Seeing Julia and Digger together, talking like old friends, did something to Alistair’s insides. He rubbed at the strange ache behind his sternum.
But for the folly of his youth, this sort of camaraderie with his wife might have been his. ‘Might’ being the operative word. A man with a lofty title was a target for every matchmaking mama in the kingdom. More likely he’d have married for power and position and never known Julia at all.
As a man, he counted for nothing. There was only his duty to the Duchy. Especially after what he’d done. He knew it in his mind, yet there was this aching loneliness inside him for something more, something better for them both, but especially for Julia.
While she had married him as an escape—a choice between transportation, life in a bordello or him—with all this going on, he wasn’t sure she had made the right choice in choosing him.
They had both gone into this marriage with open eyes. No illusions of sentiment. But now he knew her better, the dissembling left him feeling horribly guilty.
‘So when before you said someone was trying to poison you,’ Digger said after hearing the entire tale, ‘you were not joking?’
‘Not poison,’ Julia said. ‘Put me to sleep so soundly I would not awaken at the attempt to smother me.’
Digger shook her head and tutted. ‘How awful. Do you suspect who might be behind this terrible deed?’
Alistair quelled the urge to smile at the dear lady’s excitement at being presented with a mystery to solve. It really was no smiling matter, but he could see Digger was thrilled they had brought her their problems.
Julia shook her head and looked at Alistair.
‘My brother. He is the only one who gains.’
Digger looked pained. ‘I can’t believe my dear little Luke would do anything so mean.’
She might believe it if she knew how badly Alistair had betrayed his brother. Plus the fact that someone at Beauworth had tampered with his saddle. Not to mention that a ship sent by Alistair’s father to bring him home from Italy had sailed off without him and the captain fled to America. She might. But Digger was steadfast in her loyalty to both him and Luke.
‘Once they realise Robins is gone,’ Julia said, ‘are they likely to try another tack?’
‘Highly likely.’ But not one which would involve Julia if he had any say in the matter.
‘Perhaps I could lure them out into the open,’ Julia mused.
‘Leave yourself exposed?’ Digger said, looking shocked, but also intrigued.
‘No!’ Alistair almost shouted. ‘Categorically not,’ he said more calmly. The thought of it made his blood run cold.
Julia frowned at him.
‘Then how do we ferret them out?’ Digger said, pursing her lips. ‘Do we know yet who recommended Robins to Julia?’
‘We do not. I wrote to Lewis a few days ago, but he has a great deal on his plate. I know he will reply at the first opportunity.’
‘You don’t suspect him?’ Julia asked. ‘Mr Lewis? He did leave the moment things started happening.’
Admiration for his wife’s quick wit assaulted him anew. Why hadn’t he thought of Lewis as a suspect?
He considered the idea. ‘Honestly, I cannot believe it of him.’ Whereas he could believe it of his half-brother. ‘And besides, what would it gain him?’
Silence descended.
‘Then we do nothing,’ Julia said. ‘And wait to hear from Lewis.’ She sounded upset.
He reached across the table and took her hand. ‘I will make sure nothing untoward happens in the meantime.’ Even if he had to lock her in her room and stand a guard at the door.
Hell, talk about the need to protect his own. It had been there all along, of course, or he would never have married her. He could only hope he could keep her safe. Failing was not an option. It was his fault she was in danger.
Fortunately, the look on her face said she drew comfort from his words and that pleased him far more than he would ever have believed possible a few short weeks ago.
And he realised he would protect her with his life if need be.
He released her hand and sat back. ‘Julia, you will not go anywhere without me or one of my handpicked men.’
In the meantime, he was going to see if he could lure his enemies into making a mistake.
Digger was looking at him from beneath lowered grey brows. ‘Alistair, is there something you are not telling us?’
He should have guessed Digger would see through him. He gave her a smile of complete innocence. ‘Nothing at all.’
She narrowed her eyes. ‘Then I suggest you write to your Mr Lewis again and tell him an answer is needed sooner rather than later. We must know as soon as possible who it was who recommended Mrs Robins to him for Her Grace.’
‘I agree.’
‘I wish you would call me Julia,’ his wife said to Digger, albeit a little hesitantly, but with a very sweet smile for a lady Alistair held in great affection. Julia went up another notch in his esteem. If he wasn’t careful he would soon be putty in her lovely elegant hands. Chill settled over him like a blanket. While she might mean a great deal to him, for her sake he could never let her get too close.
He glanced at the clock on the mantel. ‘I hate to spoil our tête-à-tête, but my bailiff is due to see me shortly.’ He rose. ‘Julia?’
‘She can stay a little longer, Crawfy dear. We have such a lot to talk about.’
Inwardly he groaned, guessing who would be the topic of their conversation. Fortunately, not even Digger knew all his secrets or even she might not look on him so kindly.
One thing he knew for certain, he was a danger to anyone around him, so the further he kept away from them the better.
Loneliness weighed down on his chest. The accompanying dark empty space inside him made breathing a chore. As usual he ignored the feeling. Buried it in ice. ‘I’ll have Matthew come for you in half an hour and see you back to the house.’
