Devil of a Duke by Kathleen Ayers
16
Nick stood, his hand outstretched, mind struggling to comprehend that Jem stood before him in the drawing room of the Earl of Marsh. Automatically he reached for her as her eyes widened at the sight of him before she toppled over in a most ungraceful, but not dead, way. He thought he hallucinated, but surely, a ghost would not faint in such a manner.
Immediately, without any thought for propriety, he moved forward and fell to his knees. Cradling her, he stroked the top of her head, feeling the solidness of her body and the silk of her hair. He ignored the startled gasps of surprise at his improper actions and concentrated only on the fact that he held that which he thought lost to him forever.
Jem.She was not dead. The impish spray of freckles across her nose and the slight scent of chocolate assured him she was real. Not dead, yet everyone in Hamilton believes she is. His mind raced, trying to piece together exactly why and how Jem could be in England. How she could be the niece of the Earl of Marsh, the very man whose daughter he thought he might marry.
Her eyes fluttered open slowly as she tried to focus. “I must have fainted, which I never do. I'm sorry, Your Grace, I thought—” The hazel orbs narrowed. “Dear God, no wonder I fainted,” she hissed, struggling to sit up. “Bloody hell, what are you doing here?”
“Jane Emily?” Lady Marsh questioned in a horrified tone.
A throat cleared behind Nick. “Your Grace,” Lord Marsh began, stepping forward. “I beg your apology. I fear my niece has hit her head.”
“Yes,” Lady Marsh chimed in brightly, nodding her agreement. “Bring the smelling salts.” she ordered the butler, a nervous smile on her face.
“My deepest apologies, I’ll just—” Lord Marsh moved into Nick's line of sight, meaning to assist his niece in getting up.
“No,” Nick snarled before he could think, tightening his arms and ignoring the stiffening of Jem's body.
Lord Marsh stepped back immediately, his face contorted in surprised confusion, his mouth bent into disapproval at Nick’s improper regard towards his niece.
Nick didn't care if he was rude. He didn’t care if the Earl of Marsh thought him crazed and in the habit of accosting barely conscious females. He ran a finger down Jem’s cheek. Nothing mattered. He had the disgusting urge to rain kisses across her face like a delighted puppy.
The slender girl in his arms swatted his hand away. “What are you doing here pretending to be a duke?”
“Oh,” Lady Marsh uttered. “It is apparent my niece has hit her head and quite forgot herself. Where are those smelling salts? I’ll have one of the footmen carry her upstairs, shall I?”
Nick didn't spare Lady Marsh an answer. He cared only for Jem, who was studying him closely, especially his eyes.
A hand cautiously patted his shoulder.
“Your Grace,” Nick’s aunt said in a hushed tone. “I do not know what has come over you, but this is unseemly. Even for you. You cannot sit in our host’s drawing room with your hands on his niece. I’m not sure what has caused such impropriety. Have you been drinking?” She sniffed the air.
Nick shut his eyes and willed his aunt and everyone else away. No one in this room could understand the overwhelming joy he felt. The loss he awakened with each day, no matter the amount of alcohol he used to blot it out, was suddenly gone.
Lord Marsh cleared his throat again.
“Nick.” Aunt Maisy leaned over and hissed in his ear. “You must let Miss Grantly’s family see to her. The girl merely fainted at the sight of your eyes.” She turned and addressed the group in a polite tone. “Please, do not be distressed. This is not the first time such has happened. His Grace's features can cause quite a stir at first. Your niece is not to blame.” Her hand lay heavy on Nick's shoulder, and she pinched him to make her point.
The room grew quiet, no one daring to contradict Lady Cupps-Foster and certainly no one wished to approach Nick. He could hear the rustle of the ladies’ skirts, the snapping of his sister's fan as well as Lady Marsh whispering furiously to Lord Marsh.
Jem tried once more to sit up. She squirmed in his arms and tried to push him away.
Nick stood in one fluid motion, bringing the struggling Jem to her feet as well. Pulling her to him, he laid one arm about her waist, staring at Lord Marsh as if daring the man to intrude.
Lady Marsh gasped at Nick's actions—the woman looked as if she might faint herself.
“Dear God,” Aunt Maisy said under her breath.
Arabella muttered something in a rude tone, which elicited another gasp from Lady Marsh.
