The Blue-Eyed Black-Hearted Duke

by Sandra Masters

  Jaclyn tried to hide her tears. For one heady moment, she had flirted with a heat tinged of elusive desire. Then the emotion cooled into annoyance, perhaps even anger. She removed the counterpane, slipped to the side of the bed, and placed her feet into slippers. On the side of the canopied bed, she rang for Sedona. At the dress armoire, she selected a light periwinkle silk gown and placed it on a woven chair.

  Sedona made her presence known. “Mistress, should you be out of bed?”

  “I’ve decided I am well enough to participate in dinner this evening. Kindly assist. The dress is on the chair. Please find the matching stockings and the shoes I purchased from the cordwainer.”

  Jaclyn surmised Sedona’s caution came from instructions from the family, but she was determined to have her way. If she was well enough to be kissed—and sweet heaven, kissed well—she was certainly able to attend dinner.

  After a half-hour of Sedona dressing her hair high into ringlets, intertwined with small braids, Jaclyn reviewed her form in the mirror and nodded.

  “Which jewelry do you wish to wear?” her maid asked.

  “My mother’s black opal pendant.”

  Sedona stopped in her tracks. “You rarely wear it, mistress. I thought you didn’t like it.”

  “I don’t have a particular fondness for it, quite true. Nor do I have pleasant memories of the woman who birthed me.” She fussed with a dark comb in her hair and slid it in place.

  “You usually wear your cross,” opening the small jewelry box, Sedona returned the cross to is place.

  “I don’t need my father’s guidance tonight, or any religious protection.”

  “Mistress, don’t blaspheme. There are consequences for sacrilege.”

  “Sedona, stop your admonition. I am not a sinner and do not intend to become one. You may leave.” Jaclyn slammed her hand mirror on the vanity, grateful it did not shatter.

  It was wrong to take out her anger and frustration on her maid and she chastised herself. She was fortunate at her young age to have one. Jaclyn made a mental note to purchase something special for Sedona.

  Halifax’s letter caught her eye. The contents would disturb Radolf. She smiled at the easy way his name slipped from her thoughts as if he had no other name before. She retrieved the missive and went to her vanity to read the contents.

  Dear Miss Moreux:

  I do hope this finds you at the country estate and not whisked away by your overprotective guardian. After calling more times than I wish to remember at the London townhouse, the under butler advised me you were in residence at Hertfordshire. It saddens me we are apart. I’ve not received a reply from the ogre who governs your every move, giving permission to visit, and I assume there will be no answer. However, please know you are in my every thought and every dream. I long to ride with you in Hyde Park, and have purchased tickets to the opera for two weeks hence in the hope you will return.

  There are rumors aplenty, which I hesitate to mention in this letter, but sufficient to say a young, beautiful servant girl found herself in a family way and caused her dismissal. Her name was Isabella. Wolferton was completely smitten, and exercised no control over his licentious intentions, yet denied any involvement. Curious, though he claimed innocence in the matter, he did pay for lodging for the woman and child, and an annual stipend. Not one to sully his hands with such dreadful details, his majordomo arranged the settlement. I leave it to others to determine if there was guilt on his part. Enough said.

  I look forward to your reply should you chose to write me at the address indicated and at least tell me of your activities since it will make me feel closer to you. I pine to see your beautiful face and smile.

  Your obedient servant,

  Alistair Halifax

  Deep in thought, Jaclyn fanned with the parchment. His suspicious flattery expected, the rumor accusations became all too clear that his intentions were to damn Wolferton. Halifax, in her mind, wasn’t a role model either. Certainly not a saint and more of a sinner than Radolf.

  The mantel clock chimed the dinner hour. Jaclyn left the letter on her vanity, peeked at the mirror, and came to the conclusion the black opal lavaliere looked well on her. Perhaps she would wear it again. She sighed and departed her room to attend dinner. Would Radolf be surprised to see her out of bed? Would he be pleased? Jaclyn realized she acted like a ninny hammer but greeted Camille and Radolf with a broad smile.

