She left the library and the men to their whisky a short while later, feeling as though a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders.
Chapter Ten
Doran watched her go, admiring her capacity to absorb such disturbing news about the murder of a husband whom she’d held in great affection so calmly. It was really none of Doran’s concern, but for reasons he was unable to quantify he didn’t think she should be left on her own. He drained his glass and begged to be excused, ready to offer her a sympathetic ear. Sometimes it was easier to express one’s feelings to a stranger, he had good reason to know. Matters of the heart were tricky customers that held the potential to create havoc. That was why he had never embraced matrimony himself and one of the reasons why common sense told him he would be much better advised to leave Lady Marlowe to come to terms with these latest revelations in her own time.
But since when had he ever taken the sensible course? He thought of Coleen and the despicable way that she had used him to the point where he had almost lost all self-respect. His own circumstances notwithstanding, the desire to comfort Lady Marlowe remained undiminished. He heard her voice coming from the small salon that he himself had discovered earlier in the day. The salon was a delightful room, far less imposing than the principal drawing room, in which he had made the acquaintance of a sleek black cat that had been sitting on the window ledge, swishing his tail as he watched birds hopping about the snow-laden grounds, pecking in futile attempts to find food. The haughty creature had condescended to allow Doran to make a fuss of him. That, he learned from the duchess when she entered the room and expressed her surprise, was a rare privilege. Pagan was her cat, and his decidedly anti-social mindset meant that he took most people in immediate dislike.
Assuming that Lady Marlowe was following his example and attempting to conduct a one-sided conversation with the feline, he was about to join her when he heard Devonshire’s voice, speaking in an ingratiating manner. Doran paused. His instincts told him that there was more to Devonshire than met the eye, and he wasn’t about to let Lady Marlowe be inconvenienced by his unwanted attentions.
Always assuming they were unwanted.
He ought to walk away. No harm could come to her in this house, but instinct kept him rooted to the spot. Lady Marlowe had told him that she was convinced she’d heard Devonshire’s name somewhere, and recently. It would be too much of a coincidence to believe he could be in any way connected to their respective problems, but then again stranger things had been known to happen.
Doran decided to linger for just a while longer.
‘Don’t!’ he heard Lady Marlowe cry. About to rush to her aid, thinking the rogue was attempting to manhandle her, he smiled when he heard Devonshire unsuccessfully attempt to smother an oath in response to a loud feline hiss. ‘Pagan is not a friendly creature. Are you hurt?’
‘Just a scratch,’ Devonshire replied, sounding petulant. ‘Now, what were we discussing?’
‘Nothing of any consequence,’ Lady Marlowe replied in a disinterested manner. ‘I came into this room in the hope of a little solitude, but you followed so close on my heels that it feels as though…well, as though you were lying in wait.’
‘Nothing nearly so dramatic, I do assure you.’
‘Will your wife not be wondering where you are?’
‘You were engaged with the duke for a considerable time,’ he replied, ignoring her question. ‘His grace has myriad responsibilities, whereas I, as a confidante and friend of your late husband, feel it incumbent upon me to help you in any way that I can.’
What a pompous windbag, Doran thought, well aware of the sort of help Devonshire would like to offer such an attractive and wealthy widow. Unless Doran had read the signs all wrong, the man was not well situated. He had noticed his frayed cuffs and the dated style of his coat.
‘You surprise me, sir, firstly by assuming that my discussion with the duke implies that I require his help, but more particularly by supposing that even if I did I would turn to you, a complete stranger. You told me that you barely knew my husband when you mentioned that you had seen him in Paris.’
‘Ah, I was being discreet.’
That will be a first, Doran thought, disliking the man more by the second.
‘Then let me save you from unnecessary embarrassment. You saw my husband in company with his French mistress.’
‘Oh. You know about…’
‘Well, if I only suspected, you have now confirmed those suspicions.’
‘Dear lady, how can I apologise?’
