Four Nights With the Duke (30 page)

M
ia rose at four in the morning and began writing, the words flowing out of her as if a river had been undammed. Flora was proving to have a surprisingly practical bent. After a few encounters with a spectral bride—who had been drifting about the castle weeping ever since being jilted in 1217—Flora had come around to the opinion that spending her life grieving for Frederic would be a waste.

By midday, Mia was missing Charlie so much that she decided to fetch him and move back to Carrington House, on the grounds that Sir Richard was surely no longer a threat. Once downstairs, the innkeeper informed her that Edward was waiting in their private dining room, where luncheon would be served in a few minutes.

“Good day,” she said, walking in the door.

Edward immediately stood, bowed, and kissed her hand. “You will be happy to know that a somewhat
battered Sir Richard is now in custody of the justice of the peace, awaiting the Assizes,” he said, guiding her to a seat.

A Lucibella heroine would feel horror at the mention of Sir Richard’s condition, but Mia rather liked the idea that punishment had been served. “I am glad to hear it,” she admitted. “I hope that you didn’t suffer any damage?”

“Luckily not.”

“Given those circumstances, I shall fetch Charlie immediately. I’d like to re-establish us at Carrington House without delay.”

A throb of misery shot through her at the very idea of walking in the door of Vander’s house. But she had to be strong.

She was her own woman, she told herself for the hundredth time that morning. She was not just a title—“duchess” or “wife,” or even “daughter” or “sister.”

She was Mia, and Lucibella too. And Charlie’s mother. That would have to suffice.

After the meal, Edward went to settle accounts with the innkeeper, and she took herself out into the courtyard, tying on her bonnet as she walked. The moment she cleared the doorway, she heard a familiar whinny.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake!” she exclaimed, unable to stop herself from smiling as Jafeer pranced over to her. “What are you doing here?” He looked tremendously pleased with himself. Before she could stop him, he caught her bonnet in his teeth and danced backward, shaking it as if he were playing a game.

Although Jafeer was saddled, and his reins were draped around the pommel, there was no one in sight. “Where is Vander?” she asked him, almost expecting the horse to answer.

Jafeer dropped the bonnet and came over. She stroked his nose as she looked around. The inn yard was deserted but for a carriage that stood on the far side of the yard, attended only by a slumbering coachman. Where were all the post-boys and grooms who generally lounged about, waiting for something to do? She narrowed her eyes. That snoring coachman had a distinct resemblance to Mulberry.

“Vander!” she called.

Instead of her husband, she heard a peal of boyish laughter, and Charlie hopped from the open door of the carriage. Jafeer gave an approving whinny.

“Darling!” She held out her arms. “What are
you
doing here?”

Charlie swung himself across the cobblestones, his entire face alight. “We’ve come to fetch you home!” he shouted.

“‘We?’ Is the duke with you?” Mia asked, pushing back the thick curl that had fallen over Charlie’s face and dropping a kiss on his forehead.

“I have to recite a poem,” he said, giving her a tight hug. “His Grace and I wrote it together. I am going to declaim it, the way Roman orators used to do.”

Mia’s breath caught when she saw Vander step from the carriage; then she looked quickly back at Charlie. He hopped up on the granite slab before the open door of the inn, and turned back to the open yard. With all the majesty of a young lord about to say something to Romans and countrymen, Charlie announced, “
Roses are red, violets are blue
—”

An arm suddenly emerged from the shadowed darkness behind Charlie and wound around his throat. Mia screamed as a bloodied, disheveled Sir Richard shoved Charlie forward.

He was holding her child tightly against him, a
knife against Charlie’s throat. The cultivated Elizabethan air that Sir Richard was so proud of had stripped clean away, leaving a predator with savage eyes.

From the corner of her eye she saw Vander take a careful step toward them. Mulberry suddenly showed himself to be wide awake and leapt from his seat.

“Sir Richard, what are you doing?” she cried, hoping to draw his attention away from the men.

