A Duke's Decision (The Duke''s Club Book 4) Read online

  A new worry began to edge out the other thousand worries eating at her stomach. What if he were ill? Or hurt. London was a dangerous city.

  “Stop it,” she hissed to herself. He was an important man with important things to do. The last thing he would be worried about was her. No. After all, she had snuck into his room, basically thrown herself at him, then left before he was awake.

  From a man’s point of view, there was nothing more to worry about. She must remember she was not the center of his universe. And never would be.

  To make things even worse, she had begun her monthly courses this morning. Two days early in fact. The cramps were more intense than normal. There would be no child, she thought thankfully. One of a thousand worries that could be dismissed. Yet, at the same time, a deep regret filled her.

  The clicking of the doorknob made her heart lurch. Twisting she let out a low sigh when Lady Denton stepped into the parlor.

  “There you are dear,” the older woman said as she made her way to the settee. “I am rather disappointed in you, I must say.”

  Emily stopped breathing. Surely, Lady Denton wasn’t aware of what had happened the night before. Surely, she didn’t know that her nephew, the Duke, and she had … joined. A sick feeling of shame filled her as she fought to stop her cheeks from blushing.

  How could she know? The sick feeling turned over to a new fear. Surely, the Duke had not informed her before he left. No, he wouldn’t do that. Or, would he?

  “I am sorry …”

  Lady Denton waved her hand. “You are young, these things happen. I realize that you did it for his sake.”

  Emily froze, this was not the reaction she had anticipated. She expected to be cast from the house and thrown into the gutter. A scandal like this could result in Lady Denton being denied entry to half the homes in London. Her companion sharing a bed with the Duke, his mistress living in his own house. That was what people would think. She was his mistress. A deep shame filled her as she imagined her mother’s disapproval.

  Granted, a man such as the Duke could have as many mistresses as he wished, but they were not to be accepted into polite society. And as her matron, Lady Denton would be considered guilty for letting such a thing happen.

  No, unacceptable.

  Deep down, Emily believed that such a convention was to ensure that wives never had to meet their husband’s mistress. It was much easier to pretend than confront the truth.

  “But,” Lady Denton continued, “the next time you talk to the cook about the menu. Please inform me first. If we have another piece of salmon, I will surely grow fins.”

  Emily sighed internally. The cook, Lady Denton was talking about the cook. Not the night of passion her Lady’s companion had shared with the Duke. “Of course, My Lady.”

  “Now then,” Lady Denton said as she pulled her needlepoint from the basket next to the settee. “Lady Hamilton’s ball in two weeks. We will be attending.”

  “But, the mourning period, My Lady.”

  Lady Denton scoffed and shrugged her shoulders. “A few days won’t make a difference. I will be in half-mourning, of course, these blasted rules demand it. But not you. I want you in that deep blue dress. We must strike while we can, the season will end and I will have you married off.”

  Emily bit back a cry of pain. She would never marry. Not now. Granted, there were ways to deceive a man. She remembered the girls of the orphanage discussing the subject more than once. But she could not see herself marrying, not now. If she respected the man, she would have to tell him the truth. That his wife would not be arriving at his wedding bed pure and innocent.

  No man of any dignity would ever accept such a wife.

  “And now that Duncan controls the purse strings,” Lady Denton said. “He will provide an even larger dowry. I assure you, we will have to beat them back with a stick.

  Emily’s heart fell. “I don’t know if I wish to marry, My Lady.”

  Lady Denton frowned as she looked up from her needlework. “Of course, you do. Don’t be ridiculous. After all, once I am gone, you won’t be able to stay here. No Duchess is going to want a beautiful young woman sharing her home.”

  “A Duchess?” Emily gasped. “Is His Grace thinking of getting married.”

  Again, Lady Denton waved her hand as if it were a minor point. “His Grace will have no choice in the matter. And If I have my way it will be someone of very high standing, perhaps a princess from the continent. Several of them will be arriving this fall. They may be foreign, but a lot can be forgiven for royalty.”

  A new sick feeling filled Emily as her stomach turned over. Of course, the Duke would marry a princess. It was how things should be. A sadness filled her as she imagined attending his wedding. She would never be excused. As his ward, her lack of attendance would be seen as inexcusable.

  What then? Where would she go? She had no skills. When Lady Denton passed on, hopefully, years and years in the future, but she must face reality, it could happen at any time. What then?

  At least in the orphanage she had a job on the factory floor. Now what? No factory would ever take her. They would view her as a Lady, unable to work. She well knew what her former neighbors thought of the rich women of the ton. Useless, frail, and incompetent. Good for nothing but looking pretty. They’d never give her a job that required labor. No, in their opinion, no Lady could ever do what was needed.

  As for the aristocrats of the ton, they would consider her as a mere commoner who had tried to rise above her station. Without Lady Denton’s support, they would never admit her to their world.

  She would be stuck between the two worlds with no solution.

  Forcing herself to stop pacing she folded her hands behind her back and stared down into the fire. Where was he? She simply needed to know that he didn’t hate her. That was all she was asking. Surely it wasn’t too much.

