Last Duke Standing

by Cheryl Bolen

Then she remembered being held in his arms, and she felt as if every cell in her body tingled.

  He strode to her mother and quite correctly kissed the air just above her proffered hand. “You’re looking lovely today, my lady.”

  Lady Hartworth glowed.

  Then he turned and in the most proper manner mock kissed Georgiana’s hand. “Another lovely member of the Fenton family,” he said before turning to Lord Hickington. He merely nodded and said, “Good day, Hickington. I see you’ve paid a call on Lady Georgiana after all.”

  “Yes, your grace. I felt it my duty, given that we are friends of long standing.”

  “Well, I bid you good day. Lady Georgiana and I have much work to do with my brother’s papers.”

  Chapter 10

  Alex had stiffened when he walked into that drawing room and saw the smug Lord Hickington sitting there paying court to Georgiana. (Since the overwhelming passion of their kiss, Alex would never again be able to think of her as Lady Georgiana.) At White’s the night the men had met, Alex had told Hickington she wasn’t seeing callers. Yet she had consented to receive the intrusive fellow—much to Alex’s consternation.

  Alex had, therefore, been most happy to snub the damned Hickington.

  When he and Georgiana entered the library, she closed the door. “I need to speak to you about what happened last night.”

  He smiled. “I enjoyed kissing you very much, Georgiana.”

  Her face clouded. “You are not to call me Georgiana, and you are never to repeat such an action as you—no, as we—participated in last night. It’s not right. Your brother has just been buried.”

  “I meant no disrespect to you or to the memory of my brother.” He’d vow she had never kissed Freddie as she’d kissed him. Was that why she was consumed with such guilt? “I suppose you’re going to make me wait for a suitable mourning period before repeating it.”

  She put hands to her hips. “You’re not to ever repeat it! It’s not right.”

  He shook his head solemnly. “You’re wrong about that, Georgiana. Nothing’s ever felt so right, and you know it very well. You just don’t want to acknowledge that you desire me far more than you ever desired the man to whom you were betrothed.”

  “That’s not true!”

  He moved to her, looked down into her fiery eyes, and spoke huskily. “You’re lying.” He went to encircle her in his arms, but she slithered away from his grasp.

  “I shan’t welcome you to Hartworth House any more if you’re going to continue to try to seduce me.”

  “But think, my dear Georgiana, how dreary your life would be without me to ruffle your practiced composure.”

  “You’re to address me as Lady Georgiana.”

  He did not respond.

  “I will own,” she said, almost with capitulation, “I do enjoy having someone with whom to share Freddie’s papers—and to discuss unveiling his murderer.”

  He threw up his arms. “I am here for you to command.”

  She seemed to relax. “Did you go to White’s last night?”

  “I did. And I had the opportunity to speak to Sir Arthur.”

  Her brows lifted. “I do most consumingly want to know what you learned from him.”

  “We were right. He’s completely besotted over Sophia Langston.”

  She gleamed.

  “But I don’t think he’s capable of murdering Freddie in a fit of jealousy. You see, he seemed genuinely grateful to my brother for tossing him his discarded mistress. And I think he felt honored to be among Freddie’s small circle of friends.”

  She bristled. “Why did you say friends as you said it? Are you inferring that Freddie didn’t have any friends?”

  “Even Sir Arthur knew my brother well enough to know how difficult it was to be a close friend to Freddie. Surely, you realized that about him. I thought you two exchanged thousands of letters.”

  “Hundreds.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “I never thought about it before. Freddie seemed only interested in being married and in starting a family. I never thought to question how odd it was that so privileged a young man did not partake of the dissolute practices other young men did—other than retaining a mistress he saw only occasionally.”

  He nodded. “Last night I told a falsehood—one in addition to the one that Freddie died in his sleep.”

  She gave him a quizzing look.

  “I haven’t lied since my earliest years at Eton.”

  “A big lie?”

