A Duke to Die for: The Rogues' Dynasty

by Amelia Grey

  Blake shook his head and stared out the small window into the misty, early evening as the carriage rolled and bumped along the streets. The pane was foggy, but he could see that several businesses had already lit their gaslights for the evening. The rain reminded him of what Henrietta had told him last night about her parents’ deaths. What a terrifying ordeal for a child to go through! He had known by the look in her eyes as she related the details of the accident that she was reliving the horror and the terror of that dreadful night.

  It was difficult for her to talk about, and he had hated to put her through that, but he needed to understand her fears. He wanted to understand this curse she talked about. Obviously, she was spared in the crash by an act of God when all others, including the horses, were killed. So why would anyone say she was cursed or put a curse on her or her guardians?

  One thing was certain, Henrietta was brave, confident, and resilient, even as a little girl. His stomach knotted at the thought of a little blonde-haired girl trying to wake her parents, gathering pieces of a broken carriage in the rain, and wanting to put her life together again.

  Henrietta had been so gentle, her hands calming, when she helped him take off his neckcloth and coats. Blake smiled to himself as he remembered every touch. Had she actually hummed a soothing melody for him?

  She had known just what he needed to relax and rest his shoulder. When he pulled her into his arms, he had only meant to offer her some of the comfort she’d so generously given to him. He hadn’t intended the passion that flared between them. His good sense, along with the wine and the previous sleepless nights, had proved too much for him, and he’d fallen asleep shortly after her breathing slowed to an easy rhythm.

  He had no idea how long she had stayed with him or when she had left him. He had awakened in the predawn hours slumped in the chair, covered by his coat, his neck stiff and his arm paining him once again. But what bothered him the most was Henrietta’s absence. It made him feel lonely.

  That was a new feeling for him. It was as if someone or something was missing in his life. Blake couldn’t remember feeling lonely, not even when his parents died. How could he? He was a duke. He was always surrounded by people. He was never alone. But he didn’t want just anyone with him. He wanted Henrietta. He wanted her touch. He wanted to touch her. And worst of all, he wanted to make love to her.

  Blake quickly brushed that thought aside. That wasn’t a feeling he wanted to examine too closely. Perhaps he wouldn’t feel so frustrated, so in need of Henrietta, if he bedded a woman. His time with the tavern wench in the village near Valleydale had been the briefest, most unsatisfying romp he could remember experiencing. Maybe he would have better luck tonight finding a willing widow who would make him forget the growing desire he had for Henrietta. He had to do something since he couldn’t seem to find the time to make inquiries about a mistress.

  He laid his head against the velvet squabs and let the clinking and clanking of the carriage and the clip-clop of the horses’ hooves drown out his thoughts of Henrietta. He had to concentrate on Gibby and his involvement with Mrs. Simple.

  Blake looked forward to the quietness and the exclusivity of the private club. It was early enough in the evening that none of the regulars would be around—so, with any luck, he should have plenty of time alone with the old dandy.

  A few minutes later, Blake gave a shudder as he shrugged out of his wet cloak and hat and handed them to the servant inside the Harbor Lights Club. Blake walked toward the taproom, thinking a tankard of ale and a bowl of chicken stew sounded good. He stopped in the doorway and saw that Gibby had already arrived, sitting in his usual place by the window and enjoying the last shards of twilight. Blake couldn’t help but wonder if Gibby ever felt lonely and, if so, how he handled it. Blake didn’t know Gib’s exact age, but the man had to be in his seventies.

  Gibby had had his share of mistresses over the years, some of them quite famous. There was the gorgeous actress who stunned the audience by waving and blowing him kisses from the stage; King George’s scandalous, married cousin who flaunted convention and openly cavorted with Gibby in public; and then Blake’s own infamous grandmother, Lady Elder. But even with the excitement that came with those women and others, had he missed not having a wife and children?

