Only a Duke Will Do by Tamara Gill

Chapter 19

The following week, Merrick lounged in a settee at Lord Statton’s home, the gentleman hosting a coming-out ball for his daughter, Madeline, and Moore’s first cousin. It was an event that, even in mourning, he refused to miss, no matter what gasps and glares he received from the ton.

The fire crackled in the hearth as he waited for Wardoor, whom he’d summoned to join him. The rumor mill about town was rife with scenarios as to why Isolde had cried off from the wedding. The most disturbing whisper was the one he wanted to discuss above all else—his love had endured enough heartache over the past five years. He wouldn’t allow any more to darken her soul.

And then, once Wardoor was dealt with, he would try to amend his mistake with Isolde. He should not have walked out on her after they’d just made love. Was he insane? Isolde was entitled to her beliefs, even if they were the opposite of his own, and he should have respected that more.

I love her.

Wardoor stumbled into the room, and Merrick stood, frowning when two women who could only be termed whores strode in after him. Their gowns gaped at the front, their hair askew and knotted. “I do believe I summoned only you, Wardoor. Your friends may leave.”

His friend sent him a mocking grin. “Ah yes, you did, but I find that I may need a good tumble whenever I wish, now that I’m no longer betrothed. I’m sure you’ve heard.” He gestured to the women. “Here are my relieving wenches.”

The women giggled, one seating herself on Wardoor and, for a moment, Merrick was given a show of his friend grinding himself against the woman’s sex. It was enough to make him sick.

Merrick noted the cane beside Wardoor, and he gestured to it. “You need a stick to walk these days? How much did you drink today?”

Wardoor grinned. “I fell off my horse, if you must know. My ankle took the brunt of the fall, and that is why I need the cane. No other sinister reason for it, I assure you.” He kissed the second whore deeply. “Now, to what do I owe this pleasure? You’ve not sought my company for some weeks, so I’m all ears as to why you wish to reacquaint yourself with me now.”

Merrick ignored the remark, or the fact that Wardoor had probably fallen from his horse due to drink or opium. “I’m here merely to ensure you apologize and that you do not cause Isolde any trouble. There are rumors. Absurd talk, to be honest.”

“I have nothing to apologize for,” Wardoor said, plying one of the whore’s breasts.

Merrick scoffed, but wondered if his lordship had memory lapses similar to what Leonora had experienced. Did his friend even know why Isolde had cried off? “I know you’re addicted to opium, Wardoor. And I know you visited an opium den in the East End some weeks ago, because I observed you there myself. Your conduct is the reason why Isolde broke your understanding. She followed you to find out what you were about.”

Wardoor paled, his gaze unfocused and with not a small amount of confusion. “I do not attend those sorts of establishments.”

Merrick shook his head. What a dreadful way to end up, a peer of the realm, brought low by scandal and vice. “I know you were there, Wardoor, and what you were doing. But that’s not all.” Merrick rang the bell, and the butler strode in moments later. “Please bring your two burliest footmen. These ladies need an escort back to their own establishments.”

The butler bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“You have no right to remove my guests.” Wardoor sat forward, glaring.

“I have every right. This is my uncle’s home, and they’re not welcome here. And considering what escapades you partook in that night in the opium den, and the company you kept, I think you’ll do exactly as I ask.”

Wardoor pulled at his loosely tied cravat. “I ah…”

The door opened and in strode two footmen just perfect for the employment Merrick had tasked for them. “Take the ladies and hire them a hackney back to the East End. Pay the driver and ensure they return to their establishments safely.”

Merrick watched as the women were taken away, vile words spewing from them as they were walked through the foyer. “You have a problem, one that is the same Leonora had, but, my friend, I will not make the same mistake I did with Her Grace. I wronged Leonora, but I will not wrong you, as well.” If anything could be salvaged from this situation, Merrick would ensure it was Wardoor. The man before him, a broken shell of who he’d once been, was not his friend. But in time, he would be again.

“You have no proof of anything, and as for Isolde, well, it seems the lady has an aversion to men and marriage, in general. With my understanding broken, that makes two so far for her.” Wardoor leaned back in his chair, smirking.

Merrick took a calming breath, seeing his baiting for what it was, a means to remove himself from this situation and place the blame on others. Well, it would not do. Not this time. “I have, at the ready, quill and parchment for you to write an apology to Isolde, whose only crime was trusting in your word. I also require you to sign a document my lawyer had drawn up that stops you from suing Isolde for breach of promise. Once you’ve done this, you shall be taken to one of my country estates where a doctor is waiting to ensure your addiction to opium is broken. You are a marquess. You have people who rely on you for their livelihood. I will not allow you to throw all that aside for nothing.” Merrick met Wardoor’s gaze and read the pain that lurked in his glassy eyes. “I’ve known you since Eton. You’re my closest friend, and because of that friendship, I’m not going to let you travel down into the pits of hell without some fight in pulling you out.”

Wardoor ran a hand over his jaw. “Perhaps your responsibility toward me would cease should you know the full truth.”

