What the Duke Doesn't Know (19 page)

He gestured at his wife. “We are blessed with four children. But we have room in our home for a poor orphan waif. We only recently received word of my addle-headed brother's death.”

“Miss Benson isn't an orphan. She has a mother still.”

His visitor dismissed this fact with a gesture of extreme distaste.

James began to understand why Kawena's father had settled on the other side of the world. “So you're looking for Miss Benson in order to shelter her and support her?”

Ronald Benson's pale eyes glinted, as if a curtain had been pulled back to reveal the fires of avarice, then swiftly dropped again. His wife's hands spasmed, clawlike. James was suddenly certain that they'd heard about the hoard of jewels. It had been a mistake to take them to Rundell and Bridge, he concluded, however expert the valuation. They should have found a more private expert. And yet, a man who spent his life trading in gems would probably not be able to resist gossiping. The story was just too tempting. And this Benson looked like a merchant, the sort of person who would keep an ear to the ground for such news. “Is your wife mute?” James said, playing for time.

“I beg your pardon?”

“She hasn't said a word, not so much as hello.”

“She does not wish to engage in conversation with a person such as you.”

James nearly asked why she'd come then. He did wish she'd stop drilling into him with her gaze. “So you intend to…?”

The caller drew himself up. “Aid my niece, of course. Young women require guidance…and protection.”

To get as much money out of her as he could, James translated. All of it, by choice. He started to point out that Kawena was of age and not in need of a guardian, then changed his mind. He didn't want to tell these people anything they didn't already know. Society had a tendency to side with older male relatives who tried to take over a young woman's life. This Benson might stir up trouble in the law courts, even if his case was weak. And Chancery ate money like a ravenous heathen god.

James wondered what had happened to Kawena's pistol. He'd forgotten to ask if she'd gotten it back. He'd wager she had, though, which was a comforting thought. “As I said, she isn't here.”

“It is as I feared then. You have ruined and abandoned her.”

James wondered whether he'd heard that they'd stayed alone at Langford House. Another bad decision he'd made. And then there was the rest… “I did no such thing,” he replied. “But if I had, I would of course be happy to make it right.”

Benson didn't like that. He'd never get his paws on Kawena's fortune if James married her. No need to remember that she'd turned him down.

“You refuse to divulge her location?”

“Why would you think I know where she is?” That was weak.

“Oh, I think you know very well!”

James stepped closer, looming over the smaller man. “Are you calling me a liar?”
Splendid, James
, he thought,
resort to bullying now
.

Mrs. Benson pulled at her husband's arm. The pair moved away, but he continued to bluster. “If I find that you have deceived me…”

James retreated into the patterns of his upbringing, suddenly every inch a duke's son. “I fear I cannot spare any more time this morning,” he said. He walked over and pulled the bell, waiting in icy silence until the maid came to escort the visitors out.

“You have not heard the last of this,
my lord
,” Benson said as they went.

James ignored him with aristocratic thoroughness. Had the matter been less serious, he might have laughed. As it was, he waited a few minutes, to be certain the visitors were gone, then ran for his hat. On his way out, he encountered Ariel in the front hall.

“Where are you off to?” she asked.

“I have to see Kawena,” he told her. “Miss Benson, that is.”

She looked gratified. “You should tell Fl—her that we had a letter from Robert this morning.” A smile danced in her eyes. “He's coming back to Oxford, fancy that? Oh, and the oddest thing. He says Nathaniel won some sort of race in Brighton. He's become quite the hero of the young blades. Your parents are on their…”

James didn't even hear the last part. He was already out the door.

Of course James knew where Kawena had gone. The address of the house she'd taken was engraved on his memory, along with so many other things that he mustn't think about. But did, all the time.