  The tension and despair continued to build inside of her until she was pulled back to reality by Jarvis opening the front door to the mansion and saying, “Welcome home, Your Grace.”

  Emily’s heart jumped to her throat. No, she wasn’t ready to see him.

  Holding her breath, she silently prayed that he would go up to his room. In fact, if she were lucky, he would stay there for the next ten years or so.

  Of course, it was not to be she realized as the parlor door opened and the Major, His Grace, the Duke stepped into the room.

  He froze, his hand still on the doorknob, his other stuck in his pocket. Emily gulped at the stern expression on his face, he wasn’t happy to see her. Her heart sank with despair. She would give anything not to have him upset with her. The look he shot her hurt more than a physical blow.

  Their eyes remained locked for a long second until he took a deep breath and closed the door behind him.

  “There you are Duncan,” Lady Denton said as she frowned, her eyes narrowing as she tried to understand the look he was giving to his ward. She shifted to look at Emily, then back at the Duke. All of this registered on Emily’s periphery. All she could really see was the man standing before her. Tall, handsome, and oh how she loved him.

  “Miss Winslow,” the Duke said with a slight dip of his head. “When you have a moment, will you join me in my study. There are some matters I wish to discuss with you.”

  He’s angry, she thought. The twitch of his temple confirmed it. So that was how it was to be. He would be angry, she would feel crestfallen, but maybe someday he could forgive her.

  “Of course, Your Grace,”

  “Your study,” Lady Denton said, “Why not here?”

  The Duke frowned at his Aunt, “Because whenever we discuss politics, you get upset and the Doctors have told me that you are not to be distressed.”

  Lady Denton scoffed and frowned up at him. “Since when do we listen to doctors? I have come to share Jones's opinion on the matter. Charlatans all of them.”

  “Regardless,” the Duke said to his aunt as if that answered all questions. Then turning back to E
mily he said, “No rush, Miss Winslow, when it is convenient.”

  Emily dipped a quick curtsey to Lady Denton, then followed the Duke from the room. His wide shoulders looked as if they had been carved in stone. Stiff, as if he were ready to take on the weight of the world.

  Or worse, set in anger. She swallowed hard and held her breath, she would know soon she told herself. Was she to be cast out? If so, would she be allowed time to say goodbye to Lizzy and Jones?

  She must speak to Jones. Someone must take up the responsibility for looking after the Major. Heaven knew he wouldn’t do it for himself.

  When they reached the Duke’s study, he opened the door, then stepped aside so that she might enter first. Her head grew dizzy until she remembered to breathe. Immediately she was hit by the scent of sandalwood. Her mind jumped to their night together and the feeling of him wrapped around her.

  “Your Grace…” she started when he closed the door then went to the carafe on the side table and poured himself a whiskey.

  Emily hesitated. What could she possibly say?

  He took a long sip of his whiskey and raised an eyebrow. The stress from a day of worry and fear began to build inside of her. Her emotions rolled over and over as a thousand thoughts flashed through her mind. Then, without thinking, she said, “Where have you been all day?”

  The Duke choked on his drink, coughing as he tried to hide his shock at her question.

  She felt her cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. How could she have asked such a thing? He had no responsibilities to her. A British Duke did not answer to a young woman. But she needed to know desperately. Had he completely dismissed her feelings? Did she mean so little that he could ignore her all day?

  A word, a simple smile was all she asked. Something to let her know that he didn’t hate her.

  “I have been rather busy,” he said. “This morning it was with certain members of the Regent’s staff, Then, my solicitors, making arrangements. Then, this afternoon I met with the Archbishop.”

  “Archbishop?” she asked. “Which Archbishop?”

  “Canterbury,” he answered as he shot her a frown obviously surprised at her. “Are there any others here in London?”

  “But why?” she asked, refusing to let the matter drop.

  He frowned at her as his head tilted to one side. His look silently asking her if she was a dense as her questions made her appear.

  Emily’s fought to understand. Why was meeting with these people more important than simply acknowledging her? Couldn’t he have taken but a few minutes to tell her what he thought of their … joining.

  “Really Miss Winslow, why else would I meet with that toad of a man the Archbishop? If I went to the local vicar for a special license, they would have just forwarded me to the Archbishop anyway. I had to get the palaces permission of course.”

  Emily’s heart stopped. “A special license?”

  Again, he looked at her strangely. “Of course, it is necessary if we are to be married within the week.”

  “WHAT!” she gasped.

  “Nothing special I am afraid, But I think we should get this over with as quickly as possible. A few friends. Here in London. No need to travel to King’s Dale.”

  Her world twisted and turned around her as she tried to understand. No, this was impossible. She couldn’t be his wife. She would never do that to him. The idea of tying the Major to a woman he didn’t love sent a cold chill to her very soul. No, never.

  She took a deep breath and set her shoulders. This was going to hurt more than anything in the world but it could not be avoided. She looked him directly into his eyes so that he would know she was serious. “No, Your Grace. I will not marry you.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  A mule’s kick to the gut couldn’t have hurt as much, the Duke thought to himself. What did she mean she wouldn’t marry? No, this was impossible. Of course, they would marry. It had not been his intention. But after last night, what choice did he have? It was the only honorable solution.

