The Reluctant Duke (A Seabrook Family Saga) (6 page)

He would
probably die of heart failure before he managed to marry her off. Thomas truly
believed Emma had no idea how breathtaking she was, and that could only be
deemed a good thing. Nothing was worse than a conceited lady who plied her
feminine wiles on all the gentlemen, only to leave them panting in her wake. It
would be in his best interest to remember that himself.

Not that Thomas
intended to fall for her charms. Quite the opposite––she affected him not at
all.
That’s right. Keep telling yourself that.
He still remembered the
feel of her waist in his hands when he steadied her. The feel of her hand in
his, the feel…

Clenching his
teeth, the duke pushed those thoughts from his mind and scowled.

The three of
them stood, side by side on deck, waving to the crowd on shore as the ship set
sail. Though he frowned, Thomas’s pulse soared. England. He could hardly wait
to be home, to visit one of his clubs, smoke a decent cigar, drink nicely aged
brandy, and play a friendly game of cards. When the card game with Emma’s
father came to mind he tamped it down. He told himself he had nothing to feel
bad about.

He forced his
attention to the land they’d left, watched Boston slowly become a distant
shadow on the horizon, and hoped one day he’d see it again. At the last minute
he had decided to hold onto Emma’s father’s fleet of whaling ships. He had sold
all properties except for the building on the waterfront that housed his
offices, the warehouse, and the gem of a sea captain’s house he could not part
with.

Confident he
had left his affairs here in order and in good hands, he was traveling back
home to put his own estates in order––estates neglected for so many years by
his father, and then by Thomas due to his lack of funds. Well, no more. He
would personally see them put back in order––back to the point that his estates
thrived along with the people working his lands. It was the least he could do
after the years of suffering his tenants and staff had endured.

He’d left all
responsibilities in the hands of his younger brother Sebastian, believing it
would be good for the lad. Sebastian’s letters revealed that improvements were
being made, not only to his country estate in Dover, but also to his home on
Cavendish Square, which had looked tired and outdated. Certainly not the home
one would expect of a duke.

When they
docked in London, Thomas was optimistic he’d receive notice from the Prince
Regent regarding Sebastian’s commission to His Majesty’s Army. It was past time
his brother set out on his own to make his place in the world. Thomas did not
envy his brother’s position as second son. In a recent letter, Sebastian said
he did not envy Thomas with all his responsibilities as a duke and was looking
forward to his brother’s return.

“Wentworth?”
Myles’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. “I must thank you for leaving word
with Mr. Walsh about your travel plans. I might have booked passage on another
ship and missed this delightful reunion.” He was all soft, seductive smiles
toward Emma.

The look did
nothing for Thomas’s bad temper, boiling within him. “Yes, well, I figured you
would wander back this way eventually, and I could hardly leave without you.
After all, you traveled here because of me. I felt responsible.” As the words
flowed Thomas was thinking the opposite. He wished his friend had traveled home
behind them––by months.

Myles patted
him on the back. He made the gesture just to needle Thomas, no doubt.

“Yes, well. No
need to feel any responsibility toward me, because as you know, I’m capable of
taking care of myself. Just like in the old days at Eton.” Myles’s lips curved
up into another smile as he turned to Emma. “On the other hand, you, my dear,
need to be taken care of. And I hope you will allow me the pleasure of seeing
to your every comfort and whim while aboard ship. Especially as you have no
lady’s maid to see to your comfort.”

That offer was
inappropriate. Thomas suddenly felt nauseated by his friend’s flirting. He felt
like calling him out.

“This ship does
have servants,” he said calmly, gritting his teeth instead, “and she will be
attended to. No need for you to worry over her comfort, Lord Norwich.”

