No Dukes Need Apply (The Impossible Balfours Book 4)

by Gemma Blackwood

  Louis opened and closed his mouth a few times, and then, at last, took Malcolm’s advice and sank back into his chair.

  Malcolm turned to Sir Roderick. “Roddy. You will put a stop to this nonsense at once. You will tell the corrupt voters that no bribes are forthcoming. Is that clear?”

  “Certainly,” rasped Sir Roderick.

  “Good.”

  “If you want to lose the election.”

  Malcolm felt the screw of irritation turn so tight in his stomach that he was liable to start fuming and frothing like Lord Louis. “What?”

  Sir Roderick backed away, startled by the snap in his voice. “Lady Selina’s candidate is stronger than we could have predicted. I have it on good authority that we are in for a close-run contest.”

  “I am the Duke of Caversham. Mr Forrester is a commonplace lawyer. Who would dare…” Malcolm sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was exhausted, by so much more than the unexpected carriage ride. It was late. He had walked through the rain. And Selina Balfour hated him.

  Well, that hardly mattered, did it? He didn’t require the future Duchess of Caversham to like him. Only to look beautiful and host impressive parties and, perhaps, just occasionally, make him weak at the knees with a flash of her eyes. That would be enough. That much, he could still salvage.

  “It’s Selina, isn’t it,” he said. He hadn’t meant to speak so roughly. Louis glanced at him in surprise, concern breaking through his temper tantrum. “Of course it’s Selina. They respect her the way they do a duke.”

  “Not quite,” said Sir Roderick. “But her influence, combined with Forrester’s performance in the courts, at the rallies, at that dinner you hosted…”

  “Yes, yes. You don’t need to explain it anymore. We all know you’re no match for a legal genius, Roddy.” Malcolm sighed, giving in at last and draining the brandy in a single swallow. “All the same, I won’t stoop to bribery. Wining and dining the voters is one thing. What you’ve done is a step too far. We must plan to lose Twynham and regroup.” The memory of Selina’s face as he bid her goodbye cut through the warmth of the brandy as though he’d taken an icicle to the heart. “Blast you, Roddy! If you hadn’t shown up when you did, this cursed election wouldn’t even matter! When I marry Lady Selina, it won’t matter who sits in the Commons. He’ll be my man either way.”

  “You and Lady Selina are engaged?” Louis clasped his hands together. “Why, Caversham!”

  Malcolm cut off his raptures with a sharp shake of his head. “Not yet,” he growled. Not ever, whispered a treacherous voice at the back of his mind. He ignored it. “I was close to it, I know it, until Roddy turned up and ruined everything.”

  Or you could have told her the truth, the voice suggested. Malcolm’s fist clenched around his empty glass. You could have been honest with her all along.

  “But marrying the Balfour woman would do nothing to help me,” Sir Roderick whined.

  “At this point, Roddy, I am not inclined to help you ever again.” Malcolm’s head was beginning to ache. “If you lose the election, so be it. I wash my hands of you.”

  “You must be very certain of the lady’s affections, Caversham,” said Sir Roderick, a malicious light shining in his eyes. Malcolm let out a bitter laugh.

  “Affection doesn’t enter into it. Selina has political ambitions, just as I do. She cannot fail to see that the match is too advantageous to pass up.” He wished he believed what he was saying. One moment of hope was all he asked for.

  “Caversham,” said Louis, his voice soft with disappointment.

  “Because if you are not certain,” Roddy continued doggedly, “then by losing the election you are also losing power.”

  “Unlike you, Roddy, I’m not interested in grasping at power by foul means.” Malcolm rocked his neck from side to side, easing out the tension of the carriage ride.

  Sir Roderick took a step forwards, eyes glittering, reddened nostrils flaring. “Do you think the Lion Duke earned his name by doing the moral thing, boy?”

  Silence descended upon them, the way it did the moment after something precious was shattered on a marble floor.

  Malcolm turned his head slowly to Sir Roderick and set his empty glass down on the cabinet.

  “Get out.”

