Authors: Joanna Shupe

The Courtesan Duchess (14 page)

BOOK: The Courtesan Duchess

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Goddamn her to hell.

“Wait,” Nick suddenly said. “Her stomach exhibited no signs of rounding. At what month do women start showing?”

Quint lifted his hands and shrugged. “Damned if I know. I had heard she and Wyndham were quite close for a time. But even if she is to have another man’s by-blow, do you really care? I should think you’d be relieved, considering you never planned to give her a child.”

Nick rubbed his forehead. Maybe he would have felt that way before he’d met her. Before he’d held her in his arms. The thought of another man having her, losing himself inside her body . . . it made him nearly mad with jealousy. “I am
not
relieved,” he said before returning to his papers. “Is that all, Quint?”

He heard Quint sigh. “I know you well enough to see you shall not let this go. So what are you planning to do?”

Nick kept his eyes on his writing. “Make them regret it, of course. I am leaving for London as fast as I can manage.”

Quint sighed, heavier this time. “Well, I had better come with you, then.”

Julia gripped the sides of the boat, rising from over the side where she’d just emptied her stomach into the English Channel. Again. Heavens, she’d never been so nauseated in her life.

The four-week journey from Venice had been miserable. In addition to the guilt she felt over leaving Nick so abruptly, she’d missed her monthly courses. Julia had actually achieved her goal. She was enceinte.

She pressed a hand to her abdomen, where a tiny life now grew inside her. While part of her was relieved her plan had worked, another larger part grieved for the father her baby would never know, the husband Julia would never have. For Nick.

But Julia had no time for regrets. What’s done was done, as Aunt Theo would say. Julia had to move forward and nurture the child she carried.

Once back in London, Julia planned to write him. She would apologize for leaving Venice so suddenly and tell him of her real identity. And even though he would hate her, at least she could give him the reasons behind her actions. Someday, perhaps, he could forgive her.

Lord, she missed him. That last night with him, their lovemaking had been explosive. After leaving his palazzo’s roof, they had been ravenous for one another, barely making it to his chamber before tearing off each other’s clothes. After, he’d held her so tightly, with something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. Julia was almost sure he had developed feelings for her.

Perhaps he had come to care for her as much as she loved him.

Which was why she’d left Venice, to put a stop to her scheme before either of them were hurt further.

“Are you feeling better?” Aunt Theo appeared at Julia’s side, her cherubic face etched with concern.

“Yes,” Julia answered, slowly finding her way to a deck chair. She sat down and closed her eyes, utterly exhausted. The bracing cold wind helped counteract the choppy waves and her stomach calmed. She hunched further into her ermine-lined cape and placed her hands in the matching muff.

“I am worried,” Theo said, and settled into the chair next to Julia. “I’ve never seen you quite this bad off.”

“Merely
mal de mer
. I’ll be fine once we reach Dover.”

“I don’t mean that. Your husband, I mean. You are in love with him.”

Tears gathered and Julia bit her lip in an effort to keep the moisture from falling. She didn’t answer Theo, but her silence said enough.

“Oh, my dear.” Theo reached into the muff to clasp her niece’s hand. “You’ve been so unhappy on this trip and I suspected the cause. I am so sorry. To love a man who does not return the sentiment . . . it is quite painful, to be sure.”

“That’s the thing. I believe he did come to have feelings for me—I mean Mrs. Leighton. Perhaps he even loved her. And hurting him that way . . . I could not do it any longer. That’s why we had to leave.” Julia took a shaky breath. “I never expected it to go this far. I never expected to love him.”

Theo sighed. “The heart loves whom it loves. We wish we could control it, but we cannot.”

They sat in silence for several minutes.

“Are you going to tell him, then?” Theo asked.

Julia nodded. “As soon as we return to London. I owe him that at least.”

“Are you going to tell him about the baby as well?”

Julia’s head snapped to her aunt. “You knew?”

“Of course! They might be a bit bleary some nights, but I still have my eyes. Are you happy about the baby?”

She gave her aunt a tremulous smile. “I am. I’ll always have a part of Nick, and even though we’ll never see one another again, I’ll have a son or daughter that resulted from one beautiful week together.” She squeezed her aunt’s hand. “Theo, will you help me raise my baby?”

“Of course!” Theo exclaimed. “Oh, my dear, I’d be honored.”

“You’d be honored to do what?” Simon appeared, his hat pulled low and a heavy wool greatcoat protecting him from the stiff breeze.

