The Illegitimate Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “I would have found a way,” Henry insisted.

  They exited the Red Rose. “Unlikely, considering how good he has always been at deception.” Climbing into the waiting carriage, Florian paused while Henry and Huntley followed him inside before adding, “He would have dismissed all accusations and made you look a fool, Henry. Especially since his new persona is that of an upstanding citizen.”

  “He is liked and respected,” Henry agreed. “More than that, he is needed. I know several people who’ve welcomed his investments in recent months.”

  “I don’t suppose you were able to find the source of his wealth?” Florian asked.

  Henry shook his head. “I would have told you if I had.”

  “Which validates my argument,” Florian told him. “As Mortedge, Bartholomew was reborn. There was nothing we could pin on him, no means to take him down once and for all.”

  “Until now,” Huntley pointed out with a glower.

  Florian nodded. “Precisely.” He clenched his fists and turned a stiff gaze out the window. The carriage started forward with a brisk lurch, carrying them all toward Bedford Square and the town house where England’s most renowned criminal now resided, unbeknownst to his wealthy neighbors.

  Time was a curious concept. Even when Juliette had been confined to a bed and ought to have felt it drag on, the days had flown by because Florian had been there. Now, with a nearby clock telling her only one hour had passed since she had arrived in this room, it felt like she had been there for an eternity.

  To her surprise, she had not been restrained in any way, most likely because Bartholomew did not think she stood much of a chance against him and his men. Which was probably true. But if Florian came for her—when he came for her—she wanted to be ready to help.

  So she strolled around the room searching for something to use as a weapon. To her disappointment, the room did not contain a single sharp object. Not even a misplaced pencil. The infernal clock ticked the monotonous passing of seconds. Juliette eyed a vase. If she broke it, perhaps she could claim it an accident while hiding away one of the shards? She shook her head. It was much too obvious a ploy.

  Tick-tock, tick-tock . . . If only the damn thing would stop! She glared at it, at the gold casing, the mother-of-pearl dial and all the little Roman numerals neatly placed upon it. Gradually, like a dream invading reality, an idea began to take shape. Juliette blinked. Yes. This could work. Maybe. She went to the clock and made a quick study of it, then carefully opened the glass door.

  Voices approaching the room made her hasten her movements. Swiftly, she closed the front of the clock back up and hurried across the floor, dropping into an armchair just as the door to the room swung open. Bartholomew strolled in as casually as if he were having guests over for tea. He was followed by three welcome faces, Raphe, Lowell and Florian, with the same men who’d kidnapped her bringing up the rear. Both were holding pistols at the ready.

  “You see,” Bartholomew purred as he came toward her. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her to her feet. “Your ladylove is perfectly fine, Florian.” He flung his arm around Juliette’s waist and pulled her close. “For now.”

  Florian bristled. “Get your filthy hands off her.” He spoke between clenched teeth while Raphe and Lowell accompanied his words with venomous scowls.

  Bartholomew clucked his tongue. “Where are your manners?” He squeezed Juliette until revulsion snaked through her. “You see she is unharmed and yet you choose to insult me. In my own home, no less.”

  “Let her go.” Florian’s voice had cooled to a tone far more threatening than his previous one. “I am the one you want to punish. Me. Not her.”

  “And what better way to do so than through her?” Bartholomew moved, as did Florian. “Ah, ah, ah! Stay right where you are lest one of my men there produces a twitch and accidentally fires his weapon.”

  Something sharp made contact with Juliette’s neck. A blade, the fine edge of it grazing her skin. Instinctively she sucked in a breath. Her gaze met Florian’s and held it. If she died here today it would be with his dear face filling her vision.

  “Bartholomew,” Florian warned, hands raised in surrender. “Put the knife down. Please.”

  “Or what?” Bartholomew paused for a second. “You came here unarmed, expecting to what, convince me to show compassion when you would grant me no such thing? Or have you forgotten that you are the reason why I had to go into hiding? I lost thousands of pounds in my business while having to pretend I was dead. All because you couldn’t keep your bloody mouth shut!” The blade pressed harder against Juliette. “You just had to thwart me.”

