The Duke of Dark Desires Read online

  “You cannot have it. I will not let you ruin me.”

  “I think you were already ruined. I say that not as an insult but as a happy circumstance that means we can indulge ourselves without guilt. I am right in saying you are no innocent, am I not?”

  “My past is none of your affair, Your Grace.”

  Not his business, but the reason she had come to his house, and she mustn’t let herself forget it. Besides, to him she was just a servant whose convenient lack of virtue meant that he could seduce her without compunction and later discard her with impunity. If that wasn’t enough, there was the uncomfortable fact that she had a large knife in her room with which she intended to murder his cousin and heir.

  She smoothed her skirts and schooled her features to serenity. “Please speak to Mr. Blackett about the bills for your sisters’ clothing. And send me a message with the date of our engagement at the theater.”

  Chapter 8

  With an orgy of shopping in the week leading up to an evening at Drury Lane, excitement in the nursery floor of Fortescue House reached a fever pitch. A dressmaker had been found and bribed to deliver new gowns at impossible speed. Maria talked of nothing but silks and sarcenets and Brussels spot muslin and vandyked edges. Confident that the eldest Osbourne had, for the moment, put the ineligible Mr. Norville to the back of her mind, Jane entered into the selection of suitable garments for a fifteen-year-old with only an occasional unexpressed sigh of longing. She loved new clothes, and the London shops weren’t to be sneezed at. This came as a surprise to her Parisian nose that expected to sneeze a good deal at the inferior merchandise of an inferior capital.

  “You would look beautiful in that,” Maria said when she saw her governess wistfully fingering a length of silver tissue threaded with gold at Bow’s Silk Warehouse. “I daresay Julian wouldn’t notice if we added a gown for you to the bill.”

  Julian would notice all right. Accepting his gift of new clothes would be tantamount to accepting his offer of other attentions.

  “That would be dishonest,” she said. “I have a perfectly good evening gown suitable to my station.” It was a shabby thing, the first Henri had bought her, and thoroughly out of fashion.

  “I’m sure you will look very pretty.” Maria whirled about, hugging the bolt of white silk they’d selected for her. “Oh, Miss Grey, I am so happy I could die!”

  Laura was happy too, because her governess was too busy to make her practice long division; Oliver Bream was happy because when he turned up for lessons his charges were out shopping and he got paid for doing nothing. The new nursery maid was happy because she had an undemanding job in a warm house. Nurse Bride slept happily through everything.

  Whether the Duke of Denford was happy, Jane didn’t know. She hadn’t seen him since the night of the kiss. A message delivered via Mr. Blackett informed her that he had gone out of town for a few days.

  Jane hadn’t failed to notice that someone was distinctly unhappy. Fenella had chosen a gown for the theater, guided by Jane into a soft pink. The other two girls, with their black hair and flawless white skin, could carry off any shade; Fenella needed something that wouldn’t fight her muted coloring.

  The afternoon before the great day, all the children bathed and washed their hair in the big tub next to the nursery fire. Jane and Maria were debating the merits of different hairstyles when an unmistakable sob came from Fenella’s room. Jane found her lying on her bed dressed only in a wrapper, weeping piteously.

  “What is it?”

  Addressed to the pillow, the response was incomprehensible. Jane sat on the bed and pulled the girl into her arms. “Ma chérie,” she said, “what can be so dreadful when you have a new gown and tomorrow your brother is taking us to the theater? Are you unwell?”

  “I don’t want to go to the theater.”

  “But you’ve been looking forward to it! You will sit in a fine box in a new gown and see the most famous actress in England.”

  “I’m ugly!” Fenella wailed. “Everyone will look at me and think I’m so plain compared to the others. Maria and Laura are pretty like Mama, and Julian looks like her too. Everyone will be laughing at me because I’m the ugly sister. Why do I have to look like this?”

  There was no use pointing out that few people in the theater would be terribly interested in a thirteen-year-old, even if her brother was a duke. “You will look lovely in your new gown. Besides, you won’t be the only one left out. I’m very ordinary.”