“Theo,” Julia said. “Would you excuse Simon and me for a moment?”

Her aunt nodded and stood up. “Pray come below and get some rest when you’re finished.”

“I will,” Julia promised before her aunt walked away. “Please sit, Simon.”

Simon looked at her warily but sat down. “Are you still ill?”

“Yes, but that’s not what I have to tell you.” She took a deep breath. “I am with child. Colton’s child.”

He smiled. “Then felicitations are in order. I am very happy for you.”

“You are? I assumed you would be angry. Colton is your friend, after all. And you likely knew he did not want children.”

“I’m not angry, Julia. I’m happy you got what you wanted. And who knows? Perhaps it will all turn out better than we expected.”

“And what do you mean by that?”

He shrugged and turned to stare at the water.

“I plan to write to Colton as soon as we arrive in London,” she told him after a bit.

“I assumed as much.” Simon stretched his legs in front of him. “I am curious as to what his reply will be.”

Julia’s stomach clenched. Would he even send a reply? It seemed unlikely from her perspective. Nick was going to be furious. But she needed him to acknowledge the child as his own.

“How many more days until Dover, do you think?” she asked.

“Two. Why?”

“Because I do not know if I can make it that long.” Julia bolted out of her chair and rushed to the side, where she promptly threw up.

Chapter Eight

Take care to be sweet and amenable, avoiding arguments when possible. An angry, vindictive lover will bring you naught but trouble.

—Miss Pearl Kelly to the Duchess of Colton

Could she stand here all night without vomiting on the floor?

Such was the thought in Julia’s head as she waited at the side of the Collingswood ballroom. The heat and crowd had made her queasy, so she’d stationed herself near the terrace door in order to crack it. Drawing deep breaths of the bracing cold February air had helped to settle her stomach.

So far, carrying a child was not the joyous condition she’d imagined in her youth. She spent far more time emptying the contents of her stomach than actually eating.

“Jules!”

Julia turned and saw her best friend, Lady Sophia, approaching. “Oh, Sophie,” Julia said after the two hugged. “I had heard you arrived in Town. I planned to call on you yesterday, but I’ve been a bit tired from my trip.”

In fact, Julia was exhausted. She had skipped most of the society events since returning three weeks ago and would not have even come tonight if Aunt Theo hadn’t insisted.

But she was very glad to see Sophie. Her friend was full of life, game for anything, and consequently a lot of fun. A stunning brunette with large brown eyes, Lady Sophia was the only daughter of a powerful marquess and had sworn never to marry. Julia envied her.

“And how was Paris?” Sophie asked. “I cannot wait to hear all about it. I bet you bought all sorts of fabulous things while you were there. I am so envious. Did you see Lady Morgan? She went to Paris, too. Oh, do tell!”

It was sometimes hard to get in a word whilst one was engaged in conversation with Sophie.

“I have much to tell you,” Julia answered, knowing she needed to give her friend the truth about Venice. “But this isn’t the best place. I’ll come to call on you tomorrow.”

“You had better.” Her eyes dropped to Julia’s black shawl. “My condolences on your mother-in-law. I suspected the old bat would live forever, but . . .” Sophie shrugged.

Julia had been of a like mind. While the dowager duchess’s death had been a shock—she’d fallen down a flight of stairs and broken her neck—it was not a reason for much sadness. “Thank you. I absolutely refuse to dress in full mourning for her, but Theo would not let me out of the house without a black shawl. The accident certainly came as a surprise. She seemed quite spry the last time I saw her.”

“Do you think Colton will come back, now that she is dead?”

Julia glanced away. “No, I do not. I daresay nothing could drag Colton back to England.”

“Too bad. I’ve always wanted a glimpse of the Depraved Duke. So will you kick Lady Lambert out of Seaton Hall?” Sophie appeared positively excited at the idea. “I know she and the dowager duchess were close, but why should Colton’s brother’s wife get that huge estate to herself? She was only married to Colton’s brother for less than a year before he died. It should be yours.”

“I hadn’t thought about it, to be honest. I’m not certain I have the right to kick her out, and even if I did, why would I? I have no desire to live there.” Although moving to Norfolk might relieve some of her financial burden, Julia realized. She decided to discuss this idea with Theo tonight.

“Ugh. Speaking of all things ducal, here comes Lord Templeton. I expect you tomorrow, Jules.” Sophie squeezed Julia’s hand before disappearing into the crowd.