The thought crossed Nick's mind that the ducal coach sat just outside. He could simply throw Jem over his shoulder and run as he should have in Bermuda. He was a powerful duke. Would anyone stop him? He stole a glance at Lord Marsh whose nostrils flared with mounting anger, to the earl's son, Lord Malden, who looked as if he would come at Nick with his fists. They would try to stop him.
“No eye-patch.” Jem whispered, spitting like an outraged cat. "A disguise. A ruse. To hide those.” She tried to pull away.
“You find them ghastly?” he said quietly, using the words Lord Corbett flung at him that night.
Before Jem could answer, Lady Marsh mustered her courage and came to her niece's side, pretending nothing had happened out of the ordinary. “I told you to eat something today, dear. Why, you've given us all quite the scare.” She turned to Nick. “I’m so sorry, Your Grace. I think my niece must excuse herself.” She inclined her head.
“I’m fine,” Jem said to no one in particular. She never looked away from Nick. Her fingers twitched as if she wished to slap him, which she likely did. Jem was nothing if not consistent in her temperament.
“Leave us,” Nick said quietly, reluctantly dropping his arm from about Jem's waist. “All of you. We must speak in private.”
“Your Grace,” Lord Marsh objected, “this is quite unusual and I—”
Nick put up his hand to silence the man. “My lord I intend no insult or disrespect to you or your family, but I must speak to your niece in private. We are previously acquainted.”
Lady Marsh clasped her hands to her heart as if she were about to have a fit of apoplexy.
Lord Marsh looked to Jem for confirmation.
“We are, uncle.” She smoothed her skirts and shot Nick a hard look.
Lady Marsh pressed a hand against her mouth and grabbed at her husband’s arm. She shook her head furiously in denial. “But, how—”
“Your Grace, perhaps I should stay.” Lord Marsh's features hardened. “It is unheard of for an unwed lady of good family to—”
“Please,” Jem interrupted her uncle. “Please, Uncle John.”
Aunt Maisy gave Nick a pinched look before gathering her skirts and leaving the room, her back stiff with disapproval.
Arabella opened her mouth to speak.
“Not now, Bella. Please.” Nick urged his sister to leave. The truth of who Jem was, indeed who her family was, would send Arabella into a fit of rage.
A look of understanding slowly spread across Malden’s face as he looked at his cousin in Nick's arms. He nodded once at Nick, then he tried to take Arabella's arm, to escort her from the room.
Arabella, contrary as always, refused Malden’s courtesy and marched out after Aunt Maisy.
Petra wrinkled her nose, still pondering the situation but took her mother’s proffered hand and followed obediently out, her face full of questions.
Nick watched them all filter out, his eyes lingering for a moment on Petra. Had he really considered marrying her only an hour ago? Now that Jem was alive, the very idea of the match proposed by Lord Marsh seemed preposterous.
Lord Marsh remained, seemingly determined not to allow Nick to be alone with his niece. Something flickered across the man’s face as he looked at Nick, but the strange emotion was gone in a thrice.
“On my honor, my lord,” Nick inclined his head, pretending not to notice Jem's snort of derision at the word honor, “”he will come to no harm.”
“I wish to hear what His Grace,” she said mockingly making her uncle wince, “has to say.”
The earl finally gave in and left the room, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Jem waited calmly until the sound of her uncle’s footsteps receded, the only sign of her emotional distress the slight movement of her feet beneath her skirts. She looked as if she were preparing to flee at any moment.
“You're a bloody duke?You are Petra's suitor?” she said calmly. “Not one-eyed. Not Nick Shepherd, poor relation to the Dowager Marchioness of Cambourne. Not a fortune hunter. Do you even know the Dowager Marchioness?”
“Yes. She is a friend of the family.” He reached for her.
Violently, she slapped at his hand. “Don't touch me.”
“You're alive.”
“Yes, I'm alive. How else did you expect to find me?” She crossed her arms and turned from him, her shoulders hunching as if she were in pain. “Although, I would wager you did not expect to find me at all.”
Nick’s voice broke. “I was told you had died.”
She turned around her face deathly white, with no trace of the golden tan of the islands upon her cheeks. “Were you? How inconvenient for you that I am not. How shocked you must be. Tell me, Your Grace, do you often go about seducing young women under the auspices of another identity? What a delightful game. How unfortunate for me to show up during the very dinner where my uncle would likely discuss a betrothal of his daughter to you.”
What else could she think? “I never meant to leave you.”
