My Darling Duke

by Stacy Reid

  And inexplicably, Alexander knew that before the season was over, he would find out.

  Chapter Four

  Several days later, Alexander sat beside a table outside in the eastern gardens with his sister; his godmother Countess Darling, a dear friend of his mother; and one of his most trusted friends, George Hampstead, the Marquess of Argyle. Lady Darling and George had arrived unexpectedly, and Alexander suspected it was the news of his mysterious lady that had compelled them to his castle.

  They had been obliged to seek him out in the gardens, for he had refused to attend them in the drawing room. Here in the gardens was where he stayed when that hunger for something more—a wife, children, impossible dreams and hopes—clawed inside. Whenever he inhaled the scent of spring—roses and jasmine—into his lungs, basking in the cries of the meadowlark, and felt the heat of the sun on his face, the memories of sitting atop his father’s shoulders and the soft laugh from his mother were most vivid.

  “Alexander, my dear, the news circulating about town has forced me to travel up to this dreadfully cold place you call home. Tell me, is it true you are engaged to Miss Kitty Danvers? I could not credit the news when I heard it, nor the outlandish story of your courtship.”

  “It seems we met a few months ago when her carriage lost a wheel traveling to this godforsaken part of the kingdom. It was love at first sight,” he murmured. “We spent hours discussing the arts and poetry.”

  Lady Darling gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat, the blue turban on her head bobbing. “Oh, Alexander, how wonderful! I positively had to come when I heard the news, and you know how I loathe traveling.”

  He had some notion. His godmother had always complained of her dreadful journey whenever she visited and how she dreaded being accosted by highwaymen. With some amusement, he noted that had not prevented her from dressing in the height of fashion in a high-waist empire gown with a string of pearls and earbobs, effortlessly displaying her wealth.

  “I’m so very pleased for you, but why aren’t you in London?” she asked tentatively, dark blue eyes that reminded him so of his mother’s softening with concern. “I had no idea you had expectations ever to marry.”

  His expectations of marrying and starting a family had been real and attainable ten years ago, but his godmother undoubtedly wondered who would marry a scarred cripple now. “Perhaps my title and wealth are the appeal,” he said mildly and without any true sting.

  She flushed. “I did not mean to imply—”

  “Think nothing of it,” he said with a small smile.

  Her eyes flashed to the scarred skin on his cheek and traced his blemishes to where they continued below his neck cloth, then dipped to his wheeled chair. The countess looked away, visibly composing herself, before settling her regard on him once more.

  “I do pray she will not cry off.” There was a hope in her eyes that was painful to see.

  Of course, everyone could recall that he had once been engaged to the diamond of the season, the Earl of Danford’s exquisite daughter. She had fainted the first time she saw him after the accident. When he had given her the doctors’ report that he would never walk again, nor would he function as a man, she had wept piteously.

  Her overwrought tears had left him feeling hollow, for he had sensed it was the loss of being a duchess that had pierced her. It would be easy to cast blame on Lady Daphne for running from his estate and never looking back, but he hadn’t had the heart to do so…

  Or perhaps he hadn’t loved her as much as he had thought.

  Alexander had acknowledged it would take a rare soul to accept his limitations, and he would be a damned fool even to try to find such a woman.

  The memories twisted through him, dark and ugly, a persistent specter he had never tried to close the door on. One did not flee from memories but faced them with resolute tenacity. He had come too far to flinch away from his thoughts, for that was where he resided most, in the deep labyrinth of his mind.

  Flames licked along his mind, burning away the good memories like ashes in the wind. His stomach twisted into tight knots, but he did not shy away from them, as that suppression would lead only to haunting nightmares. He’d learned that in the first few years while he had battled for sanity and survival. He let the waking dream come, baring his teeth in a mocking grin.

  As it were, he often woke up drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, pain twisting his gut into knots. Those early days and the present memory of losing his parents in the fire had been endless, a sea of torment, his brain often reminding him of it while he slumbered.

  In this very house, a fire had raged in the east wing, claiming the lives of his parents, several staff members, and his youth. The one good that had come from it all was that he had saved his sister, Penny, who had been only seven years old at the time.

  The slithering memory, the horror of the smoke stealing his breath, the rancid smell of his own flesh sizzling, the burning of his skin, the smoke in his eyes and throat as he searched for a way to escape the inferno with Penny were always with him. To save their lives, he had leaped through the windows of his bedchamber with her tucked as securely as possible in his arms.

  It had been a miracle, the doctors said, that his sister had escaped unscathed. And as if mocked by the heavens, the sky had opened with lightning and thunder and a great deluge. If only it had fallen even ten minutes earlier.

  It seemed God had a twisted sense of humor—one Alexander hadn’t appreciated.

  “Yes…why aren’t you making the social whirl with your fiancée?” George asked, his eyes watchful and curious. “I had to leave the delightful charms of a most accomplished actress—”

  His lips flattened when Alexander lifted his chin toward his sister, who was busily cutting roses to place in the vase on their table. George at times forgot to mind his tongue when he spoke of his conquests.

  The butler brought Alexander a pressed scandal sheet and departed.

