How to Tempt a Duke

by Madeline Martin

  His upper lip curled back in disgust.

  “Who do you think wrote about their misdeeds? He told me about the journals, about the Coeur de Feu, but I didn’t know about the key.” His face twisted wryly. “He must have written the journals and made the key on his last trip to India, just before he died.”

  Charles didn’t answer. In truth, the names of the members of the Adventure Club were kept anonymous, with the exception of his and Eleanor’s fathers. The other members hadn’t been as wealthy, as famous or as influential, and clearly their names had faded, leaving no connection to the acquired accomplishments.

  “The Duchess and I have recently learned the sordid details of those discoveries,” Charles answered. “But sinking to this level, where you are threatening a woman, will never elevate your standing with anyone. Least of all me.”

  “I want the Coeur de Feu.” Sweat was beginning to bead on Ledsey’s brow.

  “You can have it.”

  Charles reached into his jacket to claim the key without thought. Damn the journal, damn the key, and damn his promise to his father. Eleanor. She was all that mattered. His wife. The woman he loved.

  “No!” Eleanor said sharply. She kicked her foot out at Ledsey, catching him in the shin. The blow sufficed to knock him back half a step.

  Ledsey grunted in pain and again pointed the gun down at Eleanor. “It would appear I need to ensure I’m taken more seriously.”

  His arm tensed and the gun went off.

  * * *

  An extreme pressure slammed into Eleanor’s arm and she was vaguely aware of a salty taste in her mouth. An acrid odor hung in the air, stinging her eyes. Her ears rang with the explosion and Charles’s voice bellowed in the distance—outraged, horrified, undecipherable.

  She pushed up and nearly fell to her right. Her arm seemed somehow inoperable. The room swirled around her. She looked down to where an ache blazed with insistent pain. Blood bloomed like a violent flower over the pale pink of her sleeve and spattered the rest of her gown.

  Blood?

  Her mind reeled with confusion at the dark, bloody hole in her upper arm.

  When did that happen?

  Her heartbeat throbbed too fast. Her breath was too shallow. Her lips tingled.

  Charles lunged forward, moving as if very slowly, but before he could reach her, a heavy object landed by her feet. A pistol, with a stream of smoke still curling up from its barrel.

  And yet hard metal jabbed into Eleanor’s temple, shoving her head savagely to the right.

  “If you come any closer I’ll shoot her in the head this time.”

  Hugh’s voice.

  Suddenly it all rushed back to her and dislodged the addled freeze of her brain. Hugh was holding her hostage, demanding the journals and key, claiming them to be his father’s. And he’d shot her.

  He’d shot her.

  Her mouth was dry. She tried to swallow and found her throat stuck against itself rather than finding relief.

  Blood soaked through her dress, intensely opaque and red against the gentle pink. The agony of it rushed through her arm, blazing.

  Charles stared at her, his eyes wide, his face completely white as if he’d been shot as well.

  “Good thing I loaded a second gun,” Hugh said in a mocking tone.

  Pain mingled with the metallic taste of fear and left her stomach whirling with nausea. The barrel of the pistol dug into her scalp, forcing her to crane her neck. Emotion clogged her throat, but she kept herself from crying out.

  “Give me the journals and the key,” Hugh demanded.

  “Don’t hurt her.” There was pleading in the strength of Charles’s voice. “I swear to God if you hurt her, I will kill you.”

  “The journals and the key,” Hugh repeated.

  Charles set the key on the ground and withdrew the journals from the trunk he’d had in Scotland.

  A ball of frustration welled in the back of Eleanor’s throat. She knew what those journals meant to Charles. He was sacrificing them, sacrificing the fulfillment of his father’s wish—everything—for her.

  The dam in her heart holding back her emotion broke then, and overwhelmed her with the very truth she’d been trying to ignore for far too long.

  No matter how desperately she tried to deny it, or to shield herself from the truth, she loved Charles. She loved him with every nook and cranny of her heart.

  Charles shoved the stack of books toward Hugh. “Let her go.”

  Hugh didn’t reach for the journals. Instead he pushed the pistol barrel harder into her head.

  A cry rasped from Eleanor’s throat despite her attempt to maintain her composure.

  “Do you truly think I’d let you both live after this?”

  Hugh’s feet were so close to Eleanor they pressed against her thigh where she sat in a daze on the floor. Panic raced through her. They couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this.

  She put the hand of her good arm to her brow, as if mopping the layer of sweat there, then drove her elbow down with all the strength she could muster.

  It connected sharply with the side of Hugh’s knee, exactly where she’d intended to strike. Her aim had been true and Hugh’s legs folded against themselves as he fell to the ground with a shout.

  Charles did not hesitate. He ran at Hugh and kicked him square in the face. The sound was hollow and wet, like a melon breaking against a hard surface. Then Charles bent and retrieved the gun before dropping to Eleanor’s side.

  He gathered her in his arms and the pulse of pain splintered into mindless agony. The world swam in a wavering light in front of her, threatening to pull her under.

  “Eleanor...” There was alarm in his voice, a quivering pitch she’d thought never to hear from a man as brave and strong as Charles.

