A Heart of a Duke Collection: Volume 1-A Regency Bundle

by Christi Caldwell

  “I couldn’t stop him completely, Alex.” Gabriel rubbed his chest as though in pain. “I was never that strong and in my inability to do so, I became the failure you’ve found me to be.” He met his gaze square on. “But you were never the only one to know that pain. I don’t want you to believe you were different or less worthy merely because your position of birth. Chloe, Philippa,” Gabriel sucked in a jagged breath and then his face tightened. He shook his head as though unable to revisit the horrors known by even the young Edgerton girls. “He’d have taken a piece of your flesh regardless, because that is what monsters do.”

  The world dipped and swayed and Alex found purchase on the edge of a winged back chair. “You protected me.” He didn’t recognize the hoarse declaration as his own.

  Color filled his brother’s face. “Don’t have me be a hero. I’m not. If I was, I would have stopped him, maintained your friendship and cared for Chloe and Philippa and…” His words trailed off and he dragged a palm over his face. “I’ve not come to again raise memories of our past. The day he died, I swore I’d never again mention his name.” He cast a hungry look back at the bottle of brandy atop the table and it occurred to Alex just how great the demons Gabriel himself battled.

  Alex held his hand out, calling his brother’s attention back away from those spirits that would not truly provide any escape from the past. He knew as one who’d tried. “I…” He cleared his throat tight with emotions too long buried.

  Gabriel placed his hand in his and held tight. “I know, Alex. I love you, too.” His brother stared at their clasped hands and then with the alacrity of one who’d been schooled in concealing any and all emotion released Alex’s fingers. “Your Lady Imogen,” he began.

  A grin pulled at the right corner of his lips. “You’re unrelenting.”

  “You may believe she’d be better with a titled gentleman, but she nearly had the Duke of Montrose. And what has that brought her?” The words were eerily reminiscent to those spoken by the lady herself in Ferguson’s office. His brother coughed into his hand. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.”

  He nodded. “Gabriel, I’m—”

  “Don’t,” he commanded, cutting into a futile apology that could never right the wrongs done by Alex, the lies he’d allowed himself to believe, and worse, for consigning his brother to the same loathed column as their father. Gabriel patted him awkwardly on the shoulder and then with stiff, jerky movements started for the door. At the entrance, he froze and turned back around. “There could be far worse things than giving your heart to a respectable lady who’d take care of that love.”

  And with that, he left.

  Alex’s shoulders sagged. He’d spent years hating his brother for having abandoned him, when in truth Gabriel had sought to shelter him, to hold the marquess’ attention for his own, and through that redirect the madman’s ire away from his younger siblings. He was humbled by the shame of his own self-absorption, for failing to see the truth that had always been there, if he’d only glimpsed past his own self-centeredness to see the truths painted before him.

  Another knock sounded at the door. Woodenly, he picked up his head.

  “May I come in?” Without waiting for permission, Chloe slipped inside the library.

  He mustered a grin for his youngest sister. “Of course you intended to do so regardless.”

  She smiled. “Indeed.” Then she winced, touching her fingers to her temple. Alarmed, he hurried over but she merely waved him off. “It will take more than a megrim to weaken me.” He believed that. In all she’d endured and triumphed through, she was stronger than any gentleman he knew.

  He motioned her over. “Sit.”

  With a sigh, she walked slowly over and then sank into the wide, leather sofa he’d occupied earlier. The old folds of the seat swallowed her diminutive form. In this moment, she may as well have been the same girl who’d dogged his footsteps and made it a disastrous habit of imitating her older, incorrigible brother’s poor behaviors. Chloe drew her knees up and dropped her chin atop the top of her modest, thick, cotton wrapper. “I overheard your discussion with Gabriel.”

  She still possessed that bothersome habit of listening at keyholes. “Did you?” he asked dryly, which of course indicated she’d heard mention of a certain fiery beauty who’d slipped into his deadened heart and breathed life back into the once useless organ.