He hurried through the streets of Oxford under a gray sky; banked storm clouds on the eastern horizon promised rain later on this late August day. Fifteen minutes later he stood in front of a neat little house built of brick and stone. A scrap of garden added color at each side of the front door. He plied the brass knocker and waited impatiently until the panels were opened by a housemaid. “I'm here to see Miss Benson,” he said. He wished he could brush past the girl and go in. He wasn't used to having barriers set between him and Kawena, and he didn't like it.

“I'm sorry, sir, the ladies are not at home.”

James's frustration mounted. “I have very important news for her. You must tell her so. I can't be fobbed off.”

“They're all out shopping, sir.”

It sounded like the truth. Besides, he couldn't think of a reason for Kawena to deny him. “I'll come in and wait,” he replied.

The girl looked uneasy. “Mrs. Runyon said I wasn't to admit anyone without asking her first, sir.”

“Mrs.…?” He didn't recognize the name, but he had a dim memory of plans to engage an older woman to stay with Kawena and Flora, which he had approved of at the time. Now, it seemed just another annoyance placed between him and a woman who had been his constant companion for days at a time not so long ago. Seething with impatience, James pulled one of his cards from his pocket and handed it to the housemaid. “Please give that to Miss Benson and tell her that it is important I speak to her as soon as may be.”

“Yes, sir.” She took the card, dropped a tiny curtsy, and shut the door.

James turned away. But he couldn't quite make himself walk meekly back to Alan's. Although his mind told him there was plenty of time, that the encroaching Bensons wouldn't find Kawena's new abode all in a moment, his feelings rebelled. The thing was, he wanted to see her. She'd been part of his life for…not so very long as hours were counted, perhaps, but it seemed like forever. When she'd driven away, leaving him standing in the lane… Well, he hadn't liked it, not the least little bit—particularly with the bewildering strain that had arisen between them. He
needed
to see her, to talk to her in the old, easy way.

Restless, irritated, James strode the surrounding streets, glancing into shop windows and down narrow crossways, tracing a rough circle around the house. And finally, he had a stroke of good fortune. A female figure came out of a doorway up ahead, and he recognized the lines of her figure, the burnished black of her hair. Striding toward Kawena, James was shaken by an odd combination of relief and excitement. There she was; he hadn't lost her. She hadn't disappeared from his life. Framed by the pavement, she was a vision of loveliness on a gray day. “Miss Benson!”

Kawena raised a hand to shield her eyes from the declining sun, and there was Lord James, hurrying toward her, outlined in light, his hair gleaming copper in the slanting rays of late afternoon. Her heart seemed to turn over in her chest as he came close.

“I must speak to you,” he said.

The urgency of his tone, the fire in his eyes, shook her. Every fiber of her waited to see what he would say. And then he didn't speak. He just stared at her, blue eyes burning into hers. How she'd missed him in the short time they'd been apart. She wanted to throw herself into his arms.

“I met a man who says he's your uncle.”

“What?” Whatever she had expected, hoped, he might say, it was not this.

“Younger brother of your father's,” he added, then frowned. “Though we'll make certain he really is, of course. Hadn't thought of that. I was in a rush to warn you.”

Surprise and disappointment warred in Kawena. “My father never mentioned a brother.”

“Nor would I if it was this fellow. A creeping, grasping creature. And his wife's worse. They're looking for you.”

So his visit had nothing to do with the two of them
, Kawena thought. It was about some strangers. She felt no connection to the family her father had rejected. His parents had written him cruel, insulting letters.

“Or, more to the point, they're looking for your money.”

He had no personal word for her at all.

“Are you listening to me?” said Lord James. “This Benson fellow means to make trouble, touting himself as the head of your family. He intends to ‘guide' you in managing your fortune. Whether you want him or not.”

Kawena gathered her scattered thoughts. “That's ridiculous.”

Lord James shook his head. “There'll be those who think a man should be in charge. I expect you'd prevail in the end, but he could tie you up in the courts.”

“He has no right!”

He shook his head. “There's right, and then there's the law, and sometimes they…don't run quite together. If you'd left the country…” He cocked his head. “I rather thought you'd go home now you have what you came for.”