Would it be
too much to ask God for a strong tail wind so the crossing happened more quickly?
If he had to listen to Myles flirt with Emma during all the weeks ahead, he
might have to fling himself overboard to end his own suffering. Or better yet,
fling Myles overboard and put everyone out of their misery.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

Once settled in
her small, nicely appointed cabin, Emma pondered why the duke and Lord Norwich
traveled with only one valet between them. Surely it could not be the norm for
nobility? She heard how the English
ton
was pompous and lazy and
expected servants to do everything for them––even dry off a lord or lady after
bathing. Before she had entered Miss Beauregard’s she had a nurse who took care
of her. Once she enrolled in finishing school, though, she took care of
herself. Or had a classmate fasten the buttons on the back of her dresses. Most
day frocks were now designed with the buttons in front.

Dreamily, she
wondered if she would have a lady’s maid once she was settled in the duke’s
residence.

Would she have
pretty gowns to wear when she attended Almack’s? She had heard much about that
place only attended by debutantes of the best breeding.

Would the duke
parade her around in an open landau in Hyde Park so all the eligible men could
get a glimpse of her? Would he take her to Vauxhall Gardens, the opera, the
theater?

Would His Grace
escort her to a ball? Emma’s heart raced at the idea of attending one. And to
be on the arm of a handsome duke would be…

“Ahhh,” she
sighed. Of course, he would only escort her. Once there, he would excuse
himself and leave her to dance the night away with strangers. Or perhaps Lord
Norwich would be kind enough to dance a waltz or two with her. Emma had never
waltzed with a gentleman before except for the waltzing master, Mr. Danbury.
And the thrill of dancing such a scandalous dance with the duke had her body
warming with excitement. If only he . . .

During the long
evenings in her cabin she wrote in her journal. Years from now she wanted to
remember everything about this trip. Everything from what she ate daily to what
she did to pass the time. Like now, only her eyes refused to stay open, and the
rocking ship lulled her into a deep sleep.

***

Thomas settled
into his cabin nicely, thanks to Giles. He was relaxing on the bunk when Myles
knocked and poked his head inside the door.

“Are you busy,
Thomas?” he asked, his tone solemn.

What brought on
the sudden seriousness in his friend? Myles only used his Christian name when
he either needed a boon or was bothered by something serious. Thomas took a
closer look and found his friend’s brows drawn and his mouth turned down into a
frown. It appeared something weighed heavily on his mind.

“No, come in
and have a drink. I stashed several bottles of brandy in my trunk.” Thomas rose
from the bed and gestured to one of two available wooden chairs in the small
cabin. “Have a seat.” He handed Myles a glass and sat down on the other
available seat.

“So, tell me
what’s troubling you,” Thomas urged. “I’ve not seen you look this forlorn since
we were boys and your father sent away the young maid you were infatuated with.
Of course, you had politely announced to your father at the mature age of
ten-and-five that you were going to marry her, so it was understandable.”

Those words
brought a smile to Myles’s lips. “Yes, well, first love and all that. Wish it
were that easy now.”

Puzzled, Thomas
asked, “Wish what were that easy?”

Myles jumped up
and paced the small cabin. Six strides one way and four the other. Not much
room for pacing off one’s frustrations.

“I met someone
in New Orleans, or rather on the ship going to Orleans.” Myles flopped back
down on the hard surface of the chair.

“Do tell,”
Thomas encouraged.

***

Normally Myles
would not discuss intimate details involving liaisons with young women. This
time, the excruciating pain of keeping his feelings to himself overwhelmed him,
and he needed to talk it out. Needed his good friend’s advice since Myles knew
he was too far gone, too much in love, to think clearly.

“While on my
travels I had the great privilege of meeting and attending a ball given by the
Conte and Contessa Com Du La Fleur
who
reside in the French Quarter of New Orleans.” Just thinking about Sophie had
his pulse raging. “I had the misfortune of falling for their daughter, Sophie.”

“Yes, well, the
look on your face makes perfect sense now,” Wentworth said.

“Humph.” Myles
took pride in hiding his feelings like any other properly bred Englishman, and
this was not easy. “I left abruptly as Sophie is betrothed to another, a Mr.
Bernier. I didn’t want to cause more of a scandal.” At the raised brow from Thomas
he added, “Dueling with her intended with rapiers caused enough embarrassment
to Sophie’s family.”

