The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (20 page)

And then, before she could even contemplate the future, she envisioned Robert’s long body hanging from a rope on Tyburn hill. In her mind, he still wore the green domino. But it wrung her heart to think that he might not, even at the moment of death, have known why he was condemned. Then, in her mind she saw the picture that had haunted her: Robert’s figure, a manic smile on his face, grasping for her over the duke’s torso with the stiletto piercing his back. The stiletto that had not killed him after all.

The man she had unwittingly fallen in love with, the man she had grieved for, ached for, was still alive! The man she had feared was dead. Thus, her thoughts went round and round in a circle of sadness and dawning jubilation. Such tumbling emotions played havoc with the body that had been numb with grief for so long that she thought perhaps she was growing mad.

Slowly the new reality settled on her and with it a desire to go back to London immediately. Remembering the grief she had felt at being torn from his side, she now longed to throw herself on Ruisdell’s chest and sob out her relief.

Then she remembered the gossip, and the memory clamped down on her eagerness. She was still the trigger for this maelstrom of events. Much as she wanted to run to the duke’s side, she knew that would only drive the scandal to new heights. She was a social pariah. For the time being, at least, she must remain here. She would finish her story,
Misunderstood
. She was happy that it would not now end in a tragedy.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she squeezed. Ruisdell no longer needed to exist solely on her foolscap sheets. His life need not be related merely by her quill.

Jumping to her feet, she stepped out of her slippers and, holding up her skirts, waded into the pool and began kicking the water in joyful splashes, over and over until she was shouting with laughter. It was thus that her aunt found her.

“Elise! Have you lost your mind?”

Turning, she stepped out of the pool and running across the mossy ground, she embraced her aunt. “He is alive! Aunt Clarice, the duke is not dead!”

Her aunt was nonplussed. She held Elise away from her, looking into her face. “Why, I believe you are in love with him!”

“Yes, of course I am!”

“Darling girl, there is still the matter of his reputation. Does that not give you pause?”

“Not if he does not mind
my
sullied reputation. Four fiancés!” She paused and sobered. “And the cause of one man’s death.”

“You are not the cause of the earl’s death, dear. He was, most unfortunately, mad. And caused you a great deal of trouble, fear, and heartache.”

“Society will not see it that way,” she murmured, laying her head on her aunt’s substantial bosom.

“Well, the viscount has every intention of rescuing your reputation. He is so vastly popular with the
ton
, I think that will help a great deal.”

“To the devil with the viscount!” Elise said.

“Elise!”

“Don’t leave us alone, Aunt, I beg of you. Last time you did that, he unbuttoned my dress!”

“So you told your mother. I was shocked, I’ll allow.”

“Yes. I strongly suspect that he’s a rake. I don’t know how he’s come by his angelic reputation. And as for the duke, I believe that my Joshua reformed him.” Elise put her feet back into her slippers. “Please don’t leave me alone with Gregory. I’m dreadfully afraid that he has come to renew his addresses.”

Her aunt considered this for a moment. “This is what you should do, my love. If he wishes to be private with you, tell him that because of his previous behavior, you will only consent to such a conversation in broad daylight, out of doors, within sight of the house. That should keep him in line.”

“But can you not withhold your consent to a match?”

“When your mother practically forced him into it? She trumps me, my love.”

Elise’s vision of a reunion with her duke was the only thing that kept her from falling into gloom. “Drat these long summer evenings!” she said.

“If you don’t care to face these things tonight, I will just drop a little hint into his ear. I’ll tell him that you are vastly upset at the injustice of Robert’s hanging.”

“And that is not a lie! I am. Vastly, as you say. For a while, not even the news of the duke could penetrate my poor brain.”

“We shall play loo this evening.”

“What a bore!”

Her aunt’s strategy worked, and though Elise was on the receiving end of many covert glances and accidental touches, Gregory did not seek to talk to her alone. Once the tea tray was brought in, however, he broached the topic of the duke.

