Page 14 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

A s Jon overheard the last exchange between Scovell and Tory, he groaned. Damn it all to hell. He should have warned his friends about how much he’d told her and prepared them for Tory’s inquisitive nature. But they wouldn’t have understood his reticence to discuss the escape. They didn’t view the events quite as he did.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything about it at the moment, for they were entering the box to find Mother’s guests, the Grenwoods, already there.

Over the next few minutes, introductions were made all around. The Duke of Grenwood’s size rather surprised Jon. The man wasn’t only tall but beefy, uncommon for any other duke Jon had met. The Duchess of Grenwood was not much shorter than her husband, with a flaming head of hair and a smile nearly as kind as Tory’s. It only took a few moments of pleasantries for Jon to realize they were every bit as amiable as his sister had said.

Grenwood’s wife had already become friendly enough in the past with Jon’s mother, sister, and Tory that they called her Diana. Within moments, the four women were situated in a corner, discussing a sketch Diana had brought to show them, leaving the gentlemen to their own devices.

Grenwood approached Jon and his friends with a jovial smile. “My wife tells me you three are some of Napoleon’s prisoners lately come from France.”

“Civilian prisoners,” Jon said. “Well, except for Scovell. As a naval officer, he was a prisoner of war.”

“I have two brothers-in-law who fought in the war, both in the army,” Grenwood told Scovell. “I should introduce you sometime. You probably have a lot in common.”

“If a hatred of Boney counts,” Scovell said, “then yes, we do.”

Jon nodded. “We all have that in common, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sure you’re happy to hear he’s ensconced on Elba,” Grenwood said.

“Delighted beyond words,” Heathbrook said. “If I never hear Napoleon’s name spoken again, it will be too soon.”

They continued chatting about the end of the war until the musicians entered and began tuning their instruments. Even though everyone knew that signaled another fifteen minutes before the play would begin, his mother rose to gather her guests like ducklings whom she expected to follow her lead.

Jon had to admit his mother had become rather domineering since his father’s death. He found it amusing, although more times than not he resisted her machinations. But tonight he was content to sit where she’d placed him—in the box’s second row between her and Grenwood. Jon had several questions about running a dukedom for the man.

Unfortunately, that meant his mother paired Chloe and Tory with Heathbrook and Scovell. Like turtledoves, the two couples were to sit in the front row of seats. That was as things should be, Jon told himself. Though he heartily wished Chloe wasn’t with the earl, he did agree that Tory ought to be with other unmarried men, no matter how much he wished it otherwise.

The two duchesses rose and left to find a retiring room before the play started, but Chloe and Tory stayed with the gentlemen, and the sight of Tory seated next to Scovell rubbed Jon raw. Not that Scovell would be a bad choice for a husband—she’d never find a more loyal, caring gentleman than him, but every time he tried to imagine her in Scovell’s arms, a fierce desire to snatch her away overtook him.

As if she read his mind, she shot him a furtive look, which he pretended to ignore. Then she turned to Scovell. “So, tell me about this escape you were all punished for. Why were you not successful?”

Jon stiffened at the question. She had a right to know, of course, but it would only provoke more questions, he was sure.

Scovell settled back in his seat. “Someone learned of our plans—we don’t know who—and told the commandant of Verdun, whose gendarmes intercepted us in the attempt. He marched us off to Bitche for it.”

“But surely they expected you to attempt such escapes,” Tory said heatedly.

“They did indeed,” Heathbrook said. “There had been so many successful escapes before our attempt that Napoleon had decreed that any British officer trying to escape the camps was to be court-martialed and shot by firing squad.”

The two young ladies gasped. “And yet you risked such a thing?” Tory cried, glancing back at Jon again.

“Napoleon later rescinded the proclamation,” Jon said, “but at the time we feared he might shoot détenus as well. We just didn’t care. We’d been there eight years with no end in sight. From everything we’d heard, Napoleon was winning the war, and we didn’t know if we’d be there another eight years or more. We were watching our youth melt away while we did nothing of value except exist.”