Julia was staring at him oddly. ‘Is that really necessary?’
‘For now.’ It was if he was not going to go mad with worry.
He bowed and left.
* * *
Julia paced her bedroom. She knew she was safe—Alistair was only a few steps away, within earshot of her call despite the closed doors, but she could not convince herself to get into the bed.
She should have said something before they retired for the night. Asked him to stay, but in truth she feared his rejection. As wanton as it sounded, even in the depths of her own thoughts, she dared to believe he desired her as much as she desired him.
The night they first met, their lovemaking had been spectacular, passionate and exceedingly naughty. The games he’d played with her had been shocking and wonderful. She’d seen little of that playful man since their wedding. Occasional gleams of amusement in eyes usually icy cold, the odd crack of laughter, and those nights that he’d come to her... The wicked side of him was still there, hidden, kept rigidly under control by the Duke.
She came to a halt at their adjoining door. Stared at the door handle. If he turned her away...
She took a deep breath and quietly opened the door. Silent as a ghost she glided through the dressing rooms, hers and his, that separated their rooms. In the old days, their servants would have slept on little cots in these commodious chambers that now contained only presses full of clothes. Thank goodness they now slept in the attics. She paused at the final door.
Straightened her shoulders. If he was asleep, she wouldn’t wake him. She might, however, cuddle in beside him, the way she had on the night of his fall.
She eased the door open and peeped inside.
The great four-poster bed was empty.
Disappointment hollowed a place near her heart. She’d been so sure she’d heard him moving around in here after he’d escorted her to her chamber after dinner.
About to turn away, she became aware of a shadow partially blocking her view of the banked fire in the hearth. A shadow too bulky to be simply an armchair. The shadow moved. Rose.
‘Julia?’
She could not retreat now. She stepped closer. ‘Yes. It is I.’ He was wearing his dressing gown. He had a tumbler in his hand. There were a great many things this man could do with his drink that had nothing to do with imbibing.
‘Are you unwell?’
‘I couldn’t sleep.’
He led her to his chair and sat down with her on his lap. She rested her head on his broad shoulder and inhaled the scent of soap and husband laced with the fragrance of brandy.
‘You neither, I assume,’ she said.
He settled her more comfortably in his lap and lifted his glass to her lips. ‘Drink?’
She took a tiny sip and let the liquid burn a path down her throat. She sighed.
He tightened his grip about her shoulders. ‘You are perfectly safe. I have two men I trust in the corridor. Not even a bat could come through the windows.’
‘It isn’t that.’
He dipped his chin in enquiry. The low light from the fire cast his face in a series of planes and dark hollows. Gave him a demonic look. She cupped his cheek, felt the faint prickle of new stubble against her palm. ‘Oh, it is part of it.’
‘And the other part?’
‘I was missing you.’ She held her breath. Would he admit to missing her too?
‘I am here.’
Clearly not. ‘And so am I, now.’
His lips twitched, displaying for the briefest moment that elusive smile.
She smiled back. ‘I know. A bit obvious, but sometimes I feel as if you need to be reminded.’
‘I apologise. I will be more attentive in future.’
A flicker of anger coursed through her veins at his politeness. ‘Please, if it is another duty, another responsibility to be added to your long list, do not trouble yourself.’
Time to go. She pushed away from him.
‘Stay,’ he said softly. ‘I am in need of your company.’
Thank the stars in the heavens. At least he could admit to needing something. ‘You are worried.’
‘Not only worried. I am angry. Someone tried to cause you harm and very nearly succeeded.’
He gave her another sip of his drink and for long minutes they gazed into the fire. His heartbeat was a steady rhythm against her cheek, each inhale and exhale lifting her a fraction. Unsure whether or not she should stay, she toyed with the ribbon at the end of the plait she wore to bed.
‘You are quite recovered from the shock of last night?’ The deep rumble of his voice was comforting. As was the squeeze of her shoulders and the feel of his breath against her neck.
A pleasurable shiver zipped down her spine. ‘Completely,’ she said softly. ‘How is your head?’
‘Cured.’
‘I’m glad.’
From this angle she had an excellent view of an expanse of pale gold skin where his silk dressing gown gaped in a deep vee. A dark flat male nipple peeked out from a swirl of crisp golden hairs. Did he have any idea how much the sight of that tempted her tongue and teeth and lips?
She experimentally flicked it with the soft hairs at the end of her braid.
He hissed in a breath. His nipple furled up into a tight little point, the same way hers did when he touched them.
Fascinated, she did it again. This time he groaned softly, a dark sensual sound.
‘You like that,’ she said, delighted with her discovery.
‘I don’t like it.’
She froze.
‘I adore it.’ He flexed his hips and she felt the hard ridge of his arousal against her hip.
Oh, yes, he liked it, a lot. ‘In that case...’ She did it again, feathering the brush-like end around and over his chest, up his throat and across his lips.
He bared his teeth in a feral sort of smile and snapped his teeth. She whisked it away before his teeth closed over it. She explored his reaction to its touch on his manly nose, across the straight golden brows and across the sharp angles of cheekbone and jaw. He closed his eyes in pleasure at the soft sweeping stroke, but sucked in a breath when she traced the curvaceous shape of his ear. The sound set off little flutters low in her abdomen. Delicious.
