No Ordinary Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “Did something happen with Mr. Crawford last night?” The question was gently posed without the slightest judgment.

  Mary wasn't sure what to say, except, “We kissed.”

  “And?” Cassandra prompted.

  “It was spectacular,” Mary admitted, “until I flung myself at him like the worst sort of lightskirt, and he told me I deserve better.”

  “Mary...” Cassandra cupped her cheek and stroked it lightly with her thumb. “That just means he's a descent man.”

  Mary scrunched her whole face and cringed. “Exactly!”

  Cassandra paused. A couple of seconds passed, and then understanding dawned in her eyes. “You're worried your forwardness may have altered his opinion of you?”

  “How could it not?” Turning her face away, Mary stared at the wall.

  “Because of how much he obviously likes you. Whenever he looks at you, his eyes light up.” Cassandra shifted and the mattress rocked against her weight. “He's also a man in his prime, Mary. To suppose he'd be put off by any physical response on your part would be absurd. Rather, I imagine he was striving to protect you, because although I know I've been encouraging you to let passion guide you, losing your innocence is no small matter. I think you would have regretted a quick tumble in the parlor, and I am convinced Mr. Crawford knew this as well, even if you disagree.”

  “I'm not so sure I do anymore.” Expelling a tremulous breath, Mary sat up and leaned against the headrest. She accepted the tea Cassandra gave her and took a long sip. “At the time, I was desperate to remove every barrier between us so I could feel his hands on my skin. The need to be touched by him, to join with him in the most basic way, was so overwhelming it robbed me of all common sense.” She shook her head, still stunned by the powerful effect he'd had on her. “It was as if I were starved, and he were the key to my survival.”

  Cassandra smiled. “I know what you mean.” She tilted her head. “Don't you think he felt the same way?”

  Remembering, Mary could not deny the possessiveness of Caleb’s embrace or the scorching hot kisses he'd placed against her skin. “Maybe,” she allowed.

  “Maybe?” Cassandra gave her a dubious look.

  Mary sighed. “It doesn't matter.”

  “Of course it does, Mary. Right now, it is the only thing that matters considering the subject we're discussing.” Inhaling deeply, Cassandra held the breath for a beat before expelling it. “His reaction to your” –she waved a hand— “over eagerness and your absolute certainty that he now thinks you a harlot.”

  “Have you seen him yet this morning?” Mary asked, deliberately circumnavigating that comment.

  Cassandra nodded. “He rode into the village just before I came to see why you're still in bed. He said he needed to run a few errands and purchase more nails for the planks in the attic.”

  “So there's no risk of seeing him if I come down for breakfast?”

  “No.”

  Mary rolled her eyes. “You could have said so when you walked in ten minutes ago, Cass. I'm so hungry I might eat you if you're not careful.”

  Cassandra laughed and scooted back so Mary could rise. Cassandra's laughter faded and she seriously asked “Do you realize how silly you're being?”

  Mary paused in the process of opening her wardrobe. She stood there, completely still, staring at her dull collection of drab-colored clothes. To one side, hung the white gown she'd worn last night.

  “Yes,” she said, answering Cassandra's question, “but the embarrassment I feel is crippling.”

  “I can see that, Mary. But ignoring Mr. Crawford isn't the answer.” Cassandra went to the door and opened it slightly. “Not when he wants to talk to you. I believe he said there was much for the two of you to discuss when I quizzed him about what happened.”

  Mary turned toward Cassandra with a sharp inhale, but her friend was already slipping out into the hallway and then the door was closing, and before Mary knew it, she was alone.

  Sighing, she picked out a moss-green gown with long sleeves and a square shaped neckline. It was simple yet elegant and suited her well, which was perfect, for although she wasn't ready to face Mr. Crawford just yet, she did want to look somewhat attractive when she eventually did.

  So she put on the gown and combed her hair, styling it in a simple updo that left a few stray strands framing her face. Her stomach fluttered as she gazed back at her reflection. If only she didn't care what he thought about her appearance. She shook her head. Better yet, if only she hadn't fallen in love with a man who would soon be leaving.

