The Duke's Undoing (Three Rogues and Their Ladies) (21 page)

She had made it quite clear what she thought of his way of life. Or what had been his way of life before going off to war. He could reassure her, in perfect truth, that the war had changed him. Beynon had changed him. Would loving Elise, marrying Elise, rid him of his waking nightmares of dead men? What a bonus that would be!

After such a night, he was very anxious to find his beloved the next day. He dressed in his new bottle green coat that Richards had had made to replace the one he had worn beneath his domino the night he was stabbed. George was breakfasting in their private parlor downstairs when he joined him.

“Haven’t seen you in such spirits since you got back from the war,” Somerset told him.

“Blame it on love!”

In the grip of his passion, the duke, accompanied by the marquis, went to the Pump Room at eleven o’clock, the most fashionable hour. The lovely Georgian room with its classical biscuit and white façade, vaulted ceiling, floor to ceiling windows, and string quartet was a lovely place, filled with summer pastels of women’s muslin gowns. Trying not to look too eager, Ruisdell circulated through the room, abandoning the slower marquis. It seemed that there were few young women. A preponderance of turbaned dowagers gossiped. Some, looking at him with raised eyebrows, then leaned in to tell their circle that that rogue, the Duke of Ruisdell, was looking about for someone. He did not ignore the dowagers, for he was looking for Lady Clarice, as well. Neither his beloved nor her aunt appeared to be present.

Somerset rejoined him when he was in the last circle of his search. He was not alone. Of all people, he had Lady Marianne on his arm. Ruisdell swore beneath his breath.

“Your Grace,” she said as she swept him an exaggerated curtsey. “What brings you to Bath? Here to take the waters for your wounds? I sent you several billets and even some roses when you were in such dire straits. I never heard a word.”

He looked at the woman. Her red hair had been cut off so that it now curled over her head in windswept profusion, accenting her high cheekbones and large lavender eyes. Her dress was the latest mode, high-waisted with a very low neckline. Not for Marianne a chemisette, though it was morning. The woman who had once so tempted him appeared overblown and frowsy. Instead, he ached for a pair of midnight blue eyes, a head of black curly hair, and a trim but tempting figure that moved with the grace of an angel.

He made Marianne a brief bow. The eyes of the dowagers were upon them. Leaving George, she put her arm through his, casually leaning into him in the way she had so that her breasts rubbed against his sleeve. “Let us stroll a bit, and you can give me an account of the attack. Is it true what they are saying? That it was Miss Edward’s former fiancé Lord Waterford who attacked you?”

“I don’t know,” he said, refusing to budge from where he stood. “I was otherwise occupied, and the blow came from behind. I never saw my assailant.”

George added. “Waterford was hanged on Tyburn Hill.”

“Is it true that he is . . . was . . . insane? That he tried to kidnap Miss Edwards?”

“Yes,” the duke said. “Have you seen her here in Bath, by chance?”

“Oh, you are looking for her? I thought she broke your engagement. How very careless she seems to be with her fiancés.”

He gritted his teeth. Somerset sent him a warning look. His friend knew he was about to be rude. Ruisdell did not disappoint. “And your fiancé? Are you perhaps here with him? It seems to me that he is of an age to suffer rheumatism. I understand the waters are very beneficial for that ailment.”

She merely laughed. “The dear
duc
has no rheumatism, I can assure you. He is quite a vigorous man. In every way.”

“Then why, may I ask, are you hanging on my arm?”

“To cause talk, of course.” She stood on tiptoe, and before he knew what she was about, she had kissed him on the lips. In broad daylight. In front of all the Bath gossips. For the first time, he hoped that Elise was not in Bath.

Lady Marianne looked at him with melting eyes. “You will always be my only real love.” Then, extracting a lacy handkerchief from her reticule, she dabbed at her eyes in a very affecting manner. Ignoring George, she moved so that her forehead leaned against the duke’s shoulder. “I love you so. I will not let you go to that scandalous woman. She is a black widow spider. Her first two fiancés dead!”

Wrenching himself free, the duke said, “You have no say in the matter.” Bowing curtly, he left her standing with her mouth open.

His next course of action was to find Mr. Knight and write his name in the subscription book, with the object of examining it for Elise’s name. In this, he was unsuccessful. Going back several pages he was disappointed to see that neither hers nor her aunt’s name was among those who had subscribed to the assemblies, lectures, and musical performances during the past two months.

If she was in Bath, Elise was keeping to herself. But surely, she wouldn’t stay indoors all the time! He recalled how much she loved riding in Hyde Park. Returning to the inn, the duke saddled Jupiter and began to search the streets all the way up to the Royal Crescent. In spite of his inability to find his lady, he found the ride pleasant. The weather was wonderful for early August, and a gentle breeze blew. The spa was idyllic with all its Georgian dwellings and evenly paved streets of cobblestone.

When he failed to find her in the town, he began exploring all the lanes that led off from Bath in different directions. By the end of the day, he was fairly convinced that, if she was in Bath, she hadn’t ridden out that day.

He would give it a week. He would enquire in the shops for her and her aunt, giving their names and descriptions. He would walk the streets. He would do everything he could to find her.

At least there was no sign of Chessingden.

OUR HEROINE IS GREATLY DISTURBED

The day after Gregory’s arrival, Elise woke early and worked on her manuscript, heedless of her guest.

Pamela never left Ravensbrook’s side for long during the terrible days while they waited to see if the duke would regain consciousness. Chaperoned by her mother, who was perforce obliged to remain at the duke’s side as well, she slept on the daybed in his room. Her mother kept to the couch. Longing to climb up into the bed beside her beloved duke, Pamela had to be content with washing his brow, cheeks, and neck with a cool, damp cloth. Every part of his face was so dear to her, she could not bear the possibility that it might grow cold and wax-like in death. As long as his heart beat, she would not give up
.

