Heartless

by Jaimey Grant

  Derringer waited impatiently as the other man gingerly rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He straightened his neckcloth and brushed down his waistcoat and jacket. It finally took a low, menacing growl from Derringer to regain the man’s attention.

  “Where is it?”

  “I am afraid, my lord, that you are vastly mistaken if you believe I have my father’s will. I do not, in fact. He did not leave one. It is well known that he did not.”

  The duke did not like at all how confident the man sounded. It was probably true that the will was not in his possession. But Derringer was willing to bet his life that one did exist and that the late earl was far too shrewd to leave it where his avaricious wife or son might find it.

  Which only meant that Harwood had perhaps left all of his wealth to his illegitimate daughter. Everything that wasn’t entailed on his firstborn son, that is. The Duke of Derringer smiled. A treasure hunt was just what he needed to distract his mind from the threat that loomed over him... and his desire to apologize to his wife.

  23

  Leandra’s eyes threatened to pop, her chest constricting at the sight of her husband, his one good hand twisted in her brother’s shirt front, Harwood’s feet dangling inches from the floor. She wasn’t sure what she felt at the sight, awe at the sheer power Derringer displayed or pity that her brother fell afoul of her husband. Perhaps a mix of the two.

  Something made her ease further back into the shadows cast by the grand staircase. Should she try to rescue her brother? He looked dangerously close to disgracing himself.

  Her innate desire to forestall bloodshed propelled her forward. Before she could take a single step, Derringer dropped his captive, Harwood’s backside coming into violent contact with the marble floor. Leandra was too far away to hear anything other than her brother’s grunt of pain.

  She wanted to know what they were discussing. She glanced back toward the drawing room to make sure no one else was coming. Then, she crept up far enough to hear.

  The comment about there never having been a will caught her by surprise. She’d assumed it was merely lost or misplaced, but Harwood seemed quite certain it had never existed. But that would mean her father had lied. He never lied.

  Derringer’s expression slipped into something Leandra could only call savage delight. Why would Harwood’s comment about there never having been a will cause such a reaction in her husband? An uneasy feeling crept over her skin.

  She turned to leave. Derringer appeared quite through with her brother so her presence was not required. She slipped around the newel post, intent on making her escape before catching her husband’s eye. Just as she reached the door to the drawing room, an arm of steel snaked around her waist and pulled her back against a hard body.

  “Merri, Merri, I do believe you were eavesdropping,” the duke breathed in her ear.

  She sighed lightly when his lips briefly touched that sensitive area right below her ear. She fought the quivering sensation in her middle, reminded herself of his treatment of her after introducing her to the delights to be had in his arms.

  Turning slightly to look up into his mocking black eyes, Leandra said, “I assume you require me for something, your grace?”

  His reply made her ears turn pink.

  Derringer released her with a mocking grin but took her hand. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he led her to his father’s study and made her sit.

  “How much did you hear?” he asked blandly.

  Leandra watched him warily as he sat on the edge of the desk, hands braced on either side of him. If he suspected she had heard more than she ought, would he again threaten her with physical violence? Or would he make good on his prior threat to beat her?

  “Come, Merri, I promise I won’t bite,” he cajoled. “Unless you ask me to.”

  Her natural poise came to her rescue in the face of this outrageous remark—this outrageous remark that caused an almost pleasant tingling in her skin. With a determined effort she managed to keep her thoughts and feelings from her expression. She hoped.

  “I overheard Lee tell you that Papa never made a will.”

  “And do you believe him?”

  “Of course not. Papa told me he left a will. He said I would never have to fear poverty. He said he would always take care of me, even after his death.”

  A twinge of desperation entered her final words, desperation and grief. She hated the weakness she displayed but she missed her father so much.

  “Does your brother make a habit of lying then?”

  She shrugged, her blank features telling Derringer nothing of her inner thoughts. He hated how he couldn’t read her all the time like he could most people. If her silence was due to fear of him, he couldn’t know. She hid fear as well as anything.

  He did, however, catch the emotion behind her comment in regard to her father, a reaction that was to be expected under the circumstances. She had been deeply attached to the late Lord Harwood.

  Though the duke had expected a little more emotion when faced with the likely perfidy of her brother.

  Pushing away from the desk to pace before her, Derringer offered, “Perhaps he does not make a habit of it but deems it necessary in these circumstances, honorable, even.”

  Leandra sat up straighter, eyes widening, fingers clenching in her lap. Anger flashed through her eyes, almost lost behind her thick spectacles. “You mean, keep it out of the hands of the bastard?”

  It was the duke’s turn to shrug. “If you will. What I want to know is why he thinks it best to disregard your father’s wishes.”

  “Lee pretended to love Papa but I always doubted his sincerity. He had a way of appearing so innocent that I had trouble believing him. Others seemed to see him only as he appeared. Papa never seemed to see through him, though.”

  Derringer very much doubted that. He had met the late earl once or twice and the man had never struck him as particularly obtuse. He had, in fact, appeared quite cognizant of his family’s shortcomings. It was this that made Derringer positive that a will did exist and one that most likely left everything to the earl’s one truly loving child.

