The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  Considering her delirious state, he doubted she spoke of a permanent attachment, and yet as he gave her his answer, he pretended this was precisely what she asked for. “That’s right, Juliette. I will always be with you.”

  A lengthy bit of silence followed and he almost thought she’d fallen asleep. Until she spoke one word with greater insistence than anything else she’d said since he’d taken her into his care.

  “Love.”

  It wasn’t perfectly pronounced but there was no mistaking what she’d said. He understood and his heart swelled with gladness and hope and a torrent of powerful emotion. It was as if all sentiment had been locked away deep inside him forever and she had released it from its confines, allowing it to roam free.

  “I love you.” She pushed the words past her lips with impressive stubbornness, her determination and honesty in the face of her suffering prompting tears to gather at the corners of his eyes.

  He had not cried since he was a boy and yet Juliette caused him to do so now, the fear he might lose her when he had barely won her tightening his throat to the point of severe discomfort. It was only made worse by the knowledge that her love for him wasn’t real. It couldn’t be when she did not know the most vital thing about him. And with this awareness came additional fear, of how she would respond when she learned his real father had almost succeeded in killing her sister the previous year when he’d been trying to stop Amelia from buying the house on the edge of St. Giles—the one she’d since turned into a school. Would Juliette be able to forgive Florian for keeping this from her? He wasn’t sure, but since doubt wasn’t helping, he did his best not to dwell on it extensively. There would be plenty of time for that later after she recovered.

  So with this in mind, he bowed his head over hers and touched her brow with his lips. “I love you too, Juliette.” The words were as clear as could be, and God help him if they weren’t the truest he’d ever spoken.

  Juliette wasn’t sure if she was awake or if she was dreaming. It felt as though she was drifting beyond the confines of her body, yet somehow aware of the aches sliding through her and the shivering chill that caused her to shake. Whatever the case, she felt at peace, safe in the knowledge that her feelings had been reciprocated.

  Terrified she might die without telling Florian how she felt, she’d delivered the message as well as she’d been able. And he had answered, ensuring her that he loved her in return. She was certain he’d said so while kissing her forehead, though it felt so surreal now she’d started to doubt if it had in fact happened or if it was the fever playing tricks on her brain.

  Then he’d brought her additional food, mostly meat, accompanying each serving with a full glass of red wine. He’d changed her nightgown more than once, an act she’d become increasingly used to since he always did it briskly and without appearing to pay any interest in her nudity. Caring for her comfort seemed to be his priority now, completely overshadowing the blatant desire he’d shown for her before she’d succumbed to the illness.

  The effect was calming, for it allowed her to ignore the initial apprehension she’d had about him seeing her so disabled.

  She relinquished herself to his ministrations, sitting limply in the bath while he bathed her and leaning on him for support while he dressed her. All without a single inappropriate touch. His professionalism was such a stark departure from the passionate man who’d whispered scandalous suggestions in her ear that she began to wonder if she had indeed fabricated his declaration of love. And because of this doubt, she refrained from repeating her own, lest he respond contrary to how she hoped.

  “How long have I been here?” she asked one morning when he brought her a larger plate of food than usual. She truly had no idea how much time had passed since he’d taken her away from Lady Arlington’s house and brought her here to his home.

  “A week.”

  His response surprised her. “It does not feel like that long.”

  He watched while she ate a slice of ham. “Losing track of time is expected considering how much you have slept.” He offered a tentative smile. “I am relieved to see you looking better.”

  “I feel better, though not quite myself just yet.” Allowing herself to think of all that had happened, she quietly asked, “What about Vivien and her aunt?”

  “Funeral arrangements have been made. Your sister-in-law took care of it.” His eyes filled with the sympathy of knowing how much this probably meant to Juliette. “They will be buried in the Grosvenor Chapel churchyard.”

  “I wish I could have done more for them. Vivien did not deserve to have her kindness toward a sickly child repaid with such devastation.”

  “No, but you did what you could to help—more than most would have done, I dare say. And rather than flee her home in fear, you did the right thing and controlled the contagion by staying. That cannot have been easy.”

  Reminded of how awful it had in truth been, she shook her head. “It is the worst thing I have ever experienced, looking on helplessly while those around me perished.”

  “I know precisely what you mean.”

  Her eyes locked with his to share a lengthy moment of silent propinquity.

  A thought struck her. “I know you put the nightcap on my head to keep my hair away from my face when I . . .” She bit her lip, blushed a little and said, “This must sound terribly vain to you, but do you think we can take it off so I can have my hair combed out and dressed? I’m sure you’re not an expert on such things but it would mean a lot to me and—” The look of regret that surfaced in his eyes stopped her. “What?”

  “I kept wondering when you might notice, but you never did.” Crossing the floor, he allowed his gaze to linger on hers before saying, “Your hair was infested with lice, Juliette. I had to cut it off.”

  Disbelief poured through her as she reached up and tugged at the bow beneath her chin before clawing the nightcap away. Her fingers trembled as they slowly touched her scalp. “No.” She patted her head, desperate to negate reality.