  Caleb didn't really need to go into the village to buy nails, but he did get the feeling that Mary would appreciate his absence when she eventually decided to come down for breakfast. Additionally, he and Apollo both enjoyed the vigorous ride across the fields, a longer route than the road had to offer, but it settled his mind and filled his lungs with fresh air.

  “Whoa,” he said, slowing Apollo from a gallop to a trot. Leaning forward in the saddle, he stroked the horse's neck and proceeded to steer him onto the road that would take them into the village. Perhaps he'd buy more strawberry tarts while he was there. They'd certainly put a smile on Mary's face last time he'd brought them back with him. She'd especially liked that he'd bought enough for everyone.

  The edge of his mouth hitched with satisfaction. Everything looked brighter today. The grass was greener, the sky a deeper shade of blue. Even the birds sang merrier tunes than they had yesterday. Before she'd kissed him.

  Caleb's chest grew tight just thinking about it. It was as if there weren’t enough room inside him to contain his heart, which had more than doubled in size since that wondrous moment when she leaned forward and placed her mouth against his.

  Everything had changed in that instant. He had changed, from a man who believed he could simply go back to London and the duty awaiting him, to a man who would never go anywhere again without Mary Clemens by his side.

  Granted, there was a problem. The very messy and potentially damming problem regarding his true identity. She would not absolve him easily, but he hoped she would understand his reason for being dishonest. He was sure if he reminded her that she would not have spoken to him at all had she known he was a duke—never mind George’s brother—she would forgive him without hesitation.

  Whether or not she'd accept his proposal, however, was quite another matter, but he chose to be confident with this as well. After all, she clearly cared for him, and she must know he cared for her as well. Together they could be happy. He was absolutely convinced of the fact even though he knew persuading her might be tricky considering her aversion to the aristocracy in general and the deep responsibility she felt toward the children who lived at Clearview.

  Perhaps if he suggested they spend most of their time in the country, she would agree more readily? As it was, he preferred the simpler life to whatever it was he’d experienced in London for six months before coming here. He really had no desire to return to that at all, even though he knew he had to. Already, he’d been gone far too long, to the point where he now expected to receive a letter from Aldridge every morning, informing him that his mother or his secretary required his immediate presence. It had been two months after all, so he wouldn’t be surprised to learn that their patience with him had run out. Especially not with Christmas only a month away.

  An idea sprang to life. Maybe he and Mary could invite Miss Howard, Lady Cassandra, and the children to celebrate with them at Braxton House in the Cotswolds. He was certain his mother would love seeing the grand estate filled with people and to be surrounded by boisterous laughter. They’d go ice skating on the lake and drink mulled wine in the evenings. It would be perfect, and the more he thought about it, the more he looked forward to it. But first, he would have to speak with Mary and make his confession. After that, everything else would fall into place for the simple reason that it had to.

  It was a novel concept that lasted the hour it took him to purchase strawberry tarts and ride
back to Clearview, where he found another horse tied to the fence outside. It wasn’t the one Mr. Townsend usually used, which suggested someone else had come to call. Mr. Partridge perhaps?

  Leading Apollo back to his spot by the cottage, Caleb dusted off his boots and removed his hat before heading to the house. He entered through the kitchen as usual and made his way toward the parlor from which voices could be heard, primarily that of a man he had not seen in ten long years. He froze for a second to listen more carefully. His chest tightened and his breath caught in his throat. It wasn’t possible. His ears must be deceiving him, yet he knew the voice so well there could be no doubt.

  With shaking heart he opened the door and sought out his brother, Griffin, his face a near copy of his own, save for the paler-colored eyes and a new scar adorning his cheek.

  “I’ll be damned,” Caleb muttered. For a good long second he just stood there staring while Griffin grinned back at him. And then somehow he forced his feet into motion while Griffin stood and came toward him as well. A split second later they embraced each other, and it was as if all the years apart fell away.