  The expression on Radolf’s face worth every moment of the preparations pleased her. The ensemble she wore, enhanced by a magnificent jewel, was the epitome of fashion for a young woman. Jaclyn took her place at the table.

  Conscious of her guardian’s stare upon her, she said in a sophisticated manner, “Good evening. I heard the laughter from my sick bed and decided I was much better and wanted to join the festivities. Is there anything special planned for tonight?” Her head tilted toward Camille, but she expected Radolf to answer. It seemed, however, he was preoccupied with the black opal necklace and its position.

  “I’ve not seen you wear the necklace before. Is it a gift?” His gaze skewered her.

  “Yes, I could say so,” she baited him.

  “From whom, may I ask?” Wolferton’s tone was certainly arctic.

  So it bothered him someone else could give her an expensive gift? Good.

  “If you must know, my father gave it to me as a child. It belonged to my mother. I completely forgot about its beauty until Sedona reminded me it was in my vanity. Do you like it?”

  Did Radolf dare to think she would accept such an outrageous gift from Halifax? Oh, it felt good to needle him.

  A broad smile crossed his face; he speared a piece of roasted lamb. “Yes, it suits you well. You should wear it more often.”

  “I fully intend to, although I think it warrants a grand occasion, perhaps on our final season ball?”

  Camille said, “If you intend to do so, we should select a gown to enhance the lighter green-blue hue in the opal. We can seek advice from the modiste.”

  Jaclyn nodded, and then turned. “Radolf, how is the colt?”

  His thoughts were somewhere else. “What? Yes, he’s fine. I’m pleased you feel well enough to join us.”

  “I read Halifax’s letter and thought to lift my spirits to be with my family.”

  Radolf’s frown and arched brows told her she hit a sore spot. He was jealous. She was sure of it. Now, how to make this work in her favor?

  Camille smiled. “Jaclyn, I have good news here in this letter I received today and will bolster your spirits even further. Your friend Josette and her father have agreed to visit us. You do remember?”

  Jaclyn clapped her hands and awarded them a bright smile. “When?”

  Camille scanned the note. “Tomorrow midday. We have much to do to arrange for our guests. I’ll inform Halbert and the servants. Radolf, will you inform the major and the groomsmen to prepare also? Excuse me, I will speak to Cook Bessie myself before she retires for the evening.”

  “I think my sister looks forward to this visit. You are happy?”

  “Yes, Radolf. Josette has been my closest friend. We shared so many secrets. I don’t wish to sound like a silly schoolgirl, but she brings happy memories with her. I wonder if she has changed too. It will be nice to get caught up again with our lives.”

  Jaclyn sensed something cataclysmic in the air. It overpowered her thoughts. She felt on the edge of a golden dream yet to happen. Was it an omen from the archangel? Could the supernatural creature inhabit her mind and body at will? No, she’d have to be in their presence.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The Wishful Dream

  “In this short time, do you have many secrets to share?” Radolf asked Jaclyn with a sly smile enjoying the rich pudding dessert. He hailed a servant to fill his wine glass.

  “Why, yes. You ought to know there are many. My life has been a whirlwind with you.” She shook her shoulders impishly and laughed. “And Camille, too. Perhaps I’ll retire early so the night will
go fast. I’m thrilled. You’re too good to me.”

  She arose, hesitated, and then stopped by his chair to kiss him on the forehead. Jaclyn turned to leave, but Radolf’s hand on hers restrained her movement.

  A shudder snaked up her spine. “Did I forget something?” she asked after he removed his hand.

  “No, but I wondered if you would care to walk with me. I’m concerned about your feelings on the events for the season. You have my assurances you won’t be forced to accept a husband not of your choice, but since Camille has spent much time and effort on this, may we view it as another informal presentation to society? It’s the least I can do for your father’s sake.” They walked along the lakeside path with a full moon to light their way.

  “Tell me so I can better understand. What do you seek in a husband?” He wanted to comprehend what guided her along the stubborn path of the refusal of all suitors. If not a husband, what more did she want?

