The Duke and the Lady in Red

by Lorraine Heath

  “Then don’t say,” Avendale suggested.

  Lovingdon lifted his gaze. “I know it would not be intentional, but you could do irreparable harm if she is not ready.”

  He wondered if he’d already done so, last night in the coach. No, he didn’t believe he had. She had been taken aback by what had happened, but only because she hadn’t experienced it before. She hadn’t wept or slapped him or called him a blackguard. “She strikes me as being quite strong. I won’t harm her.”

  “As I said, it wouldn’t be intentional.”

  Avendale swirled his scotch, downed it. “Why do you care?”

  “For as long as I have known you, last night was the first time that you looked as though you were precisely where you wanted to be.”

  “Theater? I abhor theater.”

  “But not the woman you were with.”

  Avendale came out of the chair, returned to the marble table, and refilled his glass. “Because I want her, Lovingdon. I want her in my bed as I’ve never wanted anyone else.” Turning he met his friend’s gaze. “And I intend to have her.”

  Thanks to Lovingdon’s visit, Avendale was in a foul mood when he entered through the doors of the Twin Dragons. He wanted a private card game where the stakes were high and the men at the table ruthless. He didn’t care if his finances took a beating, preferred it in fact. He’d almost gone to Whitechapel in search of a brawl. He felt like taking a pounding. He felt like—­

  Pounding into her.

  His Rose was here. Somehow he’d known she would be. She wasn’t innocent as Lovingdon insinuated, she wasn’t going to get hurt. She was a widow who had obviously not experienced life to the fullest, and so she came here, just as he did, searching for something that would fill the emptiness inside.

  He would very much like to fill her. He could avail himself of one of the secluded rooms. Drake wouldn’t object. But Avendale wanted her in his bed. He wanted her scent lingering there after she left.

  He began striding toward her. She was standing near the roulette wheel. Close enough to observe, but not near enough to have placed a wager. He’d never understood the pleasure to be found in simply watching. If nothing was at risk, where was the excitement, the thrill? Even losing was better than not having participated at all.

  As he approached, she glanced over, smiled, but there was an oddness to the upturn of her lips that he couldn’t quite place. He might have attributed it to an uncomfortableness with him after last night, but he thought if that were the case, she’d have not come here at all, knowing in all likelihood he’d be present. But then he also thought her pride wouldn’t allow her to cower in her residence. No, she would face him, but she would do it with a challenge in her blue eyes and a lifting of her chin.

  Something else was amiss. He’d bet his life on it.

  He realized that his gloved hand rested on the small of her back, that it had gone there of its own accord as soon as he’d reached her. He resisted the urge to snatch it away, but allowed it to settle into place, to claim her. She didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow at his forwardness. He wondered if she’d object if he leaned down and captured those lips as he desperately wished to do.

  Probably.

  Although he’d welcome the reaction. From the beginning her vibrancy had appealed to him. She seemed to have misplaced it tonight. And that bothered him. Not so much that it was absent, but the reason behind its disappearance. He didn’t like knowing that something—­or someone—­had caused her to wilt. Not that he was considering taking up the role of being her champion. That had never been his way. Truth be told, he was usually the one who caused the wilting.

  Not that he was particularly proud of that realization at the moment. But he did know that her present state was not because of his actions the night before—­unless she’d spent the day battling the demons of propriety and piety. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  She shook her head slightly. “Nothing.”

  A lie. He prided himself on his ability to read women, not that he’d ever found her particularly easy to read—­which meant that she wanted him to read her. It was not in his nature to prod and dig until he uncovered the reason behind a woman’s strange mood. They came, usually with no reasonable explanation. A woman’s moodiness never appealed to him. He generally walked away and found someone more fun, more obliging, less complicated.

  But he couldn’t walk away from her.

  Not yet at least, not until he’d had her in his bed. It was that unfulfilled need that kept him anchored to her side. “Why aren’t you gambling?”

  She lifted a bare shoulder. “I don’t believe I shall tonight. I simply needed to be surrounded by those having a jolly good time.”

  “What’s wrong, Rose?” he repeated, prodded against his better instincts.

  Something that seemed to resemble remorse flickered in her eyes before she averted her face as though she feared he could read the answer there. “It’s nothing really.”

  “If it’s nothing, then why are you bothered by it?”

  She paled just a bit, glanced around as though she were expecting great hulking beasts to suddenly descend on her. “This isn’t the place to discuss it.”

  “Then let’s be away. My coach is here.”

  Relief washed over her face. He was certain she was going to acquiesce. Instead she said, “It’s nothing with which to concern yourself. You should go play cards.”

  He was aware of the speculative looks being cast their way. At any moment they were going to be interrupted by the curious and prying. “I’m afraid I must insist.”

  Pressing his palm against the small of her back, he managed to communicate his willingness to make a scene if she insisted. She didn’t. She moved with him, small, slow steps. “Avendale, I really don’t want to bother you.”

  “It’s no bother,” he assured her.

