The Duke's Disaster (R) (25 page)

In the few weeks of their marriage, Thea had already learned what to listen for, where to touch, how much pressure or speed or subtlety sent Noah ’round the bend in the shortest, most glorious time.

As he plied Thea with long, languid strokes, Noah realized that as much as he wanted to bring Thea pleasure, he wanted more to bring her
joy
, to ease whatever was clouding her heart.

When had his ducal priorities shifted from endless duty to marital joy?

This was not husbandly insecurity or a manly whatever.

This was a husband falling in love with his brand-new wife.

This was a man, for the first and only time in his busy, self-important, and oddly beleaguered and lonely life, falling in love with a woman.

And hoping like hell she could someday love him back.

* * *

“We’re to gather for a family buffet in the library when we’re dressed,” Noah said. “My duchess has commanded it.”

“The little girls have seconded the notion?” James asked, holding out a wrist for Noah to insert a sleeve button in his cuff.

“The girls are bouncing about the third floor as if Father Christmas were coming to stay.” Noah smiled at the recollection. “I have ordered that they are to be sneaked to the musicians’ gallery for the opening waltz and gorge themselves on snitches from the main buffet, but only one dessert apiece.”

“Sporting of you.”

“If we keep the girls up half the night, there’s a chance I might have a cup of tea with my duchess in peace tomorrow morning. There.” Noah stepped back. “You’ll do, Heckendorn, but why isn’t your wife valeting you?”

James surveyed himself in the mirror. “For the same reason yours has cast you into the darkness of my company. The ladies are driving the maids to Bedlam, dressing each other’s hair, putting the last touches on hems and gloves and corsages and all that female whatnot.”

“Tending to the feminine mysteries, Meech used to call it.” Noah considered pouring them each a drink, but decided against it when they’d be swilling punch and champagne for hours.

“Will Meech join us tonight?” James asked, fluffing the lace of his cravat.

“He will not.” Noah almost changed his mind about that drink. “Meecham is up to something, James, and I know not what.”

Outside the window of the guest bedroom, the gardeners were setting the last of the potted flowers around the drive, making Wellspring not only stately, but cheerful.

Noah’s mother would have approved, but did his duchess approve?

James raised his chin and repositioned the emerald-and-gold cravat pin Noah had expertly placed not five minutes earlier.

“Perhaps Meech has been playing a little too deep and trying to keep it from you?”

Noah hoped Meech’s problem was that easy to address. “He’s learned his lesson in that regard. I am pleased to report Grantley seems to have as well. Not so, Hallowell.”

James patted the lace cascading from his neckcloth, then turned to admire his reflection in profile.

“Hallowell who?” he asked.

“You recall Marliss’s older brother,” Noah said. “He was bullying Thea when I’d decided to offer for her. Once I married her, it became apparent that somebody had bullied her rather awfully, so I bought up Hallowell’s gambling markers, and a few other debts as well.”

“How much?”

Noah named a figure that had James’s blond eyebrows rising.

“Does Hallowell’s papa know?”

“His papa is so overwhelmed by the challenges of dealing with the viscountess as Marliss is launched that, no, Hallowell has not had the benefit of mature guidance of late.”

“He’s not an infant, Noah.” James slipped a signet ring onto his left hand, more gold and emeralds. “If he bullies his sister’s companion, Hallowell’s enough to make a man dread the prospect of sons.”

“Now, now.” Noah offered a crooked smile. “You will be having sons with Patience Winters Heckendorn. No need to fret. All will be in hand.”

James brightened on some note of marital mischief. “There is that.”

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of Heath and Wilson, but not Grantley, Harlan, or Erikson.

“You’ll give them their orders,” Noah said to James. “In the library for inspection by the little girls, twenty minutes, no more.”

“
Oui, mon capitaine duc.
” Heath saluted, Wilson passed James a small purple boutonniere, and James bowed with ridiculous ceremony while Noah went to find his daughters.