  She nodded. “About, Imogen.” Chloe chewed her lower lip. “Well, all of it really. But particularly the part about Imogen.” Unrest stirred in her blue eyes, trained upon her knees. “I don’t care to speak of him.”

  He fastened his gaze at her arms looped about her knees. “I know.”

  With a flounce of her curls, she dispelled dark mentions of their evil sire. “Imogen.”

  Unbidden, another grin turned his lips, her name alone filling him with a lightness he’d not believed himself capable of.

  “Oh, dear you are quite in love.” Chloe lowered her legs in a flurry of white skirts. “I daresay you’ve not told her.”

  “No, I’ve not told her,” he murmured. In fact, he’d done just the opposite, really. A pressure squeezed like a vise about his lungs. When she’d come to him with words about the man she believed him to be, he’d pushed her away, all but inviting her to accept Primly’s suit.

  “Humph.”

  Alex was desperate enough that he’d talk to his minx of a sister about romance. “Humph, what?”

  With a wispy wave of her hand, she said, “I’d expect a legendary rogue such as the notorious Lord Alex would have a good deal more finesse on matters of the heart.”

  He frowned. If she believed the terms rogue and matters of the heart could be paired, then he and Gabriel had a good deal more to worry about in terms of their young, romantic sister.

  Chloe rested her fingers on his knee. “You need to tell her, Alex. You need to tell her, or you’ll always regret that you did not.”

  He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “She’d be better off with Primly.”

  An inelegant snort spilled past her lips. “Poor, hopelessly shy, Primly?” She gave a shake of her blonde curls. “Why, because he’s an earl?”

  Because he was honorable and moral when Alex was not, and yet…

  “It doesn’t matter,” she spoke in quiet tones, echoing the thoughts filtering through his mind. “It matters not that you’re a second born son and he’s an earl or a duke, or Prinny himself. She wants to be loved. As we all do,” she murmured that last part more to herself. Then she gave her head a firm shake, as though dispelling any thoughts of love as it pertained to her own happiness. “You love her,” she repeated.

  The viselike pressure about his lungs lessened and he could at last breathe again. For the first time. He loved Imogen, and in a short time she’d opened his eyes to the man he truly was, and more importantly to the man he wished to be, a man worthy of her love.

  Chloe hopped to her feet and then touched a finger to her temple at the suddenness of the movement. “Splendid.” She patted him on the head as though he were a well-behaved spaniel. “I’d suspected all you two needed was a bit of a push.” With an uncharacteristic slowness to her step, she walked over to the door.

  Then her words registered. “What?”

  She froze in the threshold. “Surely you didn’t believe your being thrown together was a mere coincidence.” With a saucy wink she slipped from the room. “Not much of a rogue…” the remainder of her words lost to the corridor.

  By God, his sister had played matchmaker for him? A real chuckle, not the practiced cynical one he’d employed through the years, rumbled in his chest. “Not much of a rogue, indeed,” he said into the quiet of the room.

  “Oh, and Alex.”

  “Bloody hell,” he groused. His heart thudded at the unexpected appearance of his sister once more. “Shouldn’t you be abed? Your head—”

  “Is vastly improved.” She grinned. “I just thought I should mention I’ve read a number of scandal sheets and he
ard from the maid, Lucy, who is dating the footman, Terrance, whose sister is employed by the Earl of—”

  “Chloe,” he said, unable to quell the edge of impatience.

  “Er, right, yes. Well, servants do talk, and the Earl of Primly’s servants have whispered that the gentleman intends to offer for Imogen.” With a slight, mocking curtsy she turned on her heel and took her leave.

  His heart thumped a panicked rhythm inside his chest. Primly intended to offer for her. And why wouldn’t he? But the other man would not simply make his offer, not until Alex first spoke to her. His gaze found the ormolu clock atop the fireplace mantel. He struggled to bring the numbers into focus in the dimly lit room. As long as he’d known Primly, the man had been a respectable figure who adhered to propriety and conventions and at this fashionable hour, was likely there even now with Imogen.

  Squaring his jaw, Alex started for the door. She could not accept Primly. Not until Alex himself told her the words in his heart.

  He loved her.

