Son of a Duke (10 page)

The scar was more pronounced now, but it was not sinister or revolting.
 
If anything, he simply wondered what had caused it.
 
He traced it with a single fingertip, running his finger down the side of her face.
 
He watched her.
 
He watched the breath slowly slip from her slightly open mouth, saw the rise and fall of her chest.
 
He felt the tightening in his stomach as he drank in the nearness of her.
 

And she had freckles.
 
He could not have been more delighted.
 
They dusted her nose and sprayed her cheeks, adding just a touch of color to her pale face.
 
There were dark smudges under her eyes, making them look rather sunken, skeleton like, and he let his fingers run across her skin to one of the bruised patches.
 
She blinked when his fingers came close to her eye, but she did not move.
 
His gaze fell to her lips.
 
They had taken on color and dimension without all the powder surrounding them, dimming them beyond recognition.
 
He let his fingers drift down, running along her jaw to cup her chin once more.
 

And then he stepped back.
 

Cold air rushed between them, and he ardently wished he had stepped closer instead of back.
 
It had already been a long and trying night, and from what he knew of Nora and what he had discovered of her this night, he knew she had already been through enough.
 
Her emotions must have been straining even if she did not visibly show it on her person.
 
He needed to give her some room, so she could adjust to his being there.
 
Being in her life.
 

When he had started out that night, he had not thought it would end like this.
 
He had been going out to complete an objective for the War Office.
 
That was all.
 
A rather typical day for him, but a rather typical end it was not.
 
He knew he was not going to forget Eleanora Quinton, and he knew he was not going to let her slip from his life.
 

He looked at her, with the defiant set of her chin, the dusting of freckles, the parted lips that begged for another touch, and he took another step back.
 

"Franklin Archer is a man suspected of treason," he heard himself say moving over to the fire.
 
"I was given the task of eliminating him before he could pass more secrets to the French.
 
It was to look like a revenge killing.
 
That is why it was staged to occur tonight at the ball.
 
I regret the disturbance this has caused you and your staff.
 
The powers that decide these things do not always think on the repercussions of their actions.
 
They only think of the best way to resolve an unfavorable situation."

Nora did not speak.
 
He turned slightly to look at her.
 
She had not moved from her spot by the lantern, and her face had not lost its sheen of curiosity.
 
He needed to finish what he had to say and leave.
 
He was already feeling the strain of keeping his emotions in tact.
 
If was he alone with her any longer, he could not be held responsible for what would occur.
 
And something in the back of his mind made him feel disgusted with his own urgings, and he checked himself.

"It is unwise for you to share this information with anyone, and I advise you to think of another story to tell the lord and lady of the house.
 
Knowledge of this information could prove deadly if discovered.
 
Do you understand, Miss Quinton?"
 

He had been watching her, and at the last of his words, he watched the delicious spell that had swept over her break away and dissolve into the air.
 
He wished it back almost instantly, but he knew it was for the best.

"I understand, Mr. Black."
 

Her voice was neither that of the demanding Miss Quinton he had met in the ball just hours before nor that of the mother who directed her son so carefully.
 
He suspected this was the Eleanora Quinton that stayed hidden in the depths of the infallible housekeper in an ardent need to feel safe.

Nathan was suddenly very tired and let his gaze drop down to the fire in the hearth.
 

"Thank you, Nathan," she said then, and he looked quickly back up.
 
"Thank you," she continued, "For explaining the situation."
 

He nodded and reached for his great coat.
 
It was past time for him to leave.
 

"I only regret that I cannot tell you more," he said, but then he paused.
 

"Nora, I am uncertain as to what will happen next with this situation.
 
There may be an issue with you knowing about Franklin Archer.
 
I will not know until I speak with my colleagues."

Nora only nodded, and the simple response made him want to take her into his arms, close her within his grasp and keep her safe from anything the world wanted to do to her.
 
But he did not have the luxury of being in such a position to protect anyone.
 
He never really had.

"I will be in touch as soon as I learn of what is to be done next, but I want you to understand that I do not know when that will be or what it will entail.
 
I apologize now for this could cause an upset in your life."
 

Nathan recalled the many innocent people who had gotten in the way of War Office business and were suddenly transported to obscure places like the colony of Rhode Island or whatever such thing it called itself now.
 
He wanted Nora to be able to grasp the gravity of the situation without frightening her.

She nodded again, and he moved toward the door.
 
He had almost made it to the hallway when a question made him stop.
 

"Nora, do you have any family?"
 

Her face revealed nothing as she replied, "It is just Samuel and I."
 

He had suspected as much, and he wondered both why he had asked the question and why the answer had made him sad.

He nodded.
 
"Thank you for your corporation, Miss Quinton.
 
I bid you good night."

He turned once more to the door, but this time continued through it before the enticing image of Miss Eleanora Quinton could get the best of him.
 

CHAPTER FIVE

Nathan turned left at the end of the drive heading toward the park.
 
The air was crisp, making the part of his face exposed above the collar of his coat sting with each step.
 