“Not to mention that my father, who was in Verdun with us, had just died shortly after reading in a smuggled English newspaper about Mother’s death in England,” Heathbrook added. “So, I had nothing keeping me in France, and I knew he would want me to go back and make sure my younger brothers were doing all right under the rule of my cousin, who’d taken over running the estate in Mother’s stead.”

“And were they?” Tory asked.

Heathbrook shrugged. “They will be. My cousin packed them off to school, so at least they had limited exposure to the bastard.”

“Lord Heathbrook, you may wish to watch your language,” Tory chided him, with a glance at Chloe. “There is a young lady present.”

“Two of them, to be precise,” Jon quipped. When Tory raised an eyebrow at him, he said, “At least now you know I’m not the only one who picked up some bad habits in France.”

She merely shook her head.

“I beg your pardon, Miss Morris,” Heathbrook said. “The duke is right. We’re all having to get used to being proper gentlemen again. Anyway, the main reason we wanted to escape was we wished to go home. We missed our families awfully.”

“Of course, you did!” Chloe cried, looking indignant on their behalf. “Who wouldn’t?”

Scovell snorted. “Well, some of us were reluctant to try it after a friend who was supposed to accompany us was packed off to another dungeon for a transgression two weeks before our escape, where he quite possibly died. Not to mention, a group attempting to escape Bitche was slashed to pieces by—”

“Enough, Scovell,” Jon said. “Such gory tales are not for our fair young ladies, either.” And he didn’t want Tory learning that her father was the chief one to hesitate, with good reason it turned out.

Tory drew herself up, clearly irate. “On the contrary, sir, hearing these things helps us all understand what our men went through in their efforts to get home.”

“No, no,” Scovell said, “the duke is right. After so long living among the coarsest of men, we sometimes forget where we are now.”

“And we did come to the play to be entertained, Miss Morris, not to talk about our past in France.” Jon realized how harsh his rebuke sounded when a shocked silence descended over both Chloe and Tory.

“Forgive me, ladies,” he added hastily. “I seem to have lost the knack of polite conversation myself. I’m just sick to death of talking about what happened in Verdun and Bitche. But I realize it is selfish of me to deny you answers to your questions.” More selfish than they could possibly know.

“Oh, Jon,” Chloe said, instantly softening. “I understand what you mean. Well, I don’t understand it entirely , because I couldn’t possibly without having gone through what you have, but I do want you to enjoy yourself tonight.” She met Tory’s gaze. “I want all of us to enjoy ourselves, and I know Tory feels the same.”

Tory stared directly into his eyes. “I do,” she said softly. “But I also feel that just as the pain of lancing an infected wound often leads to healing, talking about what is giving us pain can do the same.”

He had no reply for that. How could he? His wound was so long and deep that he feared lancing it would cause him to bleed to death. “I’m sure you’re right, Miss Morris. But if we could please put off the lancing until such time as I have brought sufficient bandages. . .”

That startled a laugh out of everyone except Tory. She merely flashed him a pitying smile. “Of course.”

It was her pity that slayed him. What would she say if she learned he didn’t deserve it?

He hoped she never did. Or not yet, anyway. He would rather bask in her soft smiles and gentle sympathies a while longer. How selfish was that ?

As if by general consent, his companions began talking of other things. Tory and Scovell were speaking more intimately—which made him grit his teeth—but Heathbrook and Chloe made no attempt to hide their conversation.

“How often do you and Miss Morris come to the theater with your mother?” Heathbrook asked Chloe.

“As often as we can. But Tory doesn’t usually come. Mama said it wasn’t appropriate for my governess to attend the theater with us.”

Jon bristled. Tory and Chloe were friends now, more than anything. He couldn’t believe his mother would get in the way of that.

Chloe went on, “I think she was worried I wouldn’t talk to the right gentlemen if Tory was with me.”

Ah, yes, Jon did remember that conversation with his mother.

“But Miss Morris is here tonight,” Heathbrook said, glancing over to where Tory was talking to Scovell.

“Yes, well, things have changed. Mama is presenting her in Society now. Her father left her a nice dowry, so Mama is making sure she has the right gowns and introductions and everything.”

