Page 26 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

T ory sat in the parlor sewing a new shirt for Cyril. A week home had given her time to catch up on undone tasks. She’d kept Mrs. Gully on so the woman could still watch Cyril while Tory looked for work in an artistic field.

After having little success, Tory had been told by Mr. Beasley of a post for a colorist at the printmaker’s where he now worked. She’d applied and was hired on the spot. It didn’t pay all that well, but it would keep her and Cyril fed at least, and the hundred pounds Papa had left in his will for her and Mama would enable them to pay a year’s rent in one of the lower-cost areas of town.

Chloe kept begging her to come back and just serve as her companion, which sorely tempted Tory. Despite the difference in their ages, Chloe had been the closest thing to a sister Tory had ever had.

But the idea of seeing Jon every day while staying resolved not to marry him was daunting. She missed him too much. If she worked at Falcon House, it wouldn’t be long before she ended up in his bed, and things would just go downhill from there.

Had she made a huge mistake in turning down his offer of marriage? Some people made marriages without love work, didn’t they? Of course, those people generally had a mutual lack of love for each other. When one was in love and the other wasn’t, the one in love would suffer. She just couldn’t bear that in the vain hope that Jon would one day wake up and decide to love her.

Marriage was hard enough even with love. Look at Mrs. Gully, who struggled to endure Mr. Gully’s mother. Jon’s mother had watched her own son sent away by his father and then kept in exile for years, a situation that had strained their marriage. Even Mr. Beasley, who adored his plump little wife, fought with her over their oldest son’s prospects. There were always things to test a marriage. A lack of love could only test it to its limits.

She put the last stitch in Cyril’s shirt, then stood to shake it out. “Cyril!” she called, “Come try this on!”

The door to the parlor opened, and Cyril came in, tugging a man by the hand. “Sissy, look who I found outside! Your friend!”

Jon.

Tory’s heart did a little flip, and her stomach joined it. All she could do was look at him, taking note of his serious expression, his pale complexion, and the way his clothes hung a little more loosely on him again.

“Are you . . . well?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Is it that obvious that I’m not?” he said with a faint smile.

“I just . . . it merely seems as if . . .”

Unwittingly, Cyril piped up to save her. “He brought a lady, too! She’s really pretty.”

“Giselle Bernard,” Jon explained hastily. “She wanted to talk to you, so I agreed to bring her here. She has some letters and a journal that your father gave to her for you.” He nodded his head toward the door. “She’s waiting out in the kitchen. But if you don’t want to see her, I’ll just—”

“No, I would like to meet her.” She had to see this woman Jon kept painting as a Delilah who seduced Papa.

“Can I go fetch her, Sissy?” Cyril asked.

“If my ‘friend’ doesn’t mind,” she said with a glance at Jon.

“I don’t mind a bit,” he said in the rumbling voice that always set her blood on fire. “Cyril, why don’t you go get her while I speak to your sister a moment?”

“Yay!” Cyril said merrily, and ran out the door.

“Before she comes,” Jon said, “I just wanted to tell you that you were right. There was nothing between her and your father.”

“She told you that?” Tory asked, her heart pounding.

“No. She has told me nothing beyond the fact that he left letters and a journal with her to give to your family.” He stepped closer. “I merely realized that in my heart I did trust you, not only in this, but in everything.”

Her own heart was soaring, though she had so many questions. “Jon—”

“Here she is, Sissy!” Cyril announced, tugging “the lady” into the room.

Cursing her little brother’s tendency to rush everywhere, Tory scanned Giselle Bernard critically. Jon hadn’t lied about the Frenchwoman’s looks. She was gorgeous, like a younger version of Jon’s own mother, who was also tall, elegant, and had once been brunette.

As Jon performed the introductions, Mademoiselle Bernard kept giving Cyril furtive glances. “Little Cyril is Monsieur Morris’s son, non ?” she asked.

Tory nodded. “My mother bore him nine months after Papa left.” The woman certainly had an odd interest in Cyril for someone who was just a friend of Papa’s. It made Tory a trifle nervous.

“Cyril, dear,” Tory said, “I finished your new shirt. Please take it to Mrs. Gully and ask her to try it on you to make sure it fits. Then tell her I said to give you a big slice of that apple cake she made this morning. Judging from the delicious smell, it should be coming out of the oven any minute. You can have it with some milk.”

Cyril looked uncertain as Tory handed him the shirt. “I can’t stay here with your friend and the pretty lady?”

“You can come back as soon as you’re finished eating and trying on the shirt,” Tory said.

That perked him up and he went running out, trailing the shirt behind him. Jon swiftly closed the door. “Mademoiselle? You may wish to have a seat and get right to business. Knowing young lads, I suspect Cyril won’t be gone all that long.”

Tory walked over to the sofa and waited for her guest to sit.

