Page 5 of His Runaway Duchess (Regency Wedding Crashers #3)

CHAPTER 5

D aphne nearly cried when she sank into the hot bath, at long last.

The room she was shown into was bigger than any of their spare bedrooms back home, and it had a washroom attached to it. When she emerged, cloaked in steam, from the bath after a good, long while, she found that a fresh, clean gown was laid out for her, along with some underthings and a shawl. Her bridal shoes, entirely wrecked, were gone, and a pair of neat, feminine boots waited for her instead. A folded nightdress waited on the pillow of the huge, four-poster bed.

Oh, and there was a robe too, made of the softest silk. Daphne wrapped herself up in it, beaming so wide that her cheeks hurt.

At least I’m safe. I’ll stay here tonight, eat a large breakfast, and then go home in the morning. The Duke will be glad to be rid of me, and the feeling is certainly mutual.

Perhaps if she kept telling herself that, it would become true. Daphne was uneasily aware of a strange sort of tug low in her gut whenever she thought too hard about the Duke, about his serious, sharp face or his remarkably broad shoulders.

I can admire a handsome man as dispassionately as if I were looking at a pretty bird.

This was not entirely true. When Daphne thought of the Duke, she could not honestly say that it was ornithology on her mind. She had admired men before, finding them good-looking.

Society was full of good-looking men. She wasn’t entirely sure what was so different about this occasion. Or this man, specifically. Nobody else had conjured up that odd, little ache in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it certainly was distracting. It was not convenient to be attracted to him.

The sooner I get home, the better, I think .

A knock on the door served as a welcome distraction from these disquieting thoughts. She hurried to answer it and found none other than a beaming, round-faced Alex waiting there.

The stocky woman from the terrace waited behind him, smiling benevolently.

“I’m so glad Papa let you stay!” Alex enthused. “Mrs. Trench says that gentlemen aren’t generally permitted to visit ladies’ bedrooms, but since she is here and I am only eight, we might make an exception.”

Daphne laughed. “I am glad to hear it because I am leaving straight after breakfast tomorrow, and I might have had to leave without saying goodbye.”

Alex’s smile faded. “You’re leaving?”

“Well, yes. I have to go home, you see. I left quite a mess behind me.”

Alex glanced over his shoulder at the governess. “Can’t you persuade her to stay, Mrs. Trench?”

“The decision isn’t ours, Master Alexander,” Mrs. Trench answered gently. “But I’m sure your paths will cross again. When you’re older.”

Alex sighed. “When I’m older, when I’m older. All the good things only happen when I’m older.”

“That’s the sad thing about being eight,” Daphne agreed. “You have to wait for life to get really good. Just try and enjoy being eight, though. I certainly did. I spent all my time with my sister—we were inseparable.”

Alex only looked more morose. “I don’t have a brother or sister. It’s just me.”

Mrs. Trench cleared her throat. “We only agreed on a simple goodnight, Master Alexander. You’ve had a long day, and you need your rest. And so does Miss Belmont.”

“Oh, before I retire, could I ask whether a letter could be posted for me?” Daphne asked, blushing. “I know I’m asking a lot. I want to send a note to my sister, just to let her know that I’m safe and well. She’ll worry. She always worries about me.”

“Of course. Write the letter and have someone bring it to my room, and I’ll take care of it,” Mrs. Trench said, flashing her a smile.

“I wish somebody worried about me like that,” Alex muttered.

Daphne’s chest tightened. She met Mrs. Trench’s eyes over the top of Alex’s head and saw that the older woman’s expression was tight and resigned.

“Well, that’s not true,” she said quietly. “ I was worried about you today because you were all alone. I was lucky to meet you.”

Alex brightened a little. “Really? You were happy to meet me?”

“Of course! Who wouldn’t be? And I’m sure that your Papa loves you very much. He was worried about you today—I saw it.”

Alex shook his head. “Papa doesn’t worry about things like that. He didn’t even come to say goodnight to me today. Mrs. Trench let me stay up for an hour past my bedtime to wait for him, but he didn’t come. He never comes.”

A lump formed in Daphne’s throat. This time, she didn’t dare look at Mrs. Trench.