  He had known the consequences before he took the actions he had. He could have turned away from her last night. But something inside of him refused. He had taken what he needed at the time and now he must pay the price. Those were the rules of his world.

  She stared back at him, silently confirming her previous statement and appearing as if she could not be swayed on the matter.

  Of course, he realized, what woman would want to be tied to a wounded bear? Crippled, and constantly visited by nightmares. No. Of course she didn’t want to marry him. Emily had always been very intelligent. She could foresee the pain and unhappiness of being his wife. No. Really, he couldn’t blame her. But?

  “You may be with child,” he said.

  Her cheeks grew pink as she glanced down at the floor and shook her head. “I am not with child,” she said.

  “How can you … Oh!”

  An awkward silence fell over them for a moment as they both refused to meet each other’s eye until he stood up straight and pushed back his shoulders. “Miss Winslow, we must marry. No other man of standing will ever accept you. Not if they know the truth.”

  Her jaw tightened as she shook her head. “Believe me, Your Grace, there are ways to deceive a man on the wedding night. And while I do appreciate your willingness to sacrifice yourself. It will not be necessary. It will not be an issue as I do not intend to ever marry. If I do, the gentleman will know the truth. If he still wishes to marry, then perhaps. But, in all honesty, I do not see it ever happening.”

  He studied her as his mind tried to understand. He had thought he was doing the right thing here. That she would be happy. At the very least, relieved. But she had thrown his proposal back at him. How dare she reject him like this?

  A sense of anger began to build inside of him. He was a Duke. A leading member of the British Empire, what more could a woman want. Yet, she dismissed him so easily. His pride felt ruffled. Very well, if that was to be the case, then he would learn to deal with it.

  But, deep in his soul, he knew that he would never be completely accepting of her decision.

  She took a deep breath, “If you will give me a short time to pack, I will be gone before the next meal.”

  Another kick to the gut. Gone, what did she mean gone? She couldn’t leave. Not like this.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said as he shook his head. “Besides. You can’t leave my Aunt. She would be lost without you.”

  A strange look passed behind her eyes.

  “You will stay of course, I insist.”

  “But, Your Grace …”

  “No, Miss Winslow. I am sure we can continue to live in the same house. While I am not used to having my proposals of marriage rejected. I am sure that I can learn to live with it. After all, I learned to live with the French trying to kill me on a regular basis. This is not much worse than that.”

  “But?”

  He pushed down the anger and a small piece of sorrow while focusing on getting through this. He needed to establish a new normal. Something that would allow them to continue. “No, Miss Winslow. You will stay here. And you need not fear, I will have Jarvis station a footman outside my door each night. You will not be bothered by me again, I promise.”

  Her shoulders slumped as she stared down at the floor.

  A strange sadness filled him. Why? He should be ecstatic. He had been saved from a fate he had dreaded all his life. Tied to a woman. Yet still, something felt wrong, as if he were making a grave mistake.

  No, he thought to himself. That was his silly pride. Take this opportunity and be grateful, he thought to himself. Once again, Miss Winslow had saved him.

  “If you will excuse me, Your Grace,” she said with a quick curtsey then turned to leave, but not before he saw a tear in the corner of her eye. Why? he wondered. He was the one who had been cast aside like last week's ashes.

  “Of course, Miss Winslow.”

  She hurried from the room and once again his stomach tightened up with fear a
nd trepidation. It reminded him of a battle where he had made the wrong decision or took the wrong action. It would be something he regretted for the rest of his life.

  .o0o.

  Emily lay on her bed, curled in on herself, and cried as she had never cried before. A deep ugly cry that she believed would never stop. Gasping for breath and sniffling through a runny nose she fought to bring herself under control. Only to remember the sense of loss and again fall into an agony of despair.

  The coldness in his eyes. The set of his shoulders. The deep regret in his furrowed brow at the thought of having to marry her. She had known instantly that both his and her life would be utter misery if they were to marry.

  A pain of overwhelming intensity washed through her. The man she loved did not want her. And never would. Not really. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to ask. Instead, making arrangements without discussing it with her. How dare he? It proved his indifference.

  Then, to learn he had wished to marry her only because of his blasted honor and no other reason. It was like a red hot knife to the stomach. Pure pain. No, she couldn’t live that kind of life, a deep dark secret buried between them. She wouldn’t do that to him.

  But what now? She thought as she continued to sniffle. How could she share a house with the man? See him every day across the dinner table. Watch him reading a paper and want to discuss this day’s issue with him.

  A cold heaviness would settle over the house.

  The realization that their common interest in politics could no longer be shared sent a new shaft of pain to her heart. There would be no more lively debate. No discussions of the different aspects of each bill before parliament.

  They would no longer share inside observations about the people around them. The dances and parties would seem hollow and useless. He would never again smile at her with that special smile that was just for her. The one that said he agreed with her even if he didn’t know about what.

  No, they would no longer be friends, she realized. Instead, they would be two people sharing the same house. Nothing in common but Lady Denton. And with her passing, there would be nothing.