  “It is good to see you too,” Griffin muttered. He patted Caleb’s back before stepping aside and flippantly adding, “Your Grace.”

  Caleb stiffened. He glanced at where Lady Cassandra and Mary were sitting, the former looking curious while the latter had schooled her features into something completely unreadable. “What have you told them about me?’ he asked his brother in a whisper meant only for Griffin’s ears.

  Griffin looked confused. “I don’t follow.”

  That did not bode well. Caleb gritted his teeth. “I mean—”

  “We know who you really are,” Mary said, “and I daresay you owe us a bloody good explanation.”

  Her emotions had never been as conflicted as they were right now. Anger, disappointment, and love warred inside her, confusing her to no end. She needed to know why he’d done this to her – to them. Perhaps then she could find a way to forgive him for the lies he’d told since the moment he’d presented himself as a common laborer who’d come to fix the roof.

  She still hadn’t fully recovered from his brother’s arrival. When the knock had sounded at the door and she’d gone to open it, she’d had no doubt as to the identity of the man facing her. He looked almost identical to Caleb, except for a few distinguishable features, and the clothes of course, which were a great deal finer.

  He’d asked if the Duke of Camberly was in, to which Mary had responded with a startled snort. Her first thought was that he had to be joking, but then he’d launched into a lengthy explanation, and Cassandra had arrived, and somehow they’d all ended up in the parlor with a tea tray before them.

  She stared at Caleb – Mr. Crawford – the Duke of Camberly – and wondered for the thousandth time how he’d managed to fool her so thoroughly. And to think that he’d carried on doing so after discovering that the man who’d broken her heart was his very own brother!

  “Mary, I…” He blinked, looking utterly lost and slightly helpless.

  Her heart longed to take pity, but her brain refused to allow it. So she crossed her arms and straightened her spine. This was not at all how she had imagined their next encounter after what had occurred between them last night. She’d believed she would blush and avert her gaze while he’d try to charm her into additional kisses. But now… A lump rose in her throat. She wasn’t sure she would ever want to kiss him again.

  “Perhaps you should have a seat,” Cassandra suggested.

  Mary glared at her in an effort to say that the cad deserved to stay standing, but Cassandra answered with a quelling look and offered the dastardly man some tea to boot. His brother returned to his own seat with a lot less enthusiasm than he’d shown moments earlier.

  “Thank you,” Caleb muttered. He glanced at the vacant spot on the sofa beside her but chose an armchair instead. Mary breathed a sigh of relief. Leaning forward, he rested his forearms against his thighs and gave his attention to the table before slowly saying, “When I returned to England eight months ago, it was with every intention of proving my worth to a father who’d always insisted I lacked common sense and usefulness. Instead, I discovered that he and my older brother had perished in a fire shortly before my arrival.”

  He looked up, directly at Mary, and the pain and regret she saw in his eyes twisted her heart until it ached. “I wasn’t raised to be a duke, and I never wanted to be one. That was George’s fate, not mine.” He shook his head and expelled a tortured breath. “Living in France, away from the wealthy elite, just building and fixing things with my hands, was a wonderful way of life. When I inherited the title, I tried to do my duty, to be the duke I was expected to be. But I hated every second of it, every moment spent in my study dealing with problems pertaining to others, the acquisition of funds necessary to keep my estates running, and my mother’s increasing persistence I take a bride and set up a nursery. It was exhausting and not at all conducive to my own happiness. So I planned my escape, and Aldridge mentioned this house and the need it had for repairs. It seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to return to what I enjoy doing while taking a much needed break from the pressure of being a duke.”

  Mary sympathized, yet she could not forget the extent he’d gone to in order to deceive them. “You told me your father was in Lord Vernon’s employ.”

  “No,” he told her gently. “I merely said Viscount Aldridge and I have been friends since childhood. You surmised the rest.”