  Fenella gave a choke of surprise. “You, Miss Grey? You are beautiful. Almost as beautiful as Mama.”

  “Put on your slippers and come with me. I have something to show you.”

  When they reached Jane’s boudoir, she told Fenella to wait while she stripped to her shift and let down her hair. “Now,” she said, sitting on the padded bench before her dressing table, “sit beside me and let us look in the mirror.”

  Even in the soft glass that Jane knew to be quite flattering, Fenella was an unprepossessing sight with her fine hair clinging to her scalp and an expression that had relaxed from pure misery to sulky skepticism. “I look horrid,” she said, screwing up her mouth and nose.

  “You do if you look like this.” Jane imitated the monstrous pout. “Anyone would.” She swept her hair back from her face and arranged her features in an approximation of Fenella’s now less exaggerated scowl. “Do I look beautiful now?”

  “No. You look quite ordinary.”

  “That is because I’m quite an ordinary-looking person. Now watch.”

  She picked up a comb and teased her hair so that it framed her face in a misty cloud. And she smiled. “What do you think?”

  “Now you are quite pretty.”

  “I’ll be prettier still when I dress.” She took a fresh muslin fichu treaded with blue ribbon and arranged it over her shoulders. “I’m a governess so I do not have fine clothes, but that doesn’t mean I can’t look nice. You are the sister of a duke and your brother has given permission to buy whatever you need. You will look even better.”

  “I won’t. I looked at myself in the long glass in my new gown and I appeared just like I always do.”

  “First let us arrange your hair more becomingly. Like mine, yours does not curl much so we must contrive.”

  When she was a gawky thirteen-year-old she’d had a loving mother to help smooth the awkward edges and build up confidence in her appearance. And she hadn’t been cursed with beauties as sisters; the three Falleron girls had been peas in a pod. Combing volume into Fenella’s hair and embellishing it with ribbons was a bittersweet experience. She couldn’t help remembering the last time she’d done Marie-Thérèse’s hair, the two girls sitting in their dressing room and pretending to be grown up. It was a happy memory and a terrible one. A short time afterward Marie-Thérèse was dead and she, Jeanne, was a whore.

  “I am going to make you beautiful,” she said fiercely.

  The expression in Fenella’s eyes battered at her heart. The girl was staring at her reflection with a desperate hope. Blinking back tears, Jane set to work.

  “Voilà,” she said, finally. “What do you think? Do you not look pretty?”

  “I look better,” Fenella said slowly, “but still not pretty.”

  “That’s because you do not smile, chérie. Everyone looks pretty when they are happy.” She gave her most dazzling smile, contrasting with her companion’s mulish frown. “And everyone loves a smiling face. A happy person makes others feel happy.”

  Fenella pursed her lips. “Why should I smile when I don’t want to? Why should I pretend to be happy, just to please others? They don’t deserve it.”

  Because sometimes your life depends on it. Jane thought of Mathieu Picard and his message that “Jane Grey” had the choice between pleasing him, and being turned over to the Committee of Public Safety. Jane had been all smiles with Mathieu.

  “Don’t do it for them,” she said. “Do it for yourself. If your company does not amuse you, think of something that does
and smile at that.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Quickly, think of something that makes you happy.”

  Fenella shut her eyes for a moment, then opened them, with a naughty grin that transformed her face from sulky plainness to a liveliness that made it possible to believe her a member of a very good-looking family.

  “Perfect, my love! What are you thinking of?”

  The grin turned into a sly little moue that made Jane reassess her opinion that this face would never break hearts. “It is for myself, not you.”

  “You are an abominable child to throw my words back at me,” Jane complained, patting the top of Fenella’s head.

  “Careful of my hair!”

  “Only if you tell me what you smile at.”

  Fenella’s eyes narrowed. The child didn’t trust easily. “Do I have to tell you?”

  “I would like to know what you are thinking because I like you. I always want to know what my friends think, especially if it’s something agreeable. But not unless you wish to tell me.”

