Page 32 of A Duke Never Tells

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

JAMES CLAY

“What are you doing out here?”

At James’s query, Mabel jumped, straightening from her crouch by the garden gate. “I was only curious,” she stated, smoothing the front of her gown.

A pretty, simple yellow it was, the one she’d worn the day they’d met, as he recalled, when his first thought was that she would have made an attractive addition to his bed. Now he wanted her to be a permanent part of his life. “You were spying.”

“Well, you frightened the daylights out of me.”

“If you don’t wish to be flushed out of hiding like a pheasant, don’t creep about in the shrubbery.” He held out his hand, stilling his breath until she gripped her fingers around his, then fighting the desire to shut his eyes at the warmth and closeness of her. “With your ankle as it is, I have no idea how you made it this close to the jungle, anyway.”

“Determination, and Lady Sophronia’s parasol.” She dug the tip of it into the ground to demonstrate. “Let me see the garden, James.”

He shook his head. “I will not. It’s nearly ready, but there’s still a bit more to do. Tomorrow.”

Mabel made the face that wrinkled her nose and always caused him to want to kiss her. He would have to tell her the truth, he realized. He would have to tell her that he wasn’t a butler or an illegitimate son, but that he was the Duke of Earnhurst and he loved her.

Whether that would make any difference to anything he had no idea, but at least he’d slept slightly better over the past two nights since he’d sent off the letter informing Lord Brundon that he would not be marrying Lady Margaret Pinwell. He’d invited scandal and controversy and possible ruin to his doorstep, but evidently when a rake fell in love, he completely lost his mind. And in this instance, with this rake, he was in no hurry to go and find it again.

“I don’t want to keep you from your task,” she said, though she didn’t let go of his hand. “I suppose I shall go languish in the library among the books.”

“How long have you been on your feet?”

“I laid down in the morning room for twenty minutes, so only five minutes or so. Hannah and Timothy and Lady Sophronia helped me hop downstairs.”

“That leaves us twenty-five minutes. I propose a walk to the bakery. Through the meadow.”

“What if it takes longer than twenty-five minutes?”

“Then I suppose I shall have to carry you back. Or hire a hay wagon.”

“Oh, if you hire a hay wagon we can purchase more biscuits, since neither of us will have to carry them.”

He didn’t know when it had happened, but somewhere over the past eight days, Earnhurst Castle, the village of Remiton, and all his surrounds had gone from a place he wanted nothing more than to avoid, to a… haven. A fairy tale of a place, where his old, fond memories were more real than anything that might have happened in between then and now, where he could hold hands with a ser vant and walk with her through a meadow and no one gave them a second look.

“Would you want to remain here, if you could?” he asked aloud.

“I have to go to London, with Lady Sophronia. For the Season.”

“If you could, though. I know Earnhurst has leaks and sags and mildew, but in a world where you could be or do anything, would you want to be here?”

“Oh, my,” she murmured, so quietly he almost didn’t hear her.

Was he being unfair? Asking a servant a question about a hypothetical dream that could never, within her reality, come true? “You don’t have to answer that,” he said after a moment of silence.

“In a world where I could be or do anything,” she said anyway, surprising him yet again, “I wouldn’t care about Earnhurst Castle. I would, however, like to be somewhere with you. Is that too na?ve?”

“No. Not for a daydream.”

Limping a little, she leaned into his shoulder. “I like daydreams.”

“I’ve grown fond of them myself over the past few days.” If they kept chatting like this, though, he was going to begin humming or singing, and that could well send her fleeing. “You’re a good match for the duke, with that limp.”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Very well. What do we discuss? Or do we tromp in wounded silence?”

“Injured silence, if you please.” She grinned. “I had meant to ask you, if you’re going to attempt Society, do you know how to dance?”

“You think any sensible woman would want to dance with the likes of me?” He sent her a sideways glance. Until he’d inherited a dukedom, the answer to that question had very nearly been “no.” He’d antagonized enough people that most ladies of good reputation shrank from being seen in his company. Evidently a dukedom made up for all sorts of unsavory rumors and behavior. Of course, at that point he’d also been shoved into full mourning, so dancing had been out of the question. In fact, he hadn’t danced with any woman in just over a year.

“I’ve been to Vauxhall on occasion,” he improvised. “They demonstrate all the latest dances there. With women and everything. So I’ve seen them all.”

“Ah. Do you think you could manage a waltz?”

He looked around them, at the meadow and the fields beyond, and the cows just up the hill. “Here? With the cows watching? And Dr. Grimsby said no dancing.”

“I doubt this will qualify.” Pulling her fingers from his, she faced him, putting a hand on each of his shoulders so they were square to each other. “The cows are a very sympathetic audience because they’re French, and the French like to dance. As for you, watching is different than doing, and I shall help you do a waltz.”

