Only a Duke Will Do by Tamara Gill
Chapter 17
Isolde woke up with a start, the soft cotton sheets haphazardly spread about her bed, the blankets piled at her feet and floor. “Another bad dream? You’ve been waking me up all week with your nightmares.”
Isolde looked toward her armoire and noted Alice going through her dresses, holding a blue silk gown against her body in contemplation.
“What are you doing in my room?”
“I want answers.” She hung the gown back up and strolled toward her. Her sister’s gaze fixed on her with a determination she’d often seen on her elder sister Elizabeth’s visage prior to her marriage to Henry.
Isolde swallowed. “What sort of answers? I don’t know anything.” Not anything she wished to disclose, in any case.
“I came home early from the theater last night, and you were not here. I searched everywhere, by the way, just in case you try to come up with some pitiful excuse.”
Heat bloomed on her cheeks, and Isolde grabbed the sheet, holding it up against her mouth. “I went for a walk in the garden. Nothing amiss with that.” If only that were true. The thought of what Merrick had done to her, of his touch, his kisses, his hard…
“Where were you, Isolde?” Alice crossed her arms over her chest, one brow determinedly raised. “I want to know.”
“Away from my room. As I said.” She shuffled from her bed, walking to the window to take in the weather—no sign of rain today.
Alice spied her gown thrown carelessly across a chair in her dressing room. She strode over to it, lifting it up as if to inspect it before smelling it. “This has the distinct odor of maleness.”
Isolde laughed, but even to her own ears it sounded brittle with guilt. “Don’t be absurd. You cannot smell a man on my gown.”
“How long have you been sneaking out to meet him? And by him I mean, His Grace, the Duke of Moore.”
When did Alice become so damn nosy, and for that matter so damn smart? Isolde rolled her eyes. “Moore? Do be serious, Alice. I’ve just broken my engagement with Wardoor, so why would I allow courtship so soon, pray?”
“I know you are, for you were certainly not home when I arrived last night. And you were not in the gardens. Now,” Alice said, raising her brows, “know that I won’t tell anyone your secret so long as you stop whatever destructive thing it is you’re doing, before it’s too late.”
“It’s not destructive.”
“Ah ha! So you are sneaking out to meet someone. I demand you tell me at once or I’ll be forced to tattle to Mama, and that’ll not do you any good at all.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Isolde rounded on her sister, glaring at her smirk and the careless shrug of her shoulder. The last thing she wanted was her family knowing of her rekindled friendship with Merrick. They loathed him after his treatment of her five years ago and had not forgiven his sins. Even when she had explained that he was not at fault, that he had been tricked, along with herself, they still found it difficult to be pleasant and cordial in public.
“I will, if you do not own up to what you’re about. There cannot be a scandal afoot in this house, unless I’m part of it.” Alice stood in wait, expectation clearly written on her visage.
Isolde sighed. “I’ve merely called on Moore a couple of times to see how he and the children are getting on after Leonora’s passing.” Isolde slumped onto the chair behind her writing desk, waiting for the inevitable scolding that Alice was sure to give. Many would say their seeing of each other was too soon after Leonora’s death. That Isolde was pushing in on a family that was in mourning. Taking advantage of them. She frowned.
Am I?
“We’ve always suspected you loved him, even all these years later.”
Mortification swamped her. Was she so obvious to everyone? “You did not.”
“Is it true?” Alice came and stood before her. “But I would caution you on it. You could marry someone with no past to cloud your judgment. There are other men besides His Grace who could make you happy, if only you tried.”
The words were reminiscent of what Merrick had said the night before. But Isolde had given her heart to him many years ago, and she didn’t want it back. “I know you mean well, and I will think on your words.” Isolde sighed. “I simply visited Moore to thank him for his help that disastrous night, and because I felt for him and the children after the duchess’s death. It cannot be easy losing a spouse, even if the marriage was not a love match.” At her words, guilt pricked her conscience at having been about to sleep with a man who was still in mourning. She was the worst kind of person, who should be ashamed of herself, but the thought of Merrick’s lips, demanding and ravenous upon her own, his strong capable arms pulling her close… Well, she bit her lip, if only she could do more of the same.
“Are you going to visit him again?”
“No.” And she wouldn’t. There could be no more secret meetings. Each time she was with the duke it became harder and harder to stay away, to remain unmoved by his presence. She’d caused the family enough grief with the debacle of her love life. If she were to single out Moore, allow him to court her, London Society would have a fit. Not only had he married her best friend, but he was still in mourning. What a conundrum. “We’re friends, nothing more. His Grace is to return to Mountshaw very soon, for his children’s sake. I simply wished to see him before he left, to ensure all was well.” Isolde looked down at some parchment to hide the heat that bloomed on her cheeks at the lie.
When did I become so scandalous?
Alice’s eyes narrowed. “If you say so, but you would tell me if what you say wasn’t your true thoughts, wouldn’t you? All we wish for you is happiness.”
“I am happy.” Isolde smiled and noted her sister’s stance relaxed a little at the falsehood she’d not caught. “I’m more than content, in fact. And as for the duke, I was simply being a friend. Nothing more, I assure you.”
Alice watched her for a moment longer and then nodded. “Very well. I’ll not delve further into the matter, and I will take you at your word, but know this, sister, the family would never wish for you to settle for anything other than what you want. No matter what has happened in the past. That is done with. It’s time to move on into the future and all the wonders that said future will bring.”