He heard the pleading in his voice for understanding. Dear God, how could he tell her the truth? The whole of that truth was now even worse than he could have imagined. Not only was her father a traitor to his country, but he was the brother to the current Earl of Marsh. He wondered if Lord Marsh knew of his brother’s past and realized that he must.
She slapped at him again. “Why would you, a bloody duke, have anything to do with an untitled girl from Bermuda except as a game?” Her breasts heaved with emotion. “I know that some of the ton are so depraved that they find pleasure in toying with others. Are you so despondent over your vast fortune and status that you came to Bermuda for amusement?”
“That is not the truth of it.”
“Oh, then please enlighten me,” she said coldly. “I heard all of it, Nick, before I saw you in the hall that night at Sea Cliff.”
Nick took a deep breath. “And what did you hear, exactly?”
“That you tried to blackmail my father with my lapse of judgment on the beach. For money. Money you clearly don’t need. He died soon after. Pray tell me how my father displeased you, Your Grace, so that you would seek such revenge upon a man by ruining his daughter? Did he beat you at cards? Perhaps you just didn't like the way he tied his cravat. Surely, he must have done something terrible to earn the displeasure of the infamous Duke of Dunbar.” Her voice shook.
“I was not a duke when we met and—” Nick's mind raced with a plausible excuse for his behavior in Bermuda and could find none. “Do you really think I am capable of such a thing?”
“Sport. I was an amusement, Your Grace. What other reason could there be?”
Nick said nothing. Relieved as he was that she did not know the truth about her father, it still broke his heart to hear her assumptions of his character. That she could think he would use her after—”
“You can offer up no other reason, I see.” Her eyes welled with tears. “Certainly, ruining a virgin in the backwater of Bermuda buys one several rounds of drinks at White’s?” A caustic laugh escaped her lips. “Ruined. The good people of Hamilton gossiped that my father died because of my indiscretion with you. The knowledge killed him, you see.”
Her words cut into him, slicing him as deeply as if she wielded a blade.
“Those same good people called me a whore behind my back. They said I was crazy, driven mad by the fact I killed my father by spreading my legs.” Tears streamed down her cheeks. “And then the Corbetts—Augie—he—” she stopped, wiping furiously at her face with the back of her sleeve.
“What did they do to you?” Her appearance in London began to make sense. She ran from marriage to Augustus Corbett. “The Corbetts are why you are presumed dead.” He could feel the anger, the unmitigated fury at Lord Corbett as it rolled through his body in waves. “Answer me.”
“It no longer matters, does it?”
“It matters to me.” He growled, taking her by the shoulders.
“It matters now only because I am here.” She tried to twist out of his hold. “Well, don't worry. I won't put a damper on your plans to marry my cousin, and I release you from any obligation you may feel towards me. I'll tell everyone that we met as you passed through Hamilton on your way to the islands further south. No one will ask any more. My family knows no one in Bermuda.” Her voice caught. “And no one misses me in Hamilton. I will say that you and I courted for a time but fell out. I will not,” her body shook with a sob, “stand in your way of marrying Petra.”
His hands slid down her arms. “There will be no match between myself and Petra, or anyone else for that matter. I want only you.”
She twisted away from him. “I wish to hear not one more word from your lying mouth. Everything about you is a lie. You are a lie.” She stepped back from him, her voice trembling.
“Jem.” He snatched at her, grabbing her to him and pressing her head to his chest. He took her chin in his hand, though she resisted, and forced her to look at him. Gently he pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth.
“This is not a lie. What is between us is not a lie. I dream of you beneath me as you were on the beach.” He brushed her lips with his, feeling the familiar jolt of lightning between them.
“No.” She put her hands against his chest, and he allowed her to push him away. “I would not have you use me again for your own ends, whatever they may be.”
Hate me or not, she belongs to me. He weighed the thought of her hatred against the thought of Jem wed to another man and quickly disregarded any noble thought of letting her go.
“You are overwrought,” he said smoothly, hiding the pain of her rejection behind the mask of bored politeness that all the ton knew well. He deserved her wrath, her hatred.
“Yes, I believe I am, Your Grace.” She clasped her hands neatly before her, but her eyes looked daggers through him.
“We will speak later, when you have had time to consider our future.”
“Future? I don't believe there is anything more to discuss, Your Grace.”
“We most assuredly do have more to discuss as you will see. Make no mistake.” He left her then, her body tight and frozen like a statue. He shut the door, willing himself to move forward even as he heard her begin to weep and went to speak to Lord Marsh.