  A child whose existence Derringer was unaware of until he rescued her at an inn, where she’d managed to end up after her loving family tossed her on her ear. What a tiny world they inhabited.

  His next comment, however, revealed none of his ruminations to his wife. “Perhaps your father was dense enough to believe in his only son’s honor.”

  Leandra stood. Derringer watched outrage ripple over her face and form, tension settling on her shoulders like a dark mantle. With a token curtsy in his direction, she quit the room, nose in the air in the best grand duchess manner he’d ever beheld.

  The duke was so surprised at her abrupt exit that he just stood there. It was only after she’d gone that he realized how rude she’d actually been. He smiled.

  The Earl of Harwood was very careful to avoid Lord Derringer over the next few days, a circumstance that pleased the duke. He was unsure if he could avoid laying hands on the man again.

  But Martin St. Clair seemed to be avoiding Derringer as well. This oddity so perplexed the duke that he sought the man out to question him over his behavior.

  “Is there something troubling you, cousin?”

  Martin shrugged, a smile touching his lips at Derringer’s show of concern. “No, why do you ask?”

  The very tone in Martin’s voice, something bordering on contempt, made the hairs on Derringer’s neck stand on end. There was also something almost chaotic in his cousin’s eyes that caused an uneasy shiver to snake down his spine.

  The feeling passed almost immediately, Martin’s face clearing of all expression. Surely he’d imagined the strange look and the strange effect it had had on him.

  “Then I would suggest you take your position seriously in future. I haven’t the time to hunt you down when I have need of you.”

  Derringer walked away with the feeling that his cousin was glaring daggers at him. This c
ompletely outrageous feeling was eerie enough to make him glance behind him. Martin indeed watched him, but his face showed nothing more than blank inquiry.

  The feeling followed Derringer out to the stables, however.

  After assuring himself that Satan was mending well, Derringer returned to the castle. His bellow upon entering was answered with as much speed as he could wish. Every servant was soon before him.

  “Excellent. I am glad to see that despite infirmities of all kinds, none of you appear hampered by them. My congratulations.” He saw his wife enter the Great Hall with her stepmother and sisters followed closely by his aunt and cousins.

  With a mocking bow, he addressed his next words to his family. “And my guests as well. How convenient.”

  “What is this about, your grace?” asked Leandra with a touch of impatience.

  “It is not your place to inquire into my doings, Lady Derringer,” he returned, disliking the rush of annoyance at her reaction.

  Such humiliation in front of servants and family was enough to cause Leandra’s eyes to darken. Without another word, she turned and left.

  “Everyone is dismissed,” growled the duke. “All family members will please adjourn to the drawing room.” Without waiting to see if anyone complied, he stalked after his wife.

  He entered her sitting room to find her pacing in obvious agitation. When she heard him, she turned and glared. “What do you want, your grace?”

  The first response that popped into Derringer’s head was “You.” He refrained from saying that, however, and settled for, “I want to know why you left before I dismissed you.”

  Leandra stared at him incredulously. “I can’t believe you! Of all the… you insufferable boor!” She marched up to him, shaking a tiny fist in his face. “I am not your servant, Hart. I will not be treated as one. You have no right!”

  “Have I not, Merri?” His voice was silky, dangerous. As much as he found his wife in a temper most arousing, he was angered by her show of bravado. “I seem to recall you needing help most desperately when I found you.”

  “And I seem to recall that without me you’d be poor as a church mouse!”

  “I could have had anybody, Merri. You were convenient.”

  Leandra was silent for a heart-stopping moment, the casual hurtfulness of his comment robbing her of breath. Then she lifted her nose a notch and replied, “Very convenient, your grace. I am, however, tired of being considered nothing more than your convenience. I am leaving.”

  She moved to go around him but he stopped her. “You are going nowhere.”

  “The devil I’m not!”

  One black brow arched in surprise. “You are calling the devil into this? I’m shocked.”

  “You will not charm me into staying, Hart, any more than you will order me to. I’m done trying to prove that you’re worth saving.”

  24

  The words were already said. There was no going back in time to rescind them. The damage was done. And if Leandra had known quite how much damage she’d done, she would have stayed and attempted everything in her power to make it right.

  But she didn’t.

  “Have you been trying to save me, Merri?”

  She made no reply to his horrified query. Instead, she walked away from him.

  Derringer watched her leave and wondered why he’d ever made the idiotic mistake of falling in love. All his experience of that emotion had not ended well. And Leandra was more proof of that.

  And he was. In love. Completely, irrevocably, head-over-ears in love with his own wife. He didn’t know when it happened or how, but he admitted the truth of it.

  So he did the only thing he could to prove it. He let her go.

  Ten minutes later found the Duke of Derringer in the drawing room with his and Leandra’s families. He looked them over with acute dislike, wanting nothing more than to throw them all bodily from the castle… tower. In some obscure way, he blamed them for his recent falling out with Leandra.

  Taking up a defensive stance near the hearth, Derringer announced, “Just as soon as my servants have packed your things—which I estimate to be in less than five minutes”— glancing at the watch hanging from his waistcoat—“you will all depart Derringer Crescent. We will, of course, be sorry to see you go and all that rubbish, but I fear your welcome has long since been worn thin. Thank you.” With a bow that lacked any mocking, the duke walked out on a sea of shocked expressions.

