A Duke Changes Everything

by Christy Carlyle

  Downstairs, she found the kitchen in a state of minor chaos. Two young men were arguing in the corner, an older woman sat fanning herself with a small dinner plate, and Mrs. Scribb looked on the verge of tears. Or outrage. Mina couldn’t tell which.

  Wilder spotted her and immediately approached. “Miss Thorne. Thought you’d decided to stay back this evening.”

  “Another pair of hands never goes to waste. What can I do?”

  He leaned in to speak quietly. “Mrs. Scribb and the Claxton housekeeper are about to come to blows, and the two footmen have turned against each other to win Emma’s affections.”

  Mina noticed that Emma stood on the other side of the two young men, hands on her hips as she chastised them both in her soft voice.

  “Might be worthwhile to take Emma upstairs and see that all is as it should be in the refreshment room.” Wilder cast a weary look back at the two young men. “I’ll wade into the fray and settle the two young pups down.”

  Mina found Emma more than happy to leave her newest suitors to their own devices. The girl was far more interested in how Mina had arrived.

  “Did you come with the duke?”

  “We traveled in the carriage together.”

  “Alone?” she asked with a knowing pitch in her voice. “As you did from London?”

  Mina bit her tongue and willed her cheeks not to burn.

  “I only say you should have a care, Miss Thorne. Some are beginning to whisper.”

  Anger flared like the ember of a hot coal sparking to life. “I spoke to a mason and several delivery men last week. Wilder and I drove alone in the pony cart together. Is anyone whispering about that?”

  To catch her breath and get hold of her emotions, Mina fussed with arranging the trays of finger sandwiches and little squares of carved aspic. Dozens of cut crystal glasses were set precariously close to the front edge of the table.

  “We should move those farther back,” she told Emma. “One swipe from a ball gown and they’ll come crashing down.”

  As she worked, she soon realized Emma wasn’t offering any assistance. When she turned back, the girl was watching her with wide eyes.

  “You’re smitten with him, aren’t you?”

  The music of stringed instruments filled the air. The dancing would have begun. How many young ladies would be vying to catch Nick’s eye? However some might shrink back at the sight of his scar or striking eyes, the man was tall, broad, and sinfully wealthy. Lady Claxton certainly had her sights set on a match with her granddaughter.

  “Are you, Mina?” Emma prompted.

  “Come with me.” Mina led the girl toward the Claxtons’ long main hall. She followed the sound of music and stopped a few steps beyond the ballroom threshold.

  “There, you see?” Mina indicated Lady Lillian, who was dancing her way around the ballroom in Nick’s arms. “She’s an earl’s granddaughter. I’m a steward’s daughter.”

  At that moment, the couples turned in the quadrille and Mina shrank back from the threshold, determined Nick not see her peeking at the doorway like Cinderella wishing she could join the ball.

  “We should refill the punch bowl.” Mina pointed to a table set along the back wall of the ballroom. “The guests will be thirsty now that the dancing has begun.”

  “The Claxton footmen will see to it.” Emma stepped toward the ballroom doorway. “Don’t you wish you could take just one turn around the floor with a handsome man?”

  “Yes.” Mina glimpsed Nick and Lady Lillian when the dance brought them toward the corner of the ballroom, and her stomach twisted in knots. She didn’t care about taking a turn around the dance floor, but she wanted to be the one in Nick’s arms.

  He looked miserable. Lines knitted between his browns, he glanced down at his feet more often than at his partner. Lady Lillian seemed determined to get as close to him as possible, pressing her bodice toward his chest every time the dance required them to join hands.

  “We should get back downstairs and see what we can do to help.” Mina forced her attention away from Nick and noticed Gregory Lyle at the edge of the ballroom. He was watching her intently and immediately started toward them.

  “Oh goodness. Do you see who’s coming this way?” Emma was the only person to whom Mina had ever confided her foolish feelings for Gregory.

  “We should return to the kitchen.”

  They started back toward the door that led to the downstairs level, but the hard clip of footsteps sounded on the marble floor behind them.

  “Miss Thorne, may I have a word?”