  Blake walked over, pulled out the chair opposite the old man, and sat down.

  “You are late.”

  Blake frowned. “Am I? I don’t think so.”

  Gibby pointed to the tall clock standing in the far corner. “By half an hour, at least.”

  “Don’t complain, old man. Half an hour is not late.”

  “It is to anyone but you. Now tell me, did you want me to meet you here so you could mind my business yet again?” Gibby asked.

  “Mind your business is exactly what I want to do,” Blake said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’ve been doing it for so many years that it would be a shame to stop now, don’t you think?”

  “Not really. Contrary to what Lord Chesterfield said, you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  “I’m not so sure the arrogant bastard said that, but if he did, I’m sure he would have finished the quote with, “You’re not old, and you’re not a dog.”

  Gibby grinned. “Well, somebody said it.”

  “My grandmother always attributed every quote she ever heard to Chesterfield, and in your old age, I think you’ve fallen into the habit of doing the same.”

  “Your grandmother taught me a lot of things. I remember one time we were—”

  Blake held up his hand and leaned back in his chair. “Don’t go any further. You obviously spent too much time with her when she was alive, and the last thing I want to know is all that she taught you.”

  Gibby’s aged eyes sparkled with memories. “I loved every minute I ever spent with her.”

  “I have no doubt about that, or about the love she had for you.”

  Gibby shrugged. “You know, you’re intelligent enough to find something better to do with your time than worry about what I’m doing.”

  “Sure, I could find something better to do, but it wouldn’t be as much fun or as time-consuming as aggravating the devil out of you.”

  “But I’ll be glad when it happens. I’m looking forward to some time alone with my own thoughts.”

  “You wouldn’t enjoy it. I’ve tried to spend time with your thoughts, and they’re boring as hell.”

  They both laughed.

  “God loves a simple mind,” Gibby quipped.

  Blake breathed in deeply. It felt good to banter with the old geezer. “Have you ordered anything yet?”

  “No, just got here.”

  “I thought you said I was late?”

  “You were. I was late too, but I still got here before you did.”

  “Damnation, Gib, I don’t know why I bother with you.”

  “I don’t know either, but since I can’t get rid of you, what are you drinking?”

  “Ale.”

  Gibby motioned to the server and told him to bring a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  Blake wrinkled his forehead and leaned back in his chair. “I asked for ale, and you order champagne? Proof you are fast losing your sanity.”

  “Don’t get too excited; my mind is splendid. I’m going to propose a toast to the next successful mode of travel, and I need champagne to do it.”

  Blake tensed. “I think you would have more success with the new steam locomotive George Stephenson is working on at Newcastle than with balloons. Mark my words, Stephenson’s invention is an idea that has merit.”

  Gibby dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand as he said, “He thinks he can power a huge chunk of iron and make it go faster than eight horses. Nothing can go faster than the wind when it starts blowing.”

  “Stephenson has made great progress.”

  “So has Mrs. Simple. What did you think of her?”

  “I thought her pleasant enough.”

  “Only pleasant enough?”


  “Yes.” Blake’s eyes narrowed. “Gib, I can only be honest with you. Mrs. Simple is very nice, lovely, in fact; she seems intelligent enough to me, but the idea of ballooning as a way to develop travel is downright ludicrous.”

  “It’s achievable,” Gibby argued.

  “It’s madness.”

  “It’s going to happen.”

  “You saying it won’t make it so,” Blake argued.

  “Mrs. Simple wants to set up a schedule where she’ll have balloons traveling to all of the ten counties nearest London. She figures she’ll need at least thirty balloons to get her business started.”

  “Thirty? Bloody hell, Gib, that is a lot of balloons and will cost a damned fortune.”

  “Not so many when you think of it as three balloons for each county. They’ll only make one trip a day. She needs one for the people, one for their luggage, and an extra in case one is broken and unable to go up.”

  “You mean in case one of them crashes?”

