The Duke of Darkness

by Cora Lee

  There was also the matter of the guise he and Miss Stone would travel under. They had decided to pose as cousins on their way to visit an ailing grandmother, but Miss Stone’s wardrobe was not of the same quality as even Rhuddlan’s shabbiest clothing. Fortunately, Rhuddlan Hall’s housekeeper was of approximately the same shape and had been persuaded to give up two of her best gowns—castoffs from Rhuddlan’s aunt—for Miss Stone to alter as necessary.

  A hundred other things had to be done before the women and canine could at last climb into a plain carriage—one where the Rhuddlan arms had been painted over—and Rhuddlan could mount Hermes. Fortunately, their first day of travel passed without incident, and they found a modest but clean inn to stay the night.

  They took two rooms, one for Rhuddlan and one for the women, and had supper and wash water brought up. He expected that to be the end of his interaction with anyone other than his own staff, but there was soon a light knock on his chamber door.

  He opened it to find Mrs. Davies standing on the other side with Miss Stone. She was wrapped in a dark cloak, a dog lead in one hand and the dog himself standing beside her.

  “Good evening, Cousin,” Miss Stone said lightly. “May we come in for a moment?”

  “Certainly.” Rhuddlan stepped aside, allowing the women to enter and Artie to sniff him. He shut the door behind him and turned, raising his eyebrows in an unasked question.

  Miss Stone stepped forward, sliding something off her finger. “I believe this is yours.”

  The object she handed him was a gold signet ring engraved with a stylized dragon, a gift from his father on the occasion of Rhuddlan’s twenty-first birthday. He’d taken it off for this trip, not wanting it to give away his real identity. But he also had not wanted to leave it behind—it was possible that he’d actually need to confirm his identity, either by simply possessing the ring, or by sealing a letter with it.

  “The coachman was out when we took Artie for a walk,” she went on. “He thought you might like to keep it for the night rather than leave it in your luggage.”

  “Yes, thank you.” He took the ring from her and slid it onto his little finger, a small part of him sighing in relief. He’d felt rather strange without it all day. Artie, as he had each time they’d stopped to change horses, was already sniffing him and Rhuddlan reached down to give him a pat. “Did you enjoy your walk?”

  Miss Stone grinned then attempted, not quite successfully, to smother it. “He is cross with me for not letting him chase the squirrels.”

  As she spoke, the dog pulled himself free and trotted over to the fireplace, dragging his lead behind him. “Artie, no...”

  “He’s all right there,” Rhuddlan said with a smile as the dog laid down before the fire. “He needs to gather himself after being denied a chance at those squirrels. Perhaps you both would like a cup of tea while he rests?”

  Miss Stone glanced at Mrs. Davies, who pressed her lips together but gave a small nod. “Thank you, Your Grace. We would like that.”

  She poured cups for each of them, waiting for Mrs. Davies to settle in the room’s only chair before seating herself on the bed. Rhuddlan elected to stand. Sitting on the bed beside Miss Stone, even though it was the only seat left, felt too intimate.

  The conversation was pleasant, though. She described Artie’s attempt to break free and chase two squirrels through the bustling courtyard, thwarted by his lead and the quick-thinking coachman. He talked of Vaughn’s recovery, slow though it was going to be, and the care his wife, who had been invited to stay with her husband at Rhuddlan Hall, lovingly provided.

  “You’ve got quite the tender heart, Your Grace,” Miss Stone said with a soft smile.

  “It’s Mr. Blake for the duration of this trip,” he reminded her quietly. The inn was well kept and highly regarded, but the walls were thin. “Or Cousin Lucas if you think it appropriate.”

  “Yes, of course,” she replied in a half-whisper. “I’d forgotten for a moment.”

  He had as well, though he was loath to say it aloud. “No matter. We must both simply resolve to be more careful.”

  “Which we will do. But don’t think I’ll forget that you’re housing an employee and his wife in your home as if they were honored guests,” she replied, her smile returning.

