by Jaimey Grant
And so, with just a look from the person she loved most in life, the Duchess of Derringer died a little more inside.
34
The duke’s plan failed. Michaella was too shy, too withdrawn an individual to draw out the stubbornly silent duchess. She tried but when her attempts came up against monosyllabic replies time and time again, she gave up, weary and utterly defeated—and a little disappointed in her sister for being so selfish.
Life might have progressed this way for quite some time had not the duke finally decided it was time to move on. He loved his wife desperately, worried over her constantly, and was blindingly jealous of his own dead child who seemed to be the only focus she had in her life. He grieved for the child too but life had to go on and one had to grow away from tragedy to survive.
Three months after the child’s death, Derringer marched into his wife’s morning room where Leandra sat with Michaella. The ladies glanced up at him as he entered, their expressions faintly curious. Leandra sighed once and looked away.
The duke, while being heartbroken by this same attitude every time she saw him, felt his temper rising at the same time. “Madam, a word,” he bit out.
Michaella squeaked in alarm and darted a look at her sister. She was worried about Leandra and although she didn’t like the duke’s tone or angry stance, even she had to agree that this grief of Leandra’s was bordering on obsession and therefore unhealthy. So she turned to the duchess, who was staring at her husband as if he’d suddenly sprouted a third arm, and urged her to go with him.
Leandra rose to her feet and started across the floor. Derringer turned on his heel and walked out, assuming she followed. He did not stop until he stood outside her bedchamber. With a mocking gesture, he indicated she precede him into the chamber. With a questioning look, Leandra obeyed. She swung around with a start when he turned the key in the lock.
“Hart, what are you doing?” she asked.
The duke circled around her, giving her a long searching look. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He seemed to be trying to decide something and Leandra wasn’t sure she really wanted to know what it was.
He took two steps forward, backing her into the door. Leandra, startled, could do nothing but stare up at him as he placed both hands on the wood above her head, successfully blocking her in with his tall body.
Leandra swallowed with difficulty when she recognized the emotion blazing in her husband’s eyes was not anger, but rather desire. How could he still desire her after…?
“Not acceptable, Merri,” he whispered harshly, lowering his mouth to hers.
She had been wrong. Some of it had been anger, after all. But he did desire her, his kiss heating her from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, stopping off at some critical places in between.
Leandra gave as good as she got, arching into him, drawing him closer, begging with her body for the mastery of his. She craved his lovemaking, had been afraid for months that he’d never touch her again.
It was with a severe shock that she realized her face was wet. And something had changed in her husband’s kiss. Pulling away, she wondered if she were crying, not the least surprised to realize she was.
What effectively stunned her was the fact that the duke was crying, too.
Feeling more tears well up and slip down her cheeks in the face of his obvious pain, Leandra choked on a sob.
His hands no longer lay flat on the door, but were holding her face, his forehead pressed to hers. She copied him, her hands framing his face, gently, her thumbs wiping away the tears.
He growled, in anger and frustration. Manfully swallowing the convulsive sobs that begged for release, he shook her a little, saying, “Dammit, Merri, tell me!”
She blinked up at him. “Tell you what?” she asked, her voice a harsh, tear-choked whisper.
He met her eyes. “What do I have to do? What will it take? What do you want from me?”
Her heart skipped a beat at his suffering. She could have asked him the same question, really. But she didn’t.
Gazing up into shimmering black eyes, Leandra whispered, “Make love to me, Hart.”
“Merri, my love, seduction was not what I intended,” murmured her husband later. He wound a lock of her hair around his finger, seeming quite fascinated with the play of the late afternoon sunlight on the glossy dark strands.
Leandra smiled. “Indeed? You did not set out to seduce me, dearest husband? I must confess I’m disappointed you only wanted to talk.” She pretended to pout.
Derringer leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her. Serious lines etched his face, a tinge of sadness curving his lips. She reached up, tracing one finger along his face, along the scar marring an already harsh countenance. How sad she’d been upon beholding his injury! To learn his own cousin was the cause, a man she’d once considered a friend, had only served to deepen her agony.
He didn’t flinch away though his eyes closed, briefly, at her gentle caress. His lashes fluttered open, black eyes spearing her where she lay, half beneath him.
She tensed, knowing what was coming. “I am sorry about the baby, Merri. And I know how much you wanted our child.”
She reached up to stop his words, still too grief stricken to talk about it. “Please don’t, Hart. Not now. I can’t—” Her voice broke on a sob.
“Don’t you see, Merri? You have to. Prestwich told me that although you converse with him as if nothing weighs upon your mind, you would never discuss the baby. I know you don’t speak to Lady Michaella about it. How will you grow away from the pain if you refuse to even acknowledge it?”
She pushed him away from her and sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. What an abrupt change from her mood of just moments before! Tears streamed down her face. “I don’t want to grow away from the pain, Hart! I lost a baby. Your baby. I will never stop thinking about it, never stop remembering, grieving. Just let me be!”
She swung her feet toward the edge of the bed, attempting to escape her husband’s demands but he snaked his arm around her waist before she could. “Leandra, this is cannot go on! I will not let you avoid me as you’ve been doing.”