  “I acted for your own good!” Sir Roderick whined, stumbling backwards from the fire in Malcolm’s eyes. “For you, I swear, as much as for myself!”

  “Get. Out.”

  “I want you to be the duke your father was, Caversham! I want that for you!”

  Malcolm took a single step towards him. The older man quivered.

  “Get out,” he said, every word dropping like a lead weight. “Or I will throw you out.”

  Sir Roderick forgot that his handkerchief was already damp with mucus and used it to dab at his sweating forehead. “You are upset,” he said, hoarse voice trembling. “I will call again tomorrow. I am still your man, Caversham. Just as I was your father’s.” He reached the door, grasping blindly behind him for the handle, and bobbed his head like a nervous bird. “Goodnight. Goodnight.”

  When he was gone, Malcolm went to the window. Disgust tightened his throat too much to speak.

  He did not know who had disappointed him most. Roderick, or himself.

  “I lied to Selina to protect that man,” he said, when he trusted himself not to make a show of it. “Can you believe that, Louis?”

  “Sir Roderick has been your friend for many years,” said Louis. His meaty hand landed on Malcolm’s shoulder. “If the lady has a heart, she’ll understand.”

  “I think not.” Malcolm smiled, despite everything, and gave Louis a gentle punch in the arm. “At least I’ve chosen one friend wisely.”

  “I am afraid you will not remain my friend much longer,” said Louis. “I will not expose Sir Roderick publicly, out of respect to you. But I must do something. I will stand with Mr Forrester and Lady Selina at Twynham when the day comes.” He smiled nervously. “I know I have no great influence, but I feel I must do what I can.”

  “And I will not condemn you for it.” Malcolm sighed. “Perhaps if I had been born a younger son, like you, I might have been free to follow my nobler instincts. Such as they are.”

  “A duke can certainly be noble!” Louis protested. Malcolm shook his head.

  “Not when nobility comes at the expense of power. I think it is you who will be disappointed in me in the end, Louis. I don’t have your good heart. Only the same terrible hunger that my father had.” He set his jaw. “I will win this election. If I must win Selina to do it, so be it.”

  Louis winced, but said nothing. He clasped Malcolm’s shoulder again and left him alone at the window.

  Malcolm watched his friend step down onto the street and turn up his coat against the still-falling rain, a figure so large and imposing that no thief would think of approaching him.

  Now that he was alone, his thoughts became blissfully clear. Yes, he would win Selina. She was the key to everything – the Twynham election, his respect in the House of Lords, the future of the dukedom. Selina, the perfect duchess. He’d been right from the start. She would secure him the power he had always craved.

  That explained why he’d spent the carriage ride back to London feeling that his heart was being torn from his chest. Why he’d been so compelled to spill to her what no one else in the world knew about his father, the accident, the rain. Why he still, even now, felt the touch of her hand on his arm as clearly as though she were still beside him.

  You are not cold now, she’d told him. In that, they’d both been mistaken. But it didn’t matter.

  He would be the second Lion Duke, and Selina his Lioness. Nothing else would satisfy him now.

  15

  At the last of the rallies in Twynham, Selina arrived late enough that the crowds were already beginning to dissipate after Mr Forrester’s speech.

  At least, that was what she thought had happened, as she stepped down from her carriage and Mrs Forrester ran
to greet her with eyes full of worry.

  “My lady! I am so glad you came. Can your aunt truly spare you? I was so distressed to hear of her fall.”

  “My aunt is recovering very well,” said Selina, clasping Mrs Forrester’s hand. “But I am sorry to have arrived in such poor time. I thought I would at least be able to hear your husband speak.”

  Mrs Forrester shook her head, her lips pinching together. “He has not yet spoken, my lady. He will begin at any moment.”

  Selina looked about at the paltry crowd in confusion. “But there must be some mistake! There were twice the number of gentlemen attending the last speech he gave. Where are all the Twynham voters?”

