by Eva Devon
“Plans are boring,” he said suddenly. “I’ve ruined my life with plans.”
“Duncan, you don’t sound at all like yourself.” She needed to point this out to him, though she doubted he would listen.
“My self has made my life a barren wasteland,” he said dramatically.
Oh dear. It seemed he had decided barren wasteland were his favorite words at present. She really was going to have to kill the members of the Dukes’ Club. Perhaps not Darkwell and Hunt. They were about to be fathers. But a slight maiming would do.
“Duncan, you’re going to regret this the moment the drink wears off.”
“I’m not. Indeed not, lass. Letting you go has been my only regret.”
Oh why, why did he have to say such things when he wasn’t himself? Every word he uttered was a word she’d longed to hear! It wasn’t fair but she knew to well the power of brandy on a man’s tongue, or woman’s for that matter. It manipulated one into saying things one didn’t truly mean. So, even though she longed to relax into Duncan’s strong embrace and ride with him all the way to Scorland, she knew that in one days’ time, somewhere between London and York, he’d be back to grumbling about propriety and mistakes and behaving as one aught.
And she’d have to remind him what a terrible duchess she would make. It would hurt. It would hurt far too much.
“Let me out, Duncan,” she said again only this time more firmly.
He squeezed her. “Never.”
She jabbed a hand into his ribs, determined to make him see reason. “Now.”
“Och, lass,” he exclaimed. “There’s no need to be violent. I know this is what you secretly desire.”
For a moment, the air about them turned red and she blinked, ready to explode. Instead she asked tightly, “I beg your pardon?”
“It’s what they said.” He nodded as if convincing himself. “You’d love to be kidnapped.”
“They?” she questioned, her eye starting to twitch. She truly was going to murder someone.
He smiled, apparently oblivious to her growing temper. “I had my doubts, but they assured me it would work a charm. Now, how about a kiss, lass?”
The coach was rolling to a stop, no doubt stuck in the horrendous London traffic that grew in the early hours.
She drew in a deep breath, pursed her lips, and stealed herself to what needed to be done.
He was leaning down, clearly getting ready to bestow his dukely affection on her.
Imogen gritted her teeth and popped him in the jaw.
She was not about to be the play thing of a bunch of dukes.
His hold loosened and he looked at her as if she’d stomped on a puppy.
A brief flare of regret burned in her heart. But no. She wasn’t having this. She wasn’t to be a subject of pity. She certainly wasn’t about to have her destiny stolen from her. What did these men think? That she was naught but a bit of lace to be waved about at whim?
As Duncan gaped in his drunken state, she wrenched the coach door open. He grasped for her, but she smacked his hands away and jumped down.
Her slippers squelched in the mud.
She winced but then she picked her skirts up and started trotting quickly through the varied vehicles lining the street. She managed to reach the pavement before Duncan caught up with her.
Duncan scooped her up and turned her to him. “Lass, do you hate me so?” he demanded.
Tears stung her eyes. “Duncan, I don’t hate you. I never could.”
“Then why?”
“I need more,” she said though her throat was tightening and each word was a painful utterance. “So much more than this game that you and I are at.”
He blinked, his hold releasing. “I’m not enough, then?”
She lifted her chin. She had to make him understand. She had to make it clear that she’d never be his, not the way he wanted. She wanted to be a wife, a mother, and loved. Loved for who she was not who her husband needed her to be. “No, Duncan. Not the way you are.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks. Oh goodness, it hurt so much.
His face hardened. “I see. I’ve made a terrible mistake then.”
She nodded, forcing the movement. “I can’t make you happy.”
“So, you’ll make us both miserable instead?” Duncan let her slip out of his arms, his eyes strangely bright.
“That’s right,” she whispered.
“Then madam, you must let me escort you home. I couldn’t possible let you on your own on the street.”
She blinked. It hit home that they were standing on a busy London pavement, the street hawkers beginning to cry their wares. “Thank you.”