  “Don’t do it,” Emma urged.

  “Go ahead, Emma.” Mina stopped. “I won’t be but a moment.”

  The young woman cast her a doubtful look over her shoulder and a very uncharitable glare in Gregory’s direction, but she continued on toward the kitchen.

  When Mina turned to face him, he positioned himself near a potted palm. Eager to speak to her, but not eager to be seen, apparently.

  “Might we step into the library?”

  “No, we can’t have much to say to one another. Just speak your piece and then I must get downstairs.”

  “I think of you quite often.” He cast a nervous glance down the hall.

  Mina let out a weary sigh and took one step away from him. If he meant to try to charm her after all that had passed between them . . .

  “Wait.” His hand snaked out, gripping her wrist.

  “Let me go.” Mina twisted in his grasp.

  “They say you’ve become his lover. But we both know you should be mine.” His breath reeked of drink. Not of punch or champagne, but as if he’d been imbibing long before he arrived at the Claxton ball.

  She used her other hand to pry his fingers off her wrist. A nail caught his skin and he yelped and released her, but he immediately leaned closer. The fumes of alcohol made her eyes water.

  “I always did admire your fiery spirit, Mina.”

  “Lyle,” Nick’s voice boomed from the end of the hall. “What does it take to get rid of you once and for all?”

  Gregory sneered at Mina before turning to face Nick. “Perhaps you should pay my father another thousand pounds. We have plenty of other horses for you to buy for your whore.” He strode toward Nick, weaving unsteadily toward a side table. “Must burn to know I had her first, eh, Tremayne?”

  Mina saw guests emerge from the ballroom, gathering in a curious cluster at the threshold. Her stomach pitched up into her throat and nausea swept over her. She shouldn’t have come. She shouldn’t have let her heart command her instead of using a smidgen of sense.

  Nick stood still and motionless, but Mina knew his eyes. She could feel the heat of his fury from three feet away. But he was trying not to lash out. His jaw was a sharp-edged square. She suspected he was gritting his teeth.

  “What in heaven’s name is going on?” Lady Claxton emerged from the ballroom, tapping her cane on the marble with one hand, lifting a lorgnette to her eyes with the other.

  “Go back to the ballroom, Gregory,” Mina whispered. “Forget about me.”

  She’d forgive him all the past ugliness between them if he’d just refrain from creating any more.

  But when he turned back toward Nick, he let out a menacing chuckle and took two steps to plant himself in front of the duke. “How does it feel, Tremayne?”

  “Let’s not do this, Lyle.” Nick retreated, removing himself from Gregory’s reach. “Don’t you want to find a partner for the next set?”

  Nick sounded extraordinarily calm, his voice deep and commanding. Mina suspected she was the only one among the dozen or so guests assembled in the hall who could hear the tremor underneath the deep baritone.

  He was exhibiting so much control, she had the ferocious urge to kiss him. Privately, of course. Where all that control would come crumbling down. But only for her.

  When Gregory said nothing more, a few of the guests started back into the ballroom. Mina found herself breathing a bit easier.

  Then
Gregory lunged for Nick, an inelegant jut of limbs, so unsteady that Nick reached out a hand and planted it on Gregory’s chest to keep their bodies from crashing together.

  “How does it feel?” Gregory repeated. “To want a woman as faithless as your own mother?”

  Nick moved so quickly, the men’s black-clad bodies blurred. In an instant, he had Gregory pinned to the wall, his forearm locked under the man’s chin.

  “Gentlemen, I forbid violence in my home.” Lady Claxton stumped forward and lifted her cane to tap insistently at Nick’s shoulder. “I’ve hosted twenty balls and never had a brawl, Tremayne. I shan’t tolerate one tonight.”

  Gregory squawked out some word. Nick loosened his grip enough to allow him to repeat it.

  “Bastard,” he rasped, clutching at his neck.

  Nick stepped away abruptly and Gregory crumpled to the floor, clawing at his necktie, wheezing in huge gulps of air.