She resisted the urge to squirm against his erection. Instead she teased her own lips to see how it felt.
His eyes grew heavy, watching the little tuft waft lightly back and forth. Not as soft as a feather, she decided. A bolder, more assertive sensation. Tingles tightened her nipples.
She gave him a naughty smile. ‘I think it would make a fine paint brush. I could paint you pretty colours.’
‘Could you now?’ He gave her the lazy smile of a male who was charmed and entertained.
She tilted her head and stroked her braid brush across each cheekbone. ‘Blue here.’ A dab at the end of his nose. ‘Red.’ A feather-light stroke across an eyelid. ‘Purple.’
He grinned. ‘You would have to catch me first.’
She tickled his ear and a deep laugh erupted from his chest.
Unable to resist, she leaned forward and kissed his smiling mouth. He caught her by the nape, angled his head and deepened the kiss. She turned into him, pressing her aching breasts against his hard chest, resting her hands on his shoulders, her tongue sliding against the slick heat of his. Heat pooled between her thighs.
While their lips clung together, he rose effortlessly to his feet and carried her to his bed. He untied the belt of her dressing gown and drew it off. A moment later he laid her out naked on his bed.
* * *
His wife was a pagan goddess. Comfortable in her skin. Glorious in her nakedness with a glint in her eyes that was an invitation he could not have resisted, even if he wanted to. She looked good enough to eat, sprawled in abandon on his bed. Irresistible.
‘I think we need to be rid of that braid,’ he said, eyeing the powerful weapon that had driven him nearly mad. ‘May I?’
Teeth nipping her lower lip, she nodded her assent. His shaft twitched at the seductive sight of her lush mouth. Her gaze dropped to where the fabric of his robe jutted away from his groin. She licked her lips.
‘Do not worry, it will still be there when needed.’
She smothered a laugh with her hand, her eyes dancing. He gazed at her beautiful body, with its lovely swells and hollows and long slender limbs. She was so lovely, he really didn’t deserve such loveliness in his bed. But here she was and he would not disappoint.
He leaned over her and stroked the long rope of her hair, neatly plaited for sleeping. ‘Such a pretty colour.’
She made a face of disagreement. ‘It’s brown.’
‘Caramel. Toffee with a glint of gold in the sun.’
‘Yours is gold,’ she scoffed.
‘Believe me, to me it is glorious.’ He freed it from its ribbon with a quick tug. Slowly, he unravelled the plait from tip to root and stroked his fingers through the long, soft waving tresses, arranging them around her on the pillow and pulling them forward over her breasts. He caressed the soft strands with his fingertips. ‘This is how Godiva must have looked.’
She chuckled. ‘It feels thoroughly debauched.’
‘My speciality.’ He shed his robe and lay down alongside her. He buried his face in the fragrant mass of silk. Jasmine.
A moment later, she rose up and leaned over him, her hair gliding delicately across his shoulders and forming a veil around them both.
She lowered her head and kissed him so sweetly, his heart ached. He enfolded her lithe body in in his arms. This woman was special, precious. And she deserved so much better than him.
With gentle hands she stroked his hair back from his face and looked down into his eyes. ‘You are a lovely man,’ she whispered. ‘Beautiful.’
He couldn’t speak for the lump in his throat. Longing.
She didn’t seem to notice as she returned to kissing her way down his body, pausing to nip his chin and lick at his nipples. He burned for her, his body on fire, his mind focused only on the feel of her tongue and lips and teeth. Finally she straddled his shins and sat back to admire his erection with a particularly arousing smile.
His breath caught in his throat at the idea she might...
She glanced at his face from beneath her lashes. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’
He blinked, startled by her words. She reached back and felt in the pocket of the robe she’d been wearing and brought forth... The necklace from the Dunstan ruby parure, glowing gently in the soft light of the fire and the candle beside the bed.
‘Julia?’
Her smile grew as artfully she arranged it just above his erection, the stones shockingly cold against his stomach at first. She drew back to take in the results of her handiwork. ‘Tit for tat,’ she said, her face full of mischief.
‘Naughty.’ He’d made love to her the first night they met with her wearing the full complement of rubies, the bracelets circling her breasts, an earbob in her navel and the necklace draped across her mons. A picture he would never forget as long as he lived.
He raised his head and gazed down at himself. ‘They looked better on you.’
‘That is your opinion, sir. To me you look good enough to eat.’
He groaned.
She leaned forward, gently cupping him, and delicately she licked up his shaft, circling her tongue around the crest.
Against his will, his hips rose up and he fisted his hands in the sheets to keep himself still. When she took him in the warm wet heat of her mouth his mind went blank and his body rigid with desire. Tenderly, she swirled her tongue around the head. His spine tingled.
He croaked a warning.
Slowly, she released him and raised her head. Her eyes had a wicked gleam, her smile was teasing. ‘Still ready, I see, Duke.’
In an instant he had her on her back.