  He escorted her out of the building and ordered the young man standing outside the door to fetch his coach. While he and she waited, they spoke not a word. As he had yet to remove his hand from her back, he felt the shiver go through her. It was a cool night, but not overly so. He slipped his arm around her shoulders to offer her more protection from the slight breeze.

  “This is inappropriate,” she said.

  “We’ve just exited a gaming hell. Seems a bit late to worry overmuch about what is appropriate.”

  “I suppose you have a point,” she said, and moved in closer to his side.

  He was not renowned for his ability to give comfort, but at that precise moment he wished he’d devoted more of his energies to mastering the skill. Whatever was bothering her needed to be set to rights.

  His coach arrived, and he helped her inside. While he was tempted to sit beside her, he knew that choice could lead to a distraction that neither could afford at the moment. Not until he got the truth from her. So he wisely took the bench opposite her, stretched out his legs on either side of hers.

  The coach jarred forward, the horses moving at a slow, steady pace.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Around the city, hither and yon, until such time as we decide on a destination.” Until she was ready to come to his residence, his bed. He couldn’t recall ever leashing his need so tightly. He wanted her, but he wanted her without furrows in her brow and something resembling defeat in her eyes. “I can wait all night.”

  She lifted her gaze to his. “Why are you interested in my troubles?”

  “It’s hardly a tempting seduction if your mind is elsewhere.”

  “You surprise me, Your Grace. I assumed you only cared about the physical aspects of a woman.”

  Normally he did. She was different. He didn’t know why. It irritated him, confounded him, but the truth was he wanted every aspect of her involved. Every hair on her head, every thought in her mind. “Pleasure can be much more intense when it
is the sole focus of one’s efforts, when there are no distractions to plague us. So while it may seem I am being kind, it is pure selfishness on my part. I believe that bedding you will be a truly remarkable experience, but not if all of you isn’t in my bed.”

  Her lips twitched, eased into a smile. “I believe what I like best about you is your forthrightness.”

  “I like that aspect about you as well. So be forthright.”

  She clasped her gloved hands together, knitted her fingers tightly together. “Will you extinguish the flame in the lamp? It is better said in the dark.”

  Most confessions were, or so he’d heard. He was not one for giving them or listening to them. She was turning his world topsy-­turvy. Perhaps he would have two nights with her. He blew out the flame, settled back, and waited.

  “This is so difficult, so foolish,” she said quietly, her voice lyrical in the near-­dark.

  He could hear every subtle nuance, and wondered why he’d never noticed that she spoke in what seemed to be a mosaic of accents. Perhaps she was more traveled than he thought, her journeys not limited to India as she’d implied. Perhaps he would inquire again when this was done, but then what difference did it make?

  “I can’t see you being foolish,” he said, truth in his words. She might be a lot of things, but he didn’t think foolish was one of them.

  “Naive is perhaps a better word.” He heard her swallow, but he could see little more than the shadows dancing around her silhouette as light from the streetlamps flowed in and retreated. “I misjudged how long it would take for my husband’s estate to be settled, for all that he left me to come into my hands. I’ve spent quite liberally on credit, expecting to cover my debt with my inheritance. But it has yet to arrive and the creditors are losing patience.”

  “Have they threatened?”

  He thought he saw a nod.

  “Yes, I fear so,” she said.

  “What does Beckwith say?”

  “That it shouldn’t be much longer, and he has helped where he can, has even lent me a tidy sum, but it’s not enough. I don’t want to run, I don’t want to be cowardly. I know I must face the consequences, but the thought of prison—­”

  “One can no longer be imprisoned for debt.”

  “A few of them have banded together and are accusing me of thievery. I have only a day to pay what I owe or they have threatened to go to Scotland Yard.”

  He couldn’t recall hearing of such a thing, but he supposed those who extended credit needed some recourse. At that moment, light filtered in and her gloves stood out in stark relief as she knotted her fingers. “How much do you owe?” he asked.

  “I’m too embarrassed to say. I spoke with a bank this afternoon, but they would not loan me the funds I require. I can hardly blame them when my husband’s estate is still unsettled. Bless him. He was not the most organized of men. He has left me in quite the pickle. I am trying desperately not to resent him, but it is becoming increasingly difficult when he made such a muck of things.”

  The man sounded like a blistering fool. Leaning forward, Avendale worked her hands free of the choking hold she had on them and wrapped his fingers around them. “Let me help you, Rose.”

  “I would only be exchanging one type of debt for another.” Through the dim interior he could feel her sharp gaze homed in on him. “I know the sort of payment you would require.”

  Her words stung. A first for him. He’d never cared what ­people thought of him or said about him. He’d made himself impervious to slander. He lived a debauched life, held no moral high ground because it was so damned difficult to defend. He’d never cared how his actions were perceived, but her belief that he would assist her in exchange for her coming to his bed . . .

  It rankled.

  Releasing her hands, he leaned back. “I am not so desperate that I have to pay for a woman to come to my bed. If you join me there, Rose, it will be because you want to be there and only because you want to be there. I have the means to lend you the money you need. It comes with no obligations, no expectations. If it will reassure you, we can wait until you have repaid me before we take things further.”