James let her put his hands where they were supposed to be, one on her waist and the other around hers, while she put her free hand on his shoulder. “Now what?”

“You have to lead, so I take a step backward like so, and you match me with a step forward. Come on, do it before I tip over.”

Since she was looking down at their feet to instruct him, that left him free to gaze at her face. She was amused, and happy, and he had no idea how he would ever tell her goodbye. In fact, he didn’t even want to contemplate that any longer. He wanted an assurance that she wasn’t going anywhere. If they had to remain at Earnhurst to keep her from slights and insults and ridicule, then so be it. It was thanks to her that he’d begun to enjoy the old place again, anyway. In fact, he didn’t really want to be there—or anywhere—without her.

“Marry me,” he said.

Mabel stopped so quickly that he stepped on her toe. Trying to keep his weight off her injured foot he lost his balance, and both of them went down into the daisies again.

“Damnation,” she cursed, sitting up.

“Are you hurt?” Idiot. He remembered quite clearly that he’d once been suave and graceful. With her he’d become a cow-footed sapskull.

“I’m fine. I just never had any idea I would become so proficient at falling down.”

That made him smile despite the thundering in his chest, which had been empty before he’d met her. “You do it well, though.”

“Thank you for that.” Finally, she stopped picking at the leaves and twigs in her hair and plopped her hands into her lap. “James, I—”

“Before you answer,” he interrupted, “I need to tell you something.”

“I need to tell you something. And you must not try to stop me, and you must promise not to run away until I’m finished.”

“You think I’ll run?” James went up onto his hands and knees and kissed her, slow and deep. “I’m not afraid of you.”

She kissed him back. “Not yet, perhaps.”

That sounded serious. But then, she meant to tell him either that she wasn’t a lady’s companion but a friend and a lady, or that she was a lady’s companion with the much more palatable name of Clara, but the lady whom she served wasn’t who he was supposed to believe she was. “I won’t stop you, and I won’t run away, but then you have to promise me the same.”

She put a cool palm against his cheek. “I think you’re getting ahead of yourself, but very well. I promise.” Mabel took a deep breath. “The reason we c—”

A shot rang out, oddly muffled. Starting, James turned toward the house. A great black horse stood on the front drive, saddled but riderless. He knew horses, and he’d seen that horse before, when Jasper Burshin had hand delivered his blackmail request. Jasper Burshin. “Wait here,” he said, shoving to his feet, and sprinted for the front door.

He’d left the decision about what to do with Burshin’s request up to Elliott. Hell, he’d neglected to even report the theft of the servants’ wages to the constabulary, mostly because both the act and his nonchalance about it had angered Riniken. But he knew Elliott had decided not to hand over any additional funds to the damned thief.

And now… He didn’t even want to think about it. The front door stood open and unattended, a sight that would shame any decent butler. James already knew himself to be an awful butler, but he’d neglected his post and now someone was in the house. And someone had fired a weapon.

Heading down the hallway, he ran for the study. The door was closed. He pushed the handle, but it didn’t give. Locked. Without pause he backed up, twisted sideways, and slammed his shoulder into it with all his strength. The frame splintered as the lock broke.

As he stumbled into the study his right foot kicked a pistol, and the scent of gunpowder hit him, sharp and pungent. The tall, broad-faced man who’d delivered that damned letter the other day jumped backward, a second gun in his left hand and aimed behind the desk.

“Stop, you!” Burshin shouted. “The first shot was a warning. This time I’ll put a hole right through Mr. Riniken.”

“Are you injured?” James asked, glancing sideways at Elliott, standing behind the desk with his hands well away from his sides.

“No. His warning shot only murdered the wall. Either that or Mr. Burshin has very poor aim.”

“That’s soldiers for you,” James said, returning his attention to the man with the pistol. “Nothing short of an elephant stampede even makes them flinch. Why don’t you put that down, and the three of us will have a chat?”

“I tried chatting. And I’m not here to discuss anything with a bloody butler.” He sent James a contemptuous look that took in his plain black and green livery, his missing cravat, and probably the leaves still in his hair.

“I can manage this, James,” Elliott said, his gaze on the armed banker. “Why don’t you go see to the ladies?”

“Yes, that’s a good idea, James,” Burshin mimicked. “Go see to the ladies. Mr. Riniken and I have some business to discuss.”

Elliott wanted him out of danger, which made sense. The banker simply wanted one less person about since he only had one shot left, but the business manager was, first and foremost, a soldier. A man who’d saved the life of the former Duke of Earnhurst, and one who would without hesitation take another bullet for the new duke. For him.

“I think I’ll remain here,” James said. “You, however, need to leave, Mr. Burshin.”

