by Jaimey Grant
The duchess sat down before the mirror at her dressing table and stared at her reflection. She refused to think. She couldn’t think. If she thought about it now, she would cry and that she refused to do. She would not shed any tears over a man who was so… so…
She tried to understand. He was a very disturbed man. He had been a duke since he was seven years old. He was placed in a position of responsibility at a very young age and further imposed upon by his family who sought to rule through him. He was unsure how to act around someone who showed that they cared. He was untrained in proper behavior. He felt unloved and unimportant. He had no reason to be polite. He was a duke.
He was rude and unfeeling and without a shred of sensibility!
Of all the things he had ever said to her, his words of moments ago had been the most hurtful. Leandra had been able to brush off all his other disparaging comments about her appearance, her actions, and her serenity, but he actually admitted that he did not like her.
Choking back the tears stinging her eyes, she tried to swallow around the growing lump in her throat. But even the strongest woman will cry at some point in her life. And Leandra was not the strongest woman. She was just as sensitive as any other member of her sex even if she was sometimes better able to hide it.
The girl in the mirror stared back at her with an expression of such sadness in her golden brown eyes that Leandra clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back a sob that refused to be stifled. Tears bubbled up in her eyes and spilled over, under the wire rims of her spectacles, down her cheeks, across her hand to land with a quiet plop on the dressing table. Several more followed the first and soon she was sobbing with her eyes tightly closed and her fists pressed against her lips.
She didn’t realize Michaella had entered the room until that young lady knelt beside her chair and wrapped her arms around her murmuring nonsense in her ear. Leandra hugged her sister tightly and cried her heart out into her shoulder.
When the sobs finally ceased, Michaella stood and after patting Leandra gently on the shoulder, said, “I will ring for Liza, dearest, and have her bring a pot of tea.”
Leandra silently nodded, wiping her face with the lavender dampened square of muslin that her sister had handed her. She realized her hair was a mess and patted at it ineffectually for a moment before giving it up as a lost cause. Liza would have to brush it and re-style it. The door opened and she heard Michaella say something to Liza. The door closed again and Leandra sat still waiting for her sister to return to her.
But it wasn’t Michaella who came to stand beside her chair. She looked down at glossy black boots connected to black pantaloons connected to a black waistcoat and an equally black jacket. She knew the shirt and cravat would be black along with the eyes and hair.
“What do you want?” she whispered. “I would have thought you would be happy enough to avoid the company of one you so dislike.” Her voice sounded petulant, childish, and she bitterly cursed herself for revealing how his words had hurt her.
Dragging another chair forward, the duke sat down and gave her a steady look. “Don’t whine, Merri, it ill becomes you.”
“Get out.”
“I will not. This is my house. I admit I should not have said what I did. But that does not mean I will tolerate being ordered around in my own house by my wife.”
“Get out,” she repeated stubbornly.
Derringer leaned forward and placed one finger beneath her chin, forcing her to look at him. She glared through her spectacles like an avenging fury.
“We have gotten off to a bad start, I think,” sighed the duke. He released her chin and leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “And what I have to tell you will not help matters, I am afraid.”
Leandra stared at him. She blinked once, twice, and a third time before a tear appeared on her lashes and another slipped down her cheek. She dashed it away furiously and continued to glare at him.
Her tears had a strange affect on the duke. He stared at her helplessly and hoped that she would stop before he gave in to his desire to hold her.
“Merri, please don’t cry,” he finally begged when two more tears fell from her glorious eyes. He reached out to her but she backed away as if he had the plague. The hurt he felt at her reaction knifed through him, stunning him. Why should he care what this plain little girl thought of him?
Derringer stood and took two steps away from his wife. “I only came here to ask you something. Well, a few things, in all honesty.”
He paused and rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked at his silently weeping wife. He couldn’t talk to her when she was in this state. A sudden idea lit in his brain and he only cringed slightly at the ruthlessness of it. That feeling alone alarmed him enough to make his words sound sincere.
“If you would kindly stop blubbering like an infant, I will reveal what I came here to tell you and then leave you be,” he snapped.
11
His cruelty had the desired effect. Her head snapped up, tears drying and eyes blazing. She pursed her lips and crossed her arms, and waited for him to continue.
Derringer grimaced. “That’s better, I think.” He resumed his seat. “First, how well are you acquainted with your brother’s activities?”
Leandra started, her anger dissolving into confusion. “Harwood? Why?”
“I wondered if you could tell me what he might be doing in France. Has he business interests, or personal interests there? Perhaps a family member resides there? A mistress? Something equally innocuous?”
He watched the changing expressions on her face. He knew by the confusion and unease that she knew something but not everything. So he waited.
Leandra stared at him in some consternation. She knew Harwood had the habit of jaunting off to France at odd times, usually in the company of his friend Mr. D’Arcy. She had never cared for the Frenchman and so had avoided him whenever he came to visit. Her father had distrusted him as well but believed that his son would not get involved in anything untoward and so allowed them to come and go as they pleased.