  “You don’t think it will taint our relationship? I’ve heard the worst thing a person can do is loan money to a friend.”

  “I’m not certain I’d label you as a friend, but I am quite certain that I can lend you money and not hold it over you. It’s not as though I need it. Pay it back at your leisure.”

  He heard her take a deep breath. “I don’t know, Avendale. Am I not jumping from the pan into the fire? I like you, a great deal. I don’t want to take advantage of what you feel for me.”

  “We can write out terms if you like, sign a contract.”

  She laughed lightly. “I don’t think that’s necessary. Unless you do, of course.”

  “No, I trust you, Rose.” He gave her a devilish grin. “And I know where to find you.”

  She shook her head. “Still, I don’t know. It’s a ghastly amount.”

  “How much?”

  “Five thousand quid.”

  “Pittance.”

  She laughed more fully this time and her gloved hand covered her mouth. “You are a godsend. So generous. I can hardly believe it. If you are certain it won’t change things between us, I will gladly accept your offer.”

  With a rap on the roof, he signaled to his driver to go to his residence. “You’ll have the money within the hour.”

  Chapter 8

  Clutching her reticule, Rose swept into her residence. “Merrick!”

  Avendale had taken her into the grand study of his magnificent residence. After opening a safe located behind a seascape, he’d handed her five thousand quid with the same ease with which she handed over a penny for candy. Without demanding anything else of her, not even a kiss, he had returned her to the Twin Dragons.

  She’d promptly made her excuses—­she needed to contact those to whom she owed money so she could settle her accounts—­promised to play cards with him in a private room tomorrow evening, had a young man fetch her carriage, and quickly returned home. The fashionable carriage and four for which she’d promised to pay a ghastly sum were waiting in the front.

  “Merrick!”

  Carrying a mug, he finally wandered out from the hallway that led to the dining room and the kitchen beyond. “You’re home early.”

  “Pack up. We’re leaving.”

  His brown eyes widened. “Tonight?”

  “Yes, tonight. Straightaway, as soon as we can.”

  “What do we take?”

  “Only what we own. Leave the rest.”

  He scurried over to her. “How much did you get?”

  “Enough. Now see to matters posthaste.”

  She hurried down the hallway from which he’d emerged. Outside the door to the library, she stopped for a moment, took a deep breath to compose herself. Then another. She could hardly fathom that Avendale had handed over five thousand pounds without so much as a blink. For a heartbeat she almost felt guilty about it, but she knew that was an emotion she did not have the luxury to feel. She denied herself most emotions, any that would deter her from her purpose. Another breath. She was about to deal with the most critical part of the plan.

  Opening the door, she strolled in, glad to see that Harry was still awake. Sitting at the desk, scratching pen over paper, he looked up. She smiled with confidence. “Hello, dearest.”

  Moving around behind him, she hugged his shoulders, kissed his head. Then she came to stand in front of him because it was imperative that he understood the significance of what she was about to say. “I apologize for disturbing your writing, but you need to pack up your things. We’ll be leaving tonight.”

  “Is it because of that duke?” he asked. “Did he hurt you?”

  She was taken off-­guard for a moment that he would draw that conclusi
on. Avendale would never hurt her. Pity she couldn’t offer him the same courtesy. “Oh no. I simply decided I’d like to see Scotland.” They could become lost there. “The streets of London are so crowded during the day that we want to leave now, while we can travel swiftly.” Reaching across, she squeezed his hand. “Take your writing materials and your favorite books. We have only the one carriage so we can’t take everything, only the items you truly treasure. Can you pack quickly?”

  “Yes, all right.”

  She heard the hesitation, the sadness in his voice. They’d never lived anyplace quite this fine. She also knew his quickness would still be slow. As soon as she was finished getting her things together, she would assist him. “Thank you, dearest. I think you’ll like Scotland.”

  Not that she’d ever been there to judge it, but she’d heard things. Leaving him then, she rushed to her bedchamber. She considered changing into something more practical for travel but she didn’t want to take the time.

  Pulling her small trunk from its place against the wall, she threw back the lid and got down to the business of stuffing her clothes into it. Unlike her instructions to the others, she would pack things that had not yet been paid for. She wished she could take everything but it wasn’t possible, so she selected only the finest gowns because they might come in handy in the future.

  It was half an hour later when her coachman came up to get the trunk. Joseph was nearly seven feet tall and as slender as a reed. She feared his bones might snap when he lifted the trunk up but he carried it with no problem at all. She wished she had jewelry. It wouldn’t take up much room and selling it would have provided them with more money than anything else they might sell, but jewelers were not as quick to part with their treasures when one could only offer a letter of credit. She gave a last glance around the room.

  She was leaving far too much behind but she wanted to ensure Harry had all the room he required.

  She traipsed quickly down the stairs and went outside to check on the status of things. Joseph was hefting her trunk onto the roof. Several bags and boxes were already there. It seemed they were making great progress. Now if she could simply rush Harry along—­