The Reluctant Duchess (15 page)

She met the cold eyes of the duchess, who stood rigidly in the doorway.

“I see.” She turned her frigid gaze to Ross. He flinched, and Sara felt so very small. She had known that the duchess didn't want her to get involved with her son, and she had done so anyway. Now the duchess thought less of her and could make things very difficult for her. She didn't care so much about her reputation, since she had no intention of ever marrying, but she did care what her father thought of her, and if this got back to him, he would be devastated.

“It's probably best if you return to your room, Sara,” the duchess said.

Sara dipped her head and rushed out of the room, looking at neither Ross nor his mother. She didn't want to see the regret in his eyes, and she was certain that was exactly what she would see.

Ross watched Sara flee the room with her head bent. Just moments ago she had come apart in his arms and everything had been perfect. The shame on her face when she ran from the room had nearly destroyed him.

“I'm disappointed in you, Gabriel. I specifically asked you to stay away from her.”

He had tried, but it had been impossible. He could no more have turned Sara away than he could have stemmed the tide of the ocean. Oh, he'd had every intention. Maybe. He could have stayed away from the study, knowing that Sara would come here looking for him.

No, he was weak when it came to Lady Sara Emerson.

“The fault lies on my shoulders,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, Gabriel.” His mother put her hand to her forehead and rubbed it. “You have ruined her.”

Like a lad who knew he was caught, he shifted from one foot to the other. “If it's any consolation, she's not completely ruined.”

She glared at him from between her fingers. “It is of
no
consolation.” She wearily made her way to the settee, made to sit down, thought better of it, and moved to the chair. “Tell me everything. I know there is something more happening that you are not telling me.”

Ross slumped into the settee. For a moment the image of her writhing beneath him came to mind, but he ruthlessly pushed it away. “Sara is receiving letters from someone who claims he was present the night Meredith was murdered.”

His mother drew in a surprised gasp. “Is this letter writer threatening her?”

“Not yet, but I fear in time he will.”

“Why?”

“We don't know. Montgomery is helping us track him, but we have too few leads.”

The duchess stared at him for the longest time. “She came to you for protection, Gabriel, and you have compromised her.”

He dropped his head in his hands. “I'm aware.” He felt despicable. “I'm also aware that I failed to protect Meredith, and now I am tasked with protecting her cousin. I cannot fail in this.”

“Oh, Gabriel.” His mother knelt before him and pulled his hands away from his face, just as she had when he was a boy and distraught over something. She pulled him toward her until his head was lying on her shoulder. “All this time I thought you mourned Meredith, but in reality you felt guilty. It's not your fault. The silly girl left the safety of her home in the middle of the night.”

He pulled away. “It is not her fault that she was killed.”

His mother looked up at him in sorrow. “Gabriel, you can't continue to blame yourself.”

“Who else am I to blame?”

“The person who killed her. Meredith herself.”

Ross considered his mother. “You didn't like her.” The revelation rocked him in his boots. She'd never given any indication while Meredith was alive, but he could see it in her face now.

The duchess looked away, red creeping up to stain her cheeks.

“I thought you approved of our union,” he said.

“At first I did. She is of a fine family, and the union would have made you very powerful, but the more I got to know her and saw you with her, the more I had doubts. You were not yourself around her. It was as if you were bewitched.”

Ross stood to pace away. “I was not bewitched.”

“Maybe ‘bewitched' is not the right word, but she definitely changed you, and I didn't like it.”

He didn't know what to think. The revelation was so shocking. “All this time and you never said anything.” What would he have done if he had known? And why did her revelation bring back his guilt? He had loved Meredith. He
had
. But toward the end he'd started to see some of the same things that his mother spoke of.

“Forgive me,” she whispered.

He shook his head. “There's nothing to forgive.”

“Do you understand what I'm saying about Sara? She is the opposite of Meredith, and I fear you will overpower her. She needs someone…softer.”

“I'm not harsh,” he said, surprised.

“That's not what I mean.”

“You fear she will lose herself with me.”

“I fear that she is no match for your will, and tonight proves that. She needs a gentle hand. She can't possibly stay here any longer.”

Ross's head jerked up. “She's not leaving.”

“Gabriel—”

“No. In this I am firm, Mother. She's here under my protection, and my protection she will receive. As for the other…” It pained him to even speak of this to his mother. “I will stay away from her.”

She didn't look convinced, and neither was he.

Sara didn't want to answer the knock on her bedroom door. She knew who it was, and it wasn't the person she wanted it to be. She shuffled to the door and opened it to find the Duchess of Rossmoyne on the other side. Just as she had suspected.

Since she'd just been found doing indecent—but oh, so delectable—things to the woman's son, Sara didn't feel the need to stand on ceremony. She turned her back and returned to her bed, where she curled up against the headboard and watched the duchess warily.

Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her in sorrow.