  “No, a very small one. To keep from showing my hand about Freddie’s murder, I said I was asking the personal questions to determine who were my brother’s closest friends because Freddie had a small bequest that each of his closest friends would receive a bottle of his special brandy.”

  “I would say that was definitely a very white lie. In fact, since it would never harm anyone in any way, I wouldn’t even call it a lie.”

  “Ah, a pragmatic woman. What a rarity.”

  “And I do suppose everyone who knew Freddie also knew how much he valued his brandy.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why do you say you don’t think Sir Arthur could have killed Freddie?”

  He came to sit across from her. “When I told him about the brandy, he said that even though it would be excellent brandy—likely the best he would ever own—he didn’t think he’d be able to drink it. He would want to save it in memory of Freddie.”

  Her eyes misted. Good Lord, had she really been in love with Freddie? A woman in mourning, though, did not dress as she had today. Had she dressed so fetchingly for him? He put a gentle hand on her forearm. “Enough maudlin talk. Let’s read more of the correspondence from members of the shooting party.”

  The long writing desk remained as it had been the previous night. He waited for her to sit, then took a seat opposite her. “You didn’t read any more after I left?” he asked. Had the kiss affected her so profoundly that she’d been unable to continue going over the correspondence?

  She drew a breath. “I had other things to do.”

  She was lying.

  Before he started reading, he said, “I’m thinking of making myself known to Sophia Langston.”

  She set down the letter she was about to read. “For what purpose?”

  He shrugged. “I want to know if she was angry when Freddie dismissed her.”

  Georgiana’s gaze trailed over him. “As much as you resemble your brother—except you’re more muscular—she could easily transfer her affections to you. Is that what you want?”

  “I have no intentions of taking an actress for my mistress.”

  “But Freddie gave me to believe that you have a long history of dalliances with actresses.”

  “I refuse to discuss any past dalliances with you, but I do deny having ever taken any actress under my protection.”

  Her obsidian eyes flashed with mirth. “And I am aware that you do not tell falsehoods.”

  Unlike her. The obstinate woman refused to be truthful about her own feelings. And lack of feelings. “My reverence for truth is no laughing matter, Georgiana.”

  “Don’t call me that!”

  He would not accommodate her demand. “You cannot order me.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m a duke.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “And quite an arrogant one.”

  He shrugged.

  “So now you’re going to try to charm Mrs. Langston?”

  “Heavens no! I merely wish to gauge if she were angry with my brother—angry enough to want to kill him.”

  Georgiana leveled a stern gaze at him. “Have you forgotten the house was locked that night?”

  “Have you forgotten that Mrs. Langston wasn’t there?”

  “It’s not removed from the realm of possibility that she paid a servant to do the evil deed.”

  God, he hoped it wasn’t their longtime coachman. The poor man might have had good reason to wish Freddie dead. “I think you should wait until we exonerate all oth
er suspects.”

  He couldn’t help but wonder if she wanted to keep him from seeing the actress. He eyed her with a mischievous gleam. “Could you possibly be jealous?”

  She glared at him. “You’re unspeakably arrogant.”

  He shrugged. “By the way, Sinjin—er, Lord Slade’s wife has invited you to their Tuesday morning meetings.”

  “As did Lady Warwick, but are they not Whig gatherings?”

  “The ladies are uncommonly interested in matters of government. The wives of my two best friends, both Lady Slade and Lady Wycliff, have been meeting long before they married men who just happen to hold the same views they do.”

  Her brows lowered. “Then they are Whigs?” She said it much as one would say, “There’s a viper in my soup.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know very well the members of my family have always been Tories.”

  “So were mine, but I’ve been enlightened—as has my sister Margaret. I should have thought an independent, intelligent woman such as you would not be blinded by opinions of long-dead ancestors.”

  Her pretty head tilted to one side. “So you do find me intelligent?”

  “For a woman.” He couldn’t resist revisiting the banter they’d initiated during their coach journey.