  “But—”

  “I also said that you’d made a lot of assumptions about me.”

  She frowned. “Yes, but it never would have occurred to me that they’d all been so utterly wrong. And don’t you dare try suggesting it’s my fault I did not see through your theatrics when you obviously came here with every intention of pulling the wool over all of our eyes.”

  “I’m sorry.” He looked at Cassandra, including her in the apology before returning his attention to Mary. “But if I had been honest, I never would have gotten to know you. And that would have been a terrible shame.”

  She knew he was right. If he’d introduced himself as any kind of aristocrat, they would never have agreed to let him live in that tiny cottage and work on their roof. She cringed just thinking about it while acknowledging that she would have judged him on the basis of his title alone and his relation to the man who’d hurt her.

  However… “You encouraged certain liberties between us after discovering the man who rejected me, the man who led to my family’s banishment of me, was your very own brother.” She clapped a hand over her mouth, unable to stop the sudden outpouring of distress. “How could you do that? How could you possibly think things would end well between us when you chose to keep that from me? Did you think you’d just leave, and I’d never find out?” She realized then that this was the part of his betrayal that hurt the most. It wasn’t just that he’d made her fall in love with a man who did not exist, but that he’d imagined he’d get away with it.

  Rising, she clenched her hands until her nails dug against her palms. Caleb and Griffin stood as well, as was polite.

  “I never wanted to cause you pain,” Caleb said.

  He sounded sincere, but perhaps that was due to his wonderful acting skills. She no longer knew what to believe, except that she could not trust him. “It’s too late for that.” She started toward the door.

  “Mary. Please.” His voice beseeched her, forcing her to look back.

  Realizing her mistake, she squeezed her eyes shut and fought for strength. “I’m sorry,” she said as she opened her eyes with renewed resolve, “but if you’ve proven anything to me at all, Your Grace, it is that I was correct to believe the worst of the aristocracy. Or at the very least, one particular branch of it. Now, if you will excuse me, I would like to put as much distance between you and myself as possible.” She nodded toward Caleb’s brother. “It has been enlightening, sir. I thank you for giving me the facts your brother failed to provid
e.” And to Cassandra, “The tea was excellent as always. I’m sorry I cannot stay.”

  She quit the room to the sound of Cassandra telling Caleb not to pursue her, for which she was truly grateful. Because lord help her, as crushed as she was at the moment, she feared she’d forget about every reason she had to resent him if he touched her. And if he kissed her…Well, she’d melt in his arms, and her heart would break just a little bit more. So she marched into the kitchen and grabbed a heavy wool shawl from the back of a chair. It was Emily’s, but Mary knew her friend wouldn’t mind her borrowing it.

  Opening the door, she stepped into the brusque afternoon air. Gone was the morning sun, replaced by a light drizzle and a thin, ghostly mist. Ignoring it, Mary, wrapped the shawl tightly around her shoulders and walked out onto the grass. She passed the birch trees and rhododendron bushes, putting them all between herself and the house as she crossed toward the lake. The ground was soggy beneath her feet and water hung from every plant leaf, dragging them down in a droopy effect.

  Mary drew a quivering breath and stepped closer to the water’s edge where the raindrops were forming rings on the surface. Helplessly, her gaze fell on a thin piece of wood, half-hidden in the grass. Moving nearer, her lips began to tremble as soon as she saw what it was: a fishing rod Caleb had made, forgotten by one of the boys. She bent to retrieve it and felt the first tears spill onto her cheeks. How could he do this to her? The cruelty, whether intentional or not, was beyond compare, for she loved the man who’d taken the time to help a boy no one else had managed to reach. But the man who’d lied to her was someone else altogether. She could not equate one with the other, and because of that painful dilemma, she felt her throat close on a sob even as her heart broke in two.

  12

  “Will she ever forgive me?” Caleb asked Lady Cassandra. He’d wanted to go after Mary and make her listen. But her friend had warned against it, and he had reluctantly agreed to take her advice.