‘Now, Alistair,’ she said, her voice husky with need.
A gentle touch confirmed she was ready and he pressed home to the hilt.
Her ecstatic sigh had him moving, setting a rhythm tied to each nuanced expression of pleasure on her face.
He thrust harder. Nails scraped his back. A hand kneaded his buttocks. Her legs came up around his waist.
‘Yes...’ she breathed. ‘Alistair, yes.’
He drove into her and she moved her hips, setting the pace and the depth of penetration. Her inner muscles stroked him the way her mouth had and he lost all sense of self. They were one. He felt her body tighten as she approached her climax.
His own roared along his veins with unstoppable force. He couldn’t... He must...
Then she shattered with his name a soft cry on her lips. He fell apart.
Never had he felt such an incredible feeling of pure joy. A sensation that went far beyond pleasure. An intimacy of the soul.
Longing filled him for something he had sought all his life, yet never dared to hope for until now. Warming a heart he’d thought frozen out of existence. He drifted on the warm tide of pleasure.
As bliss waned, so did the inexplicable emotions. When he finally came to his senses, he realised with dawning horror that he had not withdrawn from her body. His stomach fell away. The loss of control shook him to the core of his being.
Idiot! What on earth had been going on in his head? This was a physical connection, nothing else. He did not need it, though he had enjoyed it immensely, as had she. He certainly did not want ridiculous feelings cluttering up his mind or messing with his plans.
Anger at his stupidity filled him, and an odd sense of loss. Too bad. This must never happen again.
He rose and went for water and a cloth.
Julia raised her head, and regarded him with a sleepy gaze. ‘Alistair, is something wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ His tone sounded harsher than he had intended, colder.
She frowned.
‘It is all right, Julia.’ He stroked her hair back from her face, where it had stuck to her cheek. He gave her lips a brief kiss. ‘Everything is lovely. You are lovely.’
A smile and her eyes slid closed. If only he could believe she would not betray him the way everyone else had. He couldn’t. In the end, they all did. Bitterness filled him. And loneliness.
He rose from the bed and dressed. For a moment he gazed down at her lovely face. Drank in her expression. Inhaled her scent.
The sight of the rubies tangled with the bedsheets made him smile sadly. He picked them up, arranged them on the dressing table, and went downstairs to his study. To work.
* * *
Two days later, Julia went in search of the husband who had set her about with footmen, then set about avoiding her by riding out in the morning with his steward and sending apologetic notes about being unable to get home in time for dinner each evening. And when he did arrive home, after dinner he promptly went off to play billiards or chess with some neighbouring Squire, the same way he had avoided her in London.
She’d had quite enough. They needed to talk.
If not for Grindle whispering in her ear, she would not have known to find him in his estate office this morning.
He looked up from a pile of papers that looked higher than when she had been in here the last time. For a second or two a smile of welcome hovered on his lips. It disappeared so fast she wondered if he’d been expecting someone else. His face was thinner than it had been. His eyes were shadowed and weary.
‘Julia. How unexpected.’ He looked as if he’d lost a sovereign and found a penny.
Reaching for calm, she forced herself to gaze past him to the desk. ‘No word from Mr Lewis?’
‘Not as yet.’ He remained behind his desk, keeping distance between them.
‘I see Jaimie McPherson has returned,’ she ventured. ‘I assume Mrs Robins is settled.’
His lips flattened. ‘She is. How are you?’
‘Well enough for anything.’
He raised a brow. ‘How may I be of service?’
The vision his words conjured in her mind caused a pulse of pleasure that had her squeezing her thighs together. A flicker of the muscle in his jaw made her think he had noticed her response.
She inhaled and straightened her shoulders, moving away, seeking courage. ‘I wanted to discuss our marriage.’
His fair brows drew down. ‘In what regard?’
‘The lack thereof.’
He gestured for her to sit. ‘Shall I call for the tea tray?’
‘Perhaps afterwards.’ She wanted this over with. She perched on the edge of the chair in front of the desk. ‘Alistair, I cannot blame you if you think marrying me was a mistake, but we are stuck with it.’
He frowned. ‘I am not sure I understand your meaning.’
‘For one thing, you are now avoiding my company as if I have the plague.’
His expression became more remote. ‘There has been a great deal of business requiring my attention. Things that Lewis—’
‘Even you do not work all night.’ Oh, there were the longings again pressing to the fore. Heat scalded her face. ‘I hear you late at night.’ Through doors he now kept locked.
His lips thinned. Deep lines bracketed his mouth. ‘You have been ill. I thought it best—’
‘Alistair, please. Do not lie to me.’
He rose to his feet and leaned over the table hands planted flat on the surface. ‘How dare you, madam?’
She flinched at the ice in his tone, but rose to face him. ‘When I told you I was barren, when you said not to worry, I thought you were being kind. That you were offering comfort. But that wasn’t it, was it? The other night when you—’ She made a circle with one hand. ‘You don’t want to even try for a child with me, do you?’
He shook his head. ‘I do not.’
She sank back on her chair, the pain in her heart making it hard to draw breath. ‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘Is it because of what I did? Where you found me? You are ashamed.’