  Gabriel followed his cousin into the hall. “Hart, wait!”

  The duke stopped and turned, his left eyebrow raised in silent inquiry.

  “What was that all about? And where is Merri?” asked Gabriel as he caught up with Derringer.

  Save for the lowering of his brow, the duke’s expression didn’t change. “It doesn’t concern you and please refer to my wife with more formality.”

  As he turned to continue on his way, Gabriel caught his arm and swung him around. “Just what the devil is that supposed to mean? You act as though I have committed some indiscretion with Lady Derringer.”

  The duke stared at his cousin’s hand where it lay on his arm in the way that usually indicated his displeasure to the offending creature. Gabriel, however, was not afraid of Derringer as others were. He merely shook the duke’s arm when no answer was forthcoming.

  Derringer looked up and sighed. He had never had secrets from his cousin before, why start now when he had finally proven beyond a shadow exactly what a cad he was?

  “If you must know, Gabe, Leandra has decided to take her glorious presence from my home and I find I am sick of playing gracious host to her blasted family, not to mention yours. If you and Martin would like to stay, you know you are welcome to. But,” he shook his head, “I need to be alone.”

  The door to the drawing room opened to disgorge Greville and his wife. Aurora took one look at the duke, marched over, and glared up at him. “That was badly done, Hart, and well you know it. How could you be so very rude? Do you know that poor Michaella is in tears at the thought of leaving Leandra here with a monster like you?”

  “Lady Michaella is crying?” asked Gabriel. Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared back into the drawing room.

  “And what do you have to add, Vi?”

  “Nothing, Hart. I agree that you have every right to ask us to leave. But,” he said pointedly with a look at his tiny but furious wife, “I also think you could have been more polite about it.” He shrugged. “But I also know that’s not really you.”

  “Where is Leandra, Hart? Why didn’t she come with you to extricate your unwelcome guests?”

  “You will be pleased to know, Lady Greville,” Derringer snapped, “that dearest Leandra has finally made an intelligent decision. She’s decided life without me in it is far preferable.”

  Aurora paled slightly. “You jest. Please tell me you jest.”

  “I do not. Now, if you will be so good, I wish to be alone.”

  “No, Hart, I want to speak with you about this.”

  “Vi, when have I ever bowed to your wishes?”

  “Never. But you will start now.”

  The determination in Greville’s voice convinced Derringer that he would stop at nothing to get his compliance. “And if I don’t?” he challenged anyway.

  Greville smiled. “I’ll thrash you. Or let you die. The choice is yours.”

  Derringer did not trust his friend’s look. He supposed if Greville thought it necessary, he would simply step aside and let whomever it was that desired Derringer’s death to have at it.

  “Will you leave me be if I assure you it was my fault and the best thing for her to do is leave?”

  “How was it your fault?” inquired Aurora. A look of disbelief crossed her features. “Did I just ask how it was your fault?” She shook her head at his mocking expression and continued, “Allow me to rephrase that. What did you say or do to make her leave?”

  The duke shrugged with apparent nonchalance. “Nothing she didn’t already know.” He
was secretly ashamed of his behavior with Leandra but he’d be damned before he’d admit it to even these, his closest friends.

  He was saved from a closer examination by the exhumation of the drawing room. The rest of the family poured out and Derringer took a step back. “You are welcome to stay, of course, Vi, but I want everyone else gone.”

  Everyone assembled in the hall watched the duke stride away. Just as he was about to make good his escape through the front door, Stark opened it to admit Sir Adam Prestwich. Derringer groaned.

  “Get out, Prestwich. I don’t want or need your help.”

  “That’s a fine attitude, Derringer,” scolded the vibrant beauty that was Adam’s wife, Lady Brianna. “You know very well this is one problem you can’t solve on your own.”

  Without further ado, she pushed the duke out of the way and entered the castle. Following closely in her wake were her children, six-year-old Callie, two-year-old Jessamyn, and the baby, eleven-month-old Lucien, was carried in by a chubby nursery maid.

  “You brought them all?” asked Derringer. He glanced at the smiling baby boy and felt an odd pull that he refused to explore or even acknowledge. He addressed the baronet once more. “Why did you bring your whole family?”

  The look of incredulity on Adam’s face made Lady Prestwich laugh. “Do you think he could have stopped me, my lord duke?” she asked sweetly. “I assure you, he could not.”

  Her husband shrugged. “I choose not to argue with her. If she gets involved more than I would like, I’ll tie her up.”

  Lady Brianna’s expression reflected uncertainty at this calm announcement. That he would do it was not in doubt. Derringer got a twinge of malicious pleasure from this.

  “Mrs. Stark!” The housekeeper bustled forward, a smile of welcome on her round features. “Put my new guests somewhere.” Then, having decided he’d had enough of unwanted company, the Duke of Derringer made good his escape.

  Greville glanced at the new guests and then at the old guests. He frowned. “Mrs. Stark, I know you would never disregard his lordship’s wishes but please rescind the order to eject them.”