  She picked up a quill from the desk and hurled it at him. Its recently sharpened tip slashed across his face.

  Her eyes rounded, her face blanched. She shrieked and leapt from her chair.

  He didn’t not know the quill had drawn blood until he felt it trickling down his cheek.

  “Oh, your grace! I’m so wretchedly sorry. I didn’t mean to injure you.” She whirled around the table to him and lifted her skirt to blot the blood from his face.

  “Don’t ruin your dress!”

  She continued pressing the snowy white linen to his scratch with a gentleness that was at odds with her little fit of anger. “My maid’s terribly clever about removing stains.” She was not in the least self-conscious that she was presenting to him the ivory shift beneath her dress.

  He averted his gaze.

  “Does it hurt?”

  He tossed his head back and chuckled. “I’ve experienced significantly worse.”

  She sighed. “I think the bleeding’s stopped, but I fear you’re going to be displaying a rather nasty gash for a while.” She stood back. Their eyes met. “Are you sure it doesn’t hurt?”

  “I didn’t say it doesn’t hurt,” he said with a grin. “It stings like the devil.”

  “I feel beastly. Can you ever forgive me?”

  His gaze went to her stained dress. “You’ve more than earned forgiveness by sacrificing your lovely dress. And you looked so beautiful today.”

  Their gazes met and held. Neither spoke.

  Then the door was eased open and Lady Hartworth came limping into the chamber.

  Alex stood and came to her, proffering his arm. “Should your ladyship like to sit upon the sofa?”

  “I would actually prefer a chair if you would be so kind as to pull up another chair where you two are sitting.”

  “Mama, we are dealing with the late duke’s private correspondence. I’m not comfortable sharing it with others, even you.”

  “But, my darling, I took the liberty of reading some of it this morning before you came down. After all, it was just sitting there in the dinner room for anyone to read.”

  “You are not to do that again!”

  Alex dragged a chair to the table and helped her sit.

  “It really was shabby the way you and the duke left me alone with Lord Hickson when it was obvious the poor man is pining away for you.”

  “Hickington,” Georgiana said.

  “I feel no guilt,” Alex said. “I told the man just two nights earlier that Lady Georgiana was not receiving callers.”

  “He did presume a stronger attachment than ever was merited,” Georgiana said. “I don’t believe I’d spoken a word to him in the past two years.”

  “Well, there you have it,” Lady Hartworth said. “I wish these tiresome young men would not call.”

  “I shall endeavor to spread the word that Lady Georgiana is not receiving callers.”

  Lady Hartworth’s gaze leapt to her daughter’s dress. “What’s happened to your dress?” Her brows lowered. “Have you been hurt?” There was panic in her voice.

  Georgiana shook her head. “No. I unintentionally injured his grace with my quill, and my dress was all I had to staunch the flow of blood.”

  It was then that the dowager peered at his face. “How dreadful! Does it hurt very much?” Before he could answer, she continued. “I do hope that handsome face won’t be scarred.”

  “’Tis merely a scratch,” he said.

  “Mama, I am persuaded that his grace dislikes your praise as much as I dislike it when you praise me. Men are not comfortable being told they’re handsome.”

  He turned and smiled at the dowager. “Your ladyship could never do anything that would displease me.”

  “Thank you, your grace.” Lady Hartworth’s attention returned to Georgiana. “I do believe the new Duke of Fordham is much the worthier suitor than his brother.”

  “The new Duke of Fordham is not my suitor!”

  Alex turned to the older lady. “Your daughter doesn’t think it proper to transfer her affections to the late duke’s brother.” He rather enjoyed embarrassing Georgiana.

  “It wasn’t as if she were actually married to the late duke.” Lady Hartworth said. “And . . . she doesn’t even have the stigma that’s attached to one who breaks a betrothal. The betrothal was broken in the most honorable fashion.”

