that he had been bested in his plans and that, instead of wealth, he faced judgment.

  Hermione was weak, and weary, but relieved to be alive and away from the cold fate that had threatened her.

  “He planned to kill me,” she said, her voice breaking into sobs.

  “But he did not,” Brentford said lovingly.

  “If you had not arrived—“

  “But we did.”

  Michaels had gone to bring the horses so that they could ride home. Hermione doubted that she could sit a horse, but her husband’s arms around her held her secure and she leaned back against his chest, confident in his strength and his control over his horse.

  When they arrived at the house, Brentford helped her down from the horse; Michaels took both mounts to the stables as his father and Mrs Hines, who had been waiting anxiously by the door, hurried to help.

  “Dear God!” exclaimed Mrs Hines when she saw the bruise on the Duchess cheek. “What on earth has this poor child endured?”

  “Nothing that she will ever have to endure again. Mrs Hines, please bring ice and a posset. Then I will need your help in getting her into bed.”

  Hermione did not demur when her husband lifted her in his arms and carried her up the stairs into her bedroom. Mrs Hines returned, ice and posset on a tray, in time to undress the Duchess and help her into a nightgown.

  Then she knocked on the dressing room door. Brentford opened it. “Is she all right?”

  Mrs Hines smiled. “She is asking for you. I don’t believe she’ll sleep until she sees Your Grace.”

  Although exhaustion showed in his face, his smile brought back his usual cheerful mien. “Thank you, Mrs Hines. I am right behind you.”

  “And I am back to my room,” Mrs Hines said. “You can fetch me if I’m needed.” A faint smile showed for a minute on her lips. “I do not think you will need me, however.”

  “I intend to be all that she needs,” Brentford said.

  Hermione was propped up on a mound of pillows. “I want to apologize,” she began. “I have judged you unfairly. If you have fathered a child out of wedlock, it is to your credit that you have taken the child in to raise her. I thought—”

  “You think Althea is mine,” he finished, sitting down on the bed and taking the ice, wrapped in a cloth, and placing it over her bruised cheek.

  “Isn’t she?”

  He shook his head. “She is my younger brother’s child. My brother was very unlike me; studious and serious. But he fell in love with a village girl and as these things go, she became pregnant. Louis intended to marry her. It would not have been appropriate, and I told him so, although I agreed that the child should be provided for. I had no idea . . . he must have been distraught after we talked. He was no skilled horseman, but he went galloping upon one of the wildest of mounts in the Brentford stables. He fell and broke his neck, dying instantly. I knew that it was my fault; my Great-Uncle, the Archbishop, said that I had done what I thought right. But I owed it to Louis to provide for the child and this I vowed to do. I went to the girl’s house and promised that her child would be cared for as if she were a Duke’s daughter, instead of a Duke’s niece. The girl died in childbirth and I took the baby with me to Brentford Hall. Her sister, who was present at the birth when I took the child, knew some of the story, and assumed that I was the father.”

  “That was the woman you were speaking with this morning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did she want money?”

  Brentford sighed. “Yes, she wanted money, but I think she wanted someone else to experience her grief. I told you when we first met that I have done things for which I am ashamed. Failing to understand the depths of my brother’s attraction to his lover was one of those things. My disregard for his feelings led to his death as surely, as if I set him upon that horse. I should have understood that the girl was so disheartened by his death that she had no wish to go on living. Had she known there was some hope, she might have survived childbirth. I paid for her funeral and thought that I was doing what was required.”

  “Could you have done more?’ Hermione asked. It seemed to her that Brentford had been more conscientious than most titled gentlemen of his age and station.

  “I don’t know. Neither did I try. I was anxious to avoid scandal. I felt that I owed it to Pandora to provide for her as if she were my own legitimate daughter, but I had no idea how to do that since I was not married and could not suddenly acquire a child. Then you entered my life,” he said. “A plan emerged. You complied. It all appeared to be very simple: we would wed and stay married long enough for Pandora to be established as our daughter. After the year ended, you would be free to leave and I would raise her as my own child.”

  He gave Hermione a rueful grin. “But I made a devastating mistake,” he said, taking her delicate chin in his hands and lifting up her face to meet his eyes. “I fell in love with you, my beautiful Duchess. In addition, I did not know what to do. I was resolved, this morning—yesterday morning, I suppose, since midnight has passed—to tell you of my feelings and ask for your hand, and the rest of you, in a true marriage. Then our visitor arrived.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “In her lodgings.”

  “Will she return?”

  “No.”

  “Does she know the truth?”

  “No, I admitted to nothing and I suggested that she would be better served elsewhere. I paid for her passage to the New World; I have a friend in Philadelphia who will assist her in starting a business there. I told her that, should she ever return to England and make her demands, I will turn her in to the authorities. I want to protect Louis from calumny. I do not want Pandora to know the circumstances of her birth.”

  “Why do you call her Pandora?” Hermione asked drowsily. She wondered what Mrs Hines had added to the posset. Whatever it was, it was making her sleepy and she was not yet ready to let go of the night or of Brentford, whose arm encircled her and whose chest served marvellously as a solid pillow.

