She Tempts the Duke (17 page)

Although it certainly hadn’t felt illicit. It had felt bloody marvelous.

Unlike his side that was burning hotter than hell.

The fever had arrived sometime the night before. He should have expected it, he supposed. He hadn’t stayed in bed as the physician had advised. Not until today when he’d had no energy to get up. He should call on Mary to ensure all was well with her. He should visit Fitzwilliam and explain that he was no threat. He wanted only what was best for Mary.

Yes. Get up. Set matters to right,
he ordered himself
.
That’s what he needed to do.

Instead, he succumbed to the lure of cool oblivion.

Chapter 17

T
he afternoon after the day that Mary had returned the necklace to Sebastian, she sat in the garden pretending to read. From time to time she even turned a page, just in case her father was watching her from his library window. She had not expected, but she had rather hoped, that Sebastian would return the necklace to her so she might have a chance to explain—

Only she wasn’t supposed to speak to him, so how would she—

But if he came here, etiquette required she be a polite hostess—

Only her father could send him away before she saw him—

And if he told Fitzwilliam—

She damned well wanted to pull out her hair.

The girl who had ridden over to Pembrook would not have allowed others to dictate her actions. When had that changed? Was it part of being a lady? Or a coward?

Did she so desperately desire marriage that she would not be true to herself? Or was it Fitzwilliam she so desperately desired?

And if she desired him, why was it that whenever they were together, she never once wondered what it might be like to have him press his lips against hers? Why could she not forget what it had felt like to have Sebastian’s on hers? Why the devil did she want him to kiss her again? Only softer this time, not quite so brutish—although it had certainly been exciting. Still, why did she think softer would bring back the boy he’d been?

That lad was long lost.

She doubted they would ever be friends as they’d once been. A friend did not look at one as though he was contemplating devouring her. But then he always looked as though he had no patience for anything. He wanted what he wanted and he wanted it now. She supposed she couldn’t blame him. He’d had twelve years of waiting. But his impatience would likely result in a harsh life for his wife. Always trying to anticipate his moods, his needs could very well drive her to madness.

Fitzwilliam was much easier to decipher. He was proper. His moods controlled. Even when he’d been angry with her, his words had lacked heat. He’d merely scolded, then insisted on proper behavior. Her embarrassment had come because she should have never engaged in any improper behavior that would require his correcting her. He had every right to be upset with her.

She disappointed herself.

She was not a child, free to run hither and yon, and do as she pleased. She had responsibilities now. Was required to act in a certain manner, to complement her husband and his station in life. Fitzwilliam was a viscount, one day to be a marquess. She understood why he didn’t want her speaking with men alone. That he had overlooked her previous lacks in judgment boded well for a future marriage of equanimity. He would not bully. He would not be unkind. They would not have upheavals or storms or adventures.

She sighed. She could very well be bored out of her mind.

She squeezed her eyes shut. She should not be entertaining these thoughts. They’d have never intruded if Sebastian hadn’t returned. Although she certainly couldn’t regret that he had. Because it meant he still lived. And she cared too much for her childhood friend to wish him ill.

“M’lady?”

She opened her eyes to find the butler hovering, a silver salver in his hand. She took the cards that rested on it. It seemed Ladies Hermione and Victoria were in wont of the latest gossip regarding the lords of Pembrook. How disappointed they would be to discover she could no longer serve as a source for their amusements.

“I shall entertain them here,” she said. “Have someone bring tea and cakes.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

She closed her book, set it on the table, and rose to await their arrival. Two more weeks and she would be receiving guests at Fitzwilliam’s. Well, perhaps a bit longer than that as they would be taking a month in Italy after they were married. She was quite looking forward to it as she’d never left England’s shores.

Spotting the ladies scurrying up the walk, she forced herself to smile. Hermione reached her first, and to Mary’s surprise, placed her hands on her shoulders, drew her near, and touched her cheek lightly against Mary’s. “My dear girl, how horrible for you. I do wish you’d told us everything.”

What the devil was she talking about?

Hermione pulled back, but did not release her hold, her brow furrowed so deeply that Mary feared she might forever wear the frown. “I must confess, regrettably, that Victoria and I did not keep your confidence regarding the kiss—”

“I never expected that you would. Terribly juicy bit of gossip, I’m sure.”

