Heartless (17 page)

Leandra smiled brilliantly at her husband whose glass halted midway to his mouth as he threw her a wide-eyed look. What had given her the cat-in-the-cream look all of a sudden? She had been a trifle withdrawn throughout the meal and now she looked as if the sun would rise expressly for her. Derringer thought that perhaps it would with a smile like that.

She had agreed to be his wife. Truly and finally his wife. It was amazing to think that when he had met this girl, he had actually planned never to touch her. He had thought he would never have to. He had never dreamed that he would, in fact,
want
to. She was not the kind of woman who usually caught his eye.

But although he had not actually come right out and told the lawyer that the marriage had been consummated, he had led the man to believe that it had. Derringer felt guilty for what amounted to a lie. His confusion over this strange feeling of contrition was enough to make him fall silent and glare at his now empty glass as if it had somehow caused all his troubles.

And tonight he’d be leaving again, this time to retrieve his cousin and, hopefully, bring him home.

He and Gabriel had much more in common than simply growing up together. Gabriel could have been his twin. He had the same black hair and tall, muscular frame. His eyes were not quite so dark. They were more of a midnight blue than the pitch black that Derringer’s appeared to be.

They very nearly shared a birthday. Gabriel was born only a few days after Derringer had been. The boys had been inseparable since the day they met. Derringer now wanted to restore his cousin to his side.

That he was to blame for his cousin’s absence and consequent disappearance was something that never left the duke’s mind. He blamed himself completely and had always tried to prove to himself that he was quite as heartless as society claimed him to be. If he believed it himself, perhaps his blasted conscience would take the hint and leave him alone.

But he still had to find Gabriel and restore him to his family if it was possible. Then he would try to make amends for his sins.

Derringer leaned back in his chair and sighed, drawing the attention of his dinner companions. He had allowed his mind to wander over things that he had no control over at the moment and now everyone glanced at him with interest.

As the normal wave of discomfort washed over him, Derringer fought the urge to lash out. He would have succeeded, too, had not Martin chosen that moment to mention his brother to the ladies.

“He was a bit of a here-and-therein, you know, and had a disreputable reputation. But one doesn’t like to speak ill of the dead, especially when he was one’s own brother.”

Derringer smashed his delicate crystal glass on the table, surging to his feet. “Gabe is not dead! And I’ll thank you to never refer to him as such within my hearing, sir!”

Michaella squeaked, Leandra gasped, and Martin shrank back in this chair in sudden consternation. He nodded once and Derringer strode from the chamber.

“I wonder if he will still tell me,” the duchess murmured to herself. Then, “I have the headache.”

Michaella and Martin shared a confused look. Michaella rose to her feet and gently but firmly took her sister’s arm. “Come, Merri. I will help you to bed. Please excuse us, Mr. St. Clair.”

Martin had risen to his feet when Michaella did and now bowed to both ladies and said, “I hope you will feel more the thing tomorrow, Lady Derringer. Goodnight, Lady Michaella.”

12

Derringer entered his wife’s room right before he was set to depart. She sat up in bed against a mound of pillows, her hair loose and a lavender compress on her forehead.

“Are you well?” he asked with a frown.

Leandra opened her eyes and lifted her lips in a pained smile. “Just a touch of the headache,” she murmured.

“Oh.” He came further into the room and stood beside the old-fashioned four-poster bed. He glanced around for a chair, then shrugged and perched on the edge of the bed, facing his wife. “Do you feel well enough to hear my story?” he asked with an even deeper frown than before.

Leandra reached out and patted his hand. “Yes, only don’t speak too loudly. Do you mind if I keep my eyes closed?”

He shook his head in quite a childlike gesture. Leandra smiled at the thought then closed her eyes after even that tiny movement sent a dull hammer blow through her brain. 

Derringer realized for the first time that her spectacles were lying on the table beside the bed. He almost grinned when he recalled asking her if she slept in them.

Then he hesitated. Where should he start? Should he tell her the reason for his going to France or tell her why he felt the need to go in the first place?

The silence lengthened. Leandra opened her eyes, fixing them on his with deep sympathy darkening them to an emerald green. “Tell me about your cousin Gabriel, Hart.”

“How did you know?”

She gave an infinitesimal shrug of her delicate shoulders, a tiny smile curving her lips. “Your comment at dinner combined with the excursions to France and Martin’s information about Gabriel’s supposed death.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me, Hart,” she implored him. Her eyes slid shut again after he nodded briefly.

The duke took a deep breath, leaned back against the bedpost and began. “Gabriel St. Clair is Martin’s younger brother but he looks just like me. We almost share a birthday. As children we were more than just cousins; we were best friends. We should have been brothers, how close we knew each other’s minds.