“Ah, so you’ve been gossiping about me to the help, have you, Riniken? Shameful, but it doesn’t change anything. I have a ledger that will prove the old duke stole from the treasury. From the Crown. You’ll be lucky if that information doesn’t get the new duke hanged, wherever he might be. If you want me to burn that ledger, you will give me ten thousand pounds. Now.”

“Even if I were inclined to do so, I don’t have ten thousand pounds lying about.”

“Of course you do. I see all the work going on here. You’re paying for it somehow.”

“I am being billed for it,” Elliott amended calmly. “I do not pay in cash.”

“Then give me a bank note.”

“No.”

“No? If you don’t, I will shoot you and take myself down to London to see the new duke and make him the same offer.”

“The new duke doesn’t give a damn about Earnhurst,” Elliott stated, his voice level. “And he certainly doesn’t care about me.”

James looked from one man to the other. He’d carried the title of Marquis of Duffy about since birth. Like a great many of his peers, he knew how to use his title, his power, like a weapon. Generally, he chose not to do so. He certainly hadn’t used his new title yet. Not here. Not anywhere.

But it struck him like a blow to the chest that two weeks ago everything Elliott Riniken had just said would have been true. And it was highly likely that someone who appeared at his door with scandalous material about the old duke would have been put back out into the street on his arse, because James wouldn’t care if the duke’s reputation was damaged. He wouldn’t have cared if Earnhurst Castle burned to the ground.

That had been before he’d arrived here, though, and before he’d met Mabel Gooster or Clara or whatever her name was. It was before he’d begun to remember just how much joy he’d once found on these grounds, and before he’d realized that he looked forward to making the castle into a home where he would be comfortable and happy. Before he’d realized that he and Elliott Riniken could actually become friends.

“I beg your damned pardon, Elliott,” he snapped, unbuttoning his idiotic green waistcoat button by button, “but you are in error. And you, Jasper Burshin, are going to put down that bloody pistol before I grab that sword off the wall and run you through with it. Is that clear?”

The gun swung toward him. “And who the devil do you think y—”

“Me? I am James Arthur Clay, the sixth Duke of Earnhurst,” he said, shedding his coat and the waistcoat and dropping them to the floor. “You are threatening my man of business. You will cease.”

“If you think I’ll believe th—”

“I am not finished speaking,” James broke in again. “You stole from me, and more importantly, from my staff. That was intolerable enough.” He began rolling up his shirtsleeves to the elbow. “And now your tiny, idiotic mind has decided you deserve more of my money? Did you think you were clever to come here squawking like an egg-bound hen and threaten my employee? My friend? You were a nuisance previously. A gnat. Now you have my attention. Put. The. Pistol. Down. ”

Silence. And then the weapon clattered to the floor. James kicked it beneath the desk, and Elliott bent down. When he straightened, he had the weapon in his hand. James noted that out of the corner of his eye, most of his attention on the banker.

“Get out,” Elliott stated, his own grip much steadier on the weapon than Burshin’s had been.

“Not so fast,” James countered. “Sit down, thief. Elliott, send for the constable. You’re going to jail, Mr. Burshin. And as you owe me at least two thousand quid in addition to the robbery and murder you just threatened, I’ll be taking that horse of yours.”

“No! That’s my—”

Coiling his fist, James hit Burshin in the jaw. With a grunt the younger man collapsed into the chair behind him. “I told you to sit down.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” a female voice came from behind him.

He spun around to see Lady Sophronia holding a pistol in both her hands. She lowered it, pulling the flint from the end of the hammer so the gun wouldn’t fire. A capable woman, indeed.

“Sophie!” Elliott exclaimed, striding around the desk. “You might have been injured!”

She turned her gaze to Elliott. “Keep your distance, sir.”

“What’s… what…” Just beyond her shoulder, Mabel stood, her eyes wide, her face gray, and her gaze on James.

Asking how much they’d heard would have been useless, since clearly they’d heard enough. “Elliott, keep an eye on him,” James ordered, and strode past the ladies. “Timothy! Randall! Fetch some rope and send Robert for the constable!”

“Is it safe?” Timothy called from the depths of the house.

“Yes, it’s safe.” Relatively speaking, anyway.

“Coach on the drive,” Randall’s voice came.

“Well, the front door’s open; they can let themselves in. I’m occupied.”

He shut his eyes for just a moment, then turned to face Mabel again. “I tried to tell you in the meadow,” he said. “And I believe you’ve been keeping a few things from me, Cl—”

A new female voice echoed up the hallway. “No, I will not wait! Meg! Clara! Come here at once!”

Mabel’s hands went to her mouth, and her gray complexion drained even more. “Mama?” she whispered. With a last, searing glance at him, she turned and ran for the door.