  “Do not pretend you did not deserve it,” Florian countered. “I know better than anyone what you are capable of. If anyone deserves revenge, it is I, not you.”

  “As if you have the bollocks for it.” Sneering, Bartholomew tightened his grip on Juliette. His men moved around, their weapons aimed only at Raphe and Lowell.

  Intuitive realization dawned on Juliette. No matter what happened, Bartholomew would not harm Florian. He might cause him grief and misery by killing her, Lowell and Raphe, but Florian was his son. In spite of everything, he would not be able to take his life.

  The relief this knowledge gave her was profound. It meant not only that the man she loved would live, but that she had one less person to worry about. Biding her time, she eyed Bartholomew’s men. Their eyes were fixed on their targets, ready to fire if Raphe or Lowell made any sudden movements. But if she distracted them . . .

  Florian took a step forward. Juliette felt a sharp sting as the blade pressed even closer. It must have broken her skin. She tried to focus on where it made contact and deliberately turned her body more fully toward Bartholomew. “Regarding your earlier suggestion,” she whispered, all the while moving her critical veins out of harm’s way, “I accept.”

  The blade lost contact with her neck entirely as Bartholomew met her gaze. “Be more specific.”

  “Kill me and you could hang. In truth this time.” Distracting him as she spoke, she positioned herself just so . . . “Bed me and you will exact your revenge without risking your neck.”

  Greedy lust, abhorrent in it proclivity, captured his every feature. A grin spread wide across his face while laughter spilled from his mouth. Juliette struggled to hide her disgust while pulling a long piece of spindly metal out from under her sleeve. Gripping it, she listened while Bartholomew claimed she was his, bragging of how he would take great pleasure in making her a party to his every deviance.

  “When I’m done, I’ll toss her lifeless body out onto your doorstep, Florian.” He shook with the humor he found in that statement. “Imagine the joy I shall find in knowing I took her from you and tainted her with the filth you’ve been so ashamed of all these years.”

  Behind her, Juliette heard Florian curse Bartholomew with words that would shame the devil himself. Taking her chance, she held on firmly to the clock hand she’d stolen and plunged it deep into Bartholomew’s leg. He cried out in pain and a thud sounded from somewhere behind Juliette right before a shot shattered the air.

  All laughter ceased.

  Bartholomew’s eyes bulged and he bared his teeth like a rabid dog.

  As expected, the blade sliced her neck.

  “No!”

  Another shot fired followed by a grunt.

  “Juliette!” Florian’s voice told her he lived and would be all right while she on the other hand had to finish what she had started. Especially if Raphe or Lowell had just been killed.

  Retracting her hand to unblock the wound, she followed Bartholomew down to the floor. “You fucking bitch!” Bartholomew writhed beneath her and Florian was suddenly there, pulling her off him, his hand pressed over the side of her neck.

  “Jesus.” He drew her into his arms, surrounding her trembling body with his strength while she came to terms with what she had done. “I thought I lost you,” Florian whispered against her cheek. “I thought he cut too deep. Thank God it i
s just a graze.” Unwinding his cravat, he carefully tied it around her neck to stanch the bleeding.

  Tears welled in Juliette’s eyes. “Heavens, what have I done?”

  “What was necessary, sweetheart.” Florian’s hand smoothed over her hair. “He threatened to kill you so you had no choice. You did the right thing.”

  Pulling back, Juliette forced herself to look at the body beside her. “Do you think you can save him?” Blood pulsed from Bartholomew’s thigh. His face was already paling.

  “You punctured his femoral artery with surgical precision, Juliette.” Florian’s voice was packed with amazement for only a second before turning serious. “How on earth did you know how to do so?”

  “Cowper’s Anatomy of Humane Bodies. I’ve been studying it in great detail.”

