The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (13 page)

“When you grow
up surrounded by it, it’s easy,” Sebastian answered. “The dukes are the easiest
as there are very few of them.” He put his index finger on his chin and tapped.
“I believe dukes number somewhere around twelve, at present.”

Emma’s eyes
widened. “That few. I had no idea.” If she had thought the duke out of her
league before, she realized it fully now. Emma would just have to ignore the
attraction she had for him and accept that nothing could come of it.

That afternoon
the drawing room would once again be filled with suitors paying their respects.
Until then, she would retire to her room and put pen to paper. She needed to
write to Amy. Then, she reminded herself, she also needed to continue with her
writings, because if she didn’t write her stories, who would she become? Today
she would find time to write. “Please pardon me; I think I’ll retire to my
room.”

Voices faded as
she quit the lovely breakfast room and made her way to her chambers, where she
sat down at the small desk near the fireplace and penned a letter to Amy.

My Dearest
Friend Amy,

I hope this
letter finds you well, and I pray your aunt is treating you with kindness. Life
here in England is a whirlwind. Each evening we attend a ball or soirée, and
every afternoon we receive callers. Everything is so formal. Sometimes I miss
the simplicity of Miss Beauregard’s. The duke’s family has been very kind and
welcoming to me. As each day progresses I feel more and more a part of the
Seabrook family. Last evening I attended Almack’s. I must admit the papers in
Boston make it sound much more exciting than it is, although I did have a splendid
time. Please write me back and tell me how everything is at school. And
remember, I will always be here for you even though an ocean separates us.

Your Friend
Forever,

Emma

After sealing
and addressing the missive, Emma mused about a new story that came to mind
aboard the ship. Today she would finally begin to pen it. Grabbing parchment
and dipping her quill in the inkwell, she started to put her ideas to paper.

Anna
Rosenberg, widowed at the tender age of one-and-twenty, left penniless by a
no-good, gambling husband, found herself alone in a strange world.
Why, oh
why,
had she not listened to her mama and papa? They told her Stephen
Rosenberg, the Viscount Avery was a no-good liar. But did she believe them? No.
He had swept her off her feet with smooth words and charming behavior. He had
seduced her primarily for her generous dowry. She knew that now. Now that she
lived in his world, in England, having left Mama and Papa behind in Boston. Her
stubborn pride refused to let her send them a missive requesting help. If she
did, they would pay her passage home. Save her from ruin.

As she
stepped into a dressmaker’s shop, her arms full of beautiful gowns she had
brought with her from America, her heart felt heavy. The ache was not caused by
having to sell her lovely clothing. Her heart broke because of her
stupidity…for not seeing her husband for what he truly had been.

If she did
not receive a substantial amount today for selling her gowns, she would be cast
out of the rooms she’d let after being thrown out of Stephen’s townhouse by the
true owners. Another lie he’d told her. He did not own it, though he’d said he
did. Nor did he own any other properties he had told her father about. She even
found out he was not a viscount of any kind. Just plain old Stephen Rosenberg,
deceased and buried with all the other paupers in London as she had refused to
part with the few coins she had saved to bury him proper. Besides, in her eyes
he did not deserve it. He was exactly where he deserved to be.

“May I help
you, my dear?”

Pulled out
of her thoughts by the shopkeeper, she said, “I was hoping to sell these.”

The older
woman, dressed in a lovely but serviceable deep blue day dress, took her burden
and examined each of the gowns closely. “These are lovely. Are you certain you
want to part with them?”

“Yes, madam,
I must.”

“You are an
American?”

“Yes, I hail
from Boston.”

She refused
to cry. Damn. She searched for her lace hanky in her reticule to soak up her
tears. “I’m sorry. I am not usually one for tears.”

 The
shopkeeper draped the dresses on the counter and took Anna’s hand. “Come now,
my dear, things can seem worse than they are. Perhaps some tea and someone to
confide in will help?”