  “No, I don’t mean that at all. I mean in case the fabric gets ripped or something like that happens.”

  “This worries me, Gibby.”

  “I know it does. But you saw the way Henrietta loved floating above the trees, high in the sky. I think all women are going to enjoy it and appreciate that it’s faster than a coach.”

  “I still say it’s too risky. There is no way you could get enough people interested in flying to run a business of ballooning people from London to other villages and counties. And at best, you can only do it a few months out of the year because of the weather.”

  “You are just a naysayer.”

  “Damnation, Gibby, I’m trying to find out if the woman’s just trying to get her hands on your money and abscond to who-knows-where with it, or if she is foolish enough to truly believe she can make a prosperous venture out of this preposterous idea.”

  “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d take offense at what you just said.”

  Blake sighed, realizing he had sounded angry. He wasn’t. “You know I mean no offense to you. Will you give us more time to look further into this before you give her any money?”

  “I’ll hold off a little longer, but I must help her. I gave my word.”

  “I know. But, there’s no hurry, is there? I mean if she’s legitimate?”

  “Well, you know what Lord Chesterfield said: ‘Time can be a blessing or a curse, depending on how you use it, wisely or foolishly.’”

  Blake knew that only too well.

  “The balloons have to be made, and that takes time. Mrs. Simple only has the two at the barn. She’s afraid someone else might hear of her plans and start a business before she has time to do it. There’s no room for competition in this business.”

  Blake sat back in his chair and laughed. The thought that someone might steal this idea was just too humorous.

  “I know you get yourself wrapped up in ridiculous projects like this just so one of my grandmother’s grandsons will bail you out.”

  Gibby smiled. “Yes, I have nothing better to do than be looked after by you fools.”

  “Tell Mrs. Simple I’m convinced she doesn’t have to worry about anyone stealing this idea from her. Balloons have been around for close to fifty years now. If it was a good and safe mode of mass travel, someone would have started a ballooning company years ago.”

  “Well, now, I’m not so sure about that. Mrs. Simple said a man came snooping around her barn a couple of days ago, asking her workers a lot of questions about the balloon.”

  That didn’t worry Blake. He was sure it must have been someone sent there by Race or Morgan. “It was probably just someone interested in the novelty of ballooning.”

  The servant approached and set an open bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses on the table in front of them. He poured the bubbly liquid into each glass. After the server left, Blake and Gibby raised their glasses to each other.

  “To the next successful mode of mass travel,” Gibby said with a wide, confident smile.

  Blake smiled and lifted his glass. “And may that be the locomotive engine that’s showing great promise in Newcastle.”

  They laughed and sipped the champagne.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace.”

  Blake looked up to see Lord Waldo Rockcliffe standing beside him, looking as if he might shake right out of his shiny, black knee boots.

  Lord Waldo bowed. The man was so thin that Blake wondered if he would snap when he bent forward. Both Blake and Gibby rose from the table and greeted him.

  “I’m sorry to disturb your evening, Your Grace, Sir Randolph, but I saw you over here and didn’t want to pass on the opportunity presented to me.”

  Blake and Gibby remained silent. Blake wasn’t sure what opportunity he was referring to.

  Lord Waldo’s light brown eyes twitched nervously, and his pale lips had a slight tremor. “I’d like you to consider me for the honor of marrying Miss Tweed.”

  That will be a cold day in hell.

  “Would you allow me to come to your home, Your Grace, and formally ask for her hand?”

  “Lord Waldo,” Blake said as calmly as he could when all he wanted to do was grind his teeth together at the thought of this man with Henrietta. “Miss Tweed just made her debut last night. At this point, I’m not prepared to consider any proposal for her hand from anyone. She will need time to enjoy some of the Season and consider all the bachelors who hold her interest.”

  “I suspected that, Your Grace, but I wanted to be the first to make my intentions known to you. I intend to charm her, court her, and make her fall in love with me.”