  “Because in taking her into my home, I knew that I had opened a box of potential trouble. Alas, I also knew that, amidst the troubles, there would be hope. I have obtained more than I thought possible. I have found a wife I love. I can only hope that she will one day forgive me and give me her love in return. Do you think that is possible?”

  “Mmm,” Hermione mumbled.

  “My Duchess, you are singularly lacking in romance. I am offering you the adoration of my heart, the passion of my body, and the undying devotion of my spirit, and you are falling asleep. Hermione? Dearest?”

  She had fallen asleep with a smile on her face. Tenderly, Brentford placed her back against the pillows and, removing his dressing gown, took his place beside her in the bed. She would perhaps be startled when she awoke in the morning, but he did not think she would be dismayed.

  “Goodnight, my love,” he whispered, placing a tender, healing kiss upon her bruised cheek. He had not been able to prevent her from being hurt, just as he had not been able to save Louis. Nevertheless, Althea and Hermione were under his care from now on, and their safety was for him to maintain. Along with the troubles that came from Pandora’s folly in opening the box left by the gods, hope had emerged as well and ultimately, hope had proven more powerful.

  The End

  BONUS CHAPTER 1:

  MESMERISING THE DUKE

  ONE

  The candles in the drawing-room of Sheperton Manor glittered as brightly as the jewellery worn by the ladies dancing beneath it.

  Despite the almost illicit nature of the activity being undertaken in the house’s gaming rooms, the ballroom was filled with a fair number of the ton, s
earching for some entertainment in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Those not indulging in a spot of dancing with one fair lady or another, were busy gambling in the nearby rooms.

  Their hostess, Lady Archer, had once been a well-to-do dowager, but had fallen on hard times after several gambling misfortunes. But, being ever the entrepreneurial woman, she had taken her penchant for card games and made it into a minor business. An activity that would have warranted her exclusion from polite society.

  But the ton were addicted to a good game of cards.

  When Lady Archer had first thrown such a vulgar event, it had been quite the scandal in their local community. However now it was seen as the height of decadency to have attended such a gathering. Known through the county for her gambling soirees, she had turned misfortune to fortune, which had to be admired.

  Her gaming gatherings differed in that both women and men could attend, and dancing and socialising was a must. Of course she did charge an entry fee, which was collected ever so discreetly on arrival.

  How popular these soirees were could be witnessed by the merriment of the attendees as they swirled across the ballroom to the strains of the Viennese Waltz. It was well known that most of the women attending were some man’s wife and probably another man’s mistress. Or aspiring to be one or the other. This was especially true during her masquerade balls, during the month of love. It was this very event that would draw the most reluctant rake to the countryside. At these times, every sensible matron would remain at home, keeping a close eye on their charge.

  Yes, Lady Archer’s was a place for decadent amusement but one gentleman looked conspicuously bored and unmoved by the merriment. His very presence was such that the eyes of almost every woman kept returning to his imposing figure. This scrutiny could have been due to his stature, but more likely than not it was due to the man himself. Douglas Montgomery, the Duke of Staffordshire, commonly referred to as Monty by his friends.

  He was not only tall, but also extremely handsome. He had a reputation of leaving a sea of broken hearts wherever he went. Despite this, matrons with aspirations to move up in the world, would not hesitate to throw their daughters at him. Unfortunately for him, this was a frequent occurrence. His reputation did nothing to dissuade them from coveting the title of Duchess for their daughter.

  Douglas knew that if he ever found himself in a compromising situation with any of those insipid girls he was done for it. His own sense of honour would demand that he did the right thing. That is why he avoided debutants like the plague. No, he preferred a mature woman. Preferably one that was already married and bored with her husband. The thought brought a cynical smile to the corner of his lips.

  He had learnt the hard way that women were not to be trusted. At least his paramours were honest about their desires and what they expected of him. At the thought of his mistress he frowned.

  Unfortunately, today he had to undertake the unpleasant task of informing her that their time together was at an end.

  He had noticed the first signs of what he could only describe as affection in the lady’s rapport with him. He did not do affection. Douglas would stake his rogue reputation on his skills to satisfy any woman, however emotional satisfaction they had to look for elsewhere. His current liaison was set to get messy as the lady’s husband, the Earl of Chelsford, had recently been named Lord Steward.

  His influence over the Sovereign was not to be underestimated. Although Countess Desdemona was an incomparable beauty, she wasn’t worth the hassle of having to tackle with her husband’s displeasure. Besides, as far as the Countess was concerned, he had grown restless, bordering on bored. Matters had not been helped by the fact that she had sent him three messages last week urging him to come urgently to Buckinghamshire. For what purpose, he did not know, but he would take this opportunity to end their assignations.

  It was with quiet discomfort that he saw the Countess glide seductively towards him across the ballroom. Douglas frowned at this outward display. At this rate she would have the gossip tongues wagging before the end of the night. Even at an event such as this, a modicum of discretion was required.