  Her eyes flashing with anger, Georgiana’s gaze flicked from her mother to him. “Both of you are incorrigible!”

  “But, darling, you’re not even marrying warning for the poor, dead duke.”

  “Wearing mourning,” Georgiana corrected.

  Lady Hartworth once again mock slapped her own face. “I said marrying warning, did I not?”

  “You did,” Georgiana said.

  “I know exactly what I meant to say. It just doesn’t come out the right way.”

  “It’s all right, Mama,” Georgiana said in a tender voice. “We knew what you meant. It may take some time before you’re back to where you were before your affliction.”

  Georgiana’s disagreements with her mother in no way reflected the inherent tenderness in their close relationship. This was a side to her he admired vastly.

  A pity she was so heartless in her associations with men: with Freddie, with him, even with Lord Hickington.

  “I hate that you’ve gone and ruined your appearance,” Lady Hartworth said to her daughter. “I beg that you run along and put on another dress. One without blood. And I do hope Angelique can get that stain out. You’re so lovely in that dress.”

  “If your maid is unsuccessful with the blood stains,” he said, “I would be honored if you’d allow me to order you another dress.” He rather fancied selecting exactly what he’d like to see her wear, though it would be difficult to look prettier than she had looked today. Of course, she would never let him.

  “I am sure that won’t be necessary.” Georgiana left the chamber.

  He turned to the mother. “Alas, I must take my leave, but I beg that you allow me to walk you to where you’re going.”

  She rose and settled a hand upon his proffered arm.

  Chapter 11

  Sinjin and Wycliff were just driving up to his house in Berkley Square when Alex arrived home. They disembarked from Wycliff’s coach as Alex dismounted.

  “We’ve come to collect you,” Wycliff said.

  Alex’s gaze whisked over the two. They were dressed far more formally than he. “What for?” He handed off his horse to a footman, who walked it around to the mews.

  “Since you’re now officially in the House of Lords, we wanted to accompany you to your first session this first afternoon.”

  Sinjin smiled. “After all these years,
the three of us will be as one again, just like at Eton.”

  Alex smiled to himself. If one of them got into a schoolboy fight, the opponent had been shunned by the other two. If one joined the chess club, the other two followed. We three will be as one, they often said. And nothing in the ensuing years ever diminished the allegiance they held for one another.

  “It’s rather important that you join us because the discussion of increasing the money for Wellington’s army will be taken up,” Wycliff added.

  A proposal Freddie had been wholly against. Alex knew how vital it was that the British defeat Napoleon. No matter how much money it cost to beef up the armies and the Royal Navy, it was money well spent. Otherwise, their country would end up under French domination. And all Englishmen would be speaking French.

  The men began to mount the steps to the front door of Fordham House. He still could not believe he was master of the finest house on Berkley Square. From beneath the fanlight window, the wide shiny black door eased open, courtesy of another footman, and the three of them entered. An elegant stairway curved down to the checkerboard marble floor they crossed to reach the library. “I’m not sure I ought to go with you,” Alex said.

  “Why not?” Sinjin asked.

  “Because I’ve only just inherited. Would it not be unseemly if I gleefully took my brother’s place in the House of Lords less than two weeks after his death—promulgating everything he opposed?”

  Sinjin harrumphed. “It’s not as if your brother ever took his seat. Except for giving lip service to the damned Tories, he was almost apolitical.”

  “Even though that’s true, I shouldn’t like to give the impression I’m racing along with political ambitions so soon after Freddie’s tragic death.”

  “Those who know you and your recently hard-fought campaign for the House of Commons would think it unseemly if you suddenly lost interest in those matters over which you were so passionate just weeks ago,” Wycliff said.

  “There is that,” Alex said with a shrug.

  “And were you not prepared to deliver your maiden address in the House of Commons on just this matter we’re to discuss tonight?” Sinjin asked.

  “I was to have delivered it last Monday,” Alex said solemnly.