He looked shocked. Stunned. ‘Certainly not.’
The pain eased a little. ‘Then what?’
He closed his eyes briefly, then stared up at the ceiling. ‘I already have an heir of my body.’
The words made no sense. Nor did the anguish in his gaze. ‘You have an heir? You were previously married?’ Why had he never mentioned this? Why not so much as a hint of having had a child? She frowned. ‘My child would not supplant your previous issue.’
He gazed at her, his face a mask of bitterness, his eyes like shards of ice. ‘I have never been married. Any son of yours would supplant Jeffrey.’
‘Your nephew?’
‘My son.’
Her stomach fell away in a sickening lurch. The dissolute Duke. No woman had been safe from his seduction. All the rumours battered at her mind. He’d played his own brother false. ‘That is...awful.’
She struggled out of the chair, stumbled blindly for the door. How could he? She turned back. ‘You never intended to wed.’
He held himself rigid. ‘No more than you did.’
What a fool she had been to hope that this marriage could be better than her last. ‘I wish I had never met you.’
His lip curled. ‘I suppose you would have preferred old Lord Pefferlaw to have won the bidding that night?’
A low blow. She straightened her spine. ‘It might have been a whole lot better than ending up with you. At least I would have known where I stood. At least he wouldn’t have pretended to care.’ At least he wouldn’t have stolen her heart and then walked all over it.
She stalked out where she ran the gauntlet of three hovering footmen and a worried-looking Grindle. They must have heard the anger in their voices, if not the words.
Finally, in her chamber, she gave in to the anger coursing through her veins. And the despair.
She threw herself on to the bed and struck her pillow with her fist. Damn him. All the time she’d had this faint little hope he was beginning to care for her the way she cared for him, that perhaps caring might make a difference to her ability to conceive. What a joke. He cared only for the rights of another woman’s child.
Worst of all, how could she blame him for trying to do his duty by his son? Jeffrey was an innocent in the whole horrid mess.
Reality lay heavily on her chest. They were married and there was no way out.
For either of them. Bleakness filled her heart.
* * *
The old adage, be careful what you wish for, certainly seemed to hold true in Alistair’s case. He’d started off wanting to keep his wife at a distance and now she barely spoke to him. Day by day what little accord they’d found in their marriage was withering on the vine.
And while he’d hedged her about with the footmen he trusted, he’d been riding around the estate day in and day out in hopes of flushing out his enemy.
He handed his reins over to Jaimie, who gave him a look of exasperation, but since the man’s previous admonitions about overdoing things after his accident had gone unheeded, the man merely shook his head and went off to walk the horse out.
Once indoors, Grindle met him with an envelope. He didn’t recognise the seal. Something ornate with a ship in the middle and cherubs blowing trumpets. He did, however, recognise the return address.
At last! Word from Lewis. Now he would know the identity of his enemy.
He broke the seal with his nail, cursing when his own letters, both of them unopened, dropped to the floor. He picked them up and wandered into his study. A quick scan of the note from Lewis’s mother had him grinding his teeth. His first missive had arrived the day after Lewis’s father’s funeral. The same day the man had left the family estate for parts unknown.
He sank into his chair. This was the worst possible news. He wanted to have it out with Luke, but without any evidence, he was handicapped.
He pressed his fingers to his temples. The headaches returned when he was tired. Perhaps he should heed Jaimie’s warnings. Certainly, Julia no longer cared where he went or what happened to him. As he deserved. Indeed, the further he kept from her, the more likely she was to be safe because with Robins out of the picture, he was certain the attacks were primarily aimed at him.
He eyed the rectangular box in the middle of his desk. The hand delivery from a jeweller. He knew exactly what it contained. Rather than open it, he shoved it in the bottom drawer of his writing table.
Wearily he dragged himself up the stairs to change for dinner. Not that there was much point. Julia wouldn’t join him. Since his revelation about Jeffrey, she preferred a tray in her chamber.
If she knew she filled his thoughts for more than half of his waking day and most of his dreams at night, would she feel even a little in charity with him? Likely not.
He hated that she’d turned away from him, but he felt some relief that she knew the truth, even if her hurt did not lessen his determination to do the right thing.
What would he do if she sought solace with another man? His fists clenched at the idea. Marrying her had been utterly selfish. Wrong.
Every day, he fought the urge to seek her out. He’d tried to make himself believe she was no different than all those other women who had merely wanted him for the title and money. That he couldn’t trust her. He tried to hang on to the resentment that had kept him single all these years.
But time after time he found himself picturing her smiles. Remembering how she’d held his head in her lap in that field. Seeing her courage when faced with a murderer and experiencing the fear all over again for her safety. No matter how he wished things were different, wished that he had never met Elise, the past remained set in stone.
Since Robins’s departure there had been no more incidents of laudanum in her drink. He’d had a word with Cook, who ensured no one else put a hand on anything Julia ingested. Only a handful of his most trusted servants, people who had known him since he was a child, were permitted to handle her tray and to guard her night and day.
