The Scoundrel Duke of her Heart by Violet Hamers

Chapter Thirty

“Ihave been a fool but I will no longer be.” His lips traced her collarbone while his hands roved her body. Her hands did the same. When he touched her, she touched him. The hard muscles beneath his clothes jumped at her touch, granting her a sense of power.

“Give me your hand, Jenny,” he rasped. When she did, he brought it to his front, placing it on the rigid proof of his desire. “Can you feel that?”

“Yes.” Her heartbeat quickened and the tender region at the crest between her legs pulsed.

“I have never wanted a woman as I want you.”

“Then have me.”

That was all the encouragement he needed. Words faded and the air around them heated. Every kiss was an affirmation to Jenny and as she was bared to him, she gazed up at him with her heart in her eyes. Being here with him, being underneath him, nothing had ever felt more perfect. And she could not wait to finally be his and for him to be hers in every way a wife could hope for.

She loved him and she longed to tell him that. But not until the night was complete. Her thoughts faded when he returned to her, now free of his clothes, and their skins touched. When his fingers found her center, she thought she could not bear the sweet torture any longer, and thus, she further opened for him. With deft fingers, he explored her, taking her to ethereal heights she never imagined existed. Then his hands ceased their ministrations and she quickly sat up, alarmed he had changed his mind.

“Shhh,” he cooed, “new things, remember.” He kissed her lips before drawing kisses down the column of her neck, pausing now and again to nibble, until he reached her feminine flesh. Her fingers grasped the sheets while she bit her lip. He glanced up with a wicked grin, then closed his mouth over her.

Jenny called out his name as her eyes closed of their own volition. He chuckled, his warm breath adding to the pleasure he was giving her. This was too much, yet she wanted more. There was more to be had but she didn’t understand how she could grasp it. The sensation swirling where his mouth was mounted higher and higher and—

Frantic knocks on their bedchamber door threw her back down and Nicholas sat up, his sharp eyes on the door. The knocks persisted and he called out. “It is an emergency, Your Grace!” It was Bentley.

A string of expletives was drawn from his and he bolted off the bed, striding to his dressing room to throw a robe on before going to the door. Jenny drew the duvet up to her chin, trembling—not from cold—and inwardly questioning what she had done to deserve this. It was like a curse that followed her around the house.

"An urgent missive just arrived, Your Grace,” Bentley's worried voice came through. "There has been a fire at Heartsbay."

Heartsbay was one of Nicholas's estates just outside of London. “Oh, my God!" Jenny’s hand went up to her chest.

Nicholas glanced back at her, the color draining completely from his face. The news of a fire was not something to be taken lightly and her husband's past experience with it made things so much worse. "I—I have to go, Jenny," he said, closing the door and walking back to her. "The tenants…"

“Go,” she said.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “I will return to you as soon as I can.”

She only nodded and said nothing more. He dressed as quickly as he could and left. Jenny curled up in bed when she was alone, fighting against the tiny needles that were piercing her heart. She was worried about her husband and she was sad he had left her. The conflicting thoughts in her head made her wonder if her disappointment over their interruption made her a bad person.

* * *

A hundred different negative scenarios played out in his head as he pushed his horse to the limit, not stopping until he found himself at the border of Heartsbay near dawn. This property was dear to him for many reasons, one of them being that it had belonged to his mother. His heart squeezed at the sight of the brightness in the distance. Smoke rose high into the sky, heralding what might be one of the worst moments of his life.

Nicholas rode toward the burning building and immediately dismounted when he arrived, picking up a bucket and joining the men that were working to put out the fire. Several houses were on fire with some of them ravaged to the ground by the flames.

His hands shook as he held the bucket, running to a nearby well to draw water. A part of him—a very significant part—wanted to run from the scene of the fire and never look back but his conscience would not allow it. His tenants had lost their homes and needed him now more than ever. If he deserted them, then he was not better than a monster.

Time dematerialized as he drew water, ran to a burning structure, emptied it, returned, and repeated the process. The sun was shining bright when the last of the flames were put out. He looked down at his body that was covered in ashes and sighed.