Holding out her hand to him, she couldn’t stop the tears from burning her eyes. She looked away so he wouldn’t see. She needed more. She needed more than a drunken escapade and protestations of desire.
If he had truly thought such a thing would work, Duncan didn’t know her at all, and it was a blessing that they would finally be out of each other’s lives.
Chapter 19
Duncan clutched his head. One might have thought that given the amount of alcohol that he’d consumed that nothing could hurt worse than his stomach or his skull at present. One would be wrong. It was his heart which ached the most, leaving his whole burning body a secondary pain. In short, he felt like utter shite.
Parts of the evening were a bit mysterious to his memory, but he knew he’d acted like a fool. No, not just a fool, an arse. He’d cornered Imogen in a hall and treated her like a doxy and then. . . then he’d kidnapped her.
What in god’s name had possessed him to listen to Englishmen when it came to the courting of a woman? Drink. It was the only plausible explanation. . . And well, desperation.
There was a soft knock on the door.
He glared at the panel. He’d already told his butler he wasn’t to be bothered.
“Go away,” he snapped.
“Alas, such tones don’t work with me, brother.”
A faint ray of hope glimmered at the sound of Rosalind’s voice. What on earth was she doing in London?
The door opened and she peered in. “Are you descent?”
He sighed, feeling ridiculously sorry for himself. “Come in.”
To his astonishment, she had a tray balanced on one hand.
Silently, she poured out two steaming cups of coffee then passed one of them to him.
They sat quietly, sipping the dark brew.
“I thought you were going abroad,” he said.
“I am. I just need a few gowns.”
Then there was silence. Duncan hoped beyond hope Rosalind would leave well enough alone and that they could avoid discussing Lady Cavendish and his idiotic behavior. Still, he savored her sudden presence and the slightly bitter taste of the coffee.
“It’s all over town,” she finally said.
He stopped, cup midair. “I beg your pardon.”
Instead of amusement there was a sort of sadness in her gaze. “Duncan, I’ve already had three people call this morning asking if you and Lady Cavendish are planning a wedding at our estate or if you were heading straight to Gretna Green.”
He held absolutely still. Could he will this situation away? He had to. For surely, this couldn’t be happening? After years of perfect behavior, of being certain that he would be the prow which steered his family to a perfect reputation, it could not be he who dashed the family upon the rocks of scandal? Not after years of self denial? The gods couldn’t that cruel, could they? After all, it had just been one night of madness.
“You can’t be serious?” he whispered.
She gave a sympathetic smile. “You’ve ruined what little reputation Lady Cavendish had. If you don’t marry, she will now be cast out to the very outer edges of society for she will be on the tip of every ton tongue by tea time.”
He had ruined her? The iron was far, far too painful.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“You were seen by several peopl
e this morning, jumping out of your coach and grabbing Lady Cavendish. You swept her up and tossed her into the vehicle and departed with her. It can’t be ignored. If one or two people had seen it, perhaps. . . But several notorious gossips were waiting for their coaches when it happened.”
Duncan blinked. “I ruined her.”
Rosalind grabbed one of his hands. “It would seem that way.”
“Damnation.”
“It’s not so bad,” she said gently. “You love her, don’t you?”
He choked and looked away. Was he so transparent? After the way he’d treated Imogen would she ever love him in return? “What a bitter pill.”
“It is not,” Rosalind countered. “She’ll have to marry you now. You can be happy, Duncan.”
“She’ll have to marry me,” he said, his throat tight, making his voice rough. “You said it. It won’t be for love.”
“I’ve never seen you together, but I imagine that you wouldn’t love without cause.” She squeezed his hand. “Go to her. Spill your heart before her.”
How the devil had his little sister matured into such a wise and kind young woman? “I said things to her. . . In Scotland.”