Julia took a much-needed breath of cold air. However, now that she thought about it, throwing up on Templeton held a strange appeal. At the very least, it would get rid of him . . . wouldn’t it?

“Your Grace,” Templeton greeted. She supposed he was attempting a smile, but the effort made his face resemble a small rodent in a great deal of pain. She gave the required curtsy and he bowed over her hand. Just that small contact made her flesh crawl.

“I apologize for not receiving you since returning, my lord. We are still trying to recuperate. I’m sure you understand.”

In the last fortnight Templeton had dropped his card on numerous occasions, but Julia left strict instructions with the servants not to admit him into the town house. She knew he wanted to discuss the hastily written note she’d sent him before leaving for Venice. But Julia needed a response from Colton, recognizing the baby she carried as his, before she told Templeton and the rest of the
ton
of her condition.

“Yes, of course, my dear. I do wish to speak with you at your earliest convenience, however. I find myself curious about the contents of your last note.”

I am sure you do,
she thought. God, how she wished her husband would come back and grind Templeton into dust beneath his feet. Templeton would not stand a chance against Nick.

Her heart twisted. She missed him terribly. Life was unfair. Why did she have to fall in love with the one person she’d never be able to have?

Then Julia’s stomach turned over. She dug her nails into her palm, attempting to forestall the casting up of her accounts on the Collingswood ballroom floor. “I will let you know when I am receiving again, my lord. If you’ll excuse me,” she said, dismissing him. Templeton’s mouth tightened but he did not argue. He bowed, turned, and disappeared into the crowd.

As soon as he left, Julia hurried to the French doors and stepped out onto the terrace.

The night had turned frigid but she hardly noticed. She walked to the edge and braced her hands on the stone railing, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes. If she could stay quiet and calm for a moment, the urge to vomit sometimes passed.

From the dark corner on her right, she heard the slide of a boot heel on stone. Julia spun, surprised any other guest would brave the inhospitable temperature. Then the light from a cheroot glowed, illuminating a face she’d never expected to see again.

“I much preferred you as a redhead,
Your Grace
.”

Julia gasped, then promptly vomited on the Duke of Colton’s boots.

Utterly horrified, she swayed. Had he called her “Your Grace”? She tried to steady herself, her hand flailing in an effort to find the balustrade.

“Not quite the welcome I’d expected” was all Nick said before strong hands lifted her up and carried her down the steps into the garden.

Julia could barely breathe. Her head swam. It was Nick. He had come back. But . . . why? He couldn’t have received her note and then traveled to England in this length of time. Which meant he hadn’t yet received her letter and had no idea about the child.

She frowned. Did he come back for her?

But he addressed her as “Your Grace,” so he’d learned her real identity.
Oh God.
How? Shame over what she’d done and fear over his response warred within her. What was he planning to do?

“Colton, put me down. I don’t know where you think you’re taking—”

His arms tightened. “If I were you,
wife,
I would not argue with me,” he growled in a tone she’d not heard him use before. Sharp and cutting, like the edge of a rapier. A shiver rolled through her.

They passed through a gate and into the mews. Colton whistled, high and shrill, and within seconds, a carriage pulled around. Fitz and a driver sat on top.

“Put her inside,” Nick said and then dropped Julia into the arms of his larger-than-life manservant.

Fitz effortlessly placed Julia on the seat of Nick’s carriage. She considered bolting out the opposite door but knew she wouldn’t get far in her current condition.

Outside the carriage, Nick toed off his boots. He then stripped off his stockings and tossed them onto the ground. “Leave them,” she heard him tell Fitz. “Let us see the duchess home, shall we? She is unwell.”

He climbed into the carriage, barefoot. Even in the dim light she could see his anger. His jaw clenched tight, posture stiff, with stormy gray eyes that were cold and hard. Fury rolled off him in waves. This was not the same man who had flirted and teased her in Venice. Her heart splintered further and fresh misery oozed into her chest.

She swallowed. “My apologies for ruining your boots,” she murmured.

One eyebrow lifted sardonically. “Considering all that you’ve done, it seems fitting, does it not?”

She felt the need to explain herself, to make him understand. Make him less angry. After all, if he hadn’t abandoned her for eight years, she never would have had to resort to trickery. “Nick, I—”

He banged twice on the roof, and the carriage lurched forward.

“I did not give you leave to use my Christian name,
wife.
You may refer to me as ‘Your Grace’ or ‘Colton.’”