Isolde stood and, coming around her desk, hugged her sister. “I know and thank you. For a younger sibling, you’re more intelligent than I thought.”
Alice feigned insult. “I have my moments. You never learn anything in this Society if you’re smart. One must feign stupidity at times. There is nothing a gentleman or the matrons of the ton hate more than an intelligent woman who can say more than yes, no, and thank you.”
Isolde laughed, and Alice walked from the room. The moment the door closed, tears sprang to her eyes. She swiped at them—useless, unhelpful things. Crying would not help her now. Only a leap of faith would do that. And, right at this moment, Isolde was unsure if such a thing were possible, especially when it came to Moore, the man who’d already broken her heart.
Against Society’s rules, Merrick attended a Shakespearean play for no reason other than Isolde would be there. He sat in the ducal box alone. Much to his surprise, he spied Wardoor for the first time since his night at the opium den, seated on the opposite side of the theater, his head dipped in quiet conversation with a party Merrick didn’t recognize.
A gentleman dandy in the pit shouted at one of the actors, and Merrick’s attention was temporarily diverted to see who was making such a racket. The play continued on as normal, and it was soon reasonably quiet once more.
Merrick leaned back in his chair and took in Isolde’s splendor, her delightful pink satin and cream silk gauze gown that fell about her like a second skin. She was perfection personified, more beautiful than he’d ever seen her before. The thought of undoing the laces of the gown and stripping it from her body and kissing her sweet-smelling flesh, watching as she blushed under his touch, bombarded his mind, and he adjusted his seat.
He ignored the mumblings of his theater neighbors who made it known they did not approve his attendance. Words such as scandalous, heartless, unpardonable, were mentioned, and he ignored them all. If they knew just how terrible his marriage had been, that his wife was a mistress to many, perhaps even their own husbands, maybe their defamation of him would cease. With such thoughts, the never-ending guilt assailed him that Leonora had done what she had out of desperation to gain his attention. If she’d been a bad wife, he, too, had been a bad husband. And if that was the case, he deserved their censure.
Applause rang out as the curtains swung shut, and the lamps were turned up during intermission. Merrick stood, and walking from his private box, made his way to the Worthinghams’. The curtain was open, Lord and Lady Kinruth paying their regards, when he bowed to them all. The Duchess of Penworth threw him a steely glare, her annoyance at his presence obvious to all who stood around him.
He bowed. “Good evening, Your Grace, Lady Isolde.” Merrick clasped her hand, bowing over it and kissing it lightly. A shiver of awareness made her hand shake and he met her gaze, wishing they were alone so she could kiss away his uncertainties of not being worthy. Help him forget how cruel he’d been to his deceased wife.
“Your Grace,” she said in return, standing. “Are you enjoying the play?”
“I forget there is even a play as the theater holds so many other delights this evening.”
She blushed, and Lord Kinruth coughed, covering his grin with his hand. “I didn’t think you would attend,” he said.
“As you can see, I have.” He noted the absence of Isolde’s brother and her younger sister Victoria, and yet Lady Alice was there, her gaze one of contemplation.
“Out, while in mourning, Your Grace. Correct me if I’m wrong, but have the rules of polite Society changed so much to allow such a thing?” the duchess asked, watching him with contempt.
“Mama,” Isolde said, blushing furiously. “I’m sure His Grace has reasons for attending this evening.”
“I’m sure he does,” the duchess mumbled, taking her seat and giving them her back.
“I find myself equally surprised you’re here but glad that you are.” Isolde moved them to the back of the box to give them privacy. “I did not think gentlemen attended such entertainments when in mourning.”
He cringed, knowing how true that was. “You’re absolutely right, but I couldn’t go another day without seeing you.”
Isolde looked up at him, her beautiful green eyes widening at his words. How he wanted to take her into his arms and astonish her and her family even more. “I’ve shocked you.”
She nodded, biting her lip. “You have, Your Grace, but not in a bad way.”
“Merrick—no titles between us,” he whispered. He watched her with something akin to desperation. He needed to see her again, alone where there was no one to interrupt them. “When will I see you again? Just us?”
She looked back toward her family, and Merrick noted that although they spoke with others who visited their box, their attention constantly diverted toward them. “We cannot.” She frowned. “You’re newly widowed, and I’ve just broken my betrothal. The scandal would be too much, if we were caught. I have to think of my family and yours.”
Merrick could understand her concern. Hell, he had his own demons that haunted his every waking hour. He did not deserve a second chance, to be happy once more, not after his part in making Leonora’s life a living hell. But must they continue to be apart, if only to please others? To always do what was right and expected of them? He thought not.
The pain in Isolde’s eyes told him, more than words, that she loved him, wanted the same as he—for them to be together. If only they could make the choice and the ton could go hang with their so-called standards that left so many unhappy couples within that social sphere.
Hidden by Isolde’s gown, Merrick reached out and clasped her hand. Her fingers entwined with his, and her lips lifted in a knowing smile. “Please, Isolde.” He would beg if necessary and be damned who was about. The theater staff started coming in to turn down the lamps, signaling that the second act was about to begin. “Please think on it.”
Isolde slipped her hand free and patted the lapels on his jacket. “I will. I promise.”
Merrick stood back and allowed her to pass, not leaving until Isolde had regained her seat. He didn’t return to his box but left the theater and sat in wait in his carriage for the entertainment to be over. And then he would see what Isolde’s choice was and if he had any chance of winning her back.