“Did you know Ruisdell and I were up at Oxford together?”

“No,” Elise said, surprised. “I did not think you were well acquainted with him.”

“I am, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately? Why, you said he was a generous donor to the soup kitchen.”

“Trying to get back in my good graces, I expect. I was surprised, I’ll admit. He approached me, not I him.”

“I did not know you thought ill of him.”

“He is a rogue, dear Elise. Everyone knows that.”

“He doesn’t seem so to me.”

“Perhaps I should acquaint you with ancient history.”

Aunt Clarice interrupted. “I did not take you for a talebearer, my lord.”

“In the ordinary manner of things, I’m not. But since Ruisdell insinuated himself into your household, I feel I must put you on your guard.”

“What do you mean?” Elise asked.

“The man cheats at cards.”

Elise laughed. “Gregory, you are detestable. I don’t believe you for a moment. He is an honorable man. Why, he was a general in the Peninsular campaign! You should not listen to such scurrilous accusations. I thought better of you.”

“It is not just gossip, Elise. It was I who rumbled him.”

“You must be careful with your accusations, my lord,” Aunt Clarice said. “Cheating at cards is held by the
ton
to be even worse than murder. I cannot believe it of the duke.”

“I see I must tell you how it was,” Gregory said, declining tea and pouring himself a brandy. “There was a group of us—Somerset, Rochdale, Ruisdell, and I—used to play fairly deep in our rooms up at Oxford. Ruisdell won a lot of money. The fair-haired boy. I thought it was just that he had the devil of a memory for cards.” He sipped his brandy. “Then one night, I don’t remember what prompted it, but I asked to examine the pack.” He looked down into his glass with a thoughtful air. “Found the aces and court cards scratched just barely with a pin or something like it. Called him on it.”

“Why could it not have been Rochdale or Somerset?” Elise demanded, still certain of the duke’s innocence.

“Ruisdell’s rooms. Ruisdell’s cards.”

Elise thought of the man she knew, delineating what she knew of him once more. Her first intimation of his character had come with the letter of condolence, a sincere and compassionate gesture. Her second had come with his participation in the soup kitchen funding. Then there had been the drawing of Old Father Tree and his offer of assistance. Following that, his desire to protect her from Robert. She had reflected on these things many times and was completely unable to see in them any indication of the enormous character weakness that Chessingden claimed.

“I still don’t believe it. And the marquis is sincerely attached to him, so I know he doesn’t believe it either. Why should Rochdale have not substituted his own pack? You were all undoubtedly foxed. I can think of nothing easier.”

“Why are you so anxious to defend the duke?”

“He has been unstintingly kind to me and demanded nothing in return. Now, I will listen to no more of this.” She set her tea cup down. “I have had two shocks today already and desire nothing so much as my bed. Goodnight, Aunt. Goodnight, Gregory.”

Once in bed, she did not even give the viscount’s claim a second thought. She slept on her side with a pillow wrapped in her arms. It was the best night’s sleep she had since coming to Yorkshire.

IN WHICH THE DUKE TRAVELS TO BATH

Ruisdell was troubled by Elise’s behavior. Why, if she loved him, did she remain in Bath? Every day he thought to see her return, but every time he called, Bates informed him regretfully that Miss Edwards was still from home.

His recovery had been slow because of the blood he had lost. The duke was well aware that he owed his life to Elise. He was also aware that the two of them were swimming in scandal broth. Many a self-righteous matron had exclaimed (now that he was out of danger of dying) that nothing so terrible would have occurred if the duke and Miss Edwards had not been out alone in the garden.

When Somerset came to pay his customary morning visit two months after Elise’s disappearance, he brought news. “Chessingden’s left town. Supposed to go to dinner Rochdale’s wife threw last night. Devilish out of temper she was. Numbers wrong.”

“How do you know he’s out of town?”

“Went by his lodgings.”