He’d talked his plan over with Digger privately and she had agreed it was the best way to proceed. Against her better judgement, she’d agreed to say nothing of his worry to Julia. She’d remonstrated, of course. Vigorously. She always did, but in the end she’d given in.
As for the state of their marriage, there was little he could do. There was no marriage. He’d made sure of it by staying away from her.
The gossips among the servants would soon spread the news that the Duke and Duchess were at outs and there were no heirs in the offing.
The hurt he’d caused Julia was a bitter ache in his heart, but hopefully, it would keep her safe from the threat of his brother until he had the proof he needed to face Luke with his crime. Lack of word from Lewis was an unexpected hitch in his plan.
Julia might be safer if he sent her away.
Such a draconian step would end any hope of making a go of what little marriage they had left. He rubbed at his sternum, trying to ease the ache knowing it might be the only answer.
* * *
After breakfast in her chamber, and having ascertained Alistair had left with his steward, Julia descended to the drawing room.
Disconsolately, she stared at her needlework. Another handkerchief for Alistair, to be embroidered with his initials. Was there really any point? But she had to do something to pass the time and the cushions were finished.
It was sad that she and Alistair had arrived at this impasse. Heartbreaking, if she was honest. The few times their paths had crossed these last few days she had the feeling he also was lonely. Perhaps another woman might have reached him. One with more sophistication. Or a less-chequered past. A lump rose in her throat.
And since it was out in the open that he didn’t need a wife, he would no doubt go elsewhere for pleasure. If that happened, she would leave. She swallowed the lump in her throat.
* * *
‘A note has arrived for you, Your Grace,’ Grindle said an hour or so later, offering her a silver salver.
Putting aside her hoop, Julia broke the seal. The note was from Lady Wiltshire. Apparently an emergency meeting of the committee had been called for that afternoon and her presence was required.
At least someone had some faith in her abilities as a duchess. Could she be bothered? She ought to go. It was her duty, after all. Doing something constructive might serve as a distraction from the miseries of her marriage. At least she’d feel useful, since her husband had no use for her at all.
‘Can you have the carriage brought around, please, Grindle?’
‘Most of the staff are off this afternoon, Your Grace. I only have one footman available to go with you. Mr McPherson took one of the horses to the blacksmith, I understand.’
‘One should be enough, surely?’
He looked worried. ‘His Grace asked that two men accompany you at all times.’
So she was left housebound? Irritation prickled along her skin. ‘I will have two. John Coachman and a footman.’
Grindle bowed and looked relieved. ‘Yes, Your Grace.’
* * *
At two o’clock she was admitted to the Wiltshire house by a puzzled-looking butler. ‘Her ladyship is in the conservatory, Your Grace.’
‘Julia,’ a female voice said.
She looked up at the imperious note in the voice of the woman walking down the stairs into the entrance hall.
Bother. The last person she wanted to see. Alistair’s stepmother. She was no doubt going to have to explain why Alistair had not called or why Julia had not invited her for tea. ‘Good day, Lady Dunstan.’
‘I apologise for the subterfuge, but I had the feeling I would not be admitted to Sackfield a second time.’ The other woman offered an apologetic smile. ‘Nor was I sure you would answer an invitation from me.’
Julia stared at her. ‘Are you saying there is no committee meeting?’
Lady Dunstan had the grace to look chagrined. ‘Is it too terrible of me? I desired words with you in private. I could think of no other way.’ She glanced at the hovering butler. ‘Come, we will go into the library.’
The butler opened the door to an adjacent room. When Julia stepped inside she was more than a little disconcerted to find Percy Hepple standing beside the hearth with his hands behind his back and a smirk on his lips.
She turned to object, but the door was already closed. ‘You may very well look dismayed,’ the Dowager Duchess said, sadly. ‘My nephew has told me all about you.’
The blood drained from her head. Her knees trembled. She forced herself to remain standing, though the nearest chair looked terribly inviting. ‘I have no idea what you mean. If there is no meeting, I will leave my card for Lady Wiltshire and depart.’
‘I wonder what that dear lady would say if she knew you had posed naked before most of the men in London who then bid on your favours. How dare Alistair bring such disgrace on the Dunstan title?’
Her stomach fell away. She collapsed into the chair.
‘Well?’ the Dowager Duchess said, glaring. ‘Will you deny it?’
Julia glanced at Percy, at the knowing smile on his lips. ‘My past has nothing to do with you or Mr Hepple.’
The woman glanced at Percy and drew in a deep breath. ‘So it is true. What is the matter with my stepson? Offering marriage when he had to know the scandal would ruin us all? For you may be assured, if this dunderhead recognised you, others will, too.’
‘I say, Auntie,’ Percy whined.
Julia pulled herself together. ‘What is the point to this? There is nothing to be done. I am married to Dunstan. If he does not care, I do not see why you should.’ Though if the truth got out Alistair would likely be mortified. And despite everything else, his rescue had been a kindness.
The Dowager flinched. ‘Doesn’t care?’ Her brows drew down. ‘Does my stepson know you are also a criminal? A thief?’
Julia’s heart clenched. ‘How do you—?’