‘Please leave me alone, Mr Devonshire.’ Lady Marlowe sounded both exasperated and dismissive. ‘I already told you that I came to this room in search of solitude, and if you don’t have the good manners to leave me to enjoy it then I shall be the one to vacate it.’
‘You misunderstand.’ A bitter edge had entered his voice. ‘You are in danger and my only desire is to keep you safe.’
‘What danger could I possibly be in?’
Devonshire presumably imagined that his offer of assistance would be welcomed with open arms. Doran was tempted to chuckle at his complete misapprehension of Lady Marlowe’s character. But this was no laughing matter. Devonshire was up to something. Something devious. Presumably he had formulated some sort of desperate plan since making Lady Marlowe’s acquaintance for the first time that day. He was a good looking devil who probably enjoyed more than his share of success with the ladies. Doran ground his jaw at his assumption that Lady Marlowe would fall for his rather obvious charms.
He was very glad that she had not.
‘There are those who are lying in wait at every turn to manipulate ladies in your situation. You need protection.’
‘Your protection?’ She laughed aloud. ‘Don’t be so ridiculous! My husband might have been a philanderer but I have no desire to follow his example. And even if I did, you would be the last person I’d select as a paramour.’
‘I say, that’s…’
‘You are a married man, Mr Devonshire, in case that trifling fact has escaped your mind. Even if you were not, I still would not look at you twice.’ Doran heard impatience in her tone and an angry hiss from Devonshire. ‘Just go, or I will.’
‘You will regret this, madam. I had only your best interests at heart. And just so that you are aware, if I require female company I don’t have to look very far.’
‘Your behaviour is of absolutely no interest to me.’
Doran stepped into an alcove as Devonshire swept from the room, his face like thunder, a blood-stained handkerchief wrapped around two of the fingers of his right hand. A man who did not take rejection well, presumably because he was unaccustomed to it.
‘Come in, Mr Conroy.’
Surprised, Doran flexed a brow as he stepped through the open door into the small salon. The fire was banked high and Pagan, who was stretched out in front of the blaze, rolled onto his back in order to toast his belly.
‘You knew I was there?’
‘I saw you briefly through the open doorway.’
He smiled at her. ‘Now you think I am an eavesdropper, no better than Devonshire. Or else you consider me to be ungentlemanly because I didn’t come to your aid. Either way, I am desolate to have earned your disapproval.’
‘You’ll get over it.’ She sent him an assessing look. ‘I do not judge you in that same category as that rogue, and I didn’t require rescuing anyway.’ She walked up and down, hugging her arms around her midriff, muttering to herself. ‘How dare he imagine that I’d simply fall into his arms and be grateful. Arghhh!’ She stamped her foot, eyes flashing with anger. Pagan lifted his head, meowed accusingly at the disturbance, swished his tail and returned to his slumbers.
Doran leaned down to give the feline a reassuring stroke and the protest gave way to a rattling purr. ‘He likes you.’ Lady Marlowe seemed surprised. ‘Frankie tells me that he is very selective.’
‘Judging by his treatment of Devonshire, I’d say that he is most discerning.’
He flashed an impudent grin and she hurled a cushion at him.
‘Pagan showed great good judgement by scratching Devonshire. I hope it turns septic. One can do worse than follow a cat’s assessment of a person’s character. I don’t know how they do it, but they can always detect the disreputable ones. As to the man propositioning you, I agree it was very ill-mannered of him, but surely he is not the first…’
‘He is the first married man to be so blatant about it.’
‘For reasons that I fail to comprehend, Devonshire appears to be unaccustomed to rejection. What that says about the ladies who fall for his rather obvious seduction techniques is open to question.’
‘I am told that wives, neglected or not, commonly enjoy a little variety.’
‘Well, you taught the scoundrel a salutary lesson.’ Still standing, Doran tapped his fingers restlessly against the mantle. ‘Be that as it may, I can’t help wondering if there was more to his clumsy proposition than…well, the obvious.’