“Did anyone know where the fellow went?”

“No. Dashed secretive.”

“Hmm.” The duke pondered this. “Trying to get the drop on me, I shouldn’t wonder. Must have found Elise.”

“Drop on you?” Somerset asked, apparently bewildered.

“Don’t be a slow top, George. You must know I mean to marry her!”

The marquis stood staring at him as he finished shaving and buried his face in a towel.

“Not like you, dash it! Never knew you to save a chit from scandal! Marriage!”

“I’ll thank you not to refer to her as a chit, Somerset! She’s perfection. And I’m not marrying her to save her from scandal. Believe it or not, I love the woman. And believe it or not, she loves me. So there you have it.”

“Chessingden’s besotted. Going to offer for her again.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Rumor mill.”

“Well, I’d tell you not to listen to rumors, but that one has the ring of truth. Thick-skinned fellow. She said she wouldn’t have him in front of me and her mother and aunt.”

While the duke allowed Richards to dress him, George appeared to ponder this. Ruisdell grinned. His friend had never been known for the speed of his mental processes in anything except cards.

“Won’t be bested by you,” his friend said finally. “That old business at Oxford.”

Ruisdell’s light mood deserted him and he clamped his jaw shut. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“You know better.”

“The devil!” He called his valet back as he was leaving the room. “Richards, pack my portmanteau. For a week’s duration.”

“Going somewhere?”

“You overwhelm me with your brilliance, Somerset. Elise spoke of going to Bath. I had hoped she would come to me. Can’t imagine why she hasn’t. But if Chessingden’s gone after her to do mischief, then I must follow before she accepts him to save her reputation. I know she despises him, and I wouldn’t wish Chessingden on my worst enemy!”

“Coming with you,” the marquis announced. “May need character witness.”

Ruisdell patted his friend on the shoulder. “In that case you’d better go home and pack. I hope to leave in time to get there while there’s still daylight. You’re a brick, George.”

The two men in the duke’s curricle pulled into the spa just as the sun was setting. Putting up at the White Hart, they checked to see if Chessingden were there, as well. They were disappointed. “He must be at the York.”

“How will you find her?”

“Nothing simpler. Unless she has forgone society altogether, she’ll be in the Pump Room tomorrow. We must put our names in the subscription book for the Assemblies. There should be something in either the upper or lower rooms tomorrow night. Now, I intend to take a stroll. It was a dashed long drive from London.”

The duke slept that night only with difficulty. It was not that he was overly worried about Elise accepting Chessingden, in spite of his probable version of the Oxford Episode. He was so eager to see Elise’s bright eyes again, to finally share with her their first kiss, that he fell to waking dreams about her. He saw her sitting in Green Park, heavily veiled. Knowing that she was reading his letter about Beynon’s death struck him as significant. He remembered the voice he had heard and was willing to swear that it had been Beynon’s voice.

What a confounded coil he had made of everything! He should never have risked her reputation by attempting a kiss among the shrubbery. But he truly had not, until that evening, realized that he was for the first time in his life respectably in love. That he wanted to marry her. When had it ceased to be a game with him? Ruisdell was inclined to think that he had been enslaved from the moment he saw her on the park bench. There had been that connection between them, like a golden chain, that had strung itself from her solitary figure to where he sat on his own bench. Along that chain he had felt her loneliness, her heartache. It had awakened a yawning fissure inside of him: his own loneliness. Loneliness he had discounted since Beynon’s death.

Providence truly worked in mysterious ways. Elise and Beynon had loved each other, shaped each other. When he was the recipient of Beynon’s confidences and tales of Elise, had he not wished for such a love? Had Beynon not stretched his soul with the awareness that such a relationship could exist? The duke knew he wasn’t as worthy of Elise as Beynon had been. But that did not stop him from feeling that his adjutant had somehow bequeathed her to him, to protect, to support, and to love. He would endeavor to be worthy of her in all ways.