Evvie and Nini were in their bedroom, bouncing on the beds, literally, while Davies tried to tie sashes and fix hair ribbons.

“Ladies.” Noah knew better than to raise his voice. “How will I offer you my tokens if you insist on comporting yourselves like dropped gum rubbers?”

“We’re excited!” Nini bellowed.

“Very,” her sister added solemnly, then dissolved into unprovoked giggles.

“I’m excited too,” Noah said. “I get to dance with my duchess tonight. As we swirl through the opening waltz, my form will be subject to stern criticism, won’t it?”

“He means we’ll get to watch,” Evvie translated. “We’ll be spying. Davies said we had permission, but we must be very, very”—she dropped her voice as her eyes grew round—“quiet!”

The last was shrieked amid peals of laughter. Noah endured a pang of sweetness to see Evvie, his most serious little lady, so overcome with glee and excitement.

Thea had done this. Having Thea here to provide consistency and warmth in the children’s days, to monitor what they studied and with whom, and to get them up on their new ponies regularly as Noah came and went on the King’s business.

Thea had allowed Evvie to be more of a little girl, and the results were stunning. Lovely, dear, and precious. Noah grabbed Evvie out of the air, mid-bounce, and hugged her carefully.

“You’ll crush my dress!”

“Heaven forfend!” He set her on her feet. “Will you allow me to offer you a small complement to your beauty?”

“He’s got flowers,” Nini put in helpfully. “They’re pretty, and they smell good.”

“Like us.” Evvie grinned, holding still so Noah could affix a miniature corsage to her wrist. “Does Nini get one?”

“Of course.” Noah sat on the bed, did the honors for Nini, and then drew them together on his lap. They were getting too big to share his lap, too big to even
be
on his lap—damn it.

“Listen, you two.” He cadged a whiff of little-girl fragrance from each silky head of hair. “Take pity on Davies and Maryanne tonight. We’re all supposed to have fun, not spend our evening watching the two of you cast up your accounts, or deal with bruises you earned pelting down the steps. If Erikson asks you to dance, you must gently decline, because you’re not quite out yet. If I ask you to dance, you must oblige me, because I am your cousin and will be completely heartbroken if you refuse me.”

“You’re silly,” Nini said, sniffing at her wrist corsage.

“A cousin’s prerogative.” While a duke, poor sod, would know little of silliness. “You’ll listen to your nursemaids and spy for only one waltz, right?”

“Yes, Cousin,” they chorused.

“And you’ll come inspect the uncles in a few minutes. They’re very nervous, hoping they measure up.”

“That’s what the Furies said when they came to visit us after tea with Lady Thea.” Nini exchanged a look of devilment with her sister. “We’ll be good.”

Noah set them down and rose. “You will. Ladies who do not comport themselves as such will be twelve years old before they’re invited to spy on another ball.”

Noah had made his point, all teasing aside, so he winked at Davies and took his leave, thinking to find Erikson either in his chambers or possibly among the beauties in the laboratory.

He did not find Erikson in either location, and concluded his resident botanist was likely in the library, researching the possibilities on the buffet table. Noah had just turned to leave the upstairs conservatory and go below stairs himself when his gaze landed on a small mechanism sitting on the sill of a closed window.

All thoughts of the evening’s festivities were shoved aside by a single, unhappy question: Why were the guts of Thea’s music box here in Erikson’s laboratory and left on display, where anyone might happen by?

Twenty-four

Thea shooed her sisters-in-law on their way and went into the dressing room to make sure a spare shirt had been ironed for Noah. There would be sufficient champagne, punch, and spirits on hand tonight that somebody was likely to grow clumsy enough to spill a drink.

Thea wished they’d spill it on her, that she might hide rather than serve as hostess.

The thought that somebody might whisper into Noah’s ear what Thea herself dreaded disclosing to him had cindered her composure. She’d tell him, tell him exactly with whom she’d transgressed—who had transgressed against her—but not until this ball was behind them.