“I have some plans to carry out first.” She would write to Ian Crane at once, Kawena concluded. The law was his business, after all. Surely he would know what to do.

“What sort of plans?”

She gazed up at the handsome face that haunted her dreams. He'd come to warn her, but not to
see
her, really. She saw no sign in his expression of the man who had held her so tenderly, kissed her until she nearly drowned in desire. Words sprang unbidden from her mouth. “How is Miss Grantham? Have you found your bride in her?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your ‘proper English bride.' Your brother told me that you've been looking for one since you came home.”

James started to ask which brother, and then realized it didn't matter. There was always some brother or other, opening his mouth and complicating his life. Many a time he'd felt that he had far too many brothers! And never so much as now. “That was a joke.”

“Ariel is finding her for you,” Kawena pointed out.

By which she meant that the family wasn't taking it as a joke. And he couldn't deny he'd said such a damned stupid thing. He'd never really meant to act on it. Had he? He couldn't remember now. So much had happened since he'd set foot on shore and thought of settling down. If he'd realized he'd meet a woman like Kawena… Who sounded distant and cold now, nothing like the creature of freedom and fire he'd held in his arms.

“A sweet girl who understands all about propriety.”

“Damn propriety.” Driven by frustration and regret and desire, James stepped forward. He needed the feel of her, the spicy scent she wore. She belonged in his arms. All his confusion would dissolve if he held her again.

“Good afternoon,” said a melodious, cultured voice. “Lord James Gresham, isn't it?”

James barely heard. He reached for Kawena. There was nothing else in his world. And something tapped him—sharply—between the shoulder blades. The blow was enough to unbalance him slightly.

“Lord James!” said the same voice.

James turned and found himself facing a middle-aged woman with sandy hair and a decided air of fashion. She held a furled parasol with a sizable knob of jet on the end of the handle, clearly the source of the blow he'd sustained. In her face and stance he saw all the implacable guardians of virtue he'd ever encountered. Flora Jennings stood behind her, biting her lower lip as if fighting some strong emotion.

“How do you do?” said the older woman, as if they stood in some dashed ballroom and she hadn't just walloped him.

“This is Mrs. Runyon,” said Kawena in an unsteady voice. “Who is being so kind as to chaperone us.”

“I don't believe we've met,” the woman replied. “But I am acquainted with your mother.”

In fact, she rather reminded him of the duchess, though there wasn't the least resemblance. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. Something in the penetrating gaze.

Kawena had come back down to earth with a thud. She had been about to kiss him. Proper young ladies did not kiss gentlemen in the street in England, no matter how beguiling they were, no matter how much they wished to. Confound it. She gathered her wits. “Thank you for your warning,” she said. “I will look into the…matter.”

“Won't you allow me to help?”

“You must come and call on us one day,” Mrs. Runyon interrupted. “Thursday, perhaps. We are just getting settled in the house, you know.”

As if he cared about that, as if it was a case of morning calls and advance appointments between him and Kawena. “Perhaps you should tell your…friend that we…” He closed his lips on the rest, fighting his anger. Because how did that sentence actually end? Tell her that they had spent the night in each other's arms? Admit the ruin that he had been trying so hard to protect her from? James shook his head. For a gentleman, the only socially acceptable response was to bow and be off. Unless he could claim a close relation, that of a fiancé, say. Which was impossible.

In that moment a great revelation came over him as an inner voice asked, “Why impossible?”

Had there been reasons? He couldn't remember any of them. When she'd walked out of his life, he'd felt like a ship in the doldrums. Nothing propelled him. Nothing seemed worth pursuing. And that was, he saw now, because he wanted only to pursue her. He just hadn't known it then. Of course there were obstacles—Kawena's views on the subject first and foremost. She'd refused him. But surely they could find a way…?

“I appreciate your news,” said Kawena. “Thank you.”