Jon stifled a groan when Heathbrook’s questioning gaze shot to him. Damn Chloe’s big mouth. Now he would have to deal with his friends’ questions. They knew perfectly well that Morris’s money had been gone by the time he died.

Fortunately, the play began then, his mother and the Duchess of Grenwood entered, and things quieted for a while, giving him the chance to think up a plausible story in case they did ask him about the dowry. By the time the break between acts came, Heathbrook and Scovell obviously felt comfortable enough with their companions to entertain the ladies with witticisms that brought forth Tory’s musical laugh more than once.

Jon couldn’t stand it anymore, so he engaged Grenwood in conversation to find out exactly how the duke handled his estates. They didn’t have long to talk, however, so Grenwood invited him to go riding in a few days, and Jon agreed.

Then Act Two began. It was fine at first, until Scene Two opened and Jon realized that this act, although still a satire full of humor, took place mostly in a prison, complete with fake bars and fake guards. He glanced over at his mother to find her gazing at him in horror.

“Oh, Jon,” she whispered, “I had no idea that this was . . . We can leave if you wish.”

“No need for that, Mother.”

“But it’s about a prison !” she hissed.

“Yes, I realize that,” he said, a wild laugh bubbling up inside him. Only his mother could choose a play about the one thing he’d been trying to escape for the past decade.

He looked at Heathbrook, only to realize that the same conversation was going on between his friends and the ladies.

The earl rolled his eyes at Jon, but Scovell leaned back to whisper, “Did you know?”

“Not a clue,” Jon said with a shrug. “None of us had ever seen it.”

“I had,” Grenwood said beside him. “In Newcastle. I did think it odd under the circumstances that your mother would choose that play, of all things.”

“I didn’t know , ” his mother leaned forward to whisper to Grenwood. “I thought it was a nonsensical farce about beggars writing an opera, not criminals cavorting in a prison. If I’d had any idea—”

“Trust me, it’s not a problem, Mother.” Jon patted her hand. “This pretend prison bears no resemblance to our real one, anyway. There was no cavorting and certainly little singing, humorous or otherwise.”

“He’s right,” Heathbrook said. “And Bitche had no women, either. Not to mention that the guards were just as often short and ugly as they were tall and handsome like those fellows.”

“Actors all have to be tall and handsome,” Tory said, her remorseful gaze meeting Jon’s, “or no one will come to the plays.”

“Did you know what it was about?” he bent forward to whisper. When she shook her head no, he smiled. “I guess it was a surprise for all. Except Grenwood here, who’s clearly more familiar with popular plays than the rest of us.”

“Newcastle does possess some exceptional theaters,” Grenwood said in so matter-of-fact a fashion that the rest of them laughed.

After that, the dam broke, and they mocked the play mercilessly. At one point, Jon noticed Heathbrook and Scovell talking privately. He only prayed they were discussing Chloe and not Tory’s dowry. Then Scovell went off to talk briefly to Jon’s mother, and he relaxed a little, especially after Scovell returned to chatting with Tory while Chloe and Heathbrook did the same.

When the break came between the second and the final act, Jon rose from his seat, eager to escape the flirtations between the four in front of him. “Would you ladies like some refreshments?”

To his surprise, Scovell and Grenwood stood as well, and after taking note of their companions’ requests, joined him in heading for the saloon outside the boxes, where there was not only punch and other mild beverages but wine.

As soon as they were out of hearing of the ladies, Scovell took Jon aside. “I now see why you didn’t tell us about Miss Morris. You wanted to keep such a jewel for yourself.”

“No, indeed,” Jon protested. “But Morris’s last request was that I help her find a good husband, and I didn’t think either of you were looking for wives.”

He could feel Scovell’s steady gaze on him. “So, you’re truly not interested in her for yourself?”

“I have no time for a wife at present, and she needs a husband soon.” He struggled to keep his voice even and nonchalant. “Chloe is too old to have a governess, and Tory is, as you say, a jewel. She deserves better than a life watching some other lady’s children.” Or a life serving as Chloe’s companion, where Jon could see her every day, yearn for her every day . . .

Damn. He would get past this. He would.