Julia bristled. Her intention to establish any goodwill disappeared. “Fine, Your Grace. Why are you here? Why come back to England after all these years?”

“Can you not guess?”

“No, I cannot.”

His smile was pure evil. “Why, for revenge, of course.”

Julia felt it again, the bile rising in the back of her throat. It must have shown on her face because Nick shouted, “Stop!” and threw open the carriage door. She dropped to the floor and peered over the side to vomit once more.

A handkerchief appeared by her ear and she grabbed it to wipe at her mouth. “Thank you,” she mumbled. After a minute or two, her stomach calmed and she felt steadier. Another deep breath and she dragged herself back to the seat.

“I can see carrying the babe agrees with you,” he said acerbically.

Julia’s heart stopped. “What did you say?”

“The babe. Your condition. I can see it agrees with you.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Or was I not supposed to know?”

“Colton, it’s obvious you’re angry with me. But you should know I sent you a letter as soon as I came back to London that explained everything.”

“Instead of explaining in person, of course.” He leaned forward, his gaze hard and unwavering. “If you thought, madam, to make a fool of me and then return home, patting yourself on the back, thinking you’d done the trick, you were wrong.”

“Make a fool of you?” She gaped at him. “Is that what you think?”

“You wanted me, wife. Badly enough, I daresay, to lie, cheat, and steal for your purposes. Well, now you’ve had me. How long, I wonder, before I can make you truly regret it? And make no mistake—you
will
regret it.”

Nick had never heard the main room in White’s so quiet.

It had been eight years since he’d last visited the legendary gentlemen’s club on St. James, but nothing ever changed here. Behind these walls, the elite males of the
ton
sought refuge—mostly from their wives. A fact to which, sadly, he could now relate.

All conversation halted when the Duke of Colton appeared. Every head turned his way. Even the staff craned their necks, curious as to the cause of the abrupt cessation of noise.

But he couldn’t bother with any of that now, not when he had one very important thing to do.

Whispers started behind him as Nick traveled to the hazard tables in the back, where he’d been told he could find precisely what he was looking for.

Nick saw him right away. Simon Barrett, the Earl of Winchester, lounged against a table, his blond head bowed while counting his money, oblivious to the fact that the room had gone silent around him.

Nick kept on until he reached Winchester’s side. Simon glanced up, surprise registering for a half second before Nick punched him square in the face.

The force of the blow sent Winchester to the floor. He made no effort to stand up, his cheek cradled in his hand. “
Goddamn it,
Colton. I know I deserve that, but give me fair warning next time. Christ.”

Nick crouched down and snarled, “There won’t be a next time, Winchester. You are nothing to me. Not a friend, not an enemy. Nothing. You chose her over me, and I’ll never forgive you for it.”

He rose just as Quint rushed into the room and skidded to a halt. “Damnation,” Quint muttered at the sight of Winchester sprawled on the ground. “I was in the dining room. Thought I could make it in time.”

Nick turned to the rest of the men in the room, straightened his cuffs. “My apologies, gentlemen, for disturbing your play.”

Spinning on his heel, he left.

“Can you get up?” Quint asked.

“Yes,” Simon grumbled, and rolled to his side. Hell, his face hurt. Coming up on all fours, he pushed himself upright. “Bastard snuck up on me.”

Quint slapped Simon’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s get a drink.”

The two men strolled to the front room where they found two empty chairs in front of a fire. An order for brandy was quickly placed. Quint also asked the attendant to wet a cloth, set it outside for ten minutes, and then bring it to the table.

“What for?” Simon asked when the attendant left.

“Your face. The cold will reduce the pain and any swelling.”

Simon touched his injured cheek gingerly, winced. “It’s been a while, but it does seem as if Colton’s punches have grown stronger over the years.”

“A man is capable of remarkable feats of strength when provoked. Which begs the question . . . Why did you help her? I think your betrayal cut Colton deeper than his wife’s.”

Simon sighed. “I owe her. She once stopped me from doing something terribly idiotic.”

“Which was?” Quint asked when Simon didn’t offer more.

“I won’t tell, it’s so humiliating. But Julia’s been a good friend to me. And while Colton has also been a good friend, his treatment of his wife has been appalling. So she asked for my help and . . .” He shrugged.

The brandy arrived and Simon took a deep, long swallow, hoping to numb the sting from where Colton’s fist had connected.

“He believes you are in love with his wife,” Quint explained. “I told him you weren’t. You aren’t, right?”

BOOK: The Courtesan Duchess

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