“Forgive me,” Sara whispered. She wasn't asking for forgiveness of the act. No, she would not regret that. She was asking to be forgiven because she had done such a thing under this roof. And because the duchess had to witness something so intimate.

“I have to ask—did he coerce you in any way?”

Sara sat up. “No! You must not believe that. If there is anyone to blame, it is I.”

Elizabeth's lips twitched in a smile. “Interesting that Rossmoyne said the same thing.”

“He tried to warn me away. He told me to return to my room, but I didn't listen.”

Elizabeth stared at her for a long while, and Sara could practically feel the woman thinking.

“I will leave,” Sara said quietly. She didn't want to, but it was for the best.

“I think you will have a fight on your hands if you do. Rossmoyne will hear nothing of it.”

Which meant the duchess had tried to convince him to make Sara leave. She wanted to shrink into the bed, pull the covers over her head, and disappear. She was mortified that the duchess had caught them.

“I'm normally not that kind of girl,” she said in weak defense.

The duchess laughed. “Oh, Sara, I know that. Do you think I don't remember what it's like to be young? It's intoxicating and frightening at the same time. But I do feel the need to lecture you, just as I lectured Rossmoyne.”

Sara inwardly smiled at the thought of this woman lecturing the mighty Rossmoyne. He could be so imposing, but she doubted that deterred his mother.

“Sara, darling, Ross is…” She stopped and appeared to think. “He's a duke. And as a duke, he is used to getting his way.”

“I understand.” Sara was not good enough for this woman's son. It hurt to hear it, but it wasn't something she didn't already know. Meredith might have been good enough, with her shining personality and her ability to control anyone around her with a single look, but not Sara. She wasn't even good enough for her own mother.

The duchess touched Sara's knee. “There's some man out there for you. Someone who understands you better than my son.”

Sara turned her head away. “I have no wish to wed, nor can I right now.”

The duchess was quiet for so long that Sara peeked over at her. Elizabeth's lips were pressed together in what Sara could only imagine was displeasure. “I despise that you are giving up your life for your father.”

“I'm all he has.”

Elizabeth rose and looked down on her. “Your mother should be taken to task for what she has done.”

A frisson of anger melted some of Sara's sadness. “My mother was affected by Meredith's death as much as anyone. She reacted the only way she knew how.”

“By disappearing?” Elizabeth waved her hand in the air. “Never mind. It's not my business. I do not know your parents well enough to comment. I just don't want to see you caught in the middle.”

“I'm not.”

The duchess stared at her for a long moment before she patted Sara's leg and left.

Sara buried her face in the pillow and bit her lip to keep from sobbing. How mortifying that the duchess had told Ross that Sara didn't possess the qualities he needed in a wife. And how sad that something so beautiful had been marred, so that whenever she thought of her one experience with Ross, she would think of the humiliating experience after.

“This is becoming a bad habit.”

Ross cracked his eyes open to find Montgomery standing over him with a fierce scowl. He was still in his study, still in his formal dress trousers from the ball, still on the settee, and it was light outside.

“I must have fallen asleep,” he mumbled.

“Great powers of deduction. We could use your keen mind at Scotland Yard if the ducal career doesn't work out.”

Ross pushed himself to a sitting position, rested his elbows on his knees, and ran his hand through his hair. “You are not humorous.”

“Others think differently.” Montgomery picked up the whiskey glass Ross had dropped when Sara had launched herself at him. He lifted a brow at Ross.

Ross ignored him, too busy remembering that searing kiss and the things he had done to her most responsive body. She was like a finely tuned harp, ready to pluck, and oh, how he had plucked. His fingers flexed just thinking of the things he had done to her and the other things he had badly wanted to do.

It had been the most erotic experience he'd had with any woman, and not because she'd responded so well to his touches but because he had been able to witness the first time she'd come undone in the arms of a man. He'd been honored and touched that it had been he who could watch her eyes smolder then grow round in wonder as her body did things she'd never experienced.

And then his mother had arrived with her impeccable timing. The thought made him groan. He was a grown man, had been a duke over half his life, having ascended to the title at the age of fourteen after the untimely death of his father. He had not been under his mother's watchful eye for many a year, but she could still impart fear in him.

He just hoped to God she had not taken herself off to Sara's room after her conversation with him. Lord only knew what she had told Sara. It was bad enough that she told him he was too rough around the edges for someone as refined as Sara.

“Tell me,” Ross said, wiping his hands down his face. “From what you have learned of Meredith, what are your thoughts about her?”

Montgomery appeared taken aback. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her.”

“But you probably know her better than anyone else, since you were the one who investigated her death. I'm certain you formed an opinion.”

Montgomery hesitated. He walked over to Ross's desk and carefully set the glass down. “I don't move in the same circles as you, obviously, but I'd read about the two of you. You were the golden couple. Everyone wanted to be like you and Meredith. Rich, happy, in love.”