‘Ah, so now you are telling me that my physical attributes are not enough to stir a man’s passions.’ She tossed her head, her eyes flashing with a combination of amusement and indignation. ‘Just what I needed to hear.’
Doran chuckled. ‘Careful, my sweet. That sounded awfully like a challenge.’
‘It was not intended as such. I apologise.’ Her cheeks coloured and she sent him a rueful smile. ‘I am not a flirt, and I wouldn’t have you think that I am attempting to procure your interest. Besides, it’s all your fault if that’s how it appears. You make me say things that I don’t mean.’
‘Really?’ He sent her a deliberately conceited smile that had her reaching for another of the duchess’s cushions. He closed the distance between them and relieved her of the ammunition, then took her hand and led her to the settee set at right angles to the fire, where they both sat. He saw no reason to release her hand and ran his fingers gently down the length of hers, his mind churning with unpalatable possibilities. ‘You have just been presented with evidence that your husband, the man you adored and whose loss you still mourn, was unfaithful. I cannot begin to understand your pain. That Devonshire tried to force himself upon you now of all times is beyond despicable.’
‘Thank you for considering my feelings, but I have already told you that I was aware of George’s peccadilloes and didn’t lose a great deal of sleep over them. His work took him away from home a great deal and we led virtually separate lives anyway.’
‘You did not love him?’ Doran permitted his surprise to sound in his voice.
‘Our marriage had been arranged, and I’d barely had the chance to get to know him before I became his wife. I knew I would disappoint my parents if I didn’t marry him, much as my mother married Papa because her parents approved of him. They seemed to rub along together well enough.’
‘Even so, you are not your mother and I suspect that your character is very different from hers.’
‘What a strange thing to suggest.’ She sent him a surprised look. ‘You never met my mother, so how could you possibly know?’
‘We Irish know everything.’
‘Oh do be serious.’ But she smiled as she chastised him.
‘I was, in all respects. You have a mind and opinions of your own. I don’t mean to sound condescending, but that is unusual enough to make you stand out. Most females can’t talk about anything more taxing than the weather.’
‘They are encouraged not to. Men feel threatened by women who are more intelligent than they themselves are, apparently. However, I have never felt the need to conceal my enquiring mind.’ She glanced out the window as a gust of wind blew bare, skeletal branches against the window glass, dislodging a shower of snow. ‘Or to keep my opinions to myself.’
‘And very refreshing your habit is too.’
‘George wasn’t unkind to me,’ she continued in a reflective tone. ‘He was just distant, wrapped up in affairs of state and with little time to spare for me. I was a means to an end. He wanted a son and expected me to provide him with one, but it never happened. He blamed me, but when I pointed out that the fault could just as easily be his, he refused to accept it.’
‘The majority of men would prefer not to consider themselves lacking in that regard. I’m not sure why. I suppose it makes them feel…well, less masculine.’
Pagan got up and stretched. He sent them a piercing stare as he considered his options, and they watched him as he made up his mind and jumped with feline agility onto Doran’s lap, where he curled up and commenced purring again. Doran laughed and stroked his head.
‘He really does like you.’
‘You should take note, Lady Marlowe.’ He paused and fixed her with a provocative look, suspecting that she hadn’t spoken so frankly to anyone about the state of her marriage before. He felt privileged that she had chosen to confide in him and glad that she wasn’t dragged down with sorrow. ‘Leona.’ She made no objection to his use of her name. Since he was still holding her hand it would have been a hollow objection if she had. ‘If cats ruled the world there would be no crime or underhand behaviour…’
‘And the rat population would be under control.’
‘That too. And our respective properties wouldn’t be under threat. But then again, if Pagan was king we would never have met, so I cannot regret the fact that he prefers to sleep on my lap and dream about terrorising the duke’s dogs, which I’m told is one of his favourite amusements.’
‘I can’t decide if you are the wisest man I have ever met or a complete idiot,’ she said, smiling.
