Heartless (36 page)

The two men looked at each other in surprise. “Mrs. Stark!” they said at once.

The duke would have left right then to question the housekeeper but Gabriel stopped him. “It is too late, Hart. Wait until morning.”

“Don’t you want to know now? I do.”

Gabriel said nothing for several seconds. “Do you realize someone wanted me dead in France?” he finally asked softly.

“Of course they did,” scoffed the duke. “Those French bastards wanted as many English dead as possible.”

Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, he said, “Yes, you are right.”

Derringer stared at Gabriel for a minute before leaving. He was suddenly very much aware that his closest friend and relative kept secrets from him and he was very much afraid they might be to that man’s detriment.

Leandra woke slowly from a deep sleep plagued by bittersweet dreams. As a result, part of her refused to wake while the other part refused to remain asleep. She went in favor of waking over sleeping and stretched her arms far above her head. Her hazel eyes flickered open, focused blearily on an object dangling before her face. She blinked several times before she realized what it was.

“My locket!”

Stretching out her hand, Leandra reached for her precious possession only to have it jerk back out of her reach. Startled, and not quite awake enough to realize it was obviously being held by someone, she screamed.

“Lord, Merri! Your screeching will wake the dead, love.”

Leandra paused mid-scream. “Hart! What are you doing?” She retrieved her spectacles from the bedside table and plopped them on her face. Derringer’s face came sharply into focus, his dark eyes rife with laughter.

“Why, returning your property to you, my dear lady. What other possible reason might I have for invading my wife’s bedchamber?” he asked in all seriousness.

She blushed, as he knew she would. “Thank you, Hart. How ever did you convince her ladyship to part with it?”

The duke smiled. “That is, I think, a secret I will take to my grave, duchess.”

The thought that immediately crossed Leandra’s mind made her glare at her husband. “I suppose you enjoyed it, too,” she said darkly.

“It was entertaining, I admit,” he replied with a pointed look at her.

“I’m sure it was, your grace. Well, you can leave and return your reward to your whore!” She was so angry she thought she might spit. She settled for throwing a pillow at him.

Derringer laughed, catching the missile. “A whore she may be, Merri, but she isn’t mine. I don’t know that anyone would actually lay claim to the woman.”

“She’s not? Then how…?”

“Have a little faith in me, my blushing bride. I am not so lost to propriety that I would take a mistress under my wife’s very nose.”

“Are you not?”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe I am. The point is, I didn’t, I haven’t, and,” he reached over and grasped her chin, forcing her to look him in the eyes, “I won’t bring a mistress into our home.”

The duchess studied his sharp features for any signs of duplicity and, finding none, ventured to ask, “Why not?”

Derringer sat back, stunned. “I promise to keep my amours far from home and you want to know why?”

She released a breath and admitted, “No, actually, I don’t. Never mind. What are your plans for the day, your grace?”

His brows drew down. “I am probably wasting my breath, but why am I ‘your grace’ all of a sudden?”

“For the same reason you always are, I suppose,” she replied with a careless shrug. “I am annoyed with you.”

“If I inquire as to what I’ve done to incur your wrath, would you tell me?”

“You just told me you will, one day, take a mistress. Should I be relieved you have at least promised to keep the woman from my sight?” Her fingers clenched in the bedclothes. “Was that reassurance meant to be comforting?”

“You would like a promise that I will never take a mistress?” He leaned back, studying her tense features. “And why would my word mean anything? I am not known for keeping my word, nor am I known for bowing to the whims of another.”

“Except me, Hart,” she murmured, her voice almost lost in her sigh. “I do take you at your word and you made it all too clear that you chose me because I needed help.”

She bit her lip, lost in thought. Derringer waited, curious despite himself, wondering at the odd sensation that prompted him to assure her that he’d never stray. How could he promise such a thing? He didn’t trust himself and could hardly believe she would.

Her lips parted, his gaze settling there, suddenly wanting nothing more than to end the conversation with seduction, make her forget for a time. Make him forget. Forget that someone wanted him dead, forget her life was very likely in danger because of him, forget he wanted more from this marriage than he felt he could offer, forget that she deserved better than him.