“Oh, merely thinking about killing a little gutter rat,” he answered. Horribly, his voice still had the same cultivated tenor, as if he were speaking of tea and toast rather than murder.

Charlie’s eyes were wide and fixed on her. “Aunt Mia,” he said faintly. Another scream bubbled up in her chest, but she managed to choke it down.

“Surely murder is an extreme solution?” Vander asked. He now stood at Mia’s side. Mulberry was silently circling the yard so he could approach from the rear.

“He’s responsible for all of it,” Sir Richard snarled. “I have to leave the bloody country and it’s all the fault of this crippled little dunce, who should have been drowned at birth.” He gave Charlie a vicious shake and the knife came dangerously close to the child’s throat.

“No!” Mia stumbled forward. “I am responsible. It’s my fault. Please, let Charlie go.”

In answer to her movement, Sir Richard wrenched the child’s head farther back, placing the shining edge of the knife blade just under his chin. She heard Charlie’s crutch strike the cobblestones, though she didn’t dare take her eyes from Sir Richard’s face.

There had been more behind Sir Richard’s perpetual, ferocious lawsuits than she had realized. He was cracked, utterly mad.

“Why Charlie?” she croaked. “Please! He’s your nephew! He doesn’t deserve this.”

“
Now
,” Vander barked.

To Mia’s utter shock, Charlie’s right arm darted up and back, and he stuck a little dagger into Sir Richard’s arm. He probably didn’t manage to do more than prick him, but Sir Richard’s knife wavered, which gave Vander the second he needed: he exploded forward and wrenched Charlie free, spinning him away.

Sir Richard let out an enraged bellow, and lunged after them, knocking Mia to the ground. Charlie was already safely behind Vander, whose air of a savage warrior, ready to protect his family by ripping an enemy limb from limb, caused Sir Richard to freeze in his tracks.

Then, just as Mulberry sprang forward, Sir Richard veered left, grabbed Jafeer’s pommel, vaulted into the saddle, and sent the stallion galloping out of the inn yard. With a curse, Mulberry charged through the gate after him.

For an instant none of them moved or spoke. Then: “He stole Jafeer!” Charlie shouted indignantly.

“He won’t have him long,” Vander said calmly. With one huge stride, he reached Mia and pulled her up and into his arms.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak; she just leaned against his chest, eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about Jafeer,” she heard Vander say above her head. Had he dropped a kiss on her hair? “Sir Richard will sell him when he reaches the coast, but I’ll offer a reward that will have every man in England looking for him.”

Boots sounded on the cobblestones, and a disgruntled voice growled, “I hope to hell that wasn’t Sir Richard Magruder.”

“Charlie is too young to hear that sort of language,” Mia said, opening her eyes.

“I apologize.” Edward was looking with narrowed eyes at Vander’s arms around her.

“Sir Richard has the justice of the peace for Berkshire in his pocket,” Vander said. “Although that does not explain why he knew we could be found here.”

“I expect that he was looking for me,” Edward said. “He made a number of threats against me last night. After he was in custody, I told the sheriff that I would be staying here in case I was needed to testify.”

Mulberry came back into the yard. “He’s taken the road toward Dover,” he said, panting. “Trying to get to France, I expect.”

Vander nodded and turned to Edward. “If you will forgive me, Mr. Reeve, I should like to take my wife for a short drive.”

The courtyard was silent for a long second.

“Right,” Edward said. His voice was expressionless, but his eyes were bleak. “Charlie, old man, why don’t you come inside with me?”

“Did you see what I did?” Charlie demanded. “The way I stabbed Sir Richard?” He didn’t seem in the least shaken by the experience.

Vander moved away from Mia, picking up Charlie’s crutch, which had apparently fallen in two pieces. She watched numbly as he screwed a little dagger into the crutch, where there had been no dagger before.

“It sounds as if you saved yourself,” Edward told Charlie.