Emma put the
quill down and stared at the page before her. The page was stained with her
tears. Even while she was immersed in her own stories
he
tormented her.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Thomas paced
the room while he listened to Amesbury heaving violently into the bedpan.
According to the duke’s calculations, his friend dry-heaved every half-hour,
like clockwork. And that did not count actual trips to the water closet. It
took both himself and Myles to keep Amesbury on his feet so he could reach the
commode. Thomas forced himself not to think ahead to when Amesbury was feeling
well again.

How mortified
he would be when he remembered he’d been dependent on his friends––as dependent
and weak as a newborn babe.

Thomas was
relieved when the doctor stopped by again, even though he did little but listen
to Amesbury’s heart, take his pulse, and declare him on the road to recovery.

Tell that to
Amesbury who lay in bed, shaking, sweating, vomiting, and cursing up a
storm—all the while begging for opium. At times he went from being weak as a
babe to being stronger than five men.

“Take this,” Amesbury
demanded, holding out the bedpan to Myles. “And damn the two of you to hell.
Let me be. Let me take my drugs and sink back into oblivion.”

Thomas
approached the bed, crossed his arms on his chest, widened his stance, and
glared at him. “If you think for one minute Myles and I will give you that drug
that nearly killed you, you are out of your bloody mind.”

“Why?” he
shouted back. “If you do, I’ll get better.”

“You will feel
better, not
be
better. And only until the next time,” Myles interjected.
“And next time you will find yourself in a box. I refuse to help you kill
yourself. What is so bad in your life that you want to die?”

Amesbury
groaned and yanked on his dark brown hair. Strands came away in his fingers.
“You would not understand…you two with your perfect families.”

He could not
help himself; Thomas burst out laughing. “
Perfect?
Have you been to my
house lately? Sebastian is love sick for Emma, and I . . .” Both his friends
looked at him. “Never mind what I am. A war between my younger brother and me
is fated to happen. Two brothers cannot share the same woman.”

“Ahhh, so you
do want her for yourself?” Amesbury’s eyes showed signs of life, which was
good.

“Indeed, and
I’m going straight to hell for it. But yes, I want her. Sebastian, with his bloody
nobleness and impeccable manners, wants to marry her. As opposed to me; I want
only to possess her shamelessly.”

“Has he
approached you about it?” Myles asked.

“No. But I know
my brother. He will not wait long. And God forgive me, I don’t think I can give
my permission. I am the vile degenerate she called me––and worse. I cannot
possibly marry her, yet I don’t want anyone else to either. I’m a dog in the
manger…no, the worst creature on earth. What was her father thinking when he
sought me out to be her guardian? He obvious did not research my true
character.”

And God help
him, if she ever found out the truth of it all. She would hate him, which
provided all the more reason to encourage a union between her and Sebastian.
Thomas’s large hand rubbed his chest unconsciously.

“Never mind
about me and my sad song.” He eyed Amesbury. “This is about you.”

“Is that a book
of Byron’s poetry in your pocket?” Myles asked.

Thomas pulled
his waistcoat to cover it, denying all the while that it was a book of love poems.

Amesbury
groaned and wrapped his arms around his stomach. “Forget love songs and give me
what I want. Do you have any idea what
I
feel? My stomach has declared
war on me; my body is shaking, not only on the outside, but in. And invisible
ants are crawling all over my skin.” He groaned again. “And my mind is
screaming for the stuff. I need it. I need it now.”

Amesbury’s
voice softened. He turned to Thomas and Myles and reached out his hand,
pleading.

“Don’t you see?
I need it. I can’t live without it. The drug and my need for it have taken over
my every waking moment of every single day. It is all I think about. And when I
take it, it’s this incredible bliss. Bloody ass! I need it.”

Mouth open,
Thomas stared at Amesbury and wondered where his friend from their Eton and
Cambridge days had gone. Where was the amiable and likable gentleman everyone
thought so highly of? What had happened to cause this? Would he ever know?