And then…

Then she’d cope, as she always coped, and be grateful she’d had at least a few weeks to dream of a happy future with a man who deserved a loving wife…a wife he might someday love in return.

Thea hadn’t spent much time in her own chamber since Noah had decreed they’d share his bed, but thinking she’d soon be moving back there—assuming he didn’t banish her altogether—she opened the door to her bedroom.

The room might be a guest chamber, so thoroughly had Noah divested it of her effects. Empty, like her.

“You are being ridiculous.” She repeated her father’s admonition aloud, wrinkled her nose at the very sound of it. She wasn’t ridiculous to mourn the loss of a budding romance with her spouse, and she wasn’t ridiculous to dread what lay ahead of her.

Thea knew that now, at least.

Intent on giving herself one last perusal before joining the family in the library, Thea glared at herself in the vanity mirror. Noah had talked her into this gown, a shimmery bronze silk that swayed beautifully with each step and looked beautiful by candlelight. The French modiste had even insisted on matching silk drawers, which completed Thea’s first experience of elegance from the skin out.

Thea hated the dress now; hated the memory of Noah coaxing her to wear it, claiming the unusual color meant he’d be able to spot her among their guests without having to hunt endlessly for his own wife.

She blinked back tears and inspected herself in the mirror.

Something caught her eye, a piece of paper folded and left half-exposed, caught in the lid of her music box. Her empty music box. She extracted the note, knowing it hadn’t been there while the Furies were in the room.

If you want to see your husband’s bastards again in this life, come to the gamekeeper’s cottage immediately, and bring something of yours Anselm will recognize. Warn no one.

The first thought to register was that Evvie and Nini were in peril and defenseless.

Thea knew that helplessness, knew the crushing weight of hopelessness and fear. The second thought was that half the village had been employed at Wellspring for tonight’s ball, and any one of dozens of temporary footmen, maids, or pages might have delivered the note without anybody the wiser.

Taking the time to interrogate staff and consider options was out of the question.

What possession of Thea’s would Noah recognize? Her combs were nondescript, and she wasn’t about to part with her knife. Not tonight of all nights.

She should tell Noah…

Noah might get hurt… He
would
get hurt, being protective and fierce and determined. These thoughts and a flock of others flitted through Thea’s mind on wings of worry, anger, and sheer terror for the girls. She scooped up her music box and fled the room, even as panic had her insides in an uproar.

At the back hallway, Thea paused only to trade dancing slippers for half boots before slipping out into the long evening twilight. No guests would arrive for two hours, not even the nearest neighbors.

So Thea hurried across the back gardens toward the home wood, intent only on keeping the children safe.

* * *

“James.” Noah kept his voice quiet, but the baron casually sidled closer to his host at a bay window. “My duchess is decamping across the back gardens at a forced march, when this buffet was to be a moment shared with all of our family.”

“Nerves?”

“Has to be.” Noah set his drink down, for Thea had been nothing but nerves for the past two weeks. “If I’m not in view again within twenty minutes, make a discreet effort to locate us. I have no one to thank for this but myself. The Furies might have to coax Thea into the receiving line.”

Thea was heading for the trees of the home wood at a brisk walk, not a panicked run, but Noah felt a crashing urgency to retrieve his duchess.

“Noah, what are you going on about?” James asked, picking up Noah’s brandy.

“My wife dreads this evening,” Noah said, “has dreaded the whole ordeal of this gathering, and I would not listen to her. Now the poor woman is likely weeping into her handkerchiefs and cursing the day she married me.”

For Thea had been ill-used at a house party, and somebody wanted to threaten her with that memory.

“Any woman of sense…” James began, but then he stopped. “Apologize, pet her a bit without messing her hair, and grovel, but be back here before Patience, Pru, and Pen sniff out trouble.”

Noah nodded his thanks and nearly jogged through the house and out the back door. Thea had been headed onto the bridle paths in the home wood, but she hadn’t much of a head start. Once Noah cleared the back door, he shamelessly sprinted in her wake. When he caught a glimpse of bronze silk turning up the path to the gamekeeper’s cottage, he resisted the urge to shout.