  Mrs Forrester was naturally a sweet-tempered woman, not inclined to speak ill of others. So her cheeks turned pink with embarrassment as she whispered, “I think they will not come, my lady. They have all been bought by…” She clapped a hand over her mouth and shook her head. “No! I should not say.”

  “I know the man you mean.” Selina kept her face perfectly calm, for Mrs Forrester’s sake, as well as for her own pride.

  It hurt her to think of Malcolm stooping to bribery. She would not have believed it possible, if not for the proof of his own actions since he left Lady Aldershot’s. He had not denounced Sir Roderick. He had not even withdrawn his support. And, one by one, Mr Forrester’s supporters had slowly fallen away. If she were generous, she would put it down to their natural instinct to obey the mighty duke. But she was not feeling generous where Malcolm was concerned. She no longer knew what deception he was capable of.

  Now there was no more pleasure left in their competition, no more thrill of the fight. Mr Forrester would lose, because he was not the duke’s man. As so many elections had been lost before.

  And Malcolm, who had every quality necessary to become someone truly wonderful, would squander his potential for the sake of one more vote in the Commons.

  “There he is now,” whispered Mrs Forrester, nodding subtly to the enormous black and gold town coach that was rolling into the square. “Come to see that his bought men are staying away, as he commanded, and to gloat over his triumph. I am not a violent woman, my lady, but I declare, when I see that man I will be tempted to – to – to give him a piece of my mind!”

  Selina put her arm around the angry little woman and guided her to the front of the crowd, such as it was. “We will not think of him,” she said firmly. “He does not deserve it. And when it comes to telling dukes how they ought to behave, I have a great deal more practice than you. If the duke deigns to descend from his carriage, you must leave him to me.” She glanced back over her shoulder, just once, to see that the carriage doors remained closed.

  How she wished she hated him.

  Mr Forrester, practised in the art of public speaking, gave no hint of his disappointment in the tiny gathering. He spoke fluently, setting out his aims for the borough with a passion that could not fail to inspire confidence, and roused the listeners to a few ragged cheers.

  Selina lingered as long as she could after the speech was done, speaking with the voters and the public alike, and smiling as broadly as she had when it had seemed they might have a chance of winning.

  Malcolm’s carriage cast its long shadow into the square. Still, he did not descend.

  She had arranged a dinner at Twynham’s finest establishment for those voters who still cared to attend. At least the paucity of guests meant that the spread would appear yet more lavish than even she had intended. She crossed the square on Mrs Forrester’s arm, Mr Forrester taking up the rear and chatting cheerfully to a couple of stout gentlemen of Twynham. Mr Griggs surprised them all by making an appearance at the dining room door. Judging by the way he rubbed his round stomach in anticipation, it was the lure of the food that enticed him, rather than any hope of winning his vote.

  As the gentlemen were standing around with their pre-prandial drinks in hand, the mood finally began to lighten. The windows did not overlook the square where Malcolm’s carriage stood, reminding everyone of his inevitable victory. Selina began to breathe more easily.

  A serving girl approached her, bobbed a nervous curtsey, and stumbled a little over her words. “Excuse me, my lady, but there is a gentleman here who wishes to speak with you urgently.”

  Selina smiled. “You may show him in. I’m sure we can accommodate one more guest.”

  The girl looked frightened. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he said he would not come inside. He is waiting for you in the gardens. He…”

  At last, Selina understood what had made the girl so afraid. Serving girls in country inns did not often encounter dukes. When they did, the prospect of offending one was surely terrifying.

  “I understand,” said Selina. She sighed inwardly. What she wanted to do was to send the girl back to Malcolm with a curt dismissal. She had spent long enough standing about in the cold to hear the speech.

  But she could not put the helpless serving girl through the ordeal of defying a duke, and in any case…

  She wanted to see Malcolm again. To make him sorry, of course. To accuse him of lying to her, of cheating in order to win, and watching him writhe in the glare of her anger.

  And also – she could not deny it – to feel again, just once more, the deep pleasure of being in his presence. To let her eyes linger on the strong, masculine lines of his face. To breathe him in, just for a moment, in the hopes that some of the pain that had wracked her since he left Lady Aldershot’s might be relieved.