  “Good evening, Lady Claxton. You won’t mind if I depart early.” Nick straightened his cuffs and shoved a hand through the strands of hair that had fallen over his brow.

  He shot Mina a glance over his shoulder and her breath quickened. His eyes glowed and ink-black hair tumbled in disheveled waves around his face. His flushed skin highlighted his scar. In his eyes, she saw a fearsome brew of emotions.

  He was angry, but with himself or her?

  She held her breath, expecting a demand that she depart with him.

  Instead, he turned his back on her and strode down the hall. Gentlemen stepped aside. Ladies covered their mouths when he turned a glance their way. One young housemaid squealed when he nearly knocked her over on his way to the front door.

  “Everyone back to the ballroom.” Lady Claxton hooked her cane around her wrist and clapped loudly, as if every lady and gentleman in attendance was just another servant for her to order as she pleased.

  For the most part, everyone did as she bid them.

  Except that Mina couldn’t seem to make her legs carry her back downstairs, and Gregory still sat slumped against the wall, his unwound cravat balled in his hands.

  “You may depart as soon as you decide to get to your feet, Lyle.”

  When he opened his mouth to protest, Lady Claxton snapped, “Be gone, young man, and be glad I don’t inform your father of your tomfoolery here tonight.”

  Finally, she turned her attention toward Mina.

  “You were not invited, Miss Thorne, but you may join the other Enderley staff downstairs, if your assistance is required.”

  Mina looked at the older woman, but all she could see was Nick’s eyes filled with anger and pain. She needed to speak to him.

  “Actually, Lady Claxton, I’ll be departing too.” She bobbed a curtsy, lifted the edge of her skirt to take one long step over Gregory’s outstretched legs, and rushed for the front door.

  The chilly air stung her cheeks and her eyes watered. Somewhere inside the Claxtons’ kitchen, she’d laid aside a wrap she’d worn. It didn’t matter. Finding Nick did.

  She started down the steps, scanning the line of carriages. Some had been moved toward the Claxton stables, but the Tremayne carriage still stood at the ready, awaiting Nick’s departure. Where would he have gone?

  Boots crunching on gravel, she rushed down the carriage drive, wondering whether he’d decided to walk the several miles back to Enderley. He was entirely stubborn enough to make such a reckless decision.

  Bracing her hands on her hips, she drew in a few drams of cool air and glanced back toward the brightly lit windows of Claxton Hall. She spotted him crossing a terrace along the side of the house, striding quickly toward the open field.

  Mina lifted the front of her skirt a few inches and sprinted toward him, slowing to a quick hobble when her ankle began to twinge. “Slow down,” she called.

  He stopped and swung to face her, but said nothing. They’d reached a patch of grass beyond the house’s glowing windows. His face was all shadows and sharp angles in the moonlight.

  “Will you speak to me? Or do you wish to continue avoiding me?” Her corset was unbearably tight and she struggled to catch her breath.

  “I thought you were avoiding me.”

  “Not avoiding you.” It felt so good to hear his voice, the softer, warmer one he used just with her, that she almost smiled. “I was taking time to think, as you asked me to.”

  “And what have you decided?” He started toward her, a slow but purposeful prowl that made her pulse thrum.

  “You want an answer now? Here? In the cold outside of Lady Claxton’s home?”

  “Take this.” He immediately flicked back the edges of his coat and slipped it from his shoulders. Coming close enough for the buttons of his shirt to brush her bodice, he settled the garment around her. His heat and scent surrounded her. “Warmer?”

  “Yes.” Unbearably so, and not just where his coat covered her. When he was this close, she couldn’t think of the future and practicalities, only that she wanted him closer, to feel his skin against hers, to sink against him and forget everything else.

  But as soon as he’d wrapped the coat around her shoulders, he retreated. He pushed his hands behind his back. She felt his gaze on her and the weight of expectation.

  He wanted her answer.

  She wished desperately that she could simply say yes and trust that the rest would fall into place. But the incident with Gregory only served to heighten the impossible chasm between them. Mina knew what Lady Claxton and her guests thought of her. Perhaps a step above a domestic servant, but nothing more. She couldn’t imagine them ever accepting her as a guest at their soirees. Or addressing her as the Duchess of Tremayne.