  Without a pause, her answer, so obvious, spoke volumes. Jaclyn claimed she thought long and well about the subject. “If I’m to spend the rest of life with a man, he should be someone kind and considerate with a heart of gold, like my father.”

  Radolf nodded for her to continue.

  “It would be nice if he was handsome like you, but I seek inner goodness with a heart full of love for me. A man who can forgive my few faults.” She laughed riotously. “And see the love I hold for him and our future together.”

  She gazed at nothing in particular, skipped over a dead twig, and spoke in a whisper, “He’ll be a good father, for I want children…a faithful husband, and a benefactor to those less fortunate.”

  “A benefactor?”

  “Yes, much like you. You agreed to sponsor an orphan because of your friendship with my papa.”

  Radolf pursed his lips, his mind in concentration of her heartfelt words.

  “I want a man who’ll climb mountains for me. He doesn’t need to be wealthy, although money could be an advantage. Meaningful traits are substance, bravery, thoughtfulness, and compassion. I ask for much, but I have much to give.”

  “Always the romantic, I see.” The smile he bestowed was not of joviality, but concern.

  The path wound around the lake and indeed was meant for long walks and talks. A good thing, for Jaclyn chatted like a magpie.

  “Ever since I lost Papa, I craved someone to love me as I am. I’m not perfect, but I have a heart ready to burst with love. Yes, kisses, all proper and lots of them—all kinds. Be they sweet, tender, coaxing, tearful—they’ll represent reality and essence of life. When I need a lift, my husband will be there to cheer me.” She twirled around and hugged herself. “Last and utmost, he must adore me because I’ve waited so long for him to teach me to become a woman.”

  “Become a woman such as in love sport?” How did those words escape his lips to an innocent?

  She gushed. “Yes, yes, yes.”

  “Does this paragon of virtue and selflessness exist?” he challenged with wrinkled brow, curled lip, and head lowered.

  “Yes, I know he does.”

  “Of all the qualities you recited, you have not used the word honorable. I wonder why?”

  “Because all of those marvelous qualities could only belong to an honorable man, one such as you.” She raced ahead, twirled again and then threw her chiffon scarf to the air. The wind did not take it far, but it did land precariously on a leafless branch of a birch tree.

  Radolf cast his mischievous gaze on the scarf. “Add to your list of requirements—a tall tree climber.” He shimmied up the trunk a foot or two, clung to the tree with one hand and retrieved her scarf without damage to it.

  “Bravo.” She clapped her hands in delight and jumped in childlike joy.

  Smitten. He was damn smitten. Radolf placed it within his jacket and climbed down the tree, a torn hole in his new kid leather breeches at the knee. Back on terra firma, he withdrew the scarf and placed it around her head. His breath hitched at the sight of her and her irresistible smile.

  Jaclyn tiptoed to align her mouth to his, and he bent low to savor the moist lips offered. She took an end of the long scarf from her head and tied it around them both.

  Was there significance in the blatant gesture? Bloody hell, did the earth shake under his feet? Was the tremor so forceful it snaked from his toes to his head?

  At least he had one of the qualifications. He adored Jaclyn and would for the rest of his life.

  As the silence ensued, they found themselves back on the terrace. “There’s a cool evening breeze to enjoy. I’ll have a footman bring you lemonade and a cognac for me. Do you mind?” He rose, offered his arm, and they walked across the foyer to the marble veranda. He nodded to the footman who heard the request.

  The veranda gardens housed a large fountain with a Greek goddess water sculpture. The splash of the stream swirled and recycled itself for an endless splash. A cement long table inlaid with mosaic tile held iron chairs in which they sat.

  “This is lovely.” She sighed.

  The footman brought their libations and then stood sentinel near the French doors. Radolf dismissed him with a wave of his hand. “I’ve never gotten used to servants who act as if they don’t exist but hear and see everything. It makes me feel like a spectator at my funeral.”

  “It is your way of life,” she replied. “Why do you always think of yourself in terms of death?”