“I’ll be back.”
Thomas raked his hands through his hair. After spending the night and most of
the morning with his friends, he would head home for a short while, then come
back and give Myles a chance to do the same. “Are you two going to be fine for
awhile?” Thomas prayed they would. He needed a bath and a change of clothes.
Maybe then he could think straight enough to help his friend.

***

Once Thomas
arrived at Wentworth House he handed the stable groom the reins of his horse,
Nightmare. He took the front steps two at a time and burst through the doors
without waiting for the doorman. Giles, as if anticipating the duke’s return,
came forward quickly and took his hat and cloak.

“I’ll have a
bath readied immediately and food sent up, Your Grace.” Giles surveyed him,
frowning. “Is there anything else you need? And if I may ask, how
is
His
Lordship?”

Thomas sighed
deeply, reining in his emotions. “Lord Amesbury is doing much better this
morning.”

“Thank God for
that,” Giles replied, still stoic.

 “Are there any
messages? Has my family been looking for me?” Thomas asked, hoping the answer
would be no.

“The dowager
duchess and Lord Sebastian would both like a word with you.”

“Thank you.”

“I will be up
to assist you with your bath and bring your tray,” Giles said.

“Just have the
tub filled. I want to be alone and I’m not hungry.”

Giles flashed
him a concerned look, but Thomas ignored it. He climbed the stairs slowly, his
legs weighed down from exhaustion and worry. On days like today he wished he
were not a duke with the weight of his family on his shoulders. Just once he
wanted to throw family obligations, ducal demands, and the strict propriety of
the
ton
out the door and live like a normal gentleman of leisure. Have
the woman he wanted…

Impossible
.

Two servants
came in and, after several trips to the kitchen, filled his tub. Thomas,
undressed and submerged up to his chest, rested his head against the metal back
and closed his eyes. He forced his body to relax and his mind to go blank. Not
an easy task after nearly losing Amesbury last night. Which, once again, drew
to the forefront of his mind the question: How did Amesbury bring on this
addiction to laudanum? Could his life be so bad he had to escape to this drug?
Sighing deeply, Thomas remembered his friend, his skin blue, his breathing
labored, and his body shaking with uncontrollable convulsions––all while he was
sleeping. This morning had brought on even more frightening side effects and
behaviors associated with withdrawal.

His friend had
better be in the mood for talking when he returned. Thomas would not take any
evasive answers as to how this happened and why.

A knock on his
door had him swearing. Could he not have any privacy or peace? “Who is it?” he
barked out.

“Sebastian. May
I come in?”

Groaning
loudly, he replied, “Enter.” He must be out of his mind. This was not the time
for talking to anyone in his family; he was in a state of undress and was too
preoccupied with Amesbury.

Sebastian
entered and froze. “I did not realize you were bathing. I can come back. Or
better yet, can I have a word with you in your study when you’re presentable?”

Thomas’s heart
fluttered. This conversation with his brother was not one he wanted to take
place today or ever. “I’ll be down in half an hour.”

“Thank you,”
his brother replied, then quit the ducal chambers.

Heart in his
throat, Thomas closed his eyes and groaned. He knew his brother well enough to
know he would ask for Emma’s hand. Dear God, there had to be a way out of this.
As much as a union between them would benefit Emma and Sebastian, he could not
conceive that the words granting them approval would come out of his mouth.

Thomas could
lie to himself all he wanted about Emma not having the right bloodlines to
marry a duke. But the truth was he realized he did not come close to being
worthy of her. She, who was goodness to the core of her being, and he, who had
been deceitful, could not be together.

Every minute of
every day Thomas could lecture himself about it. But the honest truth was he
had feelings for Emma, feelings he’d never known existed, even when he simply
glimpsed at her from a distance. And up close… he’d already proven he had no
self-control. And he burned with shame again at the memory.

The times he
spent in the arms of other females didn’t compare to the one time he held and
kissed her. He would give anything to turn back time, undo that ravishing kiss,
and be pure and worthy of her innocence and love. Take his time and court her
properly as she was meant to be wooed. He wanted to treat her with respect, but
for some reason when in her company he turned into a bastard, either ignoring her,
insulting her, or forcing himself on her. He needed to be a better man. And if
he were, would he even have a chance with her?