Wentworth
appeared incredulous. “To have you duel with her intended caused more than
embarrassment; you caused a scandal for the poor girl.” He paused, rubbing his
chin. “What shocks me is that you dueled at all. Not to be insulting, but your
skill with swords is less than desirable. And if you dueled, how is it you are
here today, alive and unharmed?”

Myles raked his
hands through his long hair. “I sought the help of a Mr. Basile Croquere, a
talented fencing master. I believe it will not be long before he belongs to the
famous Maitre d’Armes. His skill is like nothing I have ever seen. He moves
with the skill and grace of a panther. Mr. Croquere is so quick that most of
the time I never saw him coming.” Myles paused and chuckled. “One day with Mr.
Croquere’s instruction and I prevailed over Mr. Bernier.”

Wentworth
leaned forward in his chair and eyed him with raised brows. “Let me get this
right. You spent only one day with a fencing master, and that was enough to
perfect your handling a rapier? You actually won the dual?”

“Yes, well,”
Myles said, frowning. “It helped that Mr. Bernier was a novice himself. I
nicked him once in the shoulder, and it was over.” Myles sighed loudly. “I
don’t think he wanted to challenge me to a duel. But Sophie’s honor was in
question after I kissed her on the balcony of her parents’ home. Mr. Bernier
felt he had no choice. By now they are likely married and on their honeymoon.”

Myles did not
like the pity he glimpsed in his friend’s eyes. He hadn’t told him the story to
be pitied. Bloody hell; he did not know why he’d told Wentworth at all. It did
not matter now because Sophie was lost to him forever.

“I would like
you to consider me for Emma.”

“Come on,
Myles. You cannot be serious. I don’t know, in good conscience, how I can give
my blessing for you to marry my ward when you just confided your love for
another.” Thomas groaned. “It would not be fair to Emma. Wait until her first
season is well under way. If she doesn’t fancy anyone, we’ll discuss this
again.”

***

Thomas leaned
back in his chair and tried to picture Myles and Emma. Oh, he could see them
together easily, too easily. And the thought of Myles and Emma together made him
want to do physical harm to Myles.

Ever since he
met Emma last year, she’d plagued his dreams and undermined almost every
coherent thought. And because of her he hadn’t sold Mr. Hamilton’s fleet of
whaling ships. Somehow he knew if he held on to her legacy, she would be part
of his life. Because, bugger all, she tortured him with her womanly curves and
her beautiful smile. Never mind her soft blue eyes that sparkled with life,
innocent life.

Emma was not of
noble birth, however, so nothing could come of this lust Thomas felt for her.
Everyone expected him to marry a lady of breeding. Emma would be perfect for a
second or even a third son. She had a large dowry that would attract many
eligible bachelors along with any number of unsavory rogues. For the first time
he considered his younger brother with a degree of envy. Then he shook himself.

He had to be
careful to keep her safe from fortune hunters.

Myles threw his
gloves at Thomas, and they landed right on his face. “Why are you smiling like
some lovesick young buck? My life is over, and you are grinning like the king’s
fool.”

Sitting up
straight, Thomas looked and sounded contrite. “How inconsiderate of me. Please
accept my apologies.”

“Yes, well.”
Myles picked up the nearly full brandy bottle. “I’ll just take this with me as
a peace offering.” He left the duke alone in his cabin.

The audacity of
Myles taking Thomas’s brandy. It was a good thing he had more, because if he
were going to survive this voyage with Emma, Thomas needed to dull his brain
and his cock. Both engaged every time he thought of her.

Get a grip
on your emotions, man. You are her guardian. There must be a law against
lusting after her.

The sooner he
escorted her off this ship and turned her over to his mother and sisters, the
better for all involved.

***

The first week
aboard ship had Emma keeping to herself in her cabin except when Myles or
Wentworth escorted her up on deck. And when they did, the bright sun and fresh
air warmed her cheeks and caused her pulse to soar. She’d been on her papa’s
whaling vessels in port, but never had she sailed on the open ocean. Now Emma
understood a sailor’s love of the sea.