Rosalind let go his hand then cupped his cheek. “We all say things we regret. Surely she is a woman of understanding. Trust that she will listen and take this opportunity that has been handed to you. You were holding yourself back before. Now, you can have her as your wife and companion. You can have her forever, Duncan. Don’t waste this.”
Forever. God, it sounded so right. But how did he make Imogen see that he had been a fool. A fool for not being clear that he wanted her in his heart and life everyday from this to the last? Not as a mistress, but as his duchess.
“Thank you, Ros. God did me a good turn the day you were born.”
“And don’t you forget it,” she said with a saucy lift of her eyebrow.
*
Cordelia took a giant bite of buttered scone then said around the crumbs, “He didn’t!”
Imogen groaned then cradled her face in her hands. “He did.”
Kate laughed, her palms resting on her full belly. “Oh dear. The poor man.”
“Poor man?” Imogen countered. “It’s me that was kidnapped.”
“But our husbands did get ahold of him,” Cordelia pointed out.
Imogen sighed and leaned back against the soft blue damask in her morning room.
To her shock, both of her very pregnant friends had pounded down her door this morning insisting she be woken and brought down stairs.
They had broken the news to her.
She was ruined. Utterly ruined. This was as bad as when Kathryn and her husband were discover inflagrante delicto at the opera. This was particularly annoying because she and Duncan hadn’t even kissed in the coach during their perverse escapade!
Imogen picked up a cake. She didn’t care if it was before noon. She was going to eat a plate of them. She popped it into her mouth and chewed, taking her frustrations out on the pastry. As she did, she considered Kathryn’s point. While Duncan was a tough fellow, being ambushed by the likes of Hunt, Darkwell, Aston, and Roth were not to be dismissed. Especially since the dukes had clearly gotten Duncan sauced.
Imogen took a sip of tea. “Well, there’s nothing for it. I have to go to Italy.”
“Italy is full of Italians,” Cordelia said bluntly.
Imogen rolled her eyes. “They can’t all be that bad.”
“Well, I suppose it depends on what you’re after,” Cordelia said thoughtfully. “If you need something done quickly as we often did in Egypt, I don’t suggest an Italian but. . . er. . . If you’d like a bit of wine and song and conversation they’re quite lovely.”
“Exactly,” Imogen said. “I shan’t be going for business, Cordy dear.”
Cordelia nodded. “But surely, you could fine wine and song and conversation without heading on such a horrendous journey. I’ve taken it, remember. Badly sprung coaches. Bugs in the inns, bad food, rottten—”
“Yes, yes, it shall be very trying, I’m sure,” Imogen cut in. “But it’s what I need and I can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” Kate demanded. “I did, after that scandal with my husband before he actually was my husband.”
“Yes, but that’s the point!” Imogen put her tea cup down. “You married Darkwell.”
“Aren’t you going to marry Duncan?” Cordy asked around another bite of scone.
“One, he has never asked—”
“Give the man a moment,” Kate cut in. “The scandal only occurred this morning. No doubt, he’s done in by the worst head.”
Imogen put her tea cup down and wrung her hands together, hating herself for feeling so cut up. “I can’t marry him like this. Not with him asking me out of a sense of honor.”
“But it is bloody ironic, isn’t it?” Cordelia challenged. “That he ruined you after all that tosh about you and your reputation.”
Imogen winced. She never should have shared that conversation with her friends. She could only blame it on a few too many glasses of red wine. “Well, he is a duke with a sister of a marriageable age.”
“Now, listen to you, defending the man,” Kate teased. “One would think he was your husband already and you his devoted wife.”
“Stop that!” ordered Imogen.
Kate blinked innocently. “Stop what?”
“Look, you can go,” Cordelia put in, licking her fingers without any care for manners in her very pregnant state. “We shall miss you dreadfully. But you can stay. You know there’s a whole set of people in London who’d welcome you with open arms.”
Yes. She’d been invited to their parties countless times and she’d considered going but she’d always held onto her thread of respectability. Maybe it was time to let all that go. “It’s just so tempting to leave.”