If his wife was going to pieces, bellowing at her would hardly help the situation, and the cottage was uninhabited—a perfect place for groveling and apologizing.

As Noah reached the cottage, though, he heard Thea’s voice raised in an unmistakably furious shout, and his blood turned to ice in his veins. He watched in silent horror as Maryanne ushered the little girls out of the cottage, and turned them not back toward the manor house, but deeper into the woods, away from Noah, safety, and what should have been one of the happiest nights of their short lives.

* * *

“Quiet, bitch! I liked you much better when you were my sister’s cowering companion. You shut your mouth now, or so help me, I’ll have Maryanne tell her mother to make soup of those two little brats.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Thea snapped. She had no patience with Corbett Hallowell and his schemes to ruin the Winters family gathering. “You harm a hair on their heads, and Anselm will hunt you down and make you regret every moment of your misbegotten life. And God help you when Maryanne realizes you won’t marry her and she’s shared her favors with you for nothing.”

“As if I’d marry an illiterate nursery maid,” Hallowell spat. “I’m to marry a fortune, because my blighted sister is allowed to marry for love. My benighted father has a notion I’m to repair the damage done to the family coffers since I came down from university.”

Hallowell wouldn’t know a love match if it waltzed him down the room at Almack’s.

Thea felt a glorious urge to turn the idiot over her knee. Noah would come, of that she was confident. Davies would be looking for the girls, or Noah would be expecting his wife in the library. Somebody would sound an alarm, and Noah would come.

“What did you bring me to lure your worthless duke out here?” Hallowell asked.

No duke had ever been of greater worthiness.

“A music box,” Thea replied, setting her keepsake on the plank table near the door. A broken, useless music box, which was more than Hallowell deserved. “What are you about, Hallowell? Your sister will still marry happily, your debts will still require payment, and you will have made a powerful enemy of my husband with this stunt.”

“Cowper won’t marry Marliss,” Hallowell sneered. “I told him she’d allowed Anselm liberties, and the idiot believed me because everybody knows the Winters men aren’t to be trusted. Marliss will have to cry off as soon as everyone has left Town for the summer.”

Thea trusted Noah, trusted him with her life, and her heart.

“Oh, well done,” she retorted. Hallowell was a nasty, mad imbecile, while Thea was a furious
duchess
. “Now your parents will have the expense of a second Season, when they must entertain even more lavishly, lest somebody decide your sister didn’t take. Brilliant, Mr. Hallowell.”

He took a step closer. “Shut your mouth, now, or you really won’t see those whelps of Anselm’s again.”

“They are my daughters.” This close, Thea could smell drink on Hallowell’s breath and see the desperation in his eyes. “You will excuse me, but guests have been invited to my home tonight, and I have responsibilities.”

Noah would kill Hallowell if he knew what nonsense the fool was spouting. Marliss and her parents didn’t deserve that misery, or the expense of a proper funeral.

Thea got her hand on the door latch, even though she heard Hallowell moving behind her. She wrenched it open, prepared to dash into the increasing gloom of the woods, but was stopped by two things:

First, her husband stood right in her path, scowling thunderously.

Second, she heard the distinctive sound of a pistol hammer being cocked.

“Turn around, Lady Thea,” Hallowell said, “and step away from Anselm, so I might have a clear shot.”

Lady Thea would have cowered; a duchess needed to think.

A beat of silence went by, just long enough that Thea could see cold, cold fury in Noah’s eyes, and something else, something that looked like infernally intense determination. Noah brushed by her and murmured something like “girls…safe.”

Then he stood between Thea and Hallowell, and Thea wanted to clobber her husband for his chivalry.

“You’re here early, Anselm,” Hallowell said, “but I can work with an audience. Move away from your wife.”

“An audience to your stupidity,” Thea muttered, but Noah shot her a look that silenced her more effectively than even Hallowell’s gun. As Noah moved, Hallowell advanced, putting himself before the only door.