“—but had we known that he had forced you, that you had to fight your way free of him—”

Shock rippled through Mary. “What? No, what are you talking about?”

“That Keswick behaved as a complete blackguard and gave you no choice in the matter.”

“Who told you such nonsense?”

“It’s all over London. He and his brothers are to be refused admittance into any proper residence. And it’s not fair. It’s simply not fair.”

“I couldn’t agree more. It shan’t be tolerated.” Lies! Lies running amuck over London. How had they even started?

“Thank the Lord that you see the truth of the matter. So you will speak out in favor of Lord Tristan so that at least he can be welcomed into homes?”

“Lord Tristan?” Mary felt as though she were trapped in a whirlwind of words that were slamming together in no logical manner.

“Yes. He should not be made to suffer—
I
should not be made to suffer—because his brother is a savage.”

“But Keswick is not a savage. He did not force me. Where did these awful rumors start?”

Hermione finally released Mary’s shoulders, stepped back, and gave a light tug on her gloves. “Where all rumors start. With the truth.”

“The truth is that we shared a kiss in the garden. A kiss that we both—or at least I—welcomed.”

Lady Hermione arched a fair, delicate brow. “You invited him to take liberties?”

“I did not invite him, and no liberties—” Her words would be misinterpreted, twisted about. “He kissed me. It was no more than that. Lips exploring—” Again she stopped. Anything she could think to say in way of explanation would only worsen matters.

“They say he ripped your bodice in his eagerness. The seamstress admitted to repairing your gown.”

Mary could only stare in stunned disbelief. This madness resembled a parlor game she’d once played where one person whispered to another and around the circle it went until when the whispered words finally made their way to the originator, they barely resembled the original phrase. It had been a fun game at the time. Everyone laughed. She certainly wasn’t laughing now. “Who is
they
who are spouting these ridiculous claims?”

“Well, everyone, of course.”

“I returned to the ballroom after the kiss.”

“I didn’t see you, but I heard you left rather quickly.”

“Your hair was askew,” Lady Victoria added. “I saw Lord Tristan straighten it. On the terrace.”

She had spent so many years with no one paying any attention to her at all, no one noticing that she had come of age for a Season but failed to appear in London, and suddenly it was as though everyone had their spyglass pointed her way. “This whole matter is ludicrous.”

What must Sebastian be thinking? Had he heard these rumors? Had Fitzwilliam? What a colossal mess!

“Your tea, m’lady.”

She glanced over at the female servant holding a tray that contained the china and small cakes. So civilized, so proper. She could not possibly sit down and sip tea as though nothing were amiss. “Return it to the kitchen.”

The girl curtsied and hurried away as though she recognized a storm brewing within her mistress. Hermione apparently was not so intuitive.

“But I would like to have a bit of tea while we talk further. If you would provide us with the details of that night perhaps we can set matters to right so Lord Tristan may again be welcomed into homes.”

Lord Tristan again? How could Lady Hermione not understand that Lord Tristan was the very least of Mary’s worries at the moment? “He was never welcomed. Not even into yours. Your parents didn’t want him there. How can you be so dense, so focused on only your own wants?”

Lady Hermione drew herself up. “No need to get nasty here.”

“If you will please excuse me, I must pay a call on Lord Fitzwilliam. He will be terribly upset by these rumors.” What if he challenged Sebastian to a duel? Sebastian with his military training would make short work of him. No, with his hindered vision it was very likely that he could no longer properly sight a target. Fitzwilliam could come to incredible harm.

“Fitzwilliam didn’t seem terribly upset when he spoke to Father about them,” Lady Victoria said.

“Why would he discuss them with your father?”

“He said the gentlemen needed to ensure that Keswick was not allowed near any of the women. He said his cowardly behavior on the battlefield apparently extended to his treatment of ladies. They want him out of London.”

It made no sense. No sense at all. Why would Fitzwilliam speak ill of Sebastian? With questions tumbling through her mind, she began marching toward the house.

“What are you going to do?” Lady Hermione called out.

But she didn’t answer them. She just left them to stare after her.