‘My stepson was a confirmed bachelor. The speed of your marriage, the circumstance Percy revealed to me, made me suspicious. I looked into your background. Someone had to.’ Her voice softened, her face expressed sympathy. ‘My poor dear, I don’t blame you for marrying him, given the trouble you were in, but I am worried for you as well as for the family name.’
Julia repressed a start at the change in the woman’s demeanour. ‘You may save your concern.’
The woman shook her head. ‘I don’t suppose he told you he got my son’s wife with child and then fled the country?’
Hepple looked pained. ‘Auntie, you should not say these things about the Duke.’ He glanced around. ‘Or at least keep your voice down. Someone might hear.’
Julia stiffened. ‘I know about Jeffrey.’ It still hurt to think about it, but it had happened long before Julia had appeared in his life. ‘Everyone makes mistakes. He is trying to do the right thing.’
The Dowager glared at her nephew. ‘Percy, leave us. I have things to discuss with Her Grace in private.’
Percy pouted. ‘If you upset Dunstan, he won’t pay my debts.’
The Dowager waved his objection aside. ‘Your debts are a trifle. A mere bagatelle compared to the family’s good name. Go. We will talk later.’
With a huff of impatience, Percy bowed and departed.
The moment he closed the door, the Dowager lowered her voice. ‘My dear, once this information becomes public I fear what Alistair may do. Gossip is already spreading that he is tiring of you.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You would not be the first woman he has cruelly cast aside.’ She shook her head. ‘Though you would be the first wife.’ She patted Julia’s hand. ‘Perhaps you have nothing to worry about, after all. I cannot imagine Alistair going through anything so crude as divorce. Until death do you part.’ She inhaled a sharp breath and her eyes widened. ‘He wouldn’t. Not even he would dare such a dastardly deed.’ Sympathy filled her expression. ‘I am sure of it.’
Chilly fingers walked across Julia’s skin. Her stomach roiled. Her heart clenched. She could not believe it. Would not. ‘What did you mean about him casting a woman aside?’
The Dowager frowned. ‘You did not know that before Luke married her, the woman he got with child was his fiancée?’
‘They were engaged?’ This was not exactly what she had imagined. From the way Alistair had spoken she had assumed he’d had a fling with his brother’s wife, not that he had abandoned her before she was married.
‘If my honourable Luke had not stepped in, I cannot think what would have happened to Jeffrey or his mother. Alistair simply walked out and disappeared.’
‘He returned.’
‘Too late to be of any use. Oh, he promised Jeffrey would inherit, but the man is a rake. As debauched as they come. The title of dissolute Duke is well deserved. How can anyone trust such a man to do the right thing? And... You and he...’ she waved a hand ‘...have not been celibate, I assume?’
‘You can set your mind at rest.’ Bitterness scoured her throat. ‘There can be no children from me. The doctors have confirmed it.’ Admitting being barren left her feeling raw. Useless. Empty inside. Tears welled. She blinked them away.
The Dowager’s expression tightened. ‘Your first husband was a man of declining years. He might have been at fault, not you.’
‘The doctors say not. He has three daughters.’
The Dowager got up and prowled the room. The smile on her face when she turned to face Julia seemed less than sincere. ‘I dread the ton’s reaction when they learn who and what you are. And they will. Alistair will not be able to face down the scandal this time. It is too bad the rest of us will be forced to suffer as well.’
‘Suffer how?’
‘None of us will be able to show our faces in town. This scandal will haunt us for years. We will be lucky if the King does not take an interest and make him forfeit the title.’
Julia’s blood ran cold. ‘He cannot do that, can he?’
‘What the King giveth, surely the King can take away. Whatever the case, Alistair will be persona non grata. All of us will be ruined. Poor Luke. And Jeffrey.’
Poor Alistair, too. For all his faults, he had tried to help her. ‘There is nothing I can do. We are married.’
The Dowager tapped her chin with her forefinger and looked thoughtful. Her face brightened. ‘You could leave the country. Before anyone else has a chance to guess at your identity. I will pay Percy off. Besides, when I explain the damage that would result to his family, he will keep his mouth shut.’
‘Where could I go?’
She shrugged. ‘America. Ships leave from Portsmouth every day at this time of year. I will even give you the money for your fare if you need it.’
The thought of bringing shame and ridicule down on so many people made her feel ill. She’d known marrying Alistair was wrong. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him harm. She nodded. ‘If I leave, you promise not to tell anyone what you know? You will stop Percy from speaking of it?’
‘Why would I want to bring scandal down on my own head? Of course I promise. Much as I despise his morals, Alistair is the head of my family.’ She touched Julia’s arm. ‘It really is the best for all concerned.’
It was. Alistair didn’t want a proper marriage, so why should she live a lie that could cause innocent people trouble and heartache?
‘I’ll leave right away.’ But would Alistair let her go? Of course he would. Why would he not?
It would make things a great deal easier for them both.
* * *
Alistair opened the front door and somehow managed not to drag his wife over the threshold. When he got her inside, he shut the door with a rapidity that had her blinking.
‘Where the devil were you?’ The question came out more forcefully than he intended. ‘Did you not recall I specifically told you to go nowhere without proper escort?’