“I have to avoid you, Hart,” she cried in anguish. “It’s all my fault. Don’t you see? If I had listened to you, to Levi, and to Adam, I would have been safe at home. The baby would be safe. I killed our baby! How can you ever learn to love me now?”
Derringer was so shocked at this that she was able to wrench from his arms and dart into her dressing room. He didn’t follow. How did he miss that her despondency was due to guilt? The thought had crossed his own mind that perhaps it would not have happened had she obeyed his command to stay put. But he had just as quickly determined that the anxiety over the months of his disappearance would have been enough.
It was her final words that succeeded in propelling him from the rumpled bed. She believed he didn’t love her? That he never could? How could she think such a nonsensical thing?
He found her huddled in a chair before the fire in the sitting room. Her shoulders shook with the force of her silent tears. She looked so tiny, so dejected that Derringer thought he might cry as well… again. He was becoming a veritable watering pot, he thought in disgust.
He approached her cautiously, like he would an injured animal. He reached down and picked her up, cradling her in his arms, and sat down in the chair. “Leandra, love, we really do need to discuss this, I think.” She shook her head, still too distraught to speak. “You say it is your fault.” She nodded. “All this time, you have been blaming yourself.” Again, a dejected little nod. “And you believe I blame you as well.” This time, she didn’t nod. She sobbed harder.
“Oh, Merri, Merri,” he said fondly, forcing her head up, forcing her to see his sincerity. “I do not blame you. I think it might have happened no matter what you did. I am surprised you did not lose the baby when you were informed I was dead.”
Her tears stopped falling and Derringer gently brushed the moisture from her ch
eeks. She still said nothing, just gazed at him through huge gold-flecked eyes.
“As for the never loving you part,” he said with a half-smile, “No, don’t you dare start crying again, Leandra Derringer. Wait until you hear what I have to say.” She sniffed once and dutifully held back the sobs that threatened. “I have a confession to make.” Her eyes widened slightly. “It’s true, I’ve been keeping secrets.” He nodded at her, his lips twisted into a self-deprecating smile. “Despicable, I know, but there it is.” And he stopped.
Leandra stared at him in disbelief. He had actually told her nothing. What great secret did he keep from her? Other than every other thing about him she’d only recently learned.
His smile grew and she felt the urge to hit him. “What secret?” she finally asked.
“I love you.”
The End
Continue reading for an excerpt
from Jaimey Grant’s novel
Deception.
Chapter One
London, 1818
“Levi Sterling, you must be jesting!”
Lord Greville had the grace to look abashed, but he was desperate. He fixed Bri with his warmest smile, a smile designed to melt the coldest of hearts, and replied, “If I wasn’t in such trouble, I would not ask.”
She released a sigh of exasperation. “Will you ever learn? How many times must I rescue you?”
Despite her frustration, Lady Brianna Prestwich was genuinely fond of her incorrigible cousin. He was quickly earning a reputation as a wastrel, however. The strain in her answering smile spoke of her concern.
All smiles fled when she saw a smashing racing curricle pull up in the square outside. The devilishly handsome driver had black hair and chilly gray-green eyes. He would be in a rage if he found out about Levi’s latest debts.
Bri’s husband, Sir Adam was home.
Levi joined her at the window just in time to see Adam’s graceful leap from the carriage. He may have appeared small next to the more muscular Lord Greville, but there was something about the older man that made Levi just a bit nervous.
Adam was cynical, unforgiving. This coldly calculating nature was something Levi could not entirely comprehend, his own nature being wholly bent toward pleasurable pursuits.
Of course, the Earl of Greville had his own set of ne’er-do-well associates. His acquaintances numbered a few odd rattles, some of whom were whispered about in every corner of every ballroom in every home of the upper ten thousand.
“Please, Bri?” Levi asked, turning suddenly.
“Oh, very well!” she conceded against her better judgment. “But I warn you, Vi, this is the last time. If you find yourself in this kind of trouble again, you will just have to marry an heiress.”
Levi’s eyes widened in genuine horror. She might as well suggest that he go around to Tattersalls auction and pay the most he could for the lamest nag available. She might as well suggest that he join the dandy set, sporting patricides and elaborate cravats. She might as well suggest he go to Brooks’s merely to watch the play instead of betting himself—which, of course, was the whole reason he was having his current problems.
“Marry an heiress?” he said, all the horror he felt reflected in his tone. “Maybe I should just slap a glove across Hart’s face.”
“Don’t be silly, Vi. Lord Hart-less would kill you. A wife would never behave so irrationally.”
She failed to understand what really bothered him about marrying an heiress. There was a dearth of passable females doing the Season and Levi was very particular when it came to bedding a woman.
“Here!”
He found a bankdraft for fifteen thousand pounds shoved into his hands. He looked up, his dark brown eyes wide with surprise. “I only asked for ten.”
Bri’s full lips tightened into a grim line. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, my lord. Consider it an early birthday present. Possibly your last.”
Since he’d just received five thousand pounds from her to cover his debts a few months past, he knew she was emphasizing that he was forming a habit. She indicated with a stern expression that it would be in his best interests to nip it in the bud.