  “Vaughn’s condition does not allow him to be moved,” Rhuddlan said, setting his teacup on the tray it had arrived on. “The easiest way for them to continue to be together was to bring her to him.”

  Her eyes—blue like the butterflies they’d seen flitting through the meadows earlier in the day—held his for a long moment. “There’s your tender heart again, Mr. Blake.”

  “No one will ever believe you if you tell them.”

  Miss Stone gestured with her chin to Mrs. Davies, who was slumped in her chair with her chin resting on her chest. “She certainly won’t, but I rather like knowing something no one else does.”

  “She tries to protect you as if you were her daughter,” he observed, settling himself at the foot of the bed. The day spent in the saddle was starting to take its toll and he was tiring. “Miss Hatch, too, but not to the same extent.”

  Miss Stone nodded. “Mrs. D. has a daughter about my age who is married to a farmer in Kent. I think doting on me helps ease her worry when the distance starts to feel overwhelming.”

  “And you aren’t all on your own.”

  Miss Stone’s mouth curved into a soft smile. “It’s a good arrangement for both of us. What about you, Your Grace? Who takes care of you?”

  “Vaughn is practically my nursemaid some days,” he replied, surprised to be answering her smile with one of his own. Then it faded as a memory bubbled up to the surface. “My wife looked after me fairly well when she was alive, though it’s been...” He paused, mentally counting the passage of time. “...ten years now since she died.”

  “I’m so sorry.” The words were soft, the hand she held out to him even softer when he clasped it. “Were you married long?”

  There were no witnesses, and with Miss Stone’s other neighbor snoring in the room next door, no one to rush in and catch him “compromising” her. Rhuddlan allowed himself to slide closer to her, to accept her sympathy as genuine, resting their joined hands on his thigh as if they belonged there together. “A few years. It was a political marriage, but we were fond of each other.”

  She gave his hand a slight squeeze. “I won’t ask if you’ve thought of re-marrying. Even if you haven’t, at least half of the ton has.”

  Ah, then she knew something of Society. But he couldn’t figure out who her parents might have been. “Have you participated in the Marriage Mart?”

  “Once or twice,” she said, shifting her eyes away from his. “I didn’t take.”

  “I find that hard to believe.” Her figure was curvier, more rounded than the current willowy fashion and her dowry probably hadn’t been large. But she was intelligent and well mannered, not to mention an attractive armful of a woman. Surely someone would have proposed marriage to her.

  “Well, it’s true. I am still Miss Stone after all.”

  Her words were clipped, her tone flat. Rhuddlan wanted to know what had happened during her time but decided not to press the subject. Instead, he asked about something he knew she’d enjoy discussing.

  “How long have you and Artie been together?”

  As he’d hoped, her face brightened instantly and she glanced over at the dog stretched out before the fire. “Mrs. D.’s husband brought him home from Belgium. He found this young pup running around on the battlefield after Waterloo, thin and mangy, and toted him back to camp. Mr. Davies fed him and cleaned him up, and his captain’s wife looked after the dog when Mr. D. couldn’t.”

  “Then ‘Artie’ came from Wellington?” Rhuddlan asked with a short laugh. How would old Nosey react if he knew a dog had been named for him?

  Miss Stone grinned. “Mr. D. thought he should give the dog a strong name so he’d grow to be a strong dog. It worked—Artie fille
d out and Mr. D. discovered he wasn’t a puppy after all, just underfed.”

  “How did he end up with you?”

  “He kept trying to herd the Maxwells’ sheep,” she said, her features soft when she glanced at Artie again. “They live a couple of miles away and have just a small flock, but every morning Artie would run over there like his life depended on it. Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell were not terribly pleased to have a strange dog hanging around their livelihood from sunup to sundown, but Artie clearly needed something to keep him busy. Mr. Davies thought that perhaps Artie would take to guarding me instead of the sheep, and Mrs. Davies thought I’d be safer with a big dog around.”

  Rhuddlan stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. “It seems they were both right.”