The woman looked suddenly nervous as she glanced at Jon. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I should prefer to speak to Miss Morris alone.”

“That’s all right,” Tory said. “Anything you can say to me can be said in front of His Grace.”

She shot the two of them an assessing look. “I see,” she said as she took a seat on the sofa not far from Tory. “Very well.”

“The duke said that you brought me letters and a journal of Papa’s?”

She nodded and laid them on the sofa between them. “But first I must explain. Your father asked me to do so once you and I met, but I confess it is much easier without your mother also here.”

A feeling of dread sank into her stomach. She shot Jon a look, expecting to see triumph in his expression, but what she read was chagrin. Apparently, he’d told the truth about his change in feelings concerning Papa and the mademoiselle. Tory didn’t know whether to be glad over that or disappointed in her own instincts.

“I suppose you know,” Mademoiselle Bernard went on, “that the first time your papa came to France he was young. Twenty-eight, yes?”

Tory blinked. That wasn’t the story she’d been bracing to hear. “I-I think so, oui. I know he was Lord Bragg’s bear leader then.” She caught Jon’s frown, and added, “Yes, Jon, I realize Papa wasn’t fond of the term, but that’s what he was, and you know it.”

Only after Jon smiled warmly at her did she realize she’d called him by his first name. Oh dear.

Noting Mademoiselle Bernard’s interested look, she said hastily, “But do go on, mademoiselle.”

“Monsieur Morris was a bachelor then, and Lord Bragg was rich enough to have his own rooms in Paris. So your father took a room in my grandpapa’s hotel, where he met my maman . She was young and pretty and engaged to my grandpapa’s son, but it was to be an arranged marriage, and she was unhappy about it. Thus she had—how do you say it in English? Ah yes, a love affair. An histoire d’amour. ” Mademoiselle Bernard paused and swallowed. “With your papa. Who is . . . was also my papa.”

It took a moment for that to sink in. Tory couldn’t have heard the woman correctly. Professor Isaac Morris, who’d never met a rule he didn’t like, had sired an illegitimate child? It would have been before he’d ever met Mama, but still . . .

She didn’t know how she felt about it. It just seemed so unlikely. Wait, did that mean she now had a sister ? A half sister, but still . . .

She’d always wanted a sister.

Her head was still reeling from the information when Jon groaned. “Oh, God, that makes so much more sense than my suspicions. And it explains the blue eyes.”

Mademoiselle Bernard looked at him. “Excusez-moi?”

Gathering herself together, Tory shook her head and said dryly, “His Grace is merely realizing that the ideas he’d had in his head about Papa and you were patently false.”

At first, the Frenchwoman looked confused. Then deep in thought. Then outraged. “His Grace did not think . . .” She glared at Jon. “You did not think that Monsieur Morris and I were . . . That we were . . .”

“He did.” Tory reached over to pat her new half sister’s hand. “Don’t worry, mademoiselle. I told him he was wrong.”

That softened the young woman. “You must call me Giselle, Miss Morris. We are sisters, after all. And may I call you . . . Victoria?”

“Tory,” she answered.

“Tory,” Giselle repeated. Then she laughed before gazing at Jon. “But Your Grace, I cannot believe you thought . . .” She shook her head. “Monsieur Morris was the most strict gentleman I ever met. Followed the rules always.”

“He certainly did,” Jon muttered. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Clearly Papa didn’t follow the rules with your mother,” Tory said softly to her half sister.

Giselle nodded. “But our father did offer marriage to Maman. She refused him—a poor professor, and English at that. He and Lord Bragg moved on to the next place in the grand tour. Maman married Monsieur Bernard two months later, and that was the end. I was born ‘early’ and knew no better. Until Monsieur Morris came back to Paris with his new charge—Lord Jonathan—and came to visit Maman. What a shock he had!”

“And you, too,” Tory said, a lump filling her throat.

“Yes. And Maman, although my stepfather was dead by then. Maman was trying to marry me off to a rich baker I despised, so I ran away to Verdun to find Monsieur Morris. I took a post there so we could know each other better. And you can figure out the rest.”

“Ran away, did you?” Jon drawled. “So you’re as much of a rebel as Miss Morris here.”

“Ignore him,” Tory told Giselle. “He thinks any woman who takes her own fate into her hands is a rebel.”

Giselle chuckled. “Monsieur Morris called him ‘a rebel’ a time or two in the early days at Verdun, so His Grace cannot fault us for being the same.”

Jon grimaced, making the two half sisters laugh.

“Did you never call our father Papa once you knew who he was?” Tory asked.

“Oh, no. He feared I would forget and call him such while someone else was nearby. I did not dare. I knew he did not wish to embarrass your maman. Or you.” She offered Tory a shy smile. “But he wanted to know me, too.”