  The relief would be temporary, of course, but like everything else about Malcolm, it was too tempting to resist.

  She followed the serving girl to the inn’s back door and stepped out into a small courtyard garden. Malcolm was waiting for her, leaning against a wall with his hands thrust into his pockets. There was something about him of a schoolboy waiting for a thrashing, and something of the careless rake, and something of the angry duke, all mixed into one.

  She was afraid that the sight of him would make her lose her self-possession, so she spoke quickly, seizing what little control she could. “I take it you are not here to congratulate me on Mr Forrester’s excellent speech.”

  His mouth twisted into something that was not at all a smile. “It was excellent. I’m proud, not mentally deficient. I recognise brilliance when I see it.”

  “How generous of you.” She stayed in the doorway, refusing to take a single step towards him. It was difficult. His nearness exerted a physical pull on her chest. If she did not concentrate, she would fall towards him as apples fell to earth. “But winners can afford to be generous, can’t they?”

  “The election’s not over yet.”

  “Yes, it is. You’ve seen to that.”

  His eyes flashed, lightning in the blue. “Would you believe that I didn’t know what Sir Roderick was doing until that moment, at the Whitbys’ ball? Would you believe that I told him to put a stop to it?”

  “I’d be a fool to believe anything you told me ever again.”

  “Yes.” There was an agony in his voice that she had not expected. He removed his hat, turned it over in his hands once or twice, his jaw clenched tight. “But all is not lost, Selina. You need not accept defeat. Not unless you want it.”

  She cocked her head to the side, trying not to let her intrigue show. “I am not inclined to stoop to Sir Roderick’s level, if that’s what you are going to say.”

  “No. Not that.” Malcolm set the hat back on his head, a sharp, forceful gesture, like a soldier donning his helmet before battle. He took a step towards Selina, and she realised, at last, that he was battling some deep inner passion. His chest heaved with each breath. His eyes were bright and burning. “Marry me, and the election ceases to matter. Forrester or Roddy, either one will take their direction from us.”

  She was so shocked that for a long moment she did not know what to say. As her mind raced through words, her mouth part open, she saw all too clearly the flare of hope in Malcolm’s eyes.

  That, she could n
ot allow. “I have told you many times before. I do not wish to marry.”

  “You kissed me like a woman who does.”

  “That was a mistake.” She swallowed. She could not know for certain whether, beneath all the bluster about power and politics, she was hurting him with her refusal. She simply had to hope that she truly had been mistaken. That there was no man, only the duke. “I apologise for giving you the wrong impression.”

  “The wrong – ha!” Malcolm raised a hand to his mouth, clenched into a tight fist, as though he could tear away the memory of her lips on his. “What more must I do to persuade you, Selina? We’d be the most powerful pair in London. You’d have all the influence you could possibly desire. I’d buy you anything you wished for. I’d – I’d –” He stuttered to a halt, seeing that she was unmoved, and the façade of the arrogant duke began to crack. He looked wild, hopeless, desperate. “I’d give you all you wanted,” he said hoarsely. “If you’d only let me.”

  Now she knew she was truly hurting him, but there was nothing else to do. “I don’t think you can give me what I want, Malcolm. Not like this. Not if you think you can persuade me to marry you by talking of money and power.” She gave in to his inexorable gravity and took his hand, pressing it between both of hers. “You are only proving that you don’t understand me. It isn’t power for myself that I want. I support Mr Forrester because he is a talented man who will do great things for this country. That’s the heart of it.” She bit her lip, sadness overwhelming her.

  Saying no to a man had never been as difficult as it was now.

  Malcolm was studying her face as though she were a secret code to which he had almost discovered the key. “You think you’re happy,” he said. “But you are not. You’re feigning contentment, helping others succeed where you could soar. You do it all the time. I saw your face at your sister’s engagement. You think that by loving your family so much, you’ll destroy any ambition you have for yourself. But others’ victories won’t satisfy you, in the end. You need more. You need something of your own.”