Ross sat back, forcing himself to remember that time. He'd pushed away most of the memories out of grief and shock and even some regret. “We were rich and possibly in love.” But happy? He'd thought so at the time. They'd received all the best invitations. They'd had scores of friends, and they'd liked to entertain and be entertained. How sad and depressing that this was his measuring stick of how successful a relationship was going to be.

There had been a manic quality to it all. Rushing from place to place, trying to be seen at all the best social events and with the best people. He'd imbibed too much, laughed too loudly, and generally acted like an imbecile. And so had Meredith. They'd thought that was what life was all about.

“I'm a simple man, Ross. I enjoy my few friends, quiet nights, and small dinner parties. I like to go to bed early and rise early. Mostly because that's what my job entails. I cannot fathom the life you led.”

Neither could he. Not now. Not anymore.

“She was charismatic,” Ross said, speaking of Meredith. “She lit up the room just by walking in. People were drawn to her, and she always had a smile for everyone.”

“That's what I have heard.”

“But there was a dark side to all that brightness.” Ross had never said any of this out loud and had barely admitted it to himself. “When she wasn't at a social event, she was quiet.” But not quiet like Sara. It was almost like when she was not
on,
she was
off
. “We argued,” he admitted for the first time.

Montgomery jerked his head up. “Argued?”

“Not like you're thinking. I didn't murder her.” Ross was so weary of the accusations and the covert looks. Over time it had gotten better until, eventually, it disappeared. It had helped when Scotland Yard said that Ross had nothing to do with her death, but that first week had been hell.

“I know that,” Montgomery said with a dismissive wave.

The one good thing that had come from Meredith's death was Ross's friendship with Montgomery. At any other time of his life, Ross wouldn't have given Montgomery a second thought, but the man had stood by him and defended him, and that had earned him Ross's undying friendship. Ross attributed that to the turning point in his life.

“I don't believe that a person can always be that…what did you call it? Charismatic?” Montgomery said.

“Many times I tried to convince her that we didn't need to attend every function, that an occasional night off would be beneficial, but she wanted none of that. It was as if socializing drove her. I always felt there was something wrong with me that she didn't want to spend time with me outside of the social whirl.”

“It was a sort of validation,” Montgomery said.

“Yes. Her friends and the invitations, they validated her, made her feel special in ways that I could not.”

“I always wondered if your personal life mirrored your public life.”

“No.” Reliving those times exhausted Ross, especially since he'd spent the past two nights sleeping on the damn settee, but he was glad to get it out.

And it proved to him that his mother was wrong. All she saw was the man he used to be with Meredith. After Meredith's death, he'd retreated from society, but that had been expected. When it was time for him to reenter society, he'd gone to India. So his mother hadn't seen that he was no longer the person he'd been before. He'd had enough of late nights and endless drinks, of friends who liked him only for the prestige he could bring them and the fun they had with him.

Seeing people die, witnessing people fight for simple freedoms, had changed him in ways that staying in England never would have.

He had a deeper understanding of life and was far more aware of his duty as a duke. Yes, he was wealthy. As Sara said, it was not spoken among polite society, but there it was. He was wealthy, and it was his duty to help those who weren't. He had yet to decide just how he would do that, but he knew he would. Just as soon as he finished his time in India. The queen had said he was finished, but he knew he wasn't. However, before he could do any of that, he had to help Sara.

He scrubbed the stubble on his face and sighed. “For all of that, I still should have protected her better,” he said, referring back to Meredith and his constant guilt.

“You had no idea she would leave her home and go out into the night alone.”

“What if I had stayed at the ball as she asked me to?” He had not wanted to go to the ball that night. He was tired and had been up most of the day because Parliament had been in session. Even though he'd been a rogue of the first order, he'd never neglected his duties in Parliament.

He'd asked Meredith to stay in, and she had refused. He'd attended the ball, but the raucous atmosphere had done nothing for him. He had not even had a drink. He'd begged off and left early, even though he knew it would infuriate Meredith. She had pulled him aside and asked him to stay. She'd promised that the next night they would stay in. When that didn't work, she'd tried tears, and when that didn't work, things had turned ugly. She'd threatened all manner of things, coming short of ending their betrothal. He'd had enough and left anyway, disgusted and disheartened and second-guessing every decision he'd made regarding her.

Things had not always been that way, but time had shown her true nature. Either that or the constant soirees, both sanctioned and unsanctioned by the ton, had turned her into someone different.

He wasn't sure what had happened to her. She'd begun to drink too much, laugh too harshly, and sleep too little. He'd loved her. He just hadn't liked her very much, and that admission cut him to the quick. He should have liked her better, tried harder.

He'd been told that she had gone home at a respectable hour with her family. And then she had sneaked out of her bedroom window, and no one had seen her again until Montgomery arrived at Ross's front door and asked him to identify her body.