His footfalls were silent on the pavement, the fabric of his greatcoat eerily swooshing in the stillness.
 
In the distance, a carriage passed on a cross street, the horses hooves striking the road in a syncopated rhythm.
 

He reached the cross street and turned left, heading up along the park.
 
It would have been quicker to cut through the park, but even he was not brave enough to go through the park at night.
 
Even with a gun.
 
Who knew what could be lurking in there.
 
Rapists, robbers, or worse, snakes.
 

The houses lining the streets were dark except for a small glowing window here and there in one of the upper floors.
 
Members of society readying for bed after long evenings spent at balls, musicales and soirees.
 
Wives brushing out their hair; husbands checking the children one more time.
 
He stopped and stared up at one such window.
 
The shadow of a woman passed across it, and the window went dark.
 
He wondered suddenly where it was Nora and Samuel slept in Gregenden House.
 
Was it a nice room?
 
Was it drafty?
 
Did they have an adequate bed to sleep in?

He pulled his collar up higher and continued down the street.
 

His father's house stuck out amongst the others, and it struck Nathan that it looked oddly welcoming, even at this early hour of the morning.
 
There was light in the study, pouring out into the small space between the house and the one next to it.
 
Alec had probably relayed what had happened to his father, and hopefully, they were getting started on what to do about the situation of mistaken identity.
 
It was not everyday that Nathan shot the wrong person.
 
One slip could not be held against him, especially when the men in question looked so very similar to one another.
 

He climbed the steps and opened the door without knocking.
 
Most likely the servants were all in bed, and he did not want to wake them by knocking.
 
He remembered what Nora had said about the butler, what was his name?
 
Hawkins.
 
It would be very inconsiderate of him to wake the servants at this hour when he was certain he could open the door himself.
 

He stepped into the hall, closing the door softly.
 
The light flickered as wind shifted from the open door.
 
He put the lock in place and stepped over to pick up the lit candle Jane had probably left for him.
 
He cupped his hand to protect the light and made his way down the hall.
 

Third door on the left was slightly ajar, and he heard the low tones of his father's voice.
 
Nathan stopped to just listen to it.
 
He could not make out the words, but he did not have to.
 
His father's voice had always soothed him.
 
As a small child, whenever he could not sleep or a nightmare had awoken him, he would find his father and make him read to him.
 
Nathan could never remember any of the stories.
 
It was just the sound of his father's voice that he had wanted to hear.
 

He walked up to the door and pushed it open, blowing out the candle as he stepped into the study.
 
Jane sat on the sofa in front of the fire, a glass of sherry in one hand.
 
Richard Black, the Duke of Lofton, stood leaning on the mantle, the fire behind him, casting his face in shadow.
 
Alec sprawled in one of the wing chairs, legs spread, head hanging down to his chest, staring into the fire as if it were the most interesting thing in the world.
 
An empty glass hung from his fingers.
 

Richard turned as Nathan entered and stepped away from the fire.
 
His face became visible, and Nathan did not like the expression on it.
 
He prepared himself for the worst.
 

Richard gestured with his glass before asking, "She did not emasculate you, did she?"
 

"Very nearly, yes.
 
I just escaped in time."
 
Nathan matched his father's serious tone.
 

"Want a drink?"

"A very big one."
 

Richard nodded and headed over to the whiskey decanter.
 
Nathan went to the other winged chair and collapsed into it, not bothering to remove his coat.
 
His pistol thumped against his thigh as he settled in.
 
A glass of straight whisky appeared in his hand, and he downed it in one gulp.
 
The glass disappeared again, only to be returned a short moment later filled again.
 
This time he only took a sip.

His father settled onto the sofa, slipping his fingers through Jane's out of habit.
 
Nathan smiled.
 
Jane and his father were one constant in his life.
 
He remembered thousands of times that they had sat together on the same sofa, holding hands as if that was the normal way of things.
 
Nathan wondered why they had not wed sooner in their lives, but Jane's past was not a topic easily broached, and Nathan left it at that.

Nathan turned his attention to Alec, who had not so much as blinked.
 
His position in the chair looked less than comfortable, but he doubted Alec thought so, or cared for that matter.
 
Nathan crossed one leg over the other and waited for his father to tell him what to do.
 
Even at two and thirty, he could always depend on his father to tell him what to do.
 

Nathan wondered if Nora had anyone to depend on even though she had said she had no family.
 
But perhaps there was a friend, a confidant, someone she could go to for help.
 
Samuel's small face rose up in his mind, and he thought it not likely that she did.
 
Instead, she had others depending on her.
 
He wondered if she would let him change that, and he wondered if he would have the means to do so.
 

"Poor Frederick," Richard finally said.
 

"Poor, old Frederick."
 
Jane sipped her sherry.
 
"But really the world will not miss him.
 
Bastard."

Richard nodded his agreement.

Alec mumbled something from his seat.
 
Nathan did not catch it, but Jane responded, so it must have been English.

"He liked little boys, Alec.
 
Everyone is better off without him."