“Of course he did,” Tory said, patting Giselle’s hand. “You seem perfectly lovely.”

“And you, as well. Although Monsieur Morris . . . my true papa, that is . . . said that you were.” She laid her hand on the letters. “He was clearly very fond of you and your maman .”

“He was.” Tory’s eyes misted over, though she refused to cry in front of Jon yet again. Besides, this was a happy moment. She had a sister! “Is that what is in the letters? An explanation about you and your mother?”

“I have not read them, so I do not know. I did not believe it right to intrude on his and your privacy. But I do not think the letters say who I am. I imagine he speaks of life at Verdun as so many other Englishmen have.”

The door to the parlor burst open, and Cyril ran in. “I’m wearing my shirt, Sissy! See? And I ate the apple cake.”

“Oh, good,” Tory said. “You’re just in time. There is someone I would like you to meet. This is Mademoiselle Giselle Bernard. She is your . . .”

“Friend from France,” Giselle said. “I hope to be your very close friend from France. You may call me Giselle. I knew your papa.”

Tory cast her a grateful smile. Cyril wasn’t ready to be told he had another sister, and he would never keep quiet about it, which would raise questions in the neighborhood.

Cyril clapped his hands. “I like friends. Now I have one of my own!”

“You do, indeed,” Giselle said.

Jon rose. “Mademoiselle, do you mind if I steal Miss Morris away for a few moments? I have something of great importance to tell her. I can bring Cyril back to Mrs. Gully if you wish to sit here and wait.”

Giselle looked at the two of them with clear curiosity. “No need for that. Cyril can sit here and keep me company. He can tell me all about his favorite entertainments.”

“Can I show you today’s butterfly?” Cyril asked. “I only keep one for a day. Then I let him go and get another one. They don’t like staying in the jar too long.”

“That sounds fun,” Giselle said with a smile.

Jon ruffled her brother’s hair. “Oh, and Cyril, feel free to call me Jon.”

His face lit up. “I will! Does that mean we’re friends, too, Jon?”

“Very good friends.” He leveled a heated look on Tory. “But how good will be up to your sister to decide.”

Hope sprouted in her heart, but she was still hesitant to embrace it. Not until she heard him out.

“Shall we take a walk, Miss Morris?” Jon asked.

“Certainly, Your Grace. Or perhaps you’d like to see my sculpture workroom.”

He arched an eyebrow. “The one that’s too crowded to enter?”

The reference to the night they’d shared a bed made her blush. “I-I have cleaned it up since then.”

“Then I’d be honored,” he said, offering her his arm.

They walked out into the hall and went past the entrance to the kitchen. Tory was relieved to see that Mrs. Gully was too busy to notice them.

Once they were in her workroom and she’d pulled the door enough to give them a modicum of privacy, she couldn’t resist teasing him. “You really want Cyril to call you ‘Jon,’ Your Grace?”

Jon gazed seriously into her eyes. “I thought it might be easier for him, not having to navigate the various ways to address me. After all, I’m hoping he will soon be my brother-in-law.”

She sucked in a harsh breath, determined to be honest with him, though she yearned to believe his words. “Only if things between us have changed.”

“They have, at least for me.” He took her hand in his. “I love you, Tory,” he said simply. “I was just afraid to let you into my heart. I knew that loving you would mean trusting you, and it has been a long time since I trusted anyone.”

Now hope was sending runners out to climb all over her. “I can understand you not trusting anyone in France,” she said truthfully. “Someone betrayed you, your captors abused you—sometimes on a whim—and your own government ignored your very existence. But surely you could trust your family and friends. Surely you could trust Papa.”

He snorted. “How? I was completely convinced he was engaged in an affair. If I couldn’t even trust Morris to take the moral high ground, then whom could I trust? My family? The mother who’d agreed to send me away because I’d become a trial to her and my father? Or the sister who’d grown up so much while I was gone that I scarcely knew her?”

Her heart faltered to hear how he’d seen things. “You have to know they love you.”

“I do. Now. But when I first got home, I barely had time to catch my bearings, let alone know whom to trust.” He kissed her hand. “As for my friends, I had many chances to tell them about you, about the dowry, about how badly I wanted you in my life. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I was afraid they’d urge me to take a chance on loving you, and I didn’t need them to further convince me of what I already wanted.”

He gazed down at her, his feelings hard to read. “Instead, I used my guilt over your father’s death as my shield against you. Because I was terrified that once you knew everything, you’d hate me. So I dared not get too near, like Icarus flying too close to the sun.”

A smile crossed his face. “Except I couldn’t stop myself from flying too close. Every time I saw you, I wanted only one thing—to be with you, to make you mine, and not just in my bed, but in every part of my life. You enthralled me as surely as Venus enthralled Mars, and I could not resist you.”