  He stared at her as if she were the most incredible woman who ever lived. “Of course you have.” His knuckles brushed her cheek. “So full of surprises and always ready to astound me with your interest in learning.” He glanced sideways to where Bartholomew lay. “There is nothing I can do for him at this point.”

  Juliette’s insides twisted. “I’m sorry. I know you deserved your own vengeance and I . . .” She gulped, sucking air into her lungs. “I took that from you, but—”

  “You made the right decision, providing us the distraction we needed to take out his men.” Nudging her chin, he turned her gaze toward his own. “There is absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about. Do you understand?”

  She nodded even as the severity of her actions sank deeper into her consciousness. Florian might forgive her, but would she ever forgive herself? She’d taken a man’s life after all, even if he was guilty of heinous crimes and had been sentenced to hang. Getting over that would not be easy. It would take time, and even then she feared she might never fully recover from the shocking awareness of her own capabilities.

  Helping her to her feet, Florian clasped her head between his hands and held her gaze. Compassion darkened the blue in his eyes, speaking volumes of his affinity with her. “I am so incredibly relieved to know you are safe.” He bent to kiss her, thoroughly and desperately and without caring about Raphe’s or Lowell’s presence. A tight hug followed, infusing Juliette with warmth and steadfast calm before he released her and took a step back. “Give me a moment to say a few words before it is too late.”

  She nodded and went to stand next to her brother whose solid embrace was a welcome support against all that had happened. Behind where they stood were Bartholomew’s men, one dead, the other held at gunpoint by Lowell.

  “What happened?” She could not believe the speed with which they’d been taken out.

  “When you stabbed Bartholomew and he cried out in pain, his men’s attention was directed away from us,” Raphe told her. “Florian must have realized they would not shoot him, so he made a grab for one of the pistols. Lowell and I followed suit, which was when the men fired, one of them hitting the other in the fray.”

  “I’m glad it wasn’t you, Lowell or Florian.” It was sobering to think how lucky they were since the situation could easily have played out differently.

  Raphe squeezed her against him and kissed the top of her head. “Me too.” His voice, always so strong and certain, was weak with emotion. “These past few weeks have been hellish for me. Had it not been for Florian’s stalwart dedication toward you, I fear . . .” Words failed him for seconds on end before he managed to draw a deep breath and say, “He loves you so much, Juliette. The dread in his eyes, first when he realized how sick you were and then when I told him that you had gone missing, left no doubt about it.”

  Peace settled deep in Juliette’s chest, spreading warmth through all her veins. “I love him too, Raphe. I love him so much my heart’s bursting with it.”

  Raphe chuckled faintly. “I know what you mean and so does Amelia. The three of us have been truly blessed.”

  Not by the wealth they’d secured but by the people who longed to spend their lives with them. It was dizzying, Juliette decided, knowing Florian wanted to make her his wife—that in spite of his strict aversion to marriage, he welcomed it now. Because of her.

  With this in mind, she looked up at her brother and smiled. “Blessed doesn’t even begin to cover it, Raphe, and I am not really sure if anything does.”

  Chapter 27

  It was peculiar, the melancholy Florian felt as they left Bartholomew’s home. The chief magistrate had been called to the scene, and they had spent an hour or so thereafter explaining what had transpired. Naturally, the magistrate had not been pleased to discover the wrong person had been hanged while the true criminal went on with his life as if nothing had happened. It would likely result in lengthy apologies having to be made, unfavorable articles in the papers and the public questioning the justice system’s efficiency.

  Climbing into a hired hackney, Florian sat down across from Raphe, who’d claimed the seat next to Juliette. This was expected and yet it still grated. After all that had happened, the only person he longed to be near—to hold and to touch—was her. Yet he was being denied such liberty because of a long list of truly annoying rules. So he folded his arms across his chest and tried not to miss her.

  She was right there, after all, alive and well, no more than a few feet away. But it still felt like a wide expanse had been placed between them.