“No,” he replied cheerfully, “the duke saved me. But I stabbed Sir Richard!” He took his crutch from Vander, stuck it under his arm, and started toward
the inn door. Then he turned back. “You are coming back, aren’t you?” he asked, the faintest quaver in his voice.

“Within the hour,” Vander promised. That seemed enough for the boy. He swung away with Edward, the story tumbling out all over again.

“Sir Richard was about to kill Charlie,” Mia moaned, swaying where she stood. “No, he couldn’t have meant it! He is Charlie’s
uncle
, his own blood relative!”

Vander picked her up and strode across the courtyard toward his carriage. Mia should have struggled. In a few minutes, she would definitely assert herself and become her own woman as she had planned.

But right now she was trembling from head to foot, and it felt wonderful to be held by a man of strength, a warrior who had protected her and her child.

“Sir Richard is mad,” Vander said, seating himself in the corner of the carriage and pulling her onto his lap, “and he may well have meant his threat. Apparently, my father posed a danger to me. I have no memory of it, but Chuffy says the duke periodically tried to reach the nursery, and they had to put footmen on the door day and night.”

“That’s awful!” Mia choked. “Thank goodness your father didn’t manage to injure you! I’m sure it would have broken his heart.” Something in his eyes made her add firmly, “And thank goodness you didn’t inherit his condition.”

“I inherited his temper,” Vander said flatly, thumping the roof to tell Mulberry that they were ready. “I used to break furniture, but these days the worst I do is occasionally engage in fisticuffs with Thorn.”

The image of two beautiful men grappling with each other came to Mia but she pushed it away. “You
would never injure someone in a rage,” she replied with utter certainty. She leaned her cheek against the crook of his shoulder, soaking in his strength.

“But I do say things that I don’t mean. I’ve been a bastard to you, Mia,” Vander said, pulling away just enough so that their eyes met. “You’re the most beautiful, intelligent woman I’ve ever met, and I have hurt your feelings. I’m sorry.” The words were gruff, with an edge of ferocity.

She knew instinctively that Vander had never spoken words like this before. Mia swallowed hard. How could she reject him? But she had to.

“After I make love to you,” Vander said, bringing one of her palms to his lips, “the only thing in my head is the desire to be inside you again, any way I can.”

This was the hardest thing she’d ever done. “I can’t,” she whispered. It was what she’d dreamed of—but not in the right way. The aching tone in her voice was humiliating, and he remained silent, so she kept talking to fill the charged air. “It’s not enough.” Tears pricked her eyes. “I can’t just be a woman in your bed.”

Vander’s voice sounded like a rusty gate. “My love for you has nothing to do with my bed.”

“What did you say
?”
Mia gasped.

“I haven’t loved many people, and I’m not very good at it. I loved my father, but he tried to kill me several times. I loved my mother, but I was caught between my parents, so I always felt as if I was betraying my father by being civil to her.”

He paused, his eyes searching hers. “I love Thorn. I love India. Chuffy, of course. Charlie. And
you
. You most of all, Mia.”

Mia’s mind reeled. “But you said things that hurt me.” That sounded like a petulant child. “You always
called me ‘Duchess,’ as if I were merely the role, not the person.”

“When I call you my duchess, I meant that you were mine to love, to hold, to make love to. That means— That means everything to me.” She could hear the deep truth in his words. “Do you love me, Mia? If you don’t, I’ll walk away and I won’t bother you again. I promise you that.”

Her heart pounded as indecision swept through her.

“But if you do love me,” he said, his hands tightening on hers, “I’ll never let you go. Not until the end of our lives. Not if Reeve writes you a hundred love poems and says all the things I can’t. Not if that blasted Frederic himself shows up. Do you understand?” His eyes burned into hers.

Biting her lip, she looked away. “It’s not just—”

His hand cupped her cheek and gently turned her back to him. “There’s only one important question, Mia. Do you love me?”

The words were a demand, yes, but she heard a trace of vulnerability as well, as if she were seeing deep inside him, a part of him that he had rarely if ever shown anyone. She couldn’t lie to him.