“You mean to runaway,” Cordelia said loudly.
Imogen glared at the audacious Duchess. “Now, don’t hold back your thoughts.”
Cordelia winked. “No one could accuse me of that.”
“Um. . .Imogen?” Kate shifted on the silk covered chair.
Imogen sighed. “Yes?”
“I. . . I think. . .”
Imogen stared at her friend who was wide eyed. Kate had also gone as white as a sheet and she was gasping.
“Oh goodness!” Imogen leapt up. “Are you having pains?”
Kate grabbed the arm handles of the chair and groaned.
Cordy gaped.
“I’d take that as a yes,” said Imogen her heart jolting with excitement and a touch of fear.
“I’m not ready!” Kate wailed.
“My dear, that doesn’t really matter,” Imogen said gently, taking her friend’s hand. “Your babe is.”
Kate nodded, her face panicked.
“Are the pains strong?” Imogen asked.
Suddenly Kate let out a wail.
“My goodness!” Imogen bit her lower lip. The pains seemed like they weren’t even two minutes apart which was quite quick. Surely the labor needed hours to progress? Even so, she couldn’t let Kate go home.
“Imogen, what do I do?” Kathryn asked with a surprisingly girlish note.
Kate was the only person besides Duncan that knew she’d had a baby.
A wave of apprehension passed over Imogen. What if she passed her bad luck to her friend? No. No, she wouldn’t think such a thing. She’d be here for Kate. She could do that.
“You just think about the beautiful babe that will be in your arms in just a few hours.”
Cordy lumbered to her feet. “What shall I do? I have some knowledge of animals and—”
“Cordy,” Imogen declared. “Send for the Duke of Hunt.”
Cordy nodded and immediately waddled towards the hall.
Imogen took Kate’s hands and looked into her friend’s blue gray eyes. “You were made to do this, my dearest. Your body knows what to do.”
Kate bit down on her lower lip and nodded. “You won’t
leave me, will you?”
“Never.” Imogen held Kate for a long moment then kissed her friend’s forehead. “Come along my dear, it’s time to walk.”
“Walk?” Kate yelped.
“Best thing,” Imogen replied cheerfully. She’d never forget the army of midwives her mother had secured for her. They’d been kind old crones who’d made a terrifying labor as peaceful as possible.
“Aren’t I supposed to get into bed?”
“Only if you want a royal birth, like at Versailles. Are you a royal?”
Kate gave a laugh and clutched Imogen’s arm. “I’d happily be a peasant if my baby would be born safely.”
“Now, you just envision a perfect pink baby and we’ll have a chat.”
Imogen helped her friend out into the hall.
At that moment, Darkwell stormed into the foyer his face lined with terror.
Kate grinned at him between her pains.
Darkwell ran forward and grabbed her up into his arms. “You’re well?”
“Imogen is taking care of me,” Kate replied simply.
He leaned down and kissed her softly.
Kate suddenly tensed then let out a cry.
Darkwell had the oddest expression on his face. “My boots are wet.”
“Imogen!” Kate cried. “What’s happening?”
Imogen smiled at her friend. “You’re baby is coming. And soon.”
“Will you wait here, your grace?” Imogen asked.
Darkwell gave her a look which suggested she was lacking mental faculties. “Where ever my wife goes, I go.”
Imogen couldn’t stop the swell of admiration she felt for the duke. Most men left their wives to labor scared and surrounded by servants as they sat downstairs or at their club, drinking and smoking away.
“Then I suggest we begin our way to a bedroom, your grace, unless you wish your first born to enter this world in a hall.”
Darkwell swept Kate up in to his arms, cradling her against his chest. His gaze was filled with devotion and slight panic. “Lead on Lady Cavendish.”
Imogen nodded then started up the stairs. In just a few hours, brand new life would grace this house and it was the most wonderful thing she could have imagined on such a bleak day.