He hated it when Bri started ‘my lording’ him. He knew she was angry when she included his second name in her diatribes, but when she started ‘my lording’ him, he knew she was about to explode. And lately she had been especially tetchy. He blamed impending motherhood for that.
With a hurried thank you, he shoved the draft in his pocket just as Adam walked into the room.
“Hello, Adam,” Levi said with the most innocent of expressions.
Adam, of course, cynical creature that he was, was instantly suspicious. Levi could tell. Club gossip would have informed the baronet of his relative’s pending insolvency. Adam would realize Levi’s need for money. The logical conclusion from there was Bri.
Instead of accusing his cousin-by-marriage or his wife of anything, Adam just smiled and shook Levi’s hand. Pulling the younger man closer, Adam whispered, “Last time.”
The steely note of warning was unmistakable. Levi swallowed hard and nodded. Adam released him and turned glowing eyes on his wife, gesturing that she be seated for the latest on dit concerning Lady Fitzjohn’s spaniel and an unfortunate young man to whom the dog took particular exception.
Levi decided not to linger. He wanted to get the duns off his back as soon as possible.
“Oh, Levi,” said Adam, smiling. Levi paused in his flight and turned around slowly, one brow raised in silent inquiry. “I have recently made the acquaintance of a personable young woman of considerable fortune on the lookout for a handsome husband. I suggest you think very carefully of courting her favor.”
*****
Before he knew it, and only three weeks after Bri’s—and Adam’s—warning, the Earl of Greville found himself heavily in debt again.
Agitated and worried beyond belief, Levi took himself off to visit the one person who never seemed to mind that he was usually in dun territory, his mistress.
Raven received him as usual, her unbound midnight hair swirling about her as she turned to greet him. Levi barely saw her, his thoughts wholly occupied with his monetary troubles.
“Levi!” She stretched out her hands in greeting, accepting Levi’s chaste kiss on her fingers.
He gave her a half-hearted smile, dropping down into a chair. Under normal circumstances, he’d never have behaved in so rude a manner. A gentleman would never sit while a lady still stood. Lady or not, Raven deserved more respect.
Raven sat, motioning for the maid to fetch tea. She waited.
When the minutes stretched, she cleared her throat. “What has caused your brown study, my lord? Perhaps speaking of it will help.”
Levi sighed. His mistress was more than just a mistress. She was a friend, a confidante. He supposed it was only natural that he confess to her how incredibly stupid he’d been.
“I am in dun territory again.”
She wasn’t surprised. Her tone was mildly concerned. “How bad is it this time? Can you come about?”
“I doubt very much that I can. I have pondered all my options. I see no clear course of action.”
“What of Bri?”
Raven, in an unprecedented twist, enjoyed a close friendship with Levi’s cousin Bri. They particularly enjoyed scandalizing Society by appearing together in public, often for the daily promenade through Hyde Park.
What so titillated the masses was the fact that Raven was once under the protection of Bri’s husband, Adam.
The maid returned with tea, leaving mere moments later. Raven served, adding a generous dash of good Irish whiskey to Levi’s cup. He took it from her, his fingers closing tightly around the delicate china.
“I cannot importune her again, Rae. Adam has threatened my life should I dare to ask. I begin to think Adam’s suggestion as the only answer.”
“What did Adam suggest?”
Levi focused on her, saw the way her dark eyes were trained on his
, awaiting his response.
“Marriage,” he said shortly.
Levi was surprised by the range of expressions that crossed the beautiful woman’s face. Shock, betrayal, a little anger and ultimately, resignation. She said nothing, however, and Levi couldn’t help but wonder why.
“An heiress, to be precise,” he added.
“Of course,” she murmured. “How soon must this be accomplished?”
He shrugged. “Soon. I plan to attend all the balls and parties I can. Even Almack’s.” He couldn’t repress the shudder that racked his large frame. “Lord, how I loathe the marriage mart.”
Raven stood, moving close. She held out her hand. “You appear to need a distraction, my love.”
Levi smiled, taking her hand and drawing her down into his arms. “You know me so well. If life was just, we could marry, my exotic beauty.”
Chapter Two
Lord Greville’s search for a bride had begun in earnest by the time Miss Aurora Glendenning arrived in Town for the Season. She was seen entering her establishment in Mayfair with an odd procession of servants.
Along with what was obviously a ladies’ maid, there was an old man with graying hair and a rigid bearing that one would assume was the butler. Just after him was an equally aged footman and cook. Then there was a youngish woman in plain servants’ garb, leading a small girl by the hand. The little girl was of angelic appearance with bright blond curls, sparkling bluish gray eyes, and a cherubic face.
Miss Glendenning herself was petite and blond with strange turquoise colored eyes and a neat figure. Everyone said the fashion for blonds was exploded, but no one seemed to have informed Miss Glendenning of that fact. She was beautiful.
No one knew the young woman; everyone wondered about her. An older woman had arrived with her. No one assumed she was Miss Glendenning’s mother since the woman did not resemble her in the least. She was obviously an employee of some kind, a companion, perhaps. Her devotion to her young mistress was plain to even the most casual observer.