  “Do you mind if I accompany you to your home instead of returning to my own, Huntley?” he asked as they plodded along. “There is something I wish to discuss with you as soon as possible. I would rather not wait.”

  “I’m sure you would not,” Huntley said with raised eyebrows. He sounded amused while Juliette’s cheeks, Florian noted, turned a charming shade of pink. “There is an excellent brandy in my study that I would be happy to share with you.”

  Satisfied with this answer, Florian spent the rest of the carriage ride thinking of what lay ahead. It was curious how drastically his life had changed. He’d gone from being a physician, with no intention of seeing himself wed, to a duke who could scarcely get married quickly enough. All because of the good-natured woman who’d entered his life with purpose and shown him he could have so much more than he’d ever dared dream.

  With Juliette in his arms, he’d realized what he’d been missing, what he had been willing to throw away. She’d humbled him with her kindness, her generosity and steadfast resolve to do more than what was required of her.

  They were good together. Their common interest in caring for the sick had forged an initial bond that had steadily deepened as they’d become better acquainted with each other. And then there were the kisses. Daring a glance in Juliette’s direction, Florian could not help but study her lips. They were perfectly shaped and capable of delivering the most passionate responses.

  Huntley cleared his throat and Florian’s gaze darted to his. The duke shook his head ever so slightly, though his eyes showed a touch of humor. Chastised with the reminder that he had no right to be ogling Juliette, Florian turned to look out the window. The meandering progress he was presently forced to endure was not the least bit conducive to the haste with which he was hoping to become affianced.

  When Juliette climbed out of the carriage in front of Huntley House, Raphe ushered her straight up the front steps, preventing Florian from offering escort. “I wish you would stop being so fussy,” she murmured.

  “Impossible,” her brother replied, “considering all the rumors surrounding your extended stay in Florian’s home. And besides, you are my sister. It is my duty to safeguard your reputation to the best of my ability.”

  She supposed that was true, however inconvenient such safeguarding happened to be.

  The front door was opened by Pierson, who instantly remarked on how glad he was to see her safely returned. Behind him stood Gabriella, who’d come from the parlor as soon as they’d entered the foyer.

  “We were so worried about you, Julie. I cannot tell you how good it is to see you are safe from harm,” Gabriella said. She turn
ed to Pierson. “Would you please ask one of the maids to bring up some sandwiches and a fresh pot of tea?” She eyed Florian briefly before adding, “And have my husband’s valet pick a cravat for the Duke of Redding to borrow.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Pierson went to take care of the refreshments.

  As soon as he was gone, Raphe gave Gabriella a quick account of what had happened before addressing Florian. “I believe our brandy awaits,” he told him. To Gabriella he said, “If you will excuse me, dearest, this ought not take long. But I fear Juliette and Florian are both very anxious for certain matters to be resolved, and considering all they have been through, they deserve a positive turn of events. I dare not delay them further.” Leaning forward, he pressed a kiss to his wife’s cheek and then waved for Florian to follow him down the hallway and into his study.

  The door closed, leaving Juliette alone with Gabriella. A moment of silence passed while Juliette fumbled with the ribbon holding her bonnet in place.

  “Well?” Gabriella stared at her expectantly. “Will you tell me what that was about?”

  A length of satin slipped between Juliette’s fingers, undoing the bow. She tried to refrain from smiling too broadly but failed miserably. “Florian intends to ask for my hand.”

  “Oh but that is wonderful news!” Gabriella was suddenly hugging her. “I always knew the two of you would end up together.”

  Juliette stepped back. “You did?”

  “The air always seemed to spark when you and Florian were in the same room.” She hugged Juliette again and grinned. “I am so incredibly happy for you. For both of you.”

  “Thank you. I . . .” She swept the bonnet from her head. Gabriella gasped, and Juliette suddenly remembered how she must appear. She raised her hand to stroke the downy softness of her head. “My lack of hair must be shocking for you.”