  That will be another cold day in hell.

  Blake thought of all the calling cards he’d received since word first leaked that he had a ward of marriageable age. Lord Waldo was shaking so badly that Blake decided not to tell him that more than two-dozen better men had already come asking about Henrietta. Waldo had a mighty long line to stand in.

  “You, of course, are free to do all those things within the proper bounds of what is expected.”

  Lord Waldo bowed again. “Thank you, Your Grace. I’ll be happy to be at your service whenever you wish. Again, I apologize for interrupting your evening.” He looked at Gibby. “Sir Randolph, it’s always good to see you.”

  Lord Waldo walked away. Blake and Gibby sat back down and picked up their champagne.

  Blake took a long drink and then said, “Does that fop really think he has a chance in hell of winning Henrietta’s hand?”

  “Sounds to me like he does.”

  “I’d sooner cut off my right foot than let that happen.”

  Gibby chuckled. “He has always seemed to be something of a weak-kneed ninny. In fact, I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen him without Rockcliffe.”

  “You’re right. They are always together. I guess that means the Duke is somewhere here in the club.”

  “By the way, do you still detest the man?”

  “Immensely.”

  “Hmmm. Too bad the popinjay doesn’t know he doesn’t have a chance in Hades with the lovely miss.”

  “Not a chance in hell.”

  “So tell me, how is the lovely Henrietta?”

  Perfect.

  “I’m sure she’s fine. I haven’t seen her today as Constance keeps her busy.”

  “There does seem to be quite a furor over the young lady. Have you checked on the wager at White’s?”

  “No.”

  “Did you read what the gossip sheets said about her today?”

  Blake held his face as expressionless as if he was playing cards with Rockcliffe. “No.”

  “I guess you’ve been too busy with my life to worry about the life of your ward?”

  Blake smiled. “You are such a bastard sometimes, Gib.”

  “It keeps me healthy.”

  “I’ve bet on my share of distasteful wagers at White’s too many times to count, but the one concerning Henrietta is off limits to all of us. And you know I never read
the scandal sheets.”

  “Not reading them was understandable when you were always in them, but with your ward in them, you need to give them close scrutiny.”

  “Why?”

  “You know Lord Chesterfield said, ‘There’s always a grain of truth to every rumor.’”

  “The hell he did.”

  “Well, somebody said it. You need to read the gossip pages because they will enlighten you.”

  “And I need that?”

  “You can find out what other people are saying about her, and who she’s really interested in, by reading the tittle-tattle in the newsprint.”

  “I consider it useless blather.”

  Blake poured more champagne into their glasses and, out of the corner of his eye, he saw two gentlemen in the far corner chatting and looking his way. No doubt, they wanted to come speak to him about Henrietta, too.

  Blake sighed. “Maybe Henrietta’s guardians are cursed. I’ve had little peace in my life since she arrived.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t think I’ve ever told you, but Henrietta thinks her previous guardians were cursed, and that now I am. And with all the things in my life that have changed since I met her, I’m beginning to think there may be some truth to that curse. I haven’t had a peaceful night’s sleep since she got here.”

  “The sleepless nights I understand, but what the devil are you talking about a curse?” Gibby asked.

  “I’m not sure I understand the whole story of how it came about, but Henrietta believes someone put a curse on her guardians and that’s why all five of them have died in the past twelve years. Of course, she believes I’m part of that curse and next on the list to die. I’ve tried to tell her there is no such thing as a curse.”

  “Of course there is,” Gibby said.

  Blake gave him a look of disbelief. “Don’t tell me you believe in all that hocus-pocus stuff?”

  “Sure I do. I’ve known plenty of people in my time who were cursed in one way or another.”

  “How many do you know who have been given the curse of death?”

  “There have been some. It all depends on what you believe. If someone believes a death curse has been put on him, he will die. On the other hand, you can’t curse someone who doesn’t believe in them.”