  Penny laughed as she placed the freshly cut flowers in the vase. “I fear Alexander is of a mind to occupy himself with newspaper clippings of his daring fiancée. He’s not yet realized he’d found a new treasure for his horde,” she said with far too much wisdom. “I’m quite eager for when the dragon in him will roar and hunt for this peculiar treasure.”

  George shot her a puzzled frown, and she had the gall to wink. With a frown, Alexander realized it was truly time to send Penny to London for her polish. She was becoming too impertinent in her thoughts and manners and lacked that refinement of ladies of the ton.

  Yet…he loved her as she was and would never want to see her different.

  “I thought it odd you would engage yourself to a woman with little connections or fortune. Her father, Viscount Marlow, left them with little money, and his heir does not support them. Miss Danvers’s family is beneath your notice,” George muttered. “I cannot credit it is her you would choose to be your duchess.”

  Alexander smiled. Who gave a damn? He was interested.

  How long had it been since he had thought of or desired the company of a woman? Years.

  The marquess sighed and crossed his legs, seemingly admiring the new boots that encased his calves. “I will give it to her— she is nothing if not inventive and original. I hear tell you indulge her shamelessly.” The marquess grabbed the newssheet, a frown puckering his brow as he read the latest on-dits on Miss Danvers. “The hell you say! I cannot credit the romantic nonsense she claims you do. You write poetry? Sing ballads to her? Come, man!”

  Pretty little liar.

  Alexander reached for the newssheet, snapped the paper twice, and lowered his attention to the article. The sheer outrageousness of it awakened his curiosity to an astonishing degree. A perverse enchantment with her gall scythed through him. Unable to temper the need, he kept reading, baffled at the romantic compliments she attributed to him.

  His godmother mad
e another stab at eliciting a reaction. “Please tell me, is it true, Alexander? Are you really to be married to this creature?”

  He did not want to lie to his godmother but found that he did not want to reveal how clever and deceptive Miss Danvers truly was. “There is a slight misunderstanding between Miss Danvers and me. When it has been cleared up, I will inform you all of the state of our relationship.”

  He chuckled at Georgie’s expression of disbelief.

  The man straightened in his chair. “Good God, man, what does that mean? Are you to go to town?”

  Alexander had not ventured into the ton for years, not since the last time he had attended the House of Lords over six years past. The ugly memory of his legs giving out while he stood debating the Bank of England’s planned return to the gold standard rushed through him. He almost flinched from it, but he allowed himself to absorb the remembered whispers from his peers who had filled parliament.

  Dear God, his scars are hideous.

  He is a cripple…

  Not the duke he could be…

  He had retreated to the country without any attempt to partake in the frivolities of the season. The newspapers had already had a field day with his loss of dignity on the floor of parliament, and he hadn’t cared for the fainting of young ladies or the ton’s endless speculation.

  He had worked to strengthen his legs, slowly moving from being able to be out of his bath chair for more than a few minutes until he could stand unassisted for hours. There hadn’t been anything pulling him to the heart of London, for he had good friends to read his arguments and to ensure his will directed the lords in parliament when he wanted a vital bill passed.

  But now…Alexander’s growing interest in meeting his little schemer was undeterred by reason or common sense. What he would do with the fair intriguer when he saw her was another question altogether.

  …

  Pride burst in Kitty’s heart at the radiance of her sister. Anna’s smile seemed to be lit from within as she dipped into an elegant curtsy and stepped into the arms of Baron Lynton. Her emerald ball gown and silver dancing slippers glowed iridescently under the candlelight of the crystal chandeliers in the glittering ballroom. The baron twirled her sister with effortless grace, and to Kitty, they appeared the most charming couple. This was the second time they had danced this evening, and his marked attention to her sister was rather pleasing.

  Kitty had ensured Anna attended most of the balls she’d been invited to over the course of the last three weeks, and the first night the gentlemen had crowded around her sister, begging for dances. The plan was working. The only disadvantage was the rakes and dandies seemed to now believe Kitty herself was a conquest.

  At first, the attention had flummoxed her; then she’d been amused at their fickleness. She had drawn on a mask of amused indifference, refusing all offers of dancing and riding in the park. Kitty still grappled with the fact she had her own personal carriage pulled by a team of matching bays. It seemed Mr. Pryce had thought of everything, and the little notepad she used to keep track of the sum she would need to secretly pay back the duke held an astronomical figure.

  “Annabelle and Baron Lynton are delightful together,” murmured Miss Fanny Morton, another dear friend of Kitty’s and a member of their wallflowers club.

  Fanny wasn’t celebrated as a beauty, but there was nothing in the least objectionable in her fair countenance. She had short dark red hair cut in the height of fashion and the most beguiling pair of gray eyes—deep and unfathomable. She’d had the misfortune a few years ago to believe herself in love with a young baronet. After the banns had been called, he’d jilted her in favor of an heiress who commanded fifty thousand pounds a year, and somehow society hadn’t forgiven her for the baronet’s terrible conduct.

  “Wouldn’t it be grand if he should offer for her?” Ophelia whispered over the strains of the waltz as she approached with a glass of punch. “He seems halfway in love with her already.”