  “To an extent,” she said, swinging her gaze back to him. In the light of the fire her lips were full and tempting. “He herds me more than he guards me,” she continued with a little laugh, “but I probably am safer when he’s with me. Who would contend with an animal nearly seven stone who looks more wolf than hound, just to get to me?”

  “Only those whom Master Artie approves of, would be my guess,” he said, giving her hand a little squeeze. Perhaps it was the firelight and the affection she held for her dog, or it could have been the danger of their situation stimulating his senses, but the idea of kissing Miss Stone drifted into his mind. And this time it sounded like an excellent idea.

  Her full lips pulled into another smile and she squeezed his hand in return. “You’ve guessed correctly. You seem to have met his high standards, too.”

  “Have I met yours?” he asked quietly, leaning toward her a little.

  “You have so far,” she murmured.

  Rhuddlan closed the distance between them and brushed his lips over hers. She squeezed his hand again, and he took that as a sign that she wanted to continue. Sliding a little closer, he cupped her face gently in his free hand and captured her bottom lip between his.

  An instant later, he realized something was wrong. She was still, rigid, not the warm, welcoming female he’d expected.

  “I do apologize, Miss Stone,” he said, drawing away. “I thought perhaps you wanted me to kiss you, but it seems I was mistaken.”

  Her shadowed eyes met his for the briefest of moments before she dropped her gaze to the mattress they sat on. “It is I who should apologize, Your Grace,” she said, her voice slightly strained. “I did want you to kiss me, but then…”

  “You don’t owe me an explanation,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Not wanting to be kissed is reason enough to stop.”

  “You— you’re not angry?”

  “Angry because you don’t want to kiss me? Of course not.” He released her hand and offered her a smile. “I’m a little disappointed, but that’s my problem.”

  “You don’t think me a tease?” she asked in a small voice. Her breathing was rapid and he noticed her other hand was gripping the coverlet, but he didn’t think it was suppressed passion coursing through her body. It looked like fear.

  And he was going to make George Grayson pay for it.

  Rhuddlan moved away, back toward the foot of the bed, just in time to see Mrs. Davies’s eyes blinking open.

  “Ah, there she is,” Miss Stone said lightly, her gaze shifting from Rhuddlan to her neighbor. “Perhaps we’d better retire for the evening.”

  “As should I,” he replied, rising and offering his hand to help her up off the bed. “I’ll bid you good night, then.”