It exhilarated
her, and she never tired of the vast expanse of open water. Fortunately the
weather cooperated, and the seas were fairly calm. Deep down inside she
wondered what it would be like to sail in a storm. Part of her wanted to find
out. Another part of her was terrified at the thought.

Most nights
they dined at the Captain’s table with several other passengers who were
prominent individuals, or so she was told by Wentworth.

After a month
of the same, the novelty Emma had initially felt at being out to sea subsided.
Every day she woke up praying it would be the day she saw land again.

***

Emma’s eyes
strained in their sockets as their ship traveled up the Thames. For the first
time she glimpsed the Tower of London, poking through the foggy mist. The
splendidly eerie scene brought forth visions of Anne Boleyn’s imprisonment by
King Henry VIII and, later, her beheading in the courtyard. There was nothing
so grand or frightening in America.

How could the
duke stand beside her and not even blink an eye at the glorious sights? Did
nothing move him?

During the
crossing of the Atlantic he had sought the solitude of his cabin most days.
Emma’s heart pained to think of the burden she must be to him that he could not
stand the sight of her. Could her papa have made a mistake in naming him her
guardian?

Please, God,
don’t let it be true.

Emma wanted to
be wanted.

Needed to be
wanted rather than just an imposition or a responsibility.

The duke and
his family were all she had in the world now. She needed them. Please let the
others be warm and understanding, welcoming her more than the duke had. Emma
did not know what she would do if they resented her presence, resented her
being thrust into their lives without warning.

Her fears were
for naught. The moment His Grace helped her down from the carriage and escorted
her inside his three-story mansion, she found herself surrounded by his
enthusiastic family.

Wentworth
pulled her forward and made the introductions. “Miss Emma Hamilton, this is my
mother, the Dowager Duchess of Wentworth.”

Emma’s body
quivered with suppressed nervous excitement. Though she’d practiced on the
crossing she found it difficult to turn a graceful curtsy. “Your Grace, it is a
pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

The Dowager
took her hand and patted it with both of hers, giving Emma a welcome smile that
somewhat eased her jumbled nerves. “We are pleased to welcome you into our
family.” Her eyes fell on her son, then back to Emma. “I can see the duke is
already taken with you.”

Emma’s cheeks
scorched at the look that passed between mother and son. The duke certainly
didn’t look taken with her. If anything, he looked like he wanted to throttle
someone and throw the victim out in the street. “That is very kind of you to
say.” She lowered her head. “Your Grace.”

“Let me
introduce you to my other son,” the dowager duchess began. “Miss Emma Hamilton,
may I present Lord Sebastian.”

“Lord
Sebastian, it is an honor to make your acquaintance,” Emma said as she
curtsied. Nervous jitters danced around inside her stomach once again.

Lord Sebastian
bowed, raised her right hand to his lips, and grinned at her. Her breath caught
in her lungs when she really looked at him. The resemblance to the duke was
astounding, if she ignored the hair color. They could almost be twins, except
when she compared their eyes. They had the exact same color; Lord Sebastian’s
held laughter and mischief. The duke’s were… jaded was the only word that came
to her mind. His life experiences must have been far different from his
brother’s. She presumed responsibilities must weigh heavily on the duke.

“Miss Hamilton,
it is a great pleasure to make your acquaintance and welcome you to Wentworth
House.” Lord Sebastian stole a look at Wentworth, who glared at his younger
brother. “My brother did not do you justice when he described you in his
correspondence. You are a vision of beauty beyond mere words. And please call
me . . . Sebastian.”

She tugged her
hand from his heated grasp. “Sebastian. If we are going to be informal, you may
call me Emma.”

Once more the
brothers locked eyes. The duke’s look was positively murderous. Emma’s body
trembled. Had she done something to cause such a look? She had studied
everything she could about London Society and propriety over the past year, and
she did not believe she had made a
faux pas
.

Sebastian’s
eyes returned to her. “It would be my pleasure to call you Emma.”

Their mother
nudged Sebastian aside and eyed both her sons as only a mother can. “Please
meet my daughters, Lady Isabella and Lady Amelia.”