  “I saw you dancing,” she told Nick impulsively. “You’re wrong. You’re a fine dancer.”

  “I would have tried harder if you’d been in my arms.”

  He spoke of impossibilities. For that single moment with Lady Lillian, he’d been a part of Barrowmere society. Fitting in seamlessly, doing exactly what everyone expected a duke to do.

  And then Gregory, her mistake, intruded to create a scandal Lady Claxton’s guests would chew over for weeks.

  “Mina, I need an answer.”

  “Can’t you see that I cause you nothing but trouble?” Taking a step so that she could get a view inside a long ballroom window, she watched as ladies in fine gowns and gentlemen in crisp white gloves and black tails danced around the floor in a waltz. If not for her, Nick would still be inside.

  “Do you wish you were in there dancing with the rest of them?” he asked.

  In two strides, he was in front of her, crowding her back against the cold stones of Claxton Hall. He braced a gloved hand on the wall beside her head.

  “Marry me and I’ll take you to every bloody ball in London. We’ll host our own. One a week, if you like. People will grow sick of the Duchess of Tremayne’s balls.”

  He was close, his mouth inches from hers. His broad, warm body sheltered her from the cold.

  “And you think they’ll accept me? A spinster? A commoner?”

  “Dukes can do what they like. My father proved that.”

  When she said nothing more, he hooked a hand behind her neck and tipped her head. “I don’t care what these people think of me. I don’t care about dancing and debutantes. I care about you.”

  His mouth came down hard, his lips demanding. Mina clutched at his arm, wrapped a hand around his back, reveled in the solid strength of him, in the taste of him and the eagerness of his kisses.

  All the rest faded away, and this—his heat, the comfort of him, the need between them—became all that mattered.

  “Consider this a new proposal.” He kissed her again, softly. “Come to London with me. Leave the past behind in Sussex.” Another kiss, longer, lingering. “We’ll make a life that has nothing to do with Enderley or Barrowmere or Lady Claxton and her ilk.”

  Yes. She wanted to make a life with him, and a part of her yearned for a new start. But old habits ran deep. Her thoughts wended thei
r way back to Enderley, as if she hadn’t just inherited her father’s brown hair and eyes, but his worries too.

  “What about Wilder and Emma and Mrs. Scribb? What about the repairs?” She heard herself sounding like his steward, and she wanted to take it all back.

  Especially when his body stilled, his breath stuck in his throat, and he took a step away from her.

  “I’ve offered you everything, Mina.” His voice was quiet, pleading. Then he squared his shoulders, hardened his jaw. “I’m leaving for London tomorrow. I want you to come with me.”

  Mina held on to the edge of his coat and watched him let out a frustrated sigh.

  “I know you care for the estate, and you’ve taught me to at least care about those who live on it. But must it come first?” He cupped her cheek. “Tomorrow, I need your answer.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Nick woke with a start and sat up in bed as if he’d heard some crashing noise or been doused with ice water. The fire in the grate had gone out in the night, and the temperature in the room was bone-chilling, despite the sunlight streaming through the curtains.

  His insides felt cold.

  Mina was gone. He sensed her absence like the quiet after music plays or the darkness of being locked in that bloody tower.

  Much of the night, he’d kept vigil, sitting up in a straight-back chair in the corner of his bedchamber. Willing her to come to him. He wasn’t a praying man, but he’d become so desperate, he’d fooled himself into believing that he heard her footsteps in the hall. That the wind beating the window panes was a faint knock on his door.

  But she hadn’t come. From the moment he’d asked her to marry him, some part of him had known the answer.

  Who could love him? He was a broken man, the proof of it on his face, even for those who never got a glimpse of his twisted soul.

  He stood, ignoring the stiff protest of his muscles, and made his way across the room to yank the bell pull. Moments later the housemaid, Emma, knocked softly at his door before coming through with a tray.

  “Where is she?”

  The girl gasped. He rarely spoke to her when she came to his room.