  Her eyes met his and held them for just a moment, then she smiled. “Good night to you, too, Mr. Blake.”

  ~~~

  Olivia was startled from a light sleep by someone banging on her door. Except that, before she could get to her feet, someone who sounded like her faux cousin had answered it. She rubbed her eyes and forced them open, tiptoeing to the door and listening through the thin slab of wood. Someone was in the hallway speaking to His Grace in an agitated manner. She couldn’t make out all the words, but it was clear that something was wrong.

  “Mrs. D., Miss H., wake up! We must dress!” Olivia whispered hoarsely, shaking her neighbors awake. “Something is wrong and we must be ready.”

  The women reluctantly awoke, tumbling groggily out of bed and reaching for their gowns. As Olivia pulled on her own clothing, she was grateful for once not to be a lady anymore—she could dress so much faster with clothing that was designed to be put on without help.

  By the time a knock—a real one this time—sounded on their door, all three women were in an appropriate state of dress, if not enthusiastic about it.

  Olivia crack open the door gave a small sigh of relief when she saw the duke and brushed Artie back from his inquisition. “Come in, Cousin.”

  He lifted one questioning eyebrow but entered when she opened the door wider. “You heard?”

  “I heard someone knocking on your door,” Olivia replied, “but not why. What’s happened?”

  “I believe my brother has found us,” he said grimly. “We must leave this place as soon as possible.”

  Mrs. D.’s eyes were round and Miss H. looked pale in the light of the candle she was holding. But this was not the first time Olivia had awoken in the night prepared to run.

  “If we are permitted to take our possessions, we can be ready to depart in just a few minutes,” she said, attempting to ignore the pounding of her heart. “If we must leave them, we are ready now.”

  The duke’s gaze swept over the dim room. “We have a few moments before the carriage will be ready. Anything you do not have packed when I call for you will be left behind.”

  When the door clicked shut behind him, the three women went to work. None of them had brought much, but there were a few things they’d unpacked upon arrival at the inn. Artie, rushing from person to person to see what all the excitement was, ended up getting in the way more often than not and Olivia finally settled him on the bed with a hardened crust of bread left over from the previous night’s supper.

  But they were ready and waiting when His Grace knocked again on their door. He and the coachman helped the women with their luggage and led them single-file, the duke in front and the coachman at the rear, down the stairs and through the kitchens.

  When they reached the rear door of the inn, the Duke of Rhuddlan paused. Go with John Coachman now,” he directed the three women. “He’ll get you settled, and I’ll be along in a minute.”

  “This way, ladies,” the coachman said with a too-cheerful smile.

  Mrs. D. and Miss H. followed obediently with Artie, but Olivia hesitated. “What do you mean to do?” she asked the duke.

  “The innkeeper has put himself at great risk to warn us. I mean to show my appreciation for that.”

  He reached into an inner pocket of his tailcoat and pulled out a blank piece of paper with one hand, while the other took the pen the innkeeper was handing him. Bending over a table that had been pushed against one wall, he scratched something out on the paper, pausing only to dip the pen in the inkwell that had been set down beside him. When he was finished, he took up the candle the innkeeper was holding and dripped some wax onto the paper, pressing his signet ring into it.

  “When it’s safe to do so, take this to Rhuddlan Hall,” the duke said, handing the paper to the innkeeper. “Ask for Mr. Vaughn or Mr. Lewis.”

  The innkeeper glanced down at the paper and his eyes went wide, no doubt noting the signature on the paper. The duke had taken their rooms under the name Lucas Blake, but had signed the note with his full title. “Y-yes, Your Grace.”

  “Shhhh,” the duke said, putting a finger to his lips.

  “Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Blake.”

  His Grace patted the innkeeper on the shoulder. “Good man. We’ll cause you no further trouble, now.”

  Olivia hoped that was true. If Lord Nicholas was anything like Sir George, she hated to think what might happen to the poor innkeeper and his family if Lord Nicholas found out the Duke of Rhuddlan had been here.

&
nbsp; His Grace gave the innkeeper a nod and gestured to Olivia to get going. She turned and headed toward the kitchen door, noting with interest that the duke’s hand came to rest on the small of her back as he guided her out to their waiting coach.

  There wasn’t time to think much about it, though—the coachman was coming out to hustle them into their conveyance. It was not the same one they’d arrived in; this one was smaller, painted bright yellow with the arms of an aristocrat she didn’t recognize.

  “Up you go,” the coachman said lightly, handing her in.

  Mrs. D. and Miss H. were already seated on the rear-facing bench, with Artie taking up most of the floor. He perked up and lifted his head as Olivia stepped around him, wagging his tail against everyone’s legs.

  “Were you afraid I wasn’t coming?” she asked him, scratching his ears as she took her seat.

  “I think he was,” Mrs. D. said, glancing at the duke out of the corner of her eye.

  “Never fear, Master Artie,” His Grace said, stepping into the carriage behind Olivia. “I will see her safe when you can’t.”

  Olivia tried to suppress a smile but wasn’t entirely successful. “How lucky I am to have two handsome gentlemen looking after me. And Artie no doubt thanks you, Your Grace.”

  The duke scratched the dog’s neck. “It’s my pleasure.”

  Until Sir George got angry enough to come after her again. Olivia pushed the thought away and offered what she hoped was a genuine-looking smile instead as the carriage lurched forward.

  The four of them sat in silence for the first few miles, looking out the windows into what was still a dark landscape. But as time wore on and their interrupted night caught up with them, Mrs. D. and Miss H. drifted back to sleep, leaning against each other for support. Artie, too, seemed to take in the quiet and the swaying of the vehicle, and was soon softly snoring on the floor.