“It was with Gabe that I learned to ride, hunt, fence, box, and shoot. It was our spy games that gave us the ability to read in a look or gesture far more than a person is willing to convey. When Gabe decided he wanted to fight Boney, I bought him a commission since his father refused.

“I have spent the past five years searching for Gabriel. He went to fight Napoleon in 1812 and disappeared in Waterloo three years later. Everyone believes he is dead but I have received word that he is alive and in France. I was there recently to get him but then I saw Harwood and D’Arcy and thought it would be best to come home and see if you were all right.”

Leandra’s eyes fluttered open. “Where did you see them?” she asked with a slight frown.

“In a hedge tavern in Dunkirk. Why?”

Her eyes widened ever so slightly. “A hedge tavern? Why on earth would Lee be in a hedge tavern? He avoids taverns and bars like the plague. In fact, he claims drink is the devil’s brew.”

“Indeed,” murmured the duke thoughtfully. “Now I have even more reason to suspect his activities in France.”

“You said you came back to make sure I was all right,” she reminded him softly. “Why?”

The duke shifted, uncomfortable with his own concern. “It struck me as odd that your brother was in France. It made me feel guilty for leaving you right after we married,” he admitted.

“You felt guilty for leaving me? You have no reason to feel that way, Hart,” she told him gently. “We married under odd circumstances; our hearts were not involved. I never expected anything more from you than your name and a place to live. Your magnanimity in allowing me free reign in your home and a veritable blank cheque for refurbishing the castle and myself truly touched me.”

“It was the least I could do considering that without you there’d be no money,” he commented unwisely. He realized too late that it was probably a subject best laid to rest.

She was unable to mask the hurt in her eyes quickly enough to avoid his sharp gaze. He blinked, offering no apology.

“It was still generous of you,” she insisted in spite of the hurt. “And I am well taken care of here. Martin is ever helpful and now that Michaella is here I am quite content. If I could only convince my stepmother to depart and leave Michaella here, all will be as it should be.”

He did not like the mention of Martin at all. It annoyed him so much, in fact, that her impolite jab at her family—an action under normal circumstances he’d have found terribly funny—amused him not at all. There had always been something faintly suspicious in the way Martin was quick to ingratiate himself with everyone who possessed a title or money. And Derringer was ever suspicious of those who felt the need to curry the favor of those in a higher station. Perhaps that was the reason he had always gone out of his way to make his disgust with Society known.

He refused to admit even to himself that he was jealous of his cousin. Just because Martin was the opposite of himself and probably very lovable did not mean Leandra might fall in love with him. But could she actually fall in love with himself? Did he care? If she fell in love with anyone Martin would be the obvious choice. Why did he care?

“Why did your father require your marriage?”

Derringer started, completely shocked by her query and unsure how to answer. Why did his father feel the need for such a codicil, especially since the son involved was a mere child at the time?

“I don’t know,” Derringer admitted to his wife, his fingers curling into a fist in his lap. “I knew he hated me, suspected it always, even as a child. But to limit my control over my inheritance, I—I don’t know.”

Leandra shook her head. “It is unbelievable. My father loved me, raised me as one of his legitimate children. But your father— His own son and heir— It is simply too Gothic for words.”

Her eyes sparkled with tears, a reaction Derringer hadn’t expected. He wasn’t naïve enough to believe she loved him. Could she care for him after so little acquaintance?

“Where is Gabe now?” Leandra asked, breaking into his thoughts. She pressed her hand to her head and winced, her eyes sliding shut once more.

Derringer leaned toward her, all his internal ponderings of just moments before fleeing in the face of her discomfort. “Are you quite certain you wish to talk now? You seem to be in some considerable pain.”

“It will pass, I assure you.”

He sat back again, frowning despite her reassurance. “If you say so.”

Her lips twitched. “I say so.”

“Very well.” He took a moment to gather his thoughts, calm his emotions, stifle his sudden urge to flee the room and this woman. “I met a man who was able to tell me that Gabe resides in a town about one hundred miles southeast of Dunkirk. I will probably be gone for several days possibly more than a sennight depending upon the weather and Gabe’s health.”

“And so you will leave tonight.”

“Yes. And I am taking your new footman, Thomas, with me.”

Her eyes popped open. “Whatever for?”

The duke shrugged one black-clad shoulder. “He wants to learn to sail.”

“But he has only one eye!”

“As any proper sailor should,” snorted Derringer.

A giggle escaped Leandra. “Yes, I suppose you are correct. How silly of me to think he would be at a disadvantage.”