“Fidelity is not a whim.”

So unexpected were her words that he looked at her blankly for a moment before changing the subject entirely. “Your family has gone, by the by. They departed earlier this morning.”

His wife struggled up to glance at the clock over his shoulder. “Oh, good Lord, it’s gone ten o’clock already! Why didn’t Liza wake me?”

“Perhaps because I threatened her with dire retribution should she dare.”

“Oh, Hart, you didn’t! That poor girl is probably scared half out of her mind.”

“You really do have a low opinion of me, my love.”

“How could I not?”

“Good point. I concede defeat.”

He sat on the bed regarding his bride steadily. She grew uncomfortable and started to fidget.

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “You look at me as though pondering something.”

He shook his head a little as if coming out of a trance. He looked down and fingered the locket that he still held. Raising his gaze and the necklace, he extended his arm, dangling it before her again. “You have not thanked me, Merri,” he murmured.

She tried to take the bauble but her husband drew it back. “Thank you, Hart,” she said, wariness trembling on each word.

“That’s not the kind of thank you I had in mind,
wife
.”

Her face paled a bit, then flushed bright pink. “You can’t possibly mean… no, I refuse to believe you would expect…” She shook her head at her own words. “Of course you could. You are the Duke of Derringer, after all.”

His reply was an impish grin.

“What do you expect of me, Hart?” she whispered sadly. “Forget all that’s been said and done between us and behave as though everything is well? Take you into my arms and body without a thought for the fact that you’d as soon see the last of me? How can you possibly expect so much of me for a simple locket, even one as important to me as the one you hold?”

Traitorously, her body was more than willing to give in to his seduction—and he hadn’t even touched her yet. But memories of his lovemaking were enough to make her heart beat harder and her skin tingle.

Her husband sensed her contradictory emotions. She could see it in the glitter in his eyes and the way he hesitated before touching her cheek with one long finger. Her eyes closed against her will and she breathed a little sigh.

“It would be so easy, Merri, to just let go. Why do you resist what you want so desperately?”

Her eyes snapped open. “Why do you?” she countered.

Derringer sat back, eyes roaming her features intently. “If I were to seduce you now, would you still walk out of my life forever?”

She had no answer for him because she honestly didn’t know. She looked away, staring down at her hands. “I don’t know,” she whispered. “Making love will not solve our problems. It may suspend them for a time but they will creep up, probably worse than before. But…”

When she didn’t continue, he prompted, “But…”

She met his eyes, her own filled with frustrated, hurt, and angry tears. “But… I find it nearly impossible to consider leaving now. If we were to… make love, I would probably never be able to leave your side, despite any problems that arise.” Her shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug, a defeated little movement that said far more than her words.

The ruthless side of Derringer urged him to seduce her. But something she wasn’t saying held him back. He suspected that while she wouldn’t leave him, she may never forgive him for using her lack of control to gain his own ends.

Dropping her precious necklace in her lap, he rose to his feet and walked to the door. “I will await you in the stables if you would care to join me for a ride.”

The ruthless side of him growled in unreasoning anger at his ready capitulation.

A half-hour later, Derringer paced back and forth before Odin’s Offspring. The horse nickered every time the duke paused beside him but Derringer was too lost in dark thoughts to notice.

While he wanted to ruminate about his wife and her words to him, he forced his mind to contemplate somewhat weightier matters instead.

He wondered how the letter written by his mother was connected with the attacks on his life and why. His fortune was immense, true, but if someone thought with the title came power, they were in for a rude awakening should they succeed and actually acquire it. Most of his “power” was in rumor, the stuff of legends and myths rather than hard fact.

Martin would inherit should Derringer perish. But according to that damned paper, it was…

“Hart, I am here now. I am sorry it took so long.”

Derringer looked his wife over critically. Her rust-colored habit complemented her hair and complexion, while the little shako on her head sat at a rakish angle completely at odds with her somber expression.