Mrs. Runyon and Flora simply stood there, waiting for him to go.

Impossible to speak of marriage here and now. Anyway, he had an idea that women liked a bit of romance and formality in their proposals. He'd been clumsy up to now. He hadn't known what he was doing, what he really felt, in Portsmouth. To blurt out an offer in front of this duenna, who reminded him of his mother… He nearly shuddered. Also, he needed a plan for their future. Kawena had made some scathing comments about wives who sat at home and waited for their naval husbands to return from long missions. She would never be such a meek helpmate. Thank all the gods. He had to tempt her with an existence she would savor, to woo her with a special prospect of wedded bliss. What would that mean? He needed to think.

Mind whirling with disconnected ideas, James bowed to the three women and turned away. He didn't see how wistfully Kawena watched him go.

Mrs. Runyon did. As she gathered her charges with one assured glance, she said, “You and I must have a talk, Miss Benson.”

* * *

James walked for quite a while, hoping physical exertion would bring him a measure of calm. He was still thoroughly distracted when he entered Alan's house, however. He would have rushed directly up to his bedchamber, but the housemaid who let him in said, “They're waiting for you in the garden parlor, my lord.”

He didn't want to chat with Alan and Ariel. But they'd been very kind and welcoming, and his training did not allow him to be rude, any more than his affection for them would have.

In the pleasant room that opened onto the lawn he found not only his hosts, but also Robert and, unbelievably, his parents. They all looked up from their comfortable seats when he entered, rendering James momentarily speechless. “What are you doing here?” he finally managed.

“We're on the way to a house party, and then on to Herefordshire for Sebastian's wedding,” the duchess said, rightly taking the question as directed at the older members of the family. “Since we were passing so close to Oxford, we thought to stop for a short visit. Ariel has forgiven us for arriving on such short notice.”

Alan's wife waved this aside with a smile. “It was in the letter I told you about this morning,” she said to James.

He vaguely recalled hearing her mention it. Hadn't she said that Nathaniel had won a race? Which made no sense. That wasn't the sort of thing his eldest brother did.

They all smiled at him—Ariel encouraging, Robert sardonic, Alan inquiring, their father, the duke, with the lazy assurance that made him so formidable, Mama warmly affectionate. James was irresistibly reminded of a row of seabirds perched on a ship's rigging, on the watch for any tasty tidbits that might turn up. Which was idiotic. Nothing could be less like a tattered gull than his father.

Up until now, James had always been glad to see his parents. He was away from England for such long periods, it was a treat to visit with any members of his family. But just now his brain was full of chaotic thoughts about the future; he didn't wish this to be noticed or to be questioned about it. Which they would. Particularly Mama.

“We were just waiting for you before going in to dinner,” Ariel said. She rose, and the others followed suit.

Seeing two of his brothers side by side with his parents, James noted, for the thousandth time, how all of them had the duke's tall, lean frame and shades of the duchess's auburn hair. Their faces were six variations on the theme of this union of a formidable pair of individuals. What did it take to sustain such a strong and happy bond for all these years? From what he'd seen of the world, it was a rare gift. He wondered if he had any hope of its like.

The duchess took James's arm as they went into the dining room. “Was there indeed a fortune in jewels in that dreadful figure you sent me? To think that it was just sitting in my parlor all this time.”

James nodded acknowledgment.

“I'd like to meet the young woman who came so far to find it,” his mother continued. “She sounds exceedingly interesting. Perhaps you will take me to call?”

James looked down, meeting her brightly inquiring gaze. Sometimes Mama seemed almost preternaturally knowing. She said it was a relic of rearing six enterprising boys. There was a strong possibility that this was one of those times, and that she was probing for information about him, rather than Kawena. Or both, he supposed. The duchess had never given up watching out for her sons. Her concern was a constant, like bedrock. It was comforting, occasionally onerous, and impossible to evade, short of leaving the vicinity. As he had so often done, come to think of it.