“An audience to your ruin,” Hallowell countered, looking directly at Thea. “I’ll have my pleasure of you, Duchess, and your husband can either give up my markers or keep them. If he keeps them, then all the world will know I’ve cuckolded Anselm himself, and no one will blame me for it, when the Winters menfolk have poached on many a preserve. If he surrenders my markers, I might keep my mouth shut, for a time anyway, until my pockets are empty again. By then, a man as enterprising as Anselm will think of some way to encourage me to silence.”

Had there been no gun, Thea would have scoffed at Hallowell’s scheme, but there was a gun, pointed at Noah.

“You think yourself capable of sexual congress with my wife while I watch?” Noah didn’t so much as glance at Hallowell’s gun, and his voice suggested incredulity, if not outright humor. “Have you considered how you’ll hold a gun on me, pleasure yourself, and deal with the lady’s reluctance all at once?”

Hallowell snorted. “She isn’t a lady. She whored before she tricked you into marriage. It was only a matter of time before she flaunted her wares at some other hapless fool. You…” He waved the gun at Thea. “Tie him up with that rope, and bind him tightly, or you’ll wish you had.”

Noah obligingly backed up against the center post holding up the little dwelling. He held his hands behind his back, above the level of the table that stood next to the post as well. Thea did a creditable job of tying his hands, for all hers shook badly.

Then she saw Noah mouth the words, “Be ready.”

Thea could deal with Hallowell’s taunting, deal with his strutting and pawing and carrying on. If he’d wanted to beat her, she wouldn’t have minded that so much either, but this… Her worst nightmare—intimate violation, again—made more vile by the prospect of Noah watching. Noah, whose respect Thea craved like she craved air.

Be ready
, he’d said.

Thea managed to finish with the rope and stepped back.

Hallowell checked the tightness of the binding, while Noah stood quietly, exuding a vast indifference.

“If you’re wearing drawers, Duchess, get rid of them,” Hallowell said, his gaze riveted on Noah’s face.

“Do as the boy says, Your Grace.” Noah spoke easily, nigh yawning with boredom. “Excuse me, the
man
. Or so he’d have us believe. What do you think? Boy or man, or perhaps not even a boy.”

“Shut your mouth, Anselm,” Hallowell bit out. “And you, Duchess, do as I say, now!”

The only thing allowing Thea to draw breath was the steadiness in Noah’s blue eyes. She bent to comply with Hallowell’s command, when her hand brushed over the knife tied above her knee.

“Hurry up, Duchess,” Hallowell taunted. “Your husband might enjoy your whore’s tricks, but I don’t need them.”

Thea worked as quickly as she could, the yards of her skirts and petticoats camouflaging her efforts. When she straightened, she had her silk drawers wadded up in her hands. Stepping beside Noah, she turned her back to Hallowell and folded her drawers tidily, laying them on the table directly behind Noah’s hands.

A duchess needed to think. To be worthy of her duke.

“Over here, now.” Hallowell gestured with the gun. “Prepare to be thoroughly ruined, Duchess, and behold, your husband does nothing to safeguard what few pretenses to virtue you still have. Undo my falls.”

“How precious,” Noah mused. “You get to undress him like a little boy. Is your heart beating in anticipation of what you’ll find in his underlinen, Your Grace? Perhaps he’ll be wearing nappies, and it will be my silence we’re bargaining over. Then again, I seem to recall my great-grandpapa wearing nappies as his life neared its end too.”

“Quiet, Anselm,” Hallowell bellowed. “Shut your mouth, or she’ll pay.”

“As if enduring your attentions wouldn’t be trial enough for any woman?” Noah scoffed. “Get his breeches around his ankles, Duchess, so I might be impressed with his mighty sword and cower in shame at the size of his weapon. Honestly, Hallowell, did you think this situation through? The duchess is
my
wife
, and in a position to make detailed comparisons.”

Noah was reminding Thea of something important, buying her time to think, to plan, to
be
ready
—