  Fenella’s face cleared. “So I don’t have to explain what I’m smiling at when someone asks.”

  “No. In fact a mysterious smile can make people wild with curiosity to know what you are thinking. Let’s practice thinking wonderful secret thoughts.”

  Side by side, they put their elbows on the dressing table, cupped their cheeks, and gazed into the mirror. Jane half lowered her eyelids and thought secret thoughts until she almost forgot her companion. Her mouth formed a half smile and her breath shortened. Tomorrow night she would see the Duke of Denford for the first time in a week. His absence had done nothing to dim the memory of their kiss, or make her less anxious for its repetition. While busy with the children she could put him out of her mind. But in bed at night, without distraction, the thought of him drove her wild.

  Denford must surely return home today, and tonight he would want a report on the progress of his sisters. Or he would pretend to. Naturally it was to the benefit of her charges to make sure their brother knew what they were doing, whether he wanted to or not. He needed to hear what amiable girls they were and learn to appreciate them. Family was important, and in the absence of that neglectful mother, Denford and his sisters only had one another. Spending time with the duke was merely doing her duty. There was no reason for any kissing, none at all, unless . . .

  “Ooh, Miss Grey! Whatever are you thinking? It must be lovely.”

  Jane emerged reluctantly from her trance. “It is, chérie. And what about you? You look very enigmatic. No one would ever guess what you were thinking.”

  “I know! It will drive my sisters mad.” Fenella wriggled gleefully. “What were you thinking, Miss Grey?”

  Jane smiled mysteriously. “That’s my secret.” It was quite impossible to tell Fenella she’d been thinking about doing dark deeds with the girl’s brother.

  Julian made no effort to find the schedule of the reopening packet boats across the Channel; he preferred to bring the Falleron collection from Belgium by less public means. He was acquainted with a sea captain based near Folkstone who had carried both his person and his goods before, in peacetime and in war.

  Inclement spring weather kept him cooling his heels in a Folkstone inn for several days, awaiting the return of the captain and his sloop to port. They made arrangements according to the moon and tide tables, and haggled over the cost of a complicated run that involved waiting an unpredictable length of time off the coast of the Netherlands, and possible interference from French soldiery, peace or no peace. As a result Julian swayed into Fortescue House in the early afternoon, saddle-sore and still bleary from a late night of sealing the deal with smuggled brandy.

  “Send up hot water for a bath,” he told the butler. “I’ll be dining at home.”

  “I am aware, Your Grace. Before the theater.”

  He closed his eyes. That was today?

  “He’s here! He’s here!”

  God in heaven, why did girls have to have such piercing voices? Laura tore down the stairs and flung her arms around his waist. “I knew you’d come back in time, even if Fenella said you’d forgotten.”

  Fenella was no fool.

  Looking down at the top of the little girl’s head leaning against his midriff, he noted that her hair had been teased into ringlets and threaded with red satin ribbon. He patted her back awkwardly. But she was small and soft and sweet-smelling and pleased to see him, and he wasn’t used to being greeted with enthusiasm coming home from a journey. His hand stilled and he felt her childish warmth.

  She drew back and grinned up at him, a big, happy smile so like his mother’s.

  “You’re looking very fine, Miss Laura,” he said. “Are you going somewhere?”

  “You know I am!”

  “No, I didn’t know. Tell me.”

  Her forehead creased. “The theater, remember?”

  “You’re going to the theater?”

  “Your Grace, stop teasing.” Jane Grey descended the stairs. How did she manage to look like a grand duchess, clad in her plain gown? Like Laura, she seemed pleased to see him. He hoped it was for reasons beyond relief that the theater expedition would not have to be canceled; he’d like to think she’d been anticipating his return for more personal reasons. The sight of her raised his spirits and dissipated his fatigue.

  “Of course your brother hasn’t forgotten, Laura, even if he is close to tardy. You will have to hurry, Your Grace, if you are to dress and dine and reach Drury Lane by seven o’clock.”

  “Does she speak to you like that?” he asked Laura.

