The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (16 page)

“But you must have an heir!” Lady William protested.

“Must I?” he asked, rising and strolling about the room with fabricated casualness. “Perhaps, one day. But Elise will not be his mother. She could never tolerate being married to me. You heard what she said. Surely, you would not wish her to be married to such a man!”

“It is a woman’s lot to put up with such things,” Lady William said with a self-satisfied smile. “I am sure Ruisdell Palace would compensate adequately in every way for your absence.”

“By Jove, Lady William, you are made of stone!” the viscount interrupted, jumping up from his chair. “How could you wish for such a marriage for your daughter?”

“It is useless to appeal to her humanity, Gregory. She does not possess any,” Elise said.

“Elise! How dare you say such a thing! I am trying to promote a fabulous alliance for you. Be quiet, please.”

“I would never tolerate such a marriage, Mother.”

“Elise, you are swimming in scandal broth! Do you suppose the
ton
will overlook two more broken engagements inside a month?”

“Aunt and I will go to Bath until the scandal winds down. I have reconciled myself, Mother.”

“Bath! An admirable idea! But you are not to cry off. While you are taking the waters, I will see that our solicitor brings a breach of promise action against Ruisdell in the unlikely event that he should cry off.”

The duke stopped pacing and stood before the harridan. How could his lovely Elise have been raised by such a woman? “I would have no hesitation in crying off. My reputation is as bad as it can be. And you would not win your suit. Chessingden here, with his own interests at heart, will, I am certain, swear that our engagement was only a temporary step until the Earl of Waterford is vanquished. The viscount was present when I proposed and heard the entire business.”

“I do not think that would serve, Your Grace. The viscount is so obviously an interested party,” Lady William said sweetly.

Chessingden said, “Are you suggesting that I would perjure myself? No! It happened exactly as the duke says. And believe me, I desire nothing more than to marry Elise and take her home with me to Hampshire, cutting her ties forever with your ladyship. If you think my rank would bring you the slightest bit of prestige, you are very much mistaken. I would go so far as to repudiate you publicly.”

“And nothing on this earth,” the duke said, “could prevail upon me to marry your daughter at all, since it would mean having such heartless baggage as you for a mother-in-law.”

Elise said, “You have gone too far this time, Mother. You had best retire from the lists before one of these gentlemen wrings your neck! I have never been so mortified by your behavior.” Turning to him, she said, “Your Grace, I relieve you of your obligations from this moment. You may return to your house. Perhaps you can arrange to have the Bow Street Runners guard this house, inasmuch as they are attempting to capture Robert. I should have thought of that before now. They will be adequate protection.”

In spite of his unequivocal statement to Lady Hatchet, Ruisdell was aware of a sudden sense of loss.

Elise continued, “I will send the notice of the termination of our engagement to the
Morning Post
. Thank you for saving me from kidnapping. I shall be forever in your debt.” She curtseyed.

There was nothing left for him to do but give her his deepest bow and depart. His anger melted away, and he felt like the lowest dog for deserting Elise. As he passed Bates on the way out, he bade him give a message to his valet to pack up his things and return to Shearings.

Ruisdell wandered the streets blindly for an hour, wondering how he could have left Elise in her mother’s toils. What was to become of her? At last, he remembered her final request and entering the mews, saddled Jupiter and made for Bow Street, where he delivered her message.

Then there was nothing left to do but retire to White’s. Its familiar smells, sights, and sounds no longer soothed his sensibilities, he was disappointed to find. He met Somerset at the billiards table and joined the game. Nonetheless, the gossip, joking, and wagers did not penetrate his outward shell. Somehow, Elise had wormed her way in there and taken up housekeeping. There was no room for anything else. After an hour, he left White’s. How could he have passed life in such boring company?

Perhaps Elise and her colorful Aunt Clarice would be attending the Reardons’ ball that evening. Her mother couldn’t stir from the house, so he would not have to worry about encountering her. And it was a masquerade. No one would know who he was, so even if Chessingden should spread gossip about the end of his very brief engagement, society would not detect him dancing attendance on his fair lady. Besides, she needed protection there, did she not? He could not have Waterford carrying her off.

He really needed to eliminate that threat the next morning. Without a doubt, he would shoot to kill.

Dining alone at Grillon’s, he felt the uselessness of his life hang over him like a pall. It came to him as something of a shock that he missed the war. As horrible as it had been, it had given purpose to his existence. He had felt at his most alive when risking his life every day.

Maybe he could manage a waltz with Elise this evening, in spite of his leg. Maybe that way he could at last hold his Sunshine in his arms, feeling the slimness of her waist beneath his hand once again. He would wager that she waltzed divinely. He would be able to feast his eyes upon her desirable face and form. Just the idea made him feel warm with wanting.

And maybe tomorrow morning he would die on Hounslow Heath, giving his life for her.

OUR HEROINE ATTEMPTS TO DEFUSE A DIFFICULT SITUATION

Elise had never expected to marry the duke. So why did his unequivocal refusal ever to make her his wife sting so badly? What else could he have said to her mother’s pretensions? He was all the things she had said. He was not the least like Joshua. She did not want to marry him. Did she?

Thinking of the woman, Marianne, and what she had suffered due to Ruisdell’s heartlessness, she tried to cheer herself. But it was a futile exercise. How had the man spread his tentacles around her fragile heart in such a short time?

Words hurt. Even if they were the truth. And she had said her share of words as well. It had been necessary to try to put her mother off the duke, but had she not said what she really felt? That she would never marry a man who comported himself as Ruisdell did?