“If your mother is to be believed,” Scovell said, searching his face, “she’ll find a husband easily enough. Morris left her money for a dowry, I understand.”

Bloody hell. Being the strategist he was, Scovell’s tone was neutral, but Jon could practically hear the questions in the man’s mind.

Much as he hated to lie to Scovell, Jon saw no other way out of this. His friends had never understood his guilt over what had happened to Morris. They would try to talk him out of it, and he couldn’t bear it.

“He did, indeed. It was as much a surprise to me as it clearly is to you. But unbeknownst to any of us, Morris had put some money in the funds before he’d left England, and after eleven years, it had grown into quite a nest egg.”

“Five thousand pounds, your mother said.” Again, Scovell’s tone was as even as could be. “That’s an excellent return on Morris’s investment. I wonder why he couldn’t get credit on the basis of that while in France?”

Damn it, the farther Jon continued in his scheme the more he found himself floundering. His mother and sister certainly weren’t helping. But he couldn’t blame Mother—it was her job to tout Tory’s dowry. Jon had made it her job.

“Are you looking for a rich wife, Scovell?” Jon countered. “Because my sister has a nice dowry as well, though you may have to fight Heathbrook for it.”

Scovell bristled. “No need to get nasty, Falconridge. If you didn’t want to talk about Miss Morris’s supposed ‘dowry,’ all you had to say was it’s none of my affair.”

“It’s none of your affair,” Jon bit out.

“Very well. But I’d be careful, my friend. Miss Morris strikes me as quite a clever woman—”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jon muttered.

“And one day,” Scovell went on, “she might demand a reckoning of her father’s money. If she does, she may not be satisfied with some nursery tale you’ve drummed up about her father’s investments.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Jon asked, meeting Scovell’s gaze steadily.

Scovell’s look was pitying. “No. But I do suspect you’re helping Morris’s daughter in an effort to meet some ill-conceived sense of obligation you feel toward the man. And before you proceed down that path, I’m merely trying to point out it may grow rockier the farther you travel.”

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Scovell held his hand up. “But as you say, it’s none of my concern.”

Then the man walked off.

With a long sigh, Jon followed him at a slower pace. Scovell had put his finger right on the problem—the more Jon was forced to embellish his tale, the more insupportable it became. And the more he wished he could offer for Tory himself. But his reasons for not doing so hadn’t changed.

Wouldn’t he be quite the prize for any woman of quality—a duke who sometimes woke up in a cold sweat imagining he was back at Bitche, who spoke too bluntly for polite society . . . who’d failed the woman’s father, ultimately causing his death? She would be better off with anybody else. Because leading a woman’s father like a lamb to slaughter was an unpardonable sin for any suitor.

Indeed, after tonight he was thinking he should find a way out of his bargain with Tory. Every time they were alone together for sculpting lessons, he would be tempted to misbehave, and every time he came to his senses, he would regret he had done so.

Besides, he was besieged on all sides by people who needed his attention, and he had promised Mother that he’d take over managing the dukedom. He wanted to do so.

Now that he’d established a way to move among his fellow détenus in England without rousing suspicions, he wanted to be free to do that where he could. Since Mother and Chloe had made it clear to several people that Tory was being presented in society, Tory wouldn’t dare refuse to do her part of their bargain, or his mother would get to the bottom of it.

Jon winced. All right, so he was taking the coward’s way out, but he saw no other way to keep from touching her, kissing her, or worst of all, telling her everything she wished to know about what her father had suffered leading up to his death, thus ensuring that she hated him anyway.

He didn’t want her hating him. Nor did he want her thinking there was a future for them, and then finding out the full truth about the escape and hating him. If he bowed out of his part of the bargain for a while, she’d be disappointed he wasn’t doing as he’d promised, but that wasn’t the same as hating him. She could get over that.

He could endure that.

Very well, he would tell her tonight, draw her aside once they arrived home, while his mother and sister were still about, keeping an eye on them. He wouldn’t be able to misbehave under those circumstances.

And if sometimes he lay in bed at night dreaming of her, well, whom did that hurt? At least he wasn’t trampling over Morris’s memory by seducing his daughter. That was the important thing.