  Chapter 14

  Imogen trailed her fingertips over the green leather volume of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, recalling her trip to the theatre, Alex at her side, whispering words of The Bard into her ear while caressing her palm. The actions of a rogue, and yet, not.

  Her eyes snagged upon a verse and she fixed on those apropos words.

  Is love a tender thing? It is too rough, too rude, too boist’rous; and it pricks like thorn.

  Last evening, he’d positioned himself at her side, weathering the gossip as she and her sister and her former betrothed were placed on display like an exhibit at the Royal Museum. Those actions were not those of a gentleman who did not care. Nor did his insistence that he’d merely come at Chloe’s urging bear any credence. Perhaps in the immediacy of his departure but not now. Imogen set aside her book and reached for literature she abhorred before all others. She perused the scandal sheets that had cast aspersions on the heartless words Alex had flung at her last evening.

  A certain Lord AE publicly declared his regard for a certain Lady IM before a collection of guests gathered at a notorious club. In addition to mentioning the lady’s beauty and intelligence, the gentleman quite honorably defended…etc, etc, etc…

  A wistful smile played about her lips. Surely those were not the words or actions of a disinterested gentleman who’d danced attendance upon her solely for his sister’s benefit?

  “The audacity of the man,” her mother cried from the doorway, bringing Imogen’s attention up. She sighed at the unexpected and undesired appearance of her overdramatic mama. “Mother,” she began, knowing very well the lady who loved the scandal sheets, mayhap more than her own children, had certainly seen mention of Alex and her name.

  The countess brandished a copy of one scandal sheet or another and waved it about. “Lord Alex Edgerton!”

  “What of Lord Alex Edgerton?” she asked patiently.

  In a wholly uncountess-like move, her mother all but sprinted over and waved the page before Imogen’s face. “He…he…fought about you. Over you, my dear.”

  “He?” She arched an eyebrow.

  Mother’s eyebrows shot to her hairline. “Surely you’ve read the scandal pages.” Then, with a pained groan, she took in Imogen’s reading material. “Shakespeare? My dear, I do not know how I so failed you that you’d be devoted to that, that drivel when there is far more important business to attend to.”

  “And by business, do you mean gossip?”

  “Precisely.” Mother slapped the page against her other palm. Her frown deepened as she realized her response. She gave a frantic little shake of her head. “Matters of the ton are not gossip. They are the matters that rule our world.”

  “Gossip,” she felt inclined to point out. Having been victim to too many gossip columns she’d be content to send every last writer of the pieces revered by the peers off to the devil to burn in a fiery inferno.

  “I shan’t debate the explanation of it with you, Imogen.”

  “Denotation,” she amended under her breath.

  Mother tossed the scandal sheet atop Imogen’s copy of Romeo and Juliet. Poor Mr. Shakespeare, he’d likely be crafting a villainous character in the woman’s honor for such a slight. “Lord. Alex. Edgerton.”

  Oh, dear when she punctuated her words in that manner, it spoke volumes of her upset. Imogen plucked at the fabric of her skirts. “Is that a question?” A statement?

  “He has declared his interest in you.”

  Her heart sped up. “He’s done no such thing.” Only if the scandal pages were to be believed, and surely some of them bore the hint of truth, then he had, in fact, done so, in a very public manner.

  “What of Lord Primly?”

  She angled her head.

  An aggravated sigh escaped the countess. “Lord Primly. The earl. The gentleman who would—”

  A knock sounded at the door. Their gazes swung as one to the flushed-face Lord Primly and the impressively composed butler. “The Earl of Primly,” he announced, a sheepish glance spared for Imogen.

  The earl’s pale cheeks turned red at their silent scrutiny and then Mother flew across the room. “My lord, what an honor to see you.” His color heightened under the woman’s gushing tone.

  He caught Imogen’s gaze and, if possible, his color flared once more. “It is an honor to be here,” he murmured. Not a hint of a stammer.

  Her heart dipped somewhere into the vicinity of her stomach. Oh, goodness, he’d asked her to consider his suit, spoken very plainly about the possibility of more between them, and yet she’d only been able to think of Alex and their meeting in Lord Ferguson’s office.