And now Derringer wanted to know about Harwood’s activities in France?
When she gave him a suspicious look, he told her sharply, “It is important that I know, Leandra. His association with a certain Frenchman is not in any way innocent and I have to know why the devil they were on the continent the same time I was.”
“Fraser D’Arcy,” she said.
“You do know something about it, then,” he said with a mixture of satisfaction and disappointment.
“I know my brother and Mr. D’Arcy were often in each other’s company but I am unsure where they chose to go. It could have been any number of places but I suppose France is a logical assumption.”
Derringer stood and paced about the small chamber. “But how did D’Arcy get into England in the first place?” he wondered aloud. “That frog should not have been able to get anywhere near these shores. Did you ever have words with D’Arcy?”
“Only once or twice,” she replied. “I never cared for the man and so avoided him.”
“Good girl,” the duke murmured almost to himself. Leandra wondered at his sudden preoccupation.
“Were you in France, your grace?”
Derringer stopped pacing and looked down at Leandra. “Are you still vexed with me then?” he asked with more curiosity than anything.
“I can’t answer that with a simple yes or no,” she remarked.
Her serenity has been restored at least, he thought. “Must you insist on ‘your gracing’ me?”
Leandra smiled. Was that what had him suddenly perturbed? “Yes, I think I must, your grace.” Her smile disappeared. “Considering how you feel about me, I have not the right to address you with less formality and certainly not without the propriety our respective ranks require.”
The duke slumped back in the chair next to his wife. “Are you going to resurrect that every time we speak now?” he asked, annoyed and disturbed by his own feelings of guilt.
> “No, your grace, only until I find a situation for myself,” she told him in a flash decision. “Then we shall cease to speak altogether.”
The duke became as still as one of the statues that stood sentinel in every garden at the Crescent. “What?” His voice had that dangerous silkiness to it and Leandra shivered despite herself.
“I see no reason for us to reside together as a married couple if we do not even like each other, your grace. It would be best if I were to live somewhere else and find work of some sort.”
“And how long have you been planning this, Lady Derringer?”
“Since early this afternoon.”
“What of the plans for the Dower house?”
“What of them?”
“Is that where you are planning to reside?”
“No, your grace. Where I reside will not be found anywhere on your estate.”
Derringer stared at her for a long moment. If she left and Grimsby found out about it, he’d take the money away. Worse, the duke thought morosely, he’d miss her.
“You’re not leaving,” he snapped.
“But don’t you see?” Leandra begged. “If I were to stay here, it would become nearly impossible for us to dissolve this mockery of a marriage. Since we have not c-consummated the marriage, an annulment is still possible.”
Derringer laughed. “An annulment is not as easy to acquire as you may think. A divorce would be easier.”
“Then we shall divorce. The scandal will die down eventually, allowing each of us to remarry.”
“You know nothing of the law, my dear girl. We could only remarry if the courts allowed, and even then only one of us can, the one who is not found guilty of adultery.”
Her brow furrowed. “We shall find a way. You should have your freedom, as you never wanted me in the first place. If admitting to adultery is what it will take, then I will do it.”
Derringer stood, rage burning through him at the thought of her admitting to such a thing. “This marriage will not be dissolved!” he roared at her. He leaned down over her chair, one hand braced on each side of her. “You have to stay with me.”
“Why?” she asked defiantly.
“Because you’re my wife, dammit! You need no other reason.”
He stepped back before he gave in to his urge to throttle her… or kiss her. Damn, but he wanted to kiss her.
“I’m afraid I do, your grace,” Leandra informed him, crossing her arms in stubborn imitation of her husband.
Derringer placed his hands on his hips and stared, truly amazed at her tenacity. “You would defy me in this?”
Leandra took in his rigid posture, his stubborn countenance, and the lurking emotion behind his eyes. She lifted her chin. “I would.”
Derringer stared at her in stunned disbelief for several seconds. Then he suddenly dropped down to his knees in front of her and took both her hands in his own. “You can’t go, Merri,” he said. “I lied when I said I didn’t like you. I do. Really. And it frightens me to death,” he admitted with a bit of her candor. “I don’t like people. I try not to but truthfully there are a few that somehow get around my defenses. It’s dangerous to get close to me.”
Leandra looked into pain-filled black eyes and knew in that moment that it would be very easy to fall in love with this man. He had a heart in spite of what everyone said. He was just afraid of being hurt.
Oh, how she could relate to such sentiments!
She gently disengaged one of her hands and cupped his cheek. “I forgive you for the comment, Hart,” she told him softly. “And I would like to stay and be your wife.”
The duke grinned at her. “Truly?”
She took a deep breath. She knew what he was asking. It wasn’t very hard to determine the way his eyes suddenly glinted. “Truly.”
Derringer kissed her gently, the merest touching of lips, and leaned back with a bemused expression on his face. But chagrin replaced bemusement when he remembered the other reason he had sought her out. Perhaps it should wait until after dinner. He had to tell her at least part of it now.