S
he thought of speaking with her father but he would only advise her to leave the matter be. That was not an option. So she changed into her calling dress and had a carriage readied. As it rumbled through the streets, rain began to fall. It matched her mood. Whatever was wrong with people? Why had they not celebrated the lords’ return? Why did they view them as questionable? Why did they believe rumors that Sebastian was a coward on the battlefield? Why did they believe that he would force himself on her?

Did they think she would be cowed by such behavior that she wouldn’t report it? She’d have scratched, kicked, and fought. She’d have never succumbed willingly to something she didn’t want.

The carriage came to a halt. The door opened and the footman, holding an umbrella, handed her down. But even his long legs had a time of it keeping up with hers as she hurried to the massive doors at Fitzwilliam’s residence. She didn’t care that rain droplets rolled down her face when she stepped into the foyer.

“Where’s your master?” she demanded as the butler appeared.

“I shall announce your arrival.”

“Just tell me where he is. Do it or relieving you of your duties will be my first act after becoming mistress of this household.”

“The library, m’lady.”

She marched down the hallway with her hands fisted and her shoes beating out a steady cadence that resembled that of militia drummer. She was ready to do battle if need be, but she hoped, dear God, but she did hope that she would discover she was wrong in her suspicions.

With a bow, a footman opened the door at her approach. She charged into the room and staggered to a stop. Fitzwilliam was lounging in a chair by the fire, snifter in hand, swirling the amber liquid within it, apparently lost in thought. He seemed so vulnerable for a moment there, and she imagined they would have many nights of sitting together before a fire. They would read together, and talk quietly, and hopefully laugh about some silly nonsense.

Glancing over, he furrowed his brow and slowly came to his feet as though she’d awoken him or perhaps he simply couldn’t believe the sight of the hoyden standing before him, dripping on his parquet floor. “Lady Mary, whatever’s wrong? What are you doing here?”

Bravely, she took several steps forward along with a deep breath. “Did you start the rumors that Keswick had forced his person on me in the garden?”

Irritation chased away the furrows, but he steadfastly held her gaze. “No.”

One word delivered like the shot from a pistol. She’d offended him, and as much as she’d regretted it, she’d had to ask. That knowledge bothered her, sent a fissure of unease through her, but she wasn’t certain why. She’d have to examine it later.

“It must have been his uncle then, striving to discredit him, to make his entry back into Society that much more difficult. I’m certain he spawned this ludicrous story of Keswick’s cowardice on the battlefield.”

“Why is this a concern to you?”

“Because he’s my friend.”

He set aside his snifter and approached. “So anxious were you to question me that you couldn’t even arrive with an umbrella?”

She watched a raindrop fall from her hat to the floor. “I was upset, not thinking.”

“You do not believe him capable of moral shortcomings and yet you question mine?”

Not only offended, but hurt him as well. “I’m sorry. I know you’re a good man.”

“Apparently you don’t.”

“I do. I’d have not accepted your offer of marriage if I doubted the sort of man you are. I thought perhaps you’d done it in a misguided well-meaning attempt to protect my honor.”

“I assure you that I’m not in the habit of being misguided in any of my actions.”

“Of course you’re not. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive my impertinence.”

“I wish I could say that I would forgive you anything, but I must confess to growing wearisome of constantly finding Keswick in our lives. He will not be there once we are married, I should hope. I’ll have your word on that.”

What was he saying? That she would never see him again?

“I don’t suppose you would do what you could to help quash these rumors that he took unfair advantage of me,” she said quietly.

He turned away. “If I did that, it would be to imply that you kissed him willingly. Do you understand how that would make me appear? Cuckolded before we’re even wed. I believe silence is the better part of valor here. The rumors will die out of their own accord if tinder is not constantly thrown on them.”

He was correct, of course. If the rumors garnered no reaction, people would soon lose interest in them. But what damage to Sebastian’s reputation might be done in the meantime?

Fitzwilliam faced her. “I can’t help but admire your loyalty to the man. I simply wished it extended to me.”

She suddenly felt as though she didn’t deserve this man. “It does. I’ll be such a devoted wife you’ll never have cause to doubt me.”