  “I shall leave you to your visit,” Mother said with a giddy smile. She cast a glance back at Imogen and then slipped from the room, leaving her and Lord Primly—alone.

  Very alone.

  Imogen looked to her maid quietly embroidering in the corner. But for her maid. Thank God for Lucy. Her feet twitched with the desire to take flight. Lord Primly hung back by the doorway, hesitantly shifting back and forth on his feet. Belatedly, she remembered her manners. “Won’t you come in, my lord?”

  He lurched forward in long, loping strides and she could not help but compare him to the man her heart wanted, a man whose demons would surely never allow him to open his heart. Yet, there was the exchange between him and Rutland…

  “Would you care for refreshments?” she asked when they’d taken places across from each other.

  “No, refreshments.” He spoke as though he’d wadded a kerchief in his mouth.

  She eyed him askance. “My lord, are you all—?”

  “I’d asked you to think on a match between us.”

  That not-so-veiled suggestion he’d made at Lady Ferguson’s last evening now became a formal offer. Imogen’s mouth went dry.

  A bead of moisture dotted the man’s high brow. “I am here to offer you marriage.”

  Her heart already somewhere in her stomach, sank all the way to the bottom, landing at her toes. Need you be surprised, silly? But for dropping to a knee in the midst of Lady Ferguson’s ballroom and putting to her an offer of marriage, Lord Primly had been abundantly clear in his intentions. In him, she would likely have a quiet, companionable union, however devoid of passion and love it might happen to be. Unwittingly, her gaze fell to the scandal sheet.

  “I read about Lord Alexander.”

  That brought her head up. “Oh.” Surely there was no suitable response to such an admission.

  The morning’s rays now glinted off the earl’s perspiring brow. He yanked out a handkerchief and dabbed at his forehead. “I-I’ll not disparage Edgerton in my bid to make you my countess.” With those words, the gentleman rose mightily in her estimation, as she saw in him one of the rare, good souls amidst their jaded and soulless world. “But I will promise to c-care for you and you’ll want for nothing and…”

  Imogen placed a hand upon his, staying his words.

  Those bug-like, blue eyes went enor
mous in his face, as though scandalized at the touch of a lady, even if the lady was one he’d just put a formal offer of marriage to. “My lady?” he squeaked, yanking his hand back as though scorched.

  Alexander would never be so scandalized by a gentle caress. Instead, he’d likely have ordered Lucy from the room and then taken her lips under his. Regret squeezed at her heart. Why wouldn’t he accept the gift of her love? “I wanted to thank you for the honor, my lord.” Hope flared in his eyes. “But it would not be right for me to wed you.”

  His shoulders sagged. “Because you love, Edgerton?” He directed his question to the floor.

  A pang of remorse pulled at her heart. “Because you are a good, kind, and honorable man who deserves a woman who will love you.” And she could not be that woman, not when her heart and whole soul belonged to another. “I would make you a deplorable hostess.”

  At those decisive words, a sad smile turned his lips down at the corners. “I barely stammer when you’re near. You’d make me a better host.”

  For Society’s ill opinion of Lord Primly, she came to appreciate the tenacity of the gentleman. She opened her mouth, but he cut into any further protestations on her part. “What if he will not wed you? Would you then consider—?”

  “No,” she said with a gentle firmness. “You deserve more than that, my lord.” At one time, immediately after Montrose’s betrayal, she’d have likely accepted a passionless union based on comfort. Not anymore. She deserved more. Just as the earl did. “You’ll find love. I am sure of it.”

  “I’d settle for a wife who I didn’t stammer before,” he mumbled.

  She suspected as much, which was one of the reasons she’d not wed him.

  Lord Primly beat his hand against his thigh and eyed the scandal sheet open upon the table before them. “I know what they say of Edgerton.” She straightened her spine. “But I have always liked the gentleman.” He picked his head up and gave her a sheepish smile. “One of the only men at university who didn’t have fun at my expense.”