  She giggled. “Of course she does. She’s our governess.”

  “I suppose she’s my governess too. She’s masterly enough.”

  “You’re too old to need a governess,” Laura said, vastly entertained.

  “What a pity. Miss Grey, Laura says I don’t need a governess. In that case I think you should greet me in the same delightful way that she did.”

  Jane had reached the bottom of the stairs and stood with her hands on her hips and an air of amused tolerance at his nonsense, a hint of warmth in her smile. This was not a woman disconcerted by the presence of the man with whom she had, the last time they met, exchanged a shattering kiss. Instead she looked stern. “And how was that?”

  “I embraced him, Miss Grey,” Laura said. “Do you think I should have, since he is a gentleman?”

  “It is completely suitable for a sister to greet a brother with pleasure.”

  “I wasn’t sure. My papa never embraced us, but perhaps it is different with brothers.”

  “It should be different with fathers too,” Julian said. As he knew, Osbourne had believed in the proverb “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” The idea of a cane to the back of this little creature rekindled the anger against his stepfather that these days mostly lay dormant. Laura looked alarmed at his angry tone, the last thing he wanted. He resumed his teasing voice. “I always enjoy it when ladies hug me,” he said with a wink at Laura and a side glance at Jane that he hoped wasn’t too smoldering considering the company.

  “At what time shall we be ready for the carriage, Your Grace?” Jane asked pointedly.

  The notion of postponing tonight’s treat was abandoned. He wouldn’t risk the displeasure of the governess, and surprisingly he didn’t want to disappoint Laura either. “I will order it for six. Can you all be ready to dine with me at five?”

  Laura gasped. “Dine with you? Downstairs? Like a grown-up?”

  “I believe the occasion merits the dining room. See to it, please,” he told the hovering butler. “Now I had better bathe or I won’t be fit to be seen in such magnificent company.”

  They hadn’t used the huge dining room in all the time he’d lived at Fortescue House. Leaving the practicalities of preparing the room for a meal in under two hours to his staff, he climbed into a tub and let hot water melt away his aches and dispel the fumes of overindulgence from his brain. The position of the tub gave him an
excellent view of the door into the duchess’s chamber.

  Jane’s chamber.

  Why did he find Jane Grey so alluring? He’d like to bed her, of course, but that was not unusual. The depth of his fascination could not be ascribed to sensual desire alone, or even to a tendre for a charming and intelligent woman. An air of mystery was part of it. He didn’t know much about her, and some of what she’d told him of her history seemed invented. He was curious about the facts of her past, yes. But he also wanted to understand her. Accustomed as he was to alarming people, he knew that Jane Grey, an employee, wasn’t the least bit intimidated. He’d wager it had taken her less than five minutes to see through the affectations he’d cultivated as a young man and which had become second nature to him. She understood him thoroughly.

  He suspected he’d never learn what went on behind the smiles and frowns unless she wanted him to. She struck him as a woman who exercised an unusual degree of control over herself and the world’s perception of her. Breaking through that control and discovering the woman beneath would be an ambition worth achieving.

  As he dressed for dinner he thought about varying his unrelieved black with something surprising, a red waistcoat perhaps. But Jane would merely smile her particular knowing smile to tell him she saw what he was up to and she was not surprised.

  At the appointed hour he was ready in the hall. Maria led the procession down the curving staircase, followed shortly afterward by Fenella. Their new gowns in pale colors were appropriate to their age and station, as were their coiffures. As usual, Jane Grey had proven a worthy governess. Maria, the beauty, bore herself with the natural confidence of one who had never failed to please. But even Fenella looked pretty this evening with none of her habitual sulkiness. Laura brought up the rear, stepping carefully with a hand on the banister, her head held high and her eyes shining with excitement.

  Julian bowed deeply. “Ladies. Your beauty renders me speechless.”

  Laura giggled; Maria greeted the compliment with a graceful curtsey and a murmured thank-you; Fenella merely tilted her head in exactly the way her governess did and smiled faintly.