‘Either way I have managed to make you laugh, whereas when I walked into this room a few minutes ago, I worried about getting out of it alive.’
‘Did I really look that livid?’
‘You really did. You have a passionate nature, to say nothing of a hot temper. Anyway, your husband blamed you for your childless state. One assumes his mistress produced a child or two, but I fail to see how he can be sure he fathered the wee brats.’
‘No, nor I.’ She sighed. ‘The last words I spoke to him were in anger. We argued about my inability to breed. Again. I had thought…but anyway, I was wrong and told him so just before he left for Paris. He got very angry and…’ She paused and instinctively touched her cheek.
‘He hit you?’ Doran asked, frowning and struggling to contain his anger. He couldn’t abide men who were violent towards women.
‘It was the first and only time, and I still cannot understand why he became so overwrought. Anyway, he told me that if I couldn’t do my duty by him then he would find someone who could.’
‘He blamed you because he possessed a wandering eye.’ Doran shook his head. ‘I wish I knew why he was so desperate for a son. A legitimate son, presumably. So how could his mistress help him in that regard? Unless…’ Doran looked at her askance. ‘I hardly dare say what I am thinking.’
‘You are thinking, I would imagine, that it was me who was supposed to die under suspicious circumstances,’ she replied with commendable calm. ‘No man wants a barren wife and he would have been free to replace me with a more fertile alternative.’
‘Then he would have been a damned fool!’ Doran squeezed her hand. ‘Some men don’t know when they are well off, and I was convinced that you were desolate about his passing.’
‘That is how I was supposed to react to a bereavement that actually left me feeling relieved. But I could hardly go around jumping for joy. Besides, when Yaris started making problems I had little to be joyful about.’ She sighed. ‘It hardly matters now. I hope George enjoyed his final days on this earth in the arms of his paramour. For my part, I am grateful to Mr Sheridan for agreeing to fight my corner as well as yours, and feel optimistic in ridding myself of the Yarises, given that Mr Sheridan will be acting on the duke’s authority.’
‘I would still like to know why your husband was so obsessed with having a son. It’s not as though his estate was entailed.’
‘You seem very passionate about
my affairs, Mr Conroy—’
‘Doran,’ he said softly. ‘My friends call me Doran.’
‘Very well. Doran.’ She canted her head and regarded him from beneath a fringe of thick, curling lashes. ‘Your reaction seems extreme, since we are barely acquainted. Unless I miss my guess, you have been disappointed in love.’
He released her hand and looked away from her. ‘Life in all its guises has a habit of disappointing one,’ he said, waiting for the habitual feelings of anger and deep betrayal that beset him whenever he thought about Coleen. To his astonishment, they failed to materialise.
She looked as though she wanted to press him on the matter, but the dressing gong sounded and Doran was saved from explaining himself. He tipped an indignant Pagan off his lap, reclaimed her hand and helped her to her feet.
‘I shall see you again at dinner,’ he said. ‘It will be interesting to observe the behaviour of Mrs Brooke and her party. They are clearly anxious to make an impression, and they have succeeded. Just not the one they were hoping to achieve.’
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. They left the salon together and parted ways upstairs on the gallery. But now, instead of scowling and muttering imprecations under her breath, Doran was pleased to see Leona smiling.
*
Frankie grinned as Zach, impeccably attired, walked up to the open door of her dressing room and leaned a shoulder against it, watching her maid dress her hair. As soon as the maid had completed her work to Frankie’s satisfaction, Frankie dismissed her and turned away from the glass, lifting her face so that her husband could kiss her.
‘You have something to tell me. I sense it,’ she said. ‘Come along, out with it. I hear you received a letter from Clarence. What did it say and how does it affect Leona?’
Zach chuckled. ‘And there I was imagining that you were so anxious to snatch a few minutes alone with me that you dismissed your maid before she had completed her duties.’
‘Zach!’ she cried, exasperated.
On the Duke's Authority (Ducal Encounters series 4 Book 3) Page 14