  She was of a mind to answer him, to tell him she was fine and cry out at what he’d sacrificed to save her. And she wanted to tell him that she loved him, more than life itself.

  But her voice did not correspond with her mouth any longer. An intense fatigue washed over her and left her with a thick and lazy sensation.

  “Eleanor.” Charles caught her face in his palms and stared down at her with wild eyes. “Please. I love you.”

  I love you.

  The words floated above her pain and smoothed over her heart like a balm.

  “Don’t leave me.” Charles stroked her face, his eyes red-rimmed.

  Tears leaked from her eyes at his admission, and her heart gave a weak flutter. The room began to fade.

  “Please,” he begged. “Focus.”

  Yes, focus.

  She squinted her eyes at him and did exactly as he bade. Her thoughts centered on watching him, on resisting the urge to succumb to the sweet lure of oblivion, on wanting him to say he loved her again and again and again.

  A shadow rose over them and Charles’s head snapped to the side. He collapsed to the ground the way a marionette might do if its cords had been cut. Eleanor fell to the ground too, and pain shone bright anew.

  Helpless, she could only watch as Hugh bent over Charles and grabbed the gun. Charles did not stir. The darkness pressed around Eleanor. She tried to blink it away. She had to do something. She had to help.

  There came a loud crack at the opposite side of the room. Still Charles did not move.

  “Halt!” The voice was authoritative, coming from where Eleanor could not see. “Put the gun down, my lord, or we will have no option but to use force.”

  In answer, Hugh raised the gun, pointing it at Charles’s face.

  The fog of exhaustion dissipated for a brief moment.

  No. Not Charles.

  Eleanor struggled to stand, drawing from a waning well of strength. Black dots swam in her vision and her body went limp. She fell to the ground, only vaguely aware of the agony in her arm when the hurt i
n her heart was so great. Too weak to even save Charles.

  The pounding of footsteps thundered for only a scant second before the popping of gunfire filled Eleanor’s ears and she could no longer fight the pull of darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Charles’s head throbbed with pain and his ears shrilled with a high-pitched whine.

  A sharp scent hung in the air—thick and unpleasant and redolent of gunfire. He tried to turn his face from the odor, but his scalp screamed in protest. He blinked his eyes open and found Ledsey lying on the ground beside him, holding something wet with blood, his face twisted in agony.

  Footsteps and shouts came from nearby, distorted as if Charles were listening underwater. Men appeared around and over him. One in particular pointed next to Charles’s head.

  “You’ve got the angels on your side, Your Grace,” the man said. “That bullet was meant for your head.”

  Despite the pain of doing so, Charles turned his head and found a scorched hole in the carpet, directly in front of his face.

  “Come along, my lord.”

  Another voice spoke this time, followed by an anguished scream from Ledsey.

  Charles looked up in time to see Hugh being led from the room, with a mangled hand clutched against his chest. Only when he was gone did Charles see Eleanor, lying on the ground.

  The whole world faded away, leaving only the horrific sight of his wife in a pool of blood.

  A man appeared in front of him, reaching down to help him to his feet. Charles leapt up on his own and ignored the way the world tilted. He had to make his way to Eleanor, to confirm she was not...

  He couldn’t even think the word. Not when it made his insides blaze with incomprehensible loss.

  Eleanor, his beautiful wife, with all her boldness of character, so passionate and vivid in his life and in his heart. He couldn’t lose her.

  He staggered to her and dropped to the floor at her side.

  She lay unmoving, her face pale.

  “Eleanor?” Her name caught in the tightness of his throat.

  She wouldn’t answer him—he knew that in his soul. The massive puddle of blood welling under her told him all he needed to know, all he hated to acknowledge: she had lost far too much blood. Surely one couldn’t lose so much blood and...?

  But she couldn’t be...

  Surely she wasn’t truly...?

  He couldn’t even think properly.

  It wasn’t possible. Not when they had just started their lives together. Not when he loved her.

  The well of agony burst in his chest and became so damn unbearable his vision blurred.

  “Eleanor...” he said again, unable to stop himself.

  Only this time when she did not answer he felt a visceral crack as his heart broke.

  A man bent over her and attempted to gather her in his arms.

  “Stop.” Charles glared at the man. “I will have your skin if you touch her again.”

  The man gave an efficient nod. “Forgive me, Your Grace. But I’m an officer, aye? You must understand we need to make her comfortable. The physician was summoned when we were called and he needs to see to her.”

  Charles stared at him dumbly. “I...” He cleared the knot from his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your Grace, please.”

  “You mean, she’s...?”

  The man nodded. “Alive. Please, Your Grace.”

  Charles backed away quickly and nodded, nearly choking on his relief. He would do anything in his power to ensure Eleanor lived. Anything.

  The man lifted her easily, minding to hold her arm over her chest, so it did not dangle and cause further injury. Charles tried to get to his feet once more and stumbled, his legs too weak to support him. But he had to follow Eleanor. He had to make sure she would truly be all right.

  Eleanor—his Eleanor. His love.