His steward, Mr. Barnabas, and a few other tenants gathered around him now that lives were no longer in danger to assess the damage. “Your Grace,” Mr. Barnabas said, "thank you for coming so quickly.”

He should not be thanked for reaching there swiftly. It was his responsibility to stop whatever he was doing to attend to such matters. It was unfortunate that his people thought he was doing them a favor by being present. They had a right to his attention.

“What happened here, Barnabas?” he asked, wiping the sweat off his brow with his ash-darkened shirtsleeve.

“We don’t know how the fire started. Everything happened very quickly, Your Grace.” The man was wiping his brows, too.

"Are there any casualties?" He caught, from the corner of his eye, a woman with a bundle in her arms coming his way.

"Fortunately, there are none," the steward replied. “The damage is substantial. The outer fields and storage houses would require ample work from my estimation.” He shook his head, looking solemn.

"The harvest looked very promising, Your Grace," Farmer Mills, one of the tenant farmers remarked, the worry apparent in his tone and beady eyes.

This was what concerned him the most, what his people had lost. Nicholas did not know what to begin telling them. He will make things right for them, he resolved.

"We could not salvage nothing!" another tenant cried. "With the fields and stored units gone, there is not a thing left to fall back on for the rest of the year. And the dratted corn laws only make matters worse."

“Damn the corn laws!” another cried.

“We will recover from this!” Nicholas called out to them. “You have my word!”

“Your Grace,” the woman he had seen approaching said, “help me with my babe, please.” She was crying as she cradled the infant in her arms. “My babe needs medicine.” She went on to explain how the little boy had been rescued from their now burnt-down home by his cousin. The cousin in question had sustained several burns in the process.

“I will have a physician check your son and nephew. They will be looked after.” He placed a comforting hand on her small shoulder.

“God bless you, Your Grace.” She thanked him profusely.

“Every one of you will be compensated. Your losses will be recovered. I promise you this.” Nicholas reassured his peopleand then left the scene with Barnabas to examine the damage done.

Inventory was taken by both himself and Barnabas before they made their way up to the manor where he was greeted by the servants. The elderly housekeeper, Mrs. Caplin, announced how good it was to see him after a long while before going on to express her regrets on the circumstances of his visit. The manor had been untouched by the fire.

"Investigations commenced immediately after we saw the fire. I engaged several men to find the source," Mr. Barnabas said once they were within the confines of his study.

"And?" Nicholas prompted when the man paused.

"I have reason to believe that the fire was no accident, Your Grace."

"What reason is that?" Nicholas asked. Despite the confirmation of no casualties, he still could help the feeling of dread and unease that the news had brought upon him. And the memories it had awakened were beginning to take a toll on him.

He was responsible for all of his tenants and their families, even the unborn ones if there happened to be some. He would not be able to live with himself if any misfortune were to come upon their lives.

Mr. Barnabas opened his bag and extracted a rolled-up piece of parchment tied up like a scroll with a blue ribbon, and what looked like a missive that very much resembled the one he had received during his afternoon at White’s with Ernest. Like the former, this letter, too, possessed the same plain sealing wax.

"I personally found these strategically placed just outside the vicinity of the fire," Barnabas informed him. "They were contained in a box addressed to you. I feel that whoever left them must have had a hand somehow. And they seem to have done their calculations well, too." He handed Nicholas the papers. "But of course further investigations are being conducted to be certain and will be reported to you as soon as we have something."

Nicholas did not immediately open the letters, instead, he instructed Barnabas on the tenants' settlement, and the renovations to be done before finally dismissing him.

Once he was alone, he reached for the scroll first, opening it. The most confounding piece of document he had ever come across was presented to him: a marriage document. It would not have perplexed him if it were the proof of his marriage to Jenny. No, this was the proof of marriage to an old flame. A woman he had met in France years ago. Vanessa Whittaker.

The document looked all but valid, complete with the parish stamp, his and her signatures, as well as those of two witnesses. Still unable to believe his eyes, he opened the smaller letter. It was written in the same hand as the former letter he had received but this contained the identity of the writer:

The Dowager Viscountess of Digby. Vanessa’s mother.