  “I am sorry, Juliette, but I had no choice.”

  It was too much, the crippled state he’d seen her in lately and now this. “Get out.” She looked away, hiding him from her view and pretending that if she could not see him then he would not be able to see her either.

  “This doesn’t change my—”

  “Please go, Florian.” She couldn’t even begin to imagine how awful she probably looked—much worse than she’d ever thought possible. “I want to be alone.”

  “Juliette—”

  “Please.”

  A long moment of hesitant silence followed, and then she heard the soft snick of the door closing as he left the room. The moment he did so, Juliette threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Fearing the worst, she crossed the floor to the cheval glass standing off to one side in a corner, inhaled deeply and stepped before it.

  The image reflected therein was of a woman so foreign to her she had to remind herself it was she. Her body, which had always been slim, looked highly malnourished now in spite of the food she’d been eating. Her collarbones stuck out and her face appeared gaunt while her hair—her beautiful lustrous hair—had been reduced to stubble. In short, she looked like a starving boy dressed in a woman’s nightgown. Not exactly the level of attractiveness she hoped to present to Florian.

  “I will overcome this.” She muttered the promise out loud, giving power to the words. “I will rally and I will get better.” Already Florian’s doctoring had helped her regain much of her strength. She was able to stand at least without feeling as though she risked falling over, and she no longer felt the urge to cast up her accounts or make a desperate grab for the chamber pot. Florian was to thank for this and he deserved her appreciation rather than the bitterness she had shown him when she’d told him to leave her alone.

  Chapter 24

  Florian had left her in peace for over an hour and had used that time to put himself to rights. Having slept in the armchair close to her bed for a wee
k meant that he was in dire need of a bath, a fresh set of clothes and a shave. Since he’d yet to call the upstairs safe and free of possible contagion, he chose to bathe belowstairs where Baker could help him shave. Dressed in a clean pair of trousers and a newly ironed shirt, Florian finally felt a bit more like himself.

  “How is she faring?” Mrs. Croft asked while stirring the soup she was preparing for dinner.

  “Better. I think.” When this reply was met with curious stares, he added, “It is my belief she will make a full recovery, though I fear her pride may have taken a hit in the process. She did not like finding out I cut off her hair.”

  “It will grow back,” Jillian assured him. “She will realize that soon enough.”

  “But in the meantime, there isn’t a woman in the world who wants to look dreadful.” Mrs. Croft sampled the soup and added a bit more salt. “Least of all in front of a handsome young man like yourself, Your Grace.”

  “Perhaps you should give her a compliment of some sort,” Baker suggested. He helped Florian don his waistcoat and jacket. “It might boost her confidence.”

  Thanking his servants for their advice, Florian returned upstairs. He hadn’t bothered saying that he’d attempted to do precisely that only to have Juliette cut him off and demand he leave her alone. Perhaps now, after having some time to herself, she would be ready to hear him out. Especially since he did have a whole lot more to tell her than compliments alone.

  Reaching the door to her room, he stopped to gather his thoughts. Ordinarily, he would have given a quick knock, entered and stated his business. He’d always been a direct man, had never really given much thought to what people might think of what he said. Getting to the point as quickly as possible was paramount in his line of work. Efficiency mattered. Yet now, standing here in his own bloody house, he worried over how to proceed. For one thing, he wanted to make Juliette happy—as difficult as that was for him to admit since he wasn’t accustomed to such concern—and for another, her opinion mattered. He did not want it to do so, but damn it all, it did. She was purity, untouched innocence and goodness to which he had no right. Yet he wanted her with a fierceness he’d never felt before.

  Reprimanding himself for his ridiculous indecisiveness, he did what he should have done five minutes earlier and knocked. A welcoming answer granted him entry, so he drew a fortifying breath and went inside the bedchamber. She was sitting much as he’d left her, propped up in bed against a pile of cushions. Immediately, the physician in him began ascertaining the animated look in her eyes, the faint glow to her complexion and the pink shade of her lips.

  “You look as though you are on the road to recovery.” And on your way out of my house. That thought did not sit well.

  “I feel much improved, thanks to you.” She smiled and it was that wondrous smile that lit up the world. “Thank you for all you have done, for sacrificing your own comfort in order to take proper care of me.” Her smile faded a little and her eyes grew serious. “I regret the way I treated you earlier. It was rude of me and I am sorry for it. After all you have done—”

  “You were upset and understandably so.” He approached the bed but paused and glanced toward the nearby chair he’d been spending a great deal of time in lately. Veering off course, he proceeded to pull it toward the bed so he could be close to her without actually sitting on the bed. Now that her health was improving, he did not dare allow quite so much nearness. “But the lice are gone and your hair will grow back,” he said as he took his seat and leaned forward slightly. “From this point onward, you ought to improve a bit more each day.”

  “So then . . . I will be returning home soon?”

  He nodded. “Yes.” It was unavoidable, and yet . . . “But there is no need to rush. In fact, I would like to be perfectly certain a remitting fever isn’t looming on the horizon before we risk exposing you to your family.”