‘Why? Am I a prisoner?’
Her words made no sense. ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
She stripped off her hat and gloves. ‘I was accompanied. And besides, Grindle knew where I was. I received notice of a meeting of the committee.’
‘Grindle,’ he said, trying not to clench his jaw and to sound reasonable, ‘is visiting his sister, as he does every Wednesday afternoon.’
She frowned. ‘You know it really doesn’t make sense to give all the servants the same half-day off. If you spread them out, you would not find yourself so shorthanded.’
He dragged his fingers through his hair. ‘That is not the point. I asked you to leave the house with a minimum of two footmen.’
‘I had John Coachman and Matthew. Two men. And here I am safe and sound.’
His temper subsiding, he noted an odd note in her voice, a sadness, and peered at her closely. ‘Is something wrong?’
She lifted her chin. ‘What could possibly be wrong? We have barely spoken for days. We might as well not be married.’
Those last few words she flung over her shoulder and marched into the drawing room.
It seemed another discussion about the state of their marriage was at hand. He followed her in and shut the door. ‘We are married.’ There was no getting around it.
‘To your deep regret.’
‘Julia, do not put words in my mouth.’
‘I do not need to. I see them in your face. In what you do. Actions speak louder than words and right now they are shouting that you wish you had not married me.’
‘I do wish it.’ If he had made her his mistress they could have been perfectly happy. Perhaps for the rest of their lives, because at least then he’d be free to love her without this weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders.
He froze. Did he love her? Heaven help him, he did. And by marrying her, he’d likely ruined her life by denying her the warmth and family she so obviously wanted, not to mention putting her very life at risk.
She was right, she would have been better off without him.
He clenched his fists.
Julia saw the movement and stilled.
Damn, didn’t she know by now he would never raise a hand to her? Before he could speak she whipped off her bonnet and took a deep breath. ‘Our marriage is a farce. I think it is best if I leave.’ The pain in her eyes was hard to see.
‘You cannot leave. You are my wife.’
‘Then I am a prisoner.’
He raked his fingers through his hair. Wasn’t this the conclusion he’d come to a couple of days ago? Then why would he not simply agree? ‘I don’t want you to leave.’
Sorrow filled her gaze. ‘I—care for you, Alistair. I really do, but I want a proper marriage. Children, if at all possible.’
Wounded to the quick by her expressionless tone, he stared at her. ‘I can’t. You know that. You know why.’
‘Then there is nothing in this marriage for either of us. Nothing. Will the dissolute Duke be happy to spend his life as a monk? Or will he be dashing off to find his pleasure and entertainment elsewhere? Or perhaps you will find a different way to be rid of an inconvenient wife.’
He flinched at the bitterness in her tone. ‘What are you saying?’
‘Someone was putting laudanum in my tea. Why not you? You were quick enough to spirit Mrs Robins to parts unknown when I discovered the plot.’
Fury coursed through his veins in a red-hot wave. He curled his lip. ‘If I wanted rid of you, believe me you would be gone.’
‘As your fiancée was gone?
Blankly, he stared at her.
‘The woman your brother married on your behalf. You abandoned her.’
Ice filled his veins. ‘So your meeting was with dear Stepmama.’
Her cheeks flushed. ‘You know, you are really awful to your family. Your father—’
‘My father let his second wife walk all over him along with the rest of my benighted family. I am not my father.’
‘And you do not want or need a wife. I want you to let me go my own way. It won’t make any difference to you.’
Not make a difference? His whole life had changed since her arrival. He’d changed his whole way of life because she’d made him want to be worthy of her regard. But he wasn’t. He never could be. And if she didn’t want to stay, why would he force her?
He gazed at her. Took her lovely face in one last time as if he could imprint it on his mind. Saw the sweetness in her eyes. The courage in her determined chin. The passion. Things that had drawn him to her right from the first. Things he wanted, but had been doing perfectly fine without for years. He let a chill invade his soul and curled his lip. ‘If you want to go, I won’t stop you.’
Sorrow filled her face when he had expected satisfaction. She nodded. ‘It is for the best.’
‘Let my lawyers know your address. I’ll have them set up whatever funds you need.’ It was the best he could do.
She looked shocked. ‘I don’t want your money.’
Even his money wasn’t good enough. A pang pierced his heart, ripping it open. He stuffed the tear with ice. Recalled the way his father had turned from him after his marriage to Isobel. How hurt he’d been.
He needed no one but himself, he’d proved that for years, but that didn’t mean she had to go back to living in poverty.
He gave her his best ducal stare. The one designed to put mushrooms in their place. ‘You wanted my money enough to marry me, I believe.’
She flushed as if he’d slapped her. ‘I cannot deny I was desperate. But—’
‘Exactly. You were desperate and we’ve both had a rollicking good time and now it is time to pay the piper. The carriage will be at the door to take you to London in an hour. I’ll send along anything you cannot pack now. My lawyers will be in touch about the settlements.’
Unable to bear watching her go, he walked down to the stables, ordered the carriage, then saddled Thor and rode he knew not where.