  “I dare hope she waits until after an offer has been secured…or better, after the marriage to declare her own affections,” Fanny said softly, throwing up her hands in affected dismay, shadows of remembered pain in her eyes. “It would not serve her to be too obvious in her affections and then…” She shrugged inelegantly and sipped her champagne.

  “I can tell they are a well-matched couple with genuine attachment. Oh, Kitty, your plan is working brilliantly,” Ophelia said with a happy but surprisingly envious sigh.

  “And let’s not forget, most marvelous of all, Baron Lynton has ten thousand a year and no less than two estates,” Maryann said, moving toward them, appearing far too breathless. Or was she frightened? Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips appeared bee-stung.

  Had she been kissed?

  “Your walk onto the terrace seemed invigorating,” Ophelia said, her eyes wide with speculation and wonder. “Were you for once being wicked, Maryann, darling?”

  “Of course not,” she said with a smile that belied her denial, pushing her round, golden spectacles up her nose.

  While Kitty had shared her wicked plan with all her friends, Maryann had disclosed only the barest details of her sinful musings of London’s most dangerous libertine and had stubbornly insisted she would inform them when she was confident of her path forward.

  The waltz ended, and the baron escorted Anna over to their small gathering. He bowed gracefully after greeting them, his eyes twinkling with good-natured fun. Kitty liked him and thought him perfect for her gentle sister. If only he would move to secure her faster.

  It had been only a few weeks since she had assumed the mantle of Kitty Danvers, fiancée of the reclusive duke, and she had started to anticipate that she might be uncovered. Kitty could no longer take any comfort that the rumors said he’d not been seen in town in years. The mentions of her in the newssheets had grown completely out of her control, all keen to remind society their most reclusive duke was engaged to the dauntless Kitty Danvers.

  Surely the duke would hear of her at any moment. If the baron was to offer soon, then the end of this nerve-destroying charade would be in sight.

  “May I ask you for the next dance, Miss Morton?” he asked graciously.

  Fanny gasped, her eyes widening. Sadness pierced Kitty, for this was the first time a gentleman had asked Fanny to the dance floor in two seasons. Her lower lip trembled with her smile. “I would be honored, Lord Lynton.”

  She dipped into a curtsy and allowed him to lead her away. If Kitty hadn’t been satisfied before that the baron was her sister’s match, his wonderful action had just cemented her belief.

  Anna turned to her, her blue eyes burning with excitement, her color a trifle heightened. “Oh, Kitty, isn’t he the most amiable and good-natured gentleman you’ve ever met?”

  She smiled, her sister’s joy and hope contagious. “I daresay he is.”

  “Oh, dear sister, I love him. I am certain of it.” Anna clasped her hands to her front, evidently trying to be ladylike with her joy.

  “Do be careful,” Kitty said. “You’ve only just met him, and while his attentions are noteworthy, he has not declared himself!”

  Anna’s expression became dreamy. “I daresay when two souls connect, it hardly signifies if they’ve met only two weeks past. He is a very eligible connection. He has the most wonderful, amiable qualities, most distinguished manners, and he loves poetry as much as I do. Oh, Kitty, I feel he will offer for my hand.”

  Before she could make a reply, a booming voice announced, “The Duke of Thornton!”

  Shock blossomed through Kitty.

  The room swirled around her and then resettled, her corset suddenly too tight.

  The air was cold, as if all the blood had drained from her body, leaving her shivering. Her only sign of life was her thundering, dread-filled heart.

  A slap was what she required to wake her from this horrid drea
m, but her friends had frozen. Anna turned anticipatory eyes atop the landing of the staircase. Murmurs of astonishment and speculation crested through the ballroom like a fiery wave. Then for a single, breathless moment, a startled hush fell over the throng as the import of the majordomo’s announcement settled.

  Alexander Masters, the Duke of Thornton, had arrived at this ball.

  Several seconds passed, and the ballroom remained unexpectedly silent, as if everyone was collectively holding their breath. The emotions pouring through Kitty were like water flowing through fingers—impossible to control or shape into any semblance of tangibility.

  I’m going to faint.

  Kitty had spent weeks learning everything she possibly could about the duke before she had dared to masquerade herself to Society as his fiancée. The press painted him as a recluse, an enigma, a man who did not acknowledge or respond to the gossip in scandal sheets, and society had no hope of ever seeing him again. He was an intensely private man since his rumored accident.

  So why was he here?

  A disaster of the scandalous and unrecoverable type loomed. The humiliating truth of her desperate scheme would be aired for public consumption. A spasm of anguish snaked through Kitty. She had ruined her family and Anna’s chance at a love match with her desperate ruse.

  There could be only one reason for his presence—to unmask and repudiate her.

  In that moment, Kitty was obliged to master the impulse to retreat and flee as if the devil nipped at her heels.

  Then the man himself appeared on the landing. A ripple of shock went through the room, along with a few furious whispers.

  “Is it he?”

  “No one has seen him in seven years or more, I’ve been told!”

  “Upon my word, what made her consent to marry such a man?”

  “His fortune, of course, why else?”

  He was bound to a wheelchair.