  Thomas appeared at Charles’s side. “Let me help you, Your Grace.” He clasped Charles at his elbow and pulled an arm over his shoulder.

  Charles managed to stand upright, albeit a bit wobbly. The world swirled in a dizzy rush around him, but Thomas’s hold did not relax and he managed to keep him solidly in place.

  “Give it a moment, Your Grace. You took quite a knock to your head.”

  “Eleanor—” Charles gritted out.

  “The physician is seeing to her.” Thomas guided Charles to a chair beside the fire.

  Charles pushed against his valet’s hold, forcing them both to move back to the secret door connecting the rooms. “I must go to her.”

  Thomas shifted direction once more. “After you sit for a moment. Please, Your Grace.”

  The room swirled and Charles’s knees buckled, nearly sending him to the floor. “Very well, but for a moment only.”

  He sank into the chair and sat until the room ceased its spinning and his breath was sufficiently restored. Until he could take the waiting no longer.

  Charles pushed to his feet and walked on his own across the room, with Thomas hovering like an anxious hen at his side.

  Amelia appeared in the doorway, her face drawn. She twisted a hand in her skirts. “You can’t come in, Your Grace. The physician is with her. Thank Heavens the servants summoned him at the same time they went for the Watch when I told them. Or else...” Her eyes welled with tears.

  “By God, I will see my wife.” It took all he had in him not to roar at poor Amelia, who already appeared quite ready to drop.

  She chewed on her lower lip.

  “I want only to be with my wife.” Charles spoke with a gentleness the urgency raking through him did not warrant. By God, he wanted to see Eleanor, and no man or woman would stop him. “Please. I love her.”

  Amelia’s face softened and she put her hands over her chest. “I’m sure the physician would not complain if you remain quietly to the side.”

  She stepped back and allowed Charles to enter the room. The door clicked closed behind him, shut by either Amelia or Thomas, and Charles was left in the silent room, where a physician bent over the bed against the opposite wall.

  “I assumed I’d be seeing you.” The older man’s voice grated out.

  Charles approached the bed where Eleanor lay, unmoving and pale. His heart sank lower than it had ever fallen.

  He had expected...what? That she would be awake? Speaking?

  “The bullet passed straight through.” The physician spoke as he wound cloth carefully around Eleanor’s arm, where the fabric of her sleeve had been cut away. “We are fortunate for that.”

  “And she will recover?” Charles’s throat was so tight he could barely force the words out.

  The aging man looked at him from behind wire-rimmed spectacles. “Her Grace will need rest, but she will recover. I recommend broth to strengthen her and laudanum for the pain.” He indicated a clear bottle on the bedside table. “The healing will be more uncomfortable than a lady can bear.”

  “I think you underestimate my wife,” Charles said.

  After all, Eleanor was no ordinary lady. In the face of danger she’d first kicked Ledsey, in an attempt to keep the journals from him, and then had knocked him to the ground when he’d rounded on Charles to shoot him.

  Had she not been given to such bravery Charles might very well be dead. Certainly the officers would have been seconds too late to see him saved. No, Eleanor was not an ordinary woman at all.

  Her eyes blinked open and met his. The corners of her lips drew up in a soft smile and his heart soared with relief.

  The concern on the doctor’s face faded and his wrinkles pulled back in an affable expression. “I think she will recover quite nicely, Your Grace.”

  With that, he gave a bow and left the room, leaving Eleanor and Charles alone.

  “Charles...” She opened her eyes fully and pushed against the bedcovers, as
if trying to sit further upright.

  “Please stay where you are.” He rushed to her side and stopped short.

  Her skin almost perfectly matched the white sheets of the bed, but the sharp brilliance in her eyes remained. Even tired and battered, she was the loveliest sight he’d ever seen.

  An ache returned in the back of Charles’s throat. “Eleanor.”

  Her gaze went glossy. “Charles. I thought he’d killed you.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I thought I’d lost you.”

  “I thought I’d lost you, too, Eleanor.” He knelt at her bedside and took the hand of her uninjured arm. “My God, woman, I love you.”

  She drew in a sharp breath and squeezed his hand.

  “I do.” He kissed her knuckles. “For your bravery and your warmth and your incredible passion.”

  “I love you, too,” she whispered. “I thought I’d lost you, that I’d never see you again or have you in my life.”

  “You have me.” Charles eased up onto the bed. “It is why I’ve made the decision I have.”

  He took a deep breath and said the words he knew had to be said. For the sake of keeping her, of loving her.

  “I will not be going after the Coeur de Feu. Never again will I do anything that means I might lose you.”

  * * *

  Eleanor jerked as though she’d been struck. For surely she had. After everything Charles had done to get the journals—everything he’d sacrificed in the pursuit of his father’s dying wish—no, he could not give it up. Not for her.

  “Charles, no.”

  He shook his head, his face lined with concern. “I cannot risk losing you again. I do not want to be separated from you for months, sometimes years at a time, any more than I want to abandon you the way our fathers did us.”

  “Perhaps there is a way you can fulfill your promise and have me at your side.” She smiled coyly up at him.

  His brow furrowed and then smoothed as understanding dawned on him. “Surely you don’t mean—”