  Her elaborate gown with its full skirt, no doubt the latest French style, emphasised her 15 inch waist. The front was cut as low as decency permitted – which was very low indeed. But it served to accentuate her creamy shoulders and her ample bosom. Her mask served only to highlight the curves of her perfect mouth. Where once he would have been mesmerised by the sight, he was instead slightly irritated. Before she reached him, he turned and walked to a nearby alcove. He had no doubt she would follow.

  “Douglas,” Desdemona whispered.

  “Good evening Countess, how nice to see you in good health,” he replied coldly. It was best to get these matters over with as swiftly as possible in his experience.

  “Why so cold my love? Do you not remember the heat of my embrace,” she pouted, while placing her hand on his arm. He promptly disengaged it.

  “Desdemona, darling, stop wearing your affections on your sleeves. It is unseemly,” Douglas said in a cold voice.

  It finally dawned on the Countess that this was not a secret rendezvous. Annoyed, she wrinkled her perfect forehead.

  “Why did you call me here?” the Duke continued.

  “Do I need a reason? Do you not long for my company as I crave yours?” she responded, fanning herself.

  “No, my lady I do not.” Their gaze locked and it was in that moment the Countess understood she was in the process of being cast aside.

  “I take no joy in this conversation,” Douglas resumed. But before he could finish he was abruptly interrupted. The Countess closed her fan violently and looked at him with venom. “My dear Douglas, I will not be cast aside as last night’s stale pastry,” she said and then smiled sweetly.

  Douglas sighed deeply, “Surely you did not expect this to last? I have warned you on numerous occasions not to mistake our dalliance for more than a momentary pastime.”

  “You do mean to cast me aside,” Desdemona said in a disbelieving voice. “Who do you take me for?” Douglas now suspected that their goodbyes were going to be much more tiring than he anticipated.

  “I know too well the look you are currently sporting. I had not imagined to be on the receiving end of your scorn,” Desdemona spat. “Mark my words, Your Grace, you will feel my wrath and regret your actions today,” she whispered venomously.

  Before the matter got completely out of hand, a male voice called the Duke’s name from behind. “Your Grace! So this is where you have been hiding out all night.”

  It was with huge relief he welcomed the sight of Lord Nathaniel Hughes, the Viscount of Wiltshire, his nearest and dearest friend. Despite his mask, Nathaniel’s stature and sky-blue eyes were so distinctive, his disguise was unnecessary. The Viscount was impeccably well-dressed. Not a chemise misaligned.

  “Countess,” he greeted with a nod. Desdemona spared him not so much as a glance, but instead sailed regally back out to the ballroom.

  The moment she was out of sight, Nathaniel’s face cracked a big smile and he clasped hands with his friend.

  “Monty, good to see you,” he said with a smile.

  “Hughes, I was almost afraid you would leave me standing here with that shrew for another two hours, whilst you busied yourself with your cravat,” his friend replied, with a knowing smile.

  “Give it a rest Monty, I get enough of a grilling from the chaps at the club.” Nathaniel removed an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Besides, I just saved you from what looked to be a very unpleasant exchange. Not to mention, I am only in this godforsaken countryside hole to lend you a hand.”

  “That you are indeed.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Yes, he is currently occupied in the gaming room.”

  “Let’s get to the matter at hand.”

  Douglas turned around and started walking back to the main room when he stopped dead in his tracks. Despite her mask, the cascade of flaming hair fr
om the beauty in the far room, beckoned him like a beacon. He looked in bemusement as the dainty little lady stomped her foot.

  “Quite a beauty, old chap,” the Viscount whispered amused, “I wonder what has her so riled up?”

  The beauty in question looked furious to say the least. Douglas watched intrigued as the man she was conversing with turned around and walked away. He could only assume this was her lover and he was witnessing an awkward end to their assignation. The woman was exceedingly young to be involved in such matters of the flesh. But based on the outwardly passion she exhibited, he could only imagine she was a hellion between the sheets. He smiled knowingly to himself as he watched her fan her heaving bosom.

  “Monty, we do not have time for this,” Nathaniel warned in an exasperated voice, “we need to focus on this charade you dragged me to, not on some slip of a girl.”

  “Not to worry Hughes, I will be with you shortly. Save a space for me at the whist table,” he replied with a distracted smile. Before the Viscount could reply, the Duke started making his way through the crowd; the woman and her ethereal beauty his sole focus.

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  BONUS CHAPTER 2:

  –

  FALLING FOR THE EARL

  ONE

  Alden Haddington, the Earl of Beckton, cleared his throat nervously, wishing he were anywhere but here, in the assembly rooms of the Bookman Arms. He had come to visit Nathaniel Hughes, Viscount of Wiltshire, his dearest friend since boyhood. Both had served in the same regiment under the Duke of Staffordshire.

  Lord Wiltshire had invited him to attend the annual Mariners’ Ball. Whilst their views on the fairer sex differed wildly, since the Earl had particularly strong, disapproving views on Lord Wiltshire’s recent string of heartbroken mistresses, a night in the Viscount’s company always proved anything but boring. The irony was that the Earl was known to have left an equal trail of heartbroken beauties behind him. The only difference being, he had never touched them.