Merrick crossed his arms, knowing everything there was to know about the man, and still he would not leave him alone in this. “I know everything. I know that when you’re so high on opium you allow women and men to please you sexually. I know that your estate has suffered because of your affliction. And I know that you may have fathered my daughter.”

A sheen of sweat broke out on Wardoor’s brow. “You know that?” He paused, frowning. “How?”

The memory of how Merrick had learned such a thing and the tragic circumstances that had followed made his stomach knot. “Leonora told me the day Lily was born. It was one of the reasons we argued.” Merrick sighed, seating himself across from Wardoor. “I didn’t wish to believe it, but after seeing you at the opium den, I realized that when you were under the influence of such a drug, you were capable of anything.”

Wardoor cringed. “I did not know what I’d done. You were my friend, and I would never betray your trust so, had I known what I was doing. Leonora told me that we’d been together, and that I was the one who got her pregnant, but it was never confirmed. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, Moore. You did not deserve that.”

“Ah, but I did,” the duke said, in all honesty. “I pushed Leonora away, into the lifestyle she lived, and her death is on my hands. And for a time, I didn’t believe I deserved happiness, not until Isolde showed me otherwise. I will forever regret my actions toward my wife, but I am determined to make it up to her through our children. I will raise them well, ensure they are respectful, productive people in the world. And I will save you from yourself. I will not fail in this.”

“And if I don’t wish to be saved?”

“You do. Deep inside, the man I respected is still there, and I’m determined to have him back beside me as my closest confidant.” Merrick stood, gesturing toward the door. “Outside is a carriage and two very persuasive gentlemen who will take you to one of my country estates for recuperation. Do not try to fight this, Wardoor, and do not make a scene.”

Wardoor stood, stumbling a little. “Tonight, with your highhandedness, I cannot thank you, but I will do as you ask, and we’ll see.” He went over to the desk and sat. Merrick watched him pen a letter of forgiveness to Isolde, and then sign the document his lawyer had drawn up. Merrick escorted him out to the carriage and watched as it rumbled down the street and out of view.

Isolde stood, mouth agape, against the library door, as the conversation inside met her ears. She should not have sought out Merrick, but after their parting the other night she needed to explain that her wish to wait was in no way linked to the feelings she had toward him. If she could, she would marry him tomorrow.

Wardoor was Lily’s father! Had slept with Leonora! The words made her gasp, and she covered her mouth with her hand lest they hear her eavesdropping. She shook her head, baffled and hurt for Merrick. Surprisingly, he sounded calm, almost accepting of such deception, and she loved him even more for it. Wardoor and the duchess had not been themselves for some time. Both of them had needed help; sadly, for Leonora, that help had never come.

The two men spoke for some time before Merrick told Wardoor of the plan for his recovery from his addiction. Isolde prayed that it would work, for she believed Wardoor was a good man, a great one, especially if Merrick had once considered him his closest friend.

The door to the foyer opened, and she could hear Wardoor leaving before Merrick walked back into the library, shutting the door firmly behind him.

Isolde pushed through the doorway, and her heart thumped hard at the sight of Merrick standing at the desk and slipping two letters into his coat pocket. He was too good, even for her, perhaps. Even after all that Wardoor had done to him, he would stick by his friend and help him in his time of need.

There were few who would ever sacrifice pride to do such a thing.

“Merrick,” she said, at a loss for words. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea Wardoor was involved with Leonora.” Unsure of what else to say, she shut the door, pausing for a moment before turning to meet his steady gaze.

He leaned against the desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Isolde’s gaze ran over his form, the wide shoulders that were accentuated in such a pose. His slender waist and long muscular legs. She’d been such a fool to think she could live without him for another year. What had she been thinking?

“You heard everything?”

She nodded, hoping he wasn’t too angry with her. “I did, but not on purpose. I came looking for you, and I heard you talking with Wardoor, and well…”

He smiled, holding out his hand for her. She quickly crossed the room. “I don’t want there to be any secrets between us,” he said, “but I’m also weary of our past. I want us to move forward, to start a life together.”

“I know you do.” And she did, too, more so tonight than any other time. The muffled music of a waltz floated through to them. “Dance with me, Merrick.”

He placed her hand on his arm and walked them toward the ball. The room was overflowing with the upper ten thousand. Couples took their places on the floor, and the room was awash with colorful silk gowns. Merrick walked them onto the floor and pulled her against him, closer than he ought.

The dance began, and the duke spun her into the steps, guiding her every move. He smiled down at her, and butterflies took flight in her belly.

“I will wait for you, if that is what you wish. I would do anything to have you,” he whispered, his gaze intense.

Isolde swallowed the lump in her throat and took a calming breath. “You deserve more than that, Merrick. Some weeks past I stated you deserved love, no matter what had happened in your life. Or who had hurt or failed one another. But then I didn’t follow that through with any action. Instead, I turned about and said you had to wait, and that was wrong of me. You should not have to wait anymore. Neither of us should. I think our time apart has been quite long enough.”

Merrick waltzed them to a stop in the middle of the room, the other couples continuing the dance around them. Merrick clasped her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his. “Are you saying that you will marry me now and not twelve months from now?”