He drew her into his arms. “This past week has been a hell of my own making. You tore down my shield, sweetheart, that day in Hyde Park, leaving me naked and exposed. You were right. I was never going to have any kind of redemption until I first forgave myself.”

Her blood roared through her veins, her skin, her heart. “And have you?”

“I’m beginning to. I don’t really have a choice. Because if you could forgive me, it seems like the ultimate in hubris not to forgive myself. Besides, you said that day in Hyde Park that you loved me. So, I’d be a rebel indeed if I didn’t at least strive to become worthy of that love.”

She leaned up to kiss him on the lips. “No striving necessary. You’re already more than worthy of my love, not to mention that of your family and your friends and—”

He cut her off with a long kiss of such sweetness and heat that she thought she’d melt right down like the wax in a casting. When at last he drew away, he was smiling. “Does this mean you’re ready to marry me at last, my love?”

“I don’t know if I should,” she said coyly. “You’d be a fool to marry me without a dowry to my name, and I cannot marry a fool.”

He chuckled. “I tell you what—I’ll give myself your dowry, and then we’ll call me a very clever man for marrying you.”

“In that case,” she said lightly, “I do believe I might be willing to marry you. On one condition.”

“That I help you get your school started.”

“Could you?” she said, surprised that he would say such a thing. “That would be lovely, but I wouldn’t expect that.”

“Why not? I’m the duke and you’ll be the duchess. And as everyone keeps telling me, that means I can do whatever I bloody well please.”

She couldn’t help grinning. “Except curse.”

“Fine. Was that the condition? That I stop my cursing?”

“No, although I’m sure that would make your mother happy. I’m just hoping you’ll still accept the idea of Cyril coming to live with us.” She held her breath as she watched for his reaction, but when she saw no hint of consternation in his expression she relaxed.

He brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way, sweetheart.”

Cyril’s ears must have been burning, for he chose that moment to come running in. “Sissy, can I go for a walk with Giselle?”

When Tory pulled away, Jon still kept one arm about her waist. “Why don’t we all go, Cyril? I have something I need to ask you.”

“All right.” Cyril then blithely ran ahead to where Giselle stood waiting in the hallway.

Tory called out to Mrs. Gully that they were going for a walk, and they left the house to stroll down the middle of her neighborhood. She could see the neighbors pausing to stare at the unlikely group—a duke, a maiden, a boy, and an exotic Frenchwoman. As soon as they reached the forested area, Cyril said to Jon, “What do you want to ask me?”

Jon ruffled his hair. “Do I have your permission to marry your sister?”

Giselle flashed Tory a startled smile, but Cyril eyed Jon closely. “Like Papa married Mama? Only I never met Papa because he went to France. Are you going to France, too?”

“Not if I can help it,” Jon said.

Tory stifled a laugh.

“Then where will you live?” Cyril asked. “In the cottage with us?”

Jon smiled at him. “I was hoping you’d come live at Falcon House with me and your Sissy. That’s where the duke and the duchess always live. I’m the duke and your sister is going to be the duchess once she marries me.”

Cyril stopped on the path. “But duchesses are old. ”

“Well,” Tory said hastily, “Jon’s mother is an older duchess, and she’ll also be living there with us, but young duchesses exist, too, and I’ll be one of those.”

“I don’t know.” Cyril frowned. “Can’t we all live in the cottage? You and Jon and Giselle and me?”

Tory could see Giselle stifling a laugh. “There’s really not enough room in the cottage for all of us, dear. But at Falcon House, there will be lots more room. And Giselle can come to visit whenever she likes.”

“You can ride in my carriage,” Jon said, “and play in the garden. You can feed the horses apples—”

“You have horses ?” Cyril said reverently. “I like horses.”

“You should have started with the horses,” Tory muttered, making Jon laugh.

“Then it’s settled,” Jon told Cyril. “Your sister and I will get married, and you and she will come to live with me.”

“And the horses,” Cyril said, as if to clarify it.

“And the horses,” Jon repeated, obviously fighting a laugh. “Although I’m not letting them stay in the house if that’s all right with you.”

“Horses live in stables,” Cyril said, thrusting out his lower lip. “I know that.”

“Of course, you do,” Tory said hastily before Cyril could get his feelings hurt.

Jon stared down at Cyril. “That also means you’ll become my brother.”

Cyril’s eyes went wide. “That would be grand . I don’t have a brother.”

“I don’t have a wife,” Jon said. “You get a brother, and I get a wife. That sounds fair, doesn’t it?”

Cyril bobbed his head.

“And what do I get out of this arrangement?” Tory said archly.

“You get horses,” Giselle quipped, making the adults laugh.

Then Jon gazed at her, love shining in his eyes. “You get a husband who loves and worships you. Who can’t believe how lucky he was to find you.”

The warmth in his expression sparked heat in her heart. “As long as I have you for the rest of my life, I have all I need.”