She spoke to him constantly about the life they would live. “We shall have an heir and a spare, and then I would like to have three little girls to climb on your lap and give you kisses.”

She read to him from Donne, his favorite poet. She even read the newspapers to him. And when her mother fell into a doze, she kissed him—his eyelids, his cheeks, and finally his lips. Pamela’s heart ached for him to return her kisses, but she knew as long as he breathed there was hope.

After a week of being near death, the duke rallied and regained consciousness. Pamela was kissing him when his eyes flew open. They instantly filled with love. The long ordeal had left her weak and tired, but new strength surged through her, and she wept silently on his chest, holding him in gratitude and sending prayers of thankfulness aloft
.

His friends began to hope that he might live. His assailant had been apprehended by a pair of Bow Street Runners, who earned a hefty reward. The man’s trial was to be in three weeks’ time in the House of Lords. Hearing this news aided the duke in his recovery . . .

At length, her aunt opened the door to her room, and seeing her still in her nightrail, said, “My dear girl. You simply must come and do something with the viscount. He is driving me to distraction! He has hovered over me all morning. In the garden, in the stillroom, while I have been arranging flowers . . . I’m leaving now to visit my friend, Lady Frances Davenport, and so you simply must come down.”

“I did not ask him to come. I am writing. Tell him to go ride a horse. He can take my mare.” She huffed a sigh. “I suppose I will be down for luncheon. I am that hungry.”

“Is it going well?” her aunt asked. “Your writing?”

“The news that the duke is alive has added a much needed happy note. And now the book has a new lease on life, as it were! It would not have been a terribly popular work, had it ended with his death.”

“I hope you’re not making it too close to reality,” Lady Clarice cautioned. “The duke is a private man, I think.”

“Oh, he will never read it! Only silly, romantic girls like me will read it. And even if he did, he will not know who wrote it.”

“I would not lay odds on that, my love. Only you could write the story you are writing.”

When Elise met the viscount at the table for luncheon, her aunt had not returned.

“I’m sorry you had to amuse yourself this morning. I have been writing.”

“Oh.” He looked a bit taken aback. “A new novel?”

“Yes. It is a real novel this time. About a duke.”

Once the footman her aunt had hired had laid the covers and withdrawn, Gregory asked, “The same duke we both know?”

“Of course not.”

“Is it a romance?”

She merely smiled at him with a trace of sauciness.

“Elise . . .”

“Yes, Gregory?”

“I cannot bear to see you so starry-eyed over Ruisdell. I tell you, he is nothing more than a rogue, whereas I . . .”

“Are nothing more than a cad,” she said, interrupting him. “I haven’t forgotten the incident of the unbuttoned dress!”

“Darling, I was carried away by desire. It happens to the best of men.”

“I disagree. Joshua loved me dearly. I have never known a better man. And he certainly never came close to taking the liberties you took! What has happened between you and Violet?”

“Do not bring up Violet again, I pray.” Elise thought he sounded like a sulky boy who has been caught with his hand in the sweets. “Do you not want to know why I came all this way?”

“I am actually quite surprised that you would seek me out, considering how the newspapers impaled you as one of my ‘many fiancés.’

“I love you, Elise. It’s as simple as that. I think of you night and day. I smell your scent in my sleep. I imagine your body intertwining with mine. I find I cannot look at another woman with any interest at all.”

Elise was stunned and a bit frightened by his passion. At the luncheon table, no less! She only hoped that with her aunt gone, he would not become so aroused that he would take further liberties. When she said nothing, he took her hand across the table and moved his thumb across its ungloved skin. He continued. “Not only do I love you, but I feel you were made for me. You will make the perfect Whig hostess. I intend to continue my parliamentary career. I want to revive the Prince Regent’s Whig sympathies. I want to unseat Liverpool and have Prinnie appoint another Whig Prime Minister. I know that you agree with my politics. I don’t know another woman so passionate about reform. I will be vociferous for women’s rights, for educating the poor, and I will continue to urge Parliament to provide for those who have served their country and been forgotten.”

His eyes glowed with even more passion when he talked of his political aims than when he talked of her attractions. If she did not believe him to be a cad, she would be seriously tempted. But his speech had betrayed him.
I! I! I!
Gregory’s assertion that she was made for him, further disclosed his narcissistic bent. To him, the sum total of her value as a human being was to be his lover and his hostess. He had as much as told her that this was the reason she existed. And then he had promised to speak up for the rights of women!

“I’m deeply flattered by your offer, Gregory. But believe me when I say that we would not suit.”

His nostrils flared, and his lips compressed. “You are besotted by Ruisdell, are you not, you little ninny?”

“How dare you!” Elise jumped up from her chair.

“Well, let me tell you something about your precious duke. You think that he has fallen in love with you, that his love for you has changed him from the rogue he used to be.” He stood and looked her straight in the eye. “You might like to know that were I not in the picture, were I not a rival for your affections, he would not have paid so much as the smallest attention to you.”

“You really are absolutely insufferable,” she turned to leave the room, but he grabbed her hand.

“Listen to me! He taunted me with it. Ruisdell has hated me ever since I exposed him for a cheat. He told me that he could make you fall in love with him. He offered to bet with me. Of course, I wouldn’t behave in such a coarse manner, so he bet with Somerset instead. It’s in the betting book at White’s.”

Elise froze. In spite of everything she thought she knew about Peter Northcott, Duke of Ruisdell, why did Gregory’s words have the ring of truth?

“I do not believe a word you say! You have your answer. I will not marry you! Now leave here this instant! Go! Get out! I never, ever want to see you or hear from you again!”

“Hah! I knew that would crack the ice in your veins.”