Sebastian, who
was the total opposite of him, was worthy of Emma. He did not consort with
widows and married women. As far as he knew he did not visit brothels either.
Why, oh why, could he not be more like Sebastian? Even at this grueling moment,
just the thought of her had his cock raging hard with wanting Emma. Damn his
demented mind, and his cock.

After dressing
Thomas descended the stairs, hoping not to encounter anyone on the way to his
study. He could not look upon Emma or his sisters or his mother right now. Not
when his emotions and his body’s need had him vulnerable and laid him wide
open. Especially not when he had thought long and hard, had made his decision,
decided on a course of action, and meant to do what he planned.

Upon entering
his study, Thomas found Sebastian standing at the large window which overlooked
the formal gardens at the back of the grounds. “What can I do for you,
Sebastian?” Thomas forced his voice to sound bored and unemotional.

“I…” As if in
pain, his brother handed him a letter. Thomas could not help but notice his
brother’s hands trembling. “It came this morning.”

Thomas took the
parchment and read the missive. It was his brother’s commission. It had
happened, finally, after several years of hoping and waiting for the money
needed to secure it.

“Congratulations.
We have been waiting for this. It has been a long time coming.”

His brother
sank into a chair opposite the duke’s desk and shook his head back and forth.
“Once upon a time I wanted it more than anything. Now I do not.”

Thomas
swallowed, the curse words sitting on his tongue. “What do you mean, you do not
want it? It is all you talked about for the past three years.”

His brother
glared at him. “It was all
you
talked about. Did you not once notice I
was not enthused, as you were? Just because I am the untitled son, it does not
mean I have to enter the military like all the other second and third sons. Did
it ever occur to you that I might have another profession in mind?”

“Bloody hell.”
Thomas banged his fist down on his desk, causing all the objects upon it to
vibrate. “Now is not the time to tell me this. Why did you not do so before I
begged the Prince Regent for this?” It took all Thomas’s will to clasp his
hands together to keep them from grabbing his brother’s throat.

“I figured it
was something I had to do.” His brother looked around the room, then finally
settled his eyes, so much like his own, on him––causing Thomas to shiver.

“I want to
marry Emma,” Sebastian blurted out. He continued before Thomas could say
anything. “I want to take her back to America. And I hoped . . . well . . .
maybe you would be so kind as to give me a job in your whaling business.”

Try as he might
to control his body and his heart, Thomas found they would not listen. He
jumped to his feet and stomped around the perimeter of the room, grasping for
the right words. “Don’t be irrational; take several days to think this over.
We’ll make no hasty decision on the commission.”

Sebastian
sprang to his feet. “I don’t need to think about any of it.”

Thomas paused
mid-stride, turned to face his brother, and prayed his own feelings were
invisible. “I insist you take time to think both things over carefully. You
will not get the chance for another commission. And I do not believe you have
known Miss Hamilton long enough to know your true feelings. Nor can she know
hers.”

“But—”

“But nothing.”
His stern expression brooked no argument. “I insist you take a week to think
about these decisions that will have an impact upon the rest of your life. I
need to be alone to think things through. On the way out, please ask the
servant to shut the door and tell him I do not wish to be disturbed until I let
myself out.”

After his
brother left, Thomas collapsed into his chair. Guilt and something else spread
like the plague, crippling his body and mind. “Damn it all to hell,” he
bellowed as his head dropped into his hands. Why was he forced to make
decisions that affected the people he loved? Decisions that would ultimately
affect the rest of their lives––and his?

“Bloody hell.”
Thomas swiped the contents on his desktop onto the floor. He had to get out of
this house, out of his thoughts that told him one course of action while his
heart pleaded for another. He smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“Shut up, shut
the bugger up!”

Later, while he
donned his hat and cloak, his mother approached him with a stern face. “May I
have a word with you?”