  “During the war, it was a reality. Here, in the country, it’s a respite from such possibilities.” He spread his legs comfortably and spent more time than he ought in admiration of the woman beside him. She sat like a duchess in her chair, at ease for the moment, her fingers on the black opal at her neck.

  “Do you think of your mother often?” he asked, anxious to learn more about the woman. What were all those secrets Jaclyn had to share?

  “No, not at all. I’ve never forgiven my mother for abandoning my father and me during the war. I pity her now because it helps me deal with my sadness. Mothers and daughters are supposed to be close. I have few childhood memories because I believe she never loved me. I was an accident she hadn’t planned. I heard her say so to Papa when they argued.” Jaclyn looked into the distance, seemingly at nothing in particular, eyes brimming.

  Radolf followed her gaze, sipped more cognac, and then to liven the atmosphere he bowed low, “My dear Jaclyn, shall we dance?” He rose and went to her, one brow raised in mischief, something he practiced and honed to an art form in front of a mirror when young.

  “There’s no music,” she said.

  “We’ll pretend. Why don’t you sing something of which you’re fond?” He lifted her from the chair, and they stood opposite each other as the breeze teased her hair.

  “No, I’ll not sing, but I’ll hum.”

  Mesmerized by her voice, he pulled her closer, and they danced, her head nestled under his chin. Her familiar lavender hair scent was now a favorite of his. The humming stopped, but the waltz continued in blessed silence until they had circled the floor and were at a block wall near the French doors next to a candlelit Palladian window.

  He stopped. In the shadow of the flame, he thumbed the contours of Jaclyn’s high cheeks, the flickering light casting a warm maiden’s glow. Her soft moan encouraged him. He feathered his fingers across angel lips that responded to his touch and heightened his naked desire of what could be.

  The glimmer in her dark glance sparkled with…could it be passion? Then she smiled, unlike any other he could remember. Her arms reached around his neck, then she aligned her face with his in a kiss that could warm the solar system.

  He was ready for salvation as long as she wanted, needed, and loved him. All the while he thought, How can I endure this ache if I must give her to some other man? I’m a beggar at a feast, and they demand I walk away? No. Never. Ever.

  The faint sound of a wolf howled in the distance. Its soulful tune echoed the beat of his heart and surged through every pore of his body. He must not encourage her love. Radolf st
epped away and removed her arms. “My burden is not yours. Jaclyn.”

  “But I do love…”

  “My dear, do not profess love for me.”

  “Yes, I do. You ask the impossible,” she whispered.

  “Allow me to walk you to your room.” The silence deafened as they left the terrace and walked toward the long staircase. Radolf bowed and bid her good night then walked across the corridor to his suite and dismissed his night valet. For some unknown reason, he left the door slightly open.

  Frustrated, he went to the antechamber where another stained-glass piece resided. How many were there? By his count, he reckoned there were two in the London townhouse, two in the country estate, and one in the chapel in Belgium. Five of them, each slightly different, but obviously by the same artist. No matter where he resided, they were there as his conscience. Bloody hell. He didn’t want a conscience. He wanted Jaclyn in all her glory.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  A Recollection from the Past of Immense Proportion

  While not a student of the supernatural, Radolf Wolferton, Duke of Wolferton, did admit he believed in the legend of his family. He stopped on the way to the liquor cabinet. A memory invaded of him and Halbert in Turkey after they had soldiered for five years.

  However, on such a day, during a brief excursion to the countryside on a military matter, there were other happenings. He and Halbert encountered an older Romany gypsy dressed in traditional clothes wearing an embroidered scarf around her head. Her eyes were glazed over, perhaps half-blind from age. The younger woman and small boy at her side caught his attention. It was Yasmin, in similar garb, still beautiful and in her element. She smiled at him.

  “Grandmother, this is a special friend of mine. He was kind to me at a time when I needed it most. May I introduce you to Colonel Radolf—as his soldiers referred to him—of the British Army who performed service for the Turks. It is his given name and identifies with the red wolf.”

  He nodded, still stunned by the chance encounter. “I am most honored to meet you.” He turned to Yasmin. “It is good to see you well. You were able to escape your captors?”