“There is another reason I had to talk to you, Merri.”
Leandra studied his face and felt her heart sink to her toes. “You are leaving again, aren’t you?”
“How did…?” Derringer shook his head slightly. “Yes, I am. I have to leave tonight, as a matter of fact.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes. After dinner if you can arrange for it to be served an hour or so earlier. I will tell you the whole story before I set sail.”
“You are going to France again.”
“I am,” nodded the duke. “I will be back as soon as possible, I promise.”
“But…” her voice trailed off uncertainly and a blush climbed her cheeks. Raising her chin a notch, she persevered in her inquiry. “What about…?” her hand fluttered helplessly between them.
The duke regarded her blankly for a moment. Then, understanding dawned and he smiled genuinely.
Leaning forward until his forehead touched hers, he whispered, “As much as I long to make you my wife in truth, a hurried joining is not how I envisioned our first time together.”
He lifted his head and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her up from the chair as he rose to his feet. Holding her gently against him, the duke kissed her again, a little less reverently than before and with far more passion.
Leandra returned his embrace tenfold. All of her reservations were temporarily silenced so she held nothing back. And was pleased to hear her husband groan and tighten his arms around her.
Setting her firmly from him, he breathed, “A hurried coupling does not sound so bad right now.”
Leandra blushed at the coarseness of his words but couldn’t help agreeing with his assessment. She almost told him as much but decided she was not that bold yet.
He laughed lowly, touching one long finger to her pink cheek. “I can guess the course of your thoughts, my darling wife, but I have to decline such a winsome invitation.” He gazed down at her with more fondness than he had hitherto displayed toward her and Leandra felt her heart expand.
Daringly, she extended one small hand to lightly brush his black-clad chest. Not meeting his eyes—her boldness was not that… well, bold… yet—she murmured, “I am sure… something could be managed.”
His reply was a muffled snort. Leandra’s eyes shot up to his, shocked and questioning.
Derringer shook his head, trying very hard not to burst into outright laughter. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously at him and he was sure he wasn’t quite succeeding.
He drew her back into his arms. “Ah, Merri, my girl, you have no idea what kind of… managing I require.”
It was her turn to snort. “I have a very good idea, Hart,” she returned dryly.
His black brows rose. “Indeed? A very good idea, you say? Meaning, you still have some doubts?” He grinned wickedly, positioning her in his arms just enough to let her know exactly what he required.
Her eyes widened and she surprised him by pressing closer, her lips parting in curiosity. Her hands moved around his back, fingers splayed.
Dear Lord, leaving her this time was not going to be easy, Derringer thought. He was tempted to consign Gabriel to the devil and instead take his wife… well, anywhere and everywhere that happened to be convenient.
He kissed her again, just a light brushing of the lips. Hugging her tight, he told her impudently, “Merri, were you anything but the innocent I know you are, I’d take you here and now without a thought for niceties.” He sighed in apparent frustration and firmly detached her from his person.
Leandra considered lying to him, telling him she wasn’t a stranger to what went on between a man and a woman but she had a feeling he’d see right through such claims. So she settled for her own frustrated sigh, not a little perplexed by the strange flutterings and yearnings the press of his body had caused in her own.
The duke chuckled, knowing her thoughts, transparent as she was. “As soon as
I return, my love, I promise.” His gaze swept her flushed face. “And it will be worth the wait, Merri.”
Michaella and Martin joined them for dinner. Leandra had it served in the family dining room, which was a good deal smaller and had a much cozier feel to it with the colorful tapestries on the walls and the intricately carved sideboard that sported numerous dings and nicks of past generations. Dinner conversation was lively and informed with the duke heading most of the topics and Martin adding his opinion without reserve. Even shy Michaella was encouraged to say her piece.
Overall, Leandra was pleased with the way things were progressing. But she worried about what Derringer would tell her later. What was so important that he had to go back to France so soon after his return?
She swallowed her fears for the time being and smiled at the group gathered around the table. She was glad that Harwood had not accompanied his wife. But she was uneasy about his reasons for being in France. Perhaps he was just there to visit, she told herself hopefully.
Without his wife and children? Her gaze settled on her sister. Would Michaella know anything of their brother’s doings? Perhaps she would query her later.
Later? What later? Later she would be discussing with her husband his imminent plans for departure and then she would be going to bed. Alone. Again.
Had it really only been two days she had spent in his company? It seemed like forever although she still did not know the man behind the cynical black eyes and harsh features. Was she making the right decision to allow him to come to her bed? He wouldn’t, of course, until he returned from this latest jaunt to the continent. But when he returned, she would not know him any better than she did now.
She knew that her decision was not the wisest but she wasn’t going to change it, either. She had seen a side of Hartley St. Clair that made her want to uncover all his secrets and know the man he attempted to hide from the world.
Heartless. He had told her himself that he knew of the epithet and thought it appropriate. A friend of his had even called him that once. What had he done to make her think such a thing?