Thinking back, however, she could only remember his dealings with her. First, she remembered the encounter at the soup kitchen. He had donated to her pet project to do something for the wounded men that the country had every reason to be grateful to but had forgotten. He had shown genuine interest in each of them. Second, he had shown great tenderness and understanding in his letter of condolence following Joshua’s death. And while she had been contemplating his letter in Green Park, he had given her a sensitive sketch of the tree that somehow comforted her in her sorrows. And she knew that he understood the role that it played in her life. Third, he had offered his protection against Robert and then had staged a rescue. To do that, he had offered her an engagement, which, though bogus, was more than he had ever done for another lady. He had taken her to the magistrate to give out her complaint. And he had done all this while suffering some private torment that had to do with the war.

Were those the actions of a womanizer? A dyed-in-the-wool drinker and gambler? Her toes curled inside her slippers as she recalled her judgment of him before her mother. And had not his statement that he would never marry her followed her own defamation of his character? How could she have been so graceless? He probably thought of her as the kind of woman who would use men for her own means and then discard them.

Sitting at the desk in her bedroom refuge, she wrote her announcement to the
Morning Post
: “Miss Elise Edwards and Peter Northcott, Duke of Ruisdell, announce the dissolution of their engagement by mutual consent.”

She rang for Kitty and, giving her the announcement, asked her to take it to a footman to carry off to the newspaper office. Then she moved to look out the window of her second floor bedroom that overlooked the front walk and the street. The duke had evidently kept his promise, for she spotted two Runners in their red waistcoats walking to and fro across the street, watching her aunt’s house.

Instead of a feeling of safety, Elise felt gloom settle on her. Such a feeling contrasted sharply with the security she had felt that afternoon while walking with the duke, her hand tucked inside the crook of his elbow. Closing her eyes, she allowed her mind to replay all of their encounters once again. She found that her fondest recollection was of sitting beside him at the Sumners’ ball, her gloved hand in his . . . Oh! How could she have forgotten his sapphire? He had told her it was a pledge.

To what was he pledging? Probably nothing more intimate than the removal of Robert from her life. And did not that woman, Marianne, state that he was fond of giving jewelry, but would never give his heart?

He may not have given her his whole heart, but the part of him she had come to know was not the part society knew. She would lay odds that Marianne had never seen that side of him. Perhaps no one but Joshua ever had. Maybe what she and the duke had shared had not been a romance but she thought it possible that it was more than he had ever shared with any other woman. And now it was over. Robert would be caught by the Runners eventually. And she had cried off her fourth engagement, making her a pariah in society, she was certain.

Wearily she studied the invitation cards on the mantle of her fireplace. Tonight was the Reardons’ masquerade. Little as she felt like attending a ball, she would go, if just to get herself and Aunt Clarice away from her mother. Bath was looking ever better. She would bring up the idea with her aunt tonight.

Meanwhile, there was her writing. Elise took her manuscript out of the drawer. It seemed a silly, petty thing about silly, petty people. The thought of writing it did not console her at all.

Instead, she took out a fresh sheaf of foolscap, inked her quill, and began writing the story that had unconsciously begun itself over the last few days:
Misunderstood, the Tale of a Duke
.

Rafe Ravensbrooke, the fifth duke of Northampton, exited White’s elegant subscription room . .
.

So lost did she become in her tale of her friend and his complexities that Kitty’s entrance was an unwelcome intrusion. “Miss! You have only an hour and a half to prepare for the masquerade! Shall I have your supper sent up on a tray?”

The thought of joining her parent in the dining room was unwelcome. She felt guilty for leaving her aunt and Sukey alone but knew that they were not as vulnerable as she was.

“Yes, Kitty, thank you. That would be the best thing, I think.”

“I will just inform Mrs. Topwell, Miss. Your bath is full and awaiting you. I only hope the water is not cold.”

She knew Kitty disapproved of her writing and all the time it took away from her grooming. “You are the princess of maids, Kitty. I’m sorry I’m not more biddable.”

While Kitty was powdering her hair and dressing it with the aid of many pads in a towering Georgian confection with only a handful of ringlets over one shoulder, Violet surprised her by bursting into her dressing room.

“Oh, Elise! Gregory has told me about what happened this afternoon with your mother! He wants to offer for you again and take you away to Hampshire!”

Elise looked at her friend’s face in the mirror. She had obviously been crying and was still most upset.

“Kitty, you may go. Violet can help me into my costume.”

“And the patches, miss.” The maid put a small box at her elbow and opened it. “I thought one on the very top of your cheekbone and one just above the corner of your mouth.” So saying, she placed the patches.

“That will do splendidly, Kitty. Thank you. And don’t wait up. I am likely to be quite late.”

“Elise, you are so beautiful. It is no wonder that Gregory is taken with you. Even if we married, I should know that he would love you all his life.”

“Not true, Violet. His attachment to me is not wholehearted, I am convinced. All the time he was engaged to me, I think he was really in love with you—with your goodness and your devotion to goodness.” Inwardly, she winced at what was probably a lie. Slowly, her opinion of the viscount had darkened. Now she believed his attachment to Violet due solely to the influence wielded by her politician brother.

Violet sat down in the dark blue velvet chair by the window. Her fairness was thrown into relief, and Elise thought how pretty her friend looked, in spite of her sorrow.

“Elise, if anyone has goodness and devotion to goodness, it is you. I have never known why you have had me on such a pedestal.”

“It comes naturally to you, Violet. Whatever charitable tone my mind has, it has gained by association with you. To tell you the honest truth, my friend, you are much too good for Gregory. I believe him to be a cad.”

Though she knew it must give her pain, Elise thought it important that Violet know of Gregory’s fall from grace in the matter of the unbuttoned dress. As she related it, Violet’s eyes grew large.