Isolde smiled, nodding. “That is exactly what I wish.” The music faded to a stop, and whisperings from the gathered throng surrounding them commenced. Gasps sounded when Merrick bent down on one knee before her. Her vision blurred, and she sniffed, trying to stifle her tears.

“Will you marry me, Lady Isolde Worthingham? And become my duchess?”

A laugh bubbled up inside her. Looking up, she noted her mama to the side with wide eyes, looking on with the rest of their set. She returned her gaze to Merrick and nodded. “Yes. I will marry you.”

He stood and, without hesitation, kissed her before the ton. Kissed her, slowly and with such promise that all her concerns floated away. He leaned back, still holding her face. “Let the gossips talk and take their pound of flesh. It won’t be long before another scandal grabs their attention, and our nuptials will be forgotten.”

“I have always been a little too well-behaved,” she said, grinning. “I think it’s time I do what I want. Something that will make me happy.”

“I think,” Merrick said, kissing her again and this time leaving her breathless, “that you’re absolutely correct.”

Isolde wrapped her arms about Merrick’s neck and ignored the scandalized onlookers. No matron or grumpy lord could ruin this moment for her. The man in her arms was the love of her life, and now that life could commence. “There is something I need to tell you, Your Grace.”

Wariness clouded his gaze. “What’s that?”

She kissed him, smiling when someone yelled out for smelling salts for a collapsed guest. “Only that I love you. Even through all the times that I hated you, I loved you still. Will adore you, always.”

A muscle worked in his jaw, and she could tell by his misty gaze that he was fighting for composure. “I thought I’d never again hear those words from you.”

“From this day forward, you’re going to hear them often, for they’re true.” Merrick picked her up and spun her about, both of them laughing and oblivious to the stunned disapproval of the ton.

Tonight was theirs, and damn anyone if they did not accept their union. The choice was not Society’s to make and, from now on, Isolde would never be swayed by the opinions of others. Only the man she would marry could convince her to think otherwise, and something told Isolde he had no desire to change her.

Just as she would never change anything about him.

It was Merrick’s turn to be summoned. He sat in the Morning Room at Whites, the room closed off to all other members, as the Duke of Penworth stared at him with what Merrick could only assume was distaste.

He deserved it, he supposed, especially after declaring himself so publicly last night, before all of Society, and forgetting throughout it all to ask permission for Isolde’s hand. He schooled his features, wanting to smile at the memory of only a few hours ago, when finally, Isolde had promised to be his and not in a damnable twelve months’ time, but weeks only.

Merrick met the duke’s gaze. Not even the gentleman’s dislike of their union would put a stop to it. Nothing would, and Merrick would make sure of that this time.

“Well,” the duke said, crossing his legs and steepling his fingers on his lap. “Do explain what happened last night. You can imagine my surprise when my mother returned home and told me of Isolde’s betrothal. Not a month since her last one ended.”

Merrick fought not to laugh. Instead he frowned. He didn’t wish to put the duke any further offside than he already was. “I know Isolde has explained what happened at Mountshaw on the night before our wedding, and no matter your thoughts on who was to blame, or who was not, there was always a constant throughout the years, and that was my love for your sister. Her understanding with Wardoor was a mistake, and I must admit to being relieved it is no longer so. I know you are aware of the circumstances behind this.”

“I am aware, but it does not change the fact that I have not, nor will I ever, forgive you for what you did to her five years ago. The pain that she lived through was as devastating as our father’s passing. I will not allow you to hurt her so again.” The duke’s steely tone was menacing.

“I swear on my life that I will never hurt Isolde again. I never meant to the first time. I love her. So very much. Please give us your blessing.” Merrick remained outwardly calm, but his heart raced. Would the duke cause trouble, or was the man willing to put aside his own grudges and allow Isolde to marry whom she wished?

The duke’s brow rose mockingly. “Would you break the understanding if I did not approve?”

Merrick took a calming breath, not liking the turn of this conversation. The last people he wished to be at odds with were Isolde’s family. “Neither you nor anyone else shall stop me from marrying your sister. Nothing.” Merrick held his gaze, his eyes narrowing as his temper rose. Never again would he live another day in abeyance of someone else’s wishes or desires. Isolde was his, and he was hers. There was naught else to it.

The duke watched him a moment before taking a sip of his brandy. “I will give my blessing, but only because I love my sister and wish to make her happy. But be warned, Moore. Should any rumor or whisper reach my ears of her being less than pleased, I will claim my pound of flesh and enjoy it while doing so. Do you understand?”

As much as Merrick disliked a peer of the realm talking to him in such a way, he allowed the insult to pass. If it meant that Isolde could marry him with her family’s blessing, a notion he knew she wanted, then he would swallow his pride and allow the duke his warning. He nodded. “I accept your decree.”

The duke sat forward and held out his hand. Merrick shook it. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

So, too, was he. “Likewise,” he said, finishing off his drink as a silent toast that his final hurdle in gaining Isolde’s hand was cleared.