  “Of course.” A couple of lines creased her otherwise perfect forehead. “That sounds quite reasonable. Shall we give it another week?”

  Her wish to stay so long surprised him, and he could not resist. His hand found hers, his thumb carefully caressing the smoothness of her skin. “Juliette . . . there are things I must tell you, explanations you deserve to hear.”

  “If this is about my reputation, you need not worry. My brother and brother-in-law are both powerful men. They will see to it that Society understands the necessity of my staying here.”

  He held her gaze and felt his heart ache. Her certainty in this, her belief in the goodness of others and that all would be right in the end was devastating. “I fear you may be wrong in that regard.”

  She produced a chuckle and shook her head. “Considering all my family has been through, the disapproval we faced when we first arrived in Mayfair, I am confident my sojourn here will be overlooked. Especially if people are told how essential it was, not only to my health, but to everyone else’s as well.”

  It was time to face his fears head-on. So he drew a deep breath and forged ahead. “And that might have been the case except for the fact that I am not the man you think me to be. As a consequence, staying here in my home, for even a single night, will have wrecked any chance you ever had of redeeming yourself in the eyes of the ton.”

  “What do you mean?” A hint of nervousness threaded its way around every word.

  Florian withdrew his hand from hers and steeled himself for what was to come. “I am not Lord Armswell’s son.” Ignoring the instinct to gainsay this admission, he forged ahead. “Bartholomew is my real father, the sort of man one doesn’t cross without facing the consequences.” He paused. “He gave me an ultimatum and when I didn’t respond, he made sure my connection to him became publicly known. The newspapers have had a wonderful time writing about it for the last few days.”

  Juliette stared at him as if he’d fallen off the back of a wagon and begun doing acrobatics.

  “My reputation, not only as a peer but as a respected physician has been decimated by this while yours . . . the fact you have been living with the son of a known criminal, confined in his house for extensive periods of time, will not be easily forgiven. Least of all when taking your own past into consideration.”

  Realization dawned in her eyes, more brown now than green. “People will think the worst in spite of our good intentions to save them from typhus.”

  Florian nodded. “And they will say it and print it in every gossip column there is. Of that I am certain, considering the harm that has already been done. It is only a matter of time before they attach your name to mine.” Expelling a breath, he fell back against his chair and watched her process this information. “I am sorry, Juliette. Truly I am.”

  She blinked as if startled out of a reverie by his apology. “Why?” Confusion knit her brow and she slowly shook her head. “You have done nothing wrong, Florian.”

  “Of course I have, Juliette.” Why was she being so stubborn? “I took you into my home without chaperone and—”

  “Because you were trying to save my life while keeping other people safe.”

  Her placating tone was too forgiving for him to bear.

  He frowned. “Not once in all the time I have known you did I inform you of the risk you faced by keeping my company. Not at Hawthorne House, Brand House or Stokes House, not in my office or at the opera.” She blushed, a deep shade of pink that had nothing to do with her recent illness. “I kissed you as if I had the right, as if I could promise you the future you deserve when all I can give you now is a tarnished name.”

  “You forget that kissing takes more than one person and that I was equally involved.” Too embarrassed to look at him, she spoke to her lap. “I wanted that kiss, Florian. Indeed, I dreamed of it for a long time before it happened, so you have nothing for which to apologize. Truly.”

  Her honesty slayed him, for although he’d seen desire and longing in her eyes and had known she wanted the same as he, hearing her say it roused a primitive beast within him. It made him want to grab her a
nd hold her and kiss her again until she was breathless, until she forgot time and place and until the only word on her lips was his name.

  But to do so could easily destroy her. Already, he feared it might be too late. “My fault was in letting you think I was the man you saw, the man the whole world knew me to be, when I was someone else entirely.”

  Biting her lip, she shot a glance in his direction. “As if your parentage, over which you have no control, would have kept me away.” She raised her head so she could look at him more fully. Sparkles surfaced in her eyes, producing an ethereal effect. “You are still the same noble man, intent on saving others no matter the cost and often too serious for his own good.”

  Her assessment of him was accurate, but her dismissal of all his concerns made him angry. “Our society is built on reputation and pedigree. Losing one of these might be survivable, especially for a man, but to lose both is unpardonable. My name has been slandered! Viola sent word today that Elmwood, Stokes and Winehurst have all left the hospital committee, which ought to impress upon you the gravity of this situation.”

  Silence passed in the wake of his outburst until her gentle voice told him, “It is not that I fail to comprehend the gravity of what has occurred or of what this revelation about you means. I merely want you to understand that it does not affect my opinion of you in the slightest.”

  Her acceptance of him was disarming. He hardly knew how to respond except with one last attempt to make her see reason. “My father is the most renowned criminal in England.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “He is. But that doesn’t mean you should let his actions define you.”

  Sage advice from someone so young. “I became a physician because of him, not because I wanted to do good but because I needed to prove I was better than him, that the tainted blood in my veins would not decide who I would be.”

  The edge of her mouth lifted to form a sanguine smile. “And yet you described your profession as a vocation when you spoke of it during the Falconrich Ball last Season.”