The governess placed a hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Come, Master Alexander. You need your sleep. We can’t delay any longer—it’s time for bed.”

Alex nodded. “Goodnight, Miss Belmont.”

He executed a surprisingly graceful bow for an eight-year-old boy.

Smiling, Daphne curtsied back.

Mrs. Trench led Alex back down the corridor, the two of them talking in low, hushed tones.

Daphne retreated into her bedroom, but any restfulness she’d felt was gone. She had never considered herself particularly fond of children or babies, but Alex was a sweet, little boy and surprisingly clever and kind for his age. He deserved better than a father who ignored him and scolded him. What parent could ignore their children in that way?

Perhaps I’m just lucky. For all his flaws, Papa was a good father, and Mama loves us with all her heart. Perhaps I don’t understand how bad an uncaring parent can be.

But then the Duke didn’t seem evil. Or cruel, the way Alex said that he was.

Ah, but I don’t know him, do I? I don’t know a thing about him.

No, it was no good. Despite his sharp manner, Daphne did not believe that the Duke was cruel . She’d seen cruel men before, and the Duke did not fit in with what she’d seen.

Somebody should tell him.

I bet nobody has ever tried to tell him. I was sure he cared about his son. I could see it. But if he’s like that with Alex—all brusque and unfriendly—well, of course, an eight-year-old boy isn’t going to respond to that!

If somebody would only tell him… just give him a little nudge in the right direction…

Daphne stood at the edge of the bed, her hands on her hips, and stared down at the new dress she’d been given. It was a simple design, easy enough to put on herself. She could put it on, wander through the house…

I did promise that he wouldn’t even know that I was here…

Daphne stared down at the gown for another minute or two. Really, she suspected that she’d already made up her mind. It wasn’t as if she would get any other opportunity beyond tonight.

Sighing, she reached for the dress.

Edward opened a book of ledgers and stared unseeingly at the figures. He could usually work late into the night, but now he found himself distracted. He kept thinking about Miss Belmont.

It’s only because she’s beautiful. I can’t remember when I last spent time in a lady’s company.

Not that Miss Belmont had looked much like a lady, soaking wet and covered in mud. But even so, Edward had felt that familiar, answering pull of arousal. How long had it been since he’d felt it? Too long, for certain.

He slammed the ledger shut with a groan, leaning back and covering his face with his hands.

This is ridiculous. Am I truly so reclusive that even the sight of a pretty woman sends me reeling?

It hardly mattered. She would be gone in the morning, and he would never see her again. That was a relief, wasn’t it? He could concentrate on his work here and on getting his son to behave while simultaneously convincing him not to hate his father.

So far, things did not seem to be going well.

Nobody warned me that it would be so hard. I thought it would be the easiest thing in the world, to be a better parent than he was. And yet here I am, struggling. Oh, I’m such a fool.

Why did I ever think I could do this? Why did I think I could be better than him? I might as well give up and ship the boy off to Eton now. Maybe they’ll take better care of him than I can.

Suddenly, a tap sounded at the door. Edward flinched, sitting upright. He couldn’t imagine who would be calling on him this late at night. Not Clarissa, not after he’d all but dismissed her earlier. Mrs. Trench would have retired, and Peter had gone to bed about an hour ago.

Edward cleared his throat. “Enter.”

The door swung open, and it was, of course, Miss Belmont. He felt like a fool for imagining that it could be anyone else.

Edward leaned back in his seat with a sigh. “What do you want?”

“Good evening to you too, Your Grace.”

“I hope you’re remembering your promise not to try and seduce me.”

Her eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. “Goodness, you have a high opinion of yourself. I can assure you that you are not in danger from me, not if you were the last man in the world.”

Edward did not have a response to that. It suddenly occurred to him that he was in his shirtsleeves, with his shirt undone to reveal a triangle of skin at his chest. Her gaze kept flicking downwards as if drawn by magnetism.

He cleared his throat, and her gaze jumped upwards.

“I suppose I look different when I don’t appear to have been soaking in a pond for a day or two,” she said, holding out her arms.

“You do look drier,” he heard himself say.

She was wearing a pale green gown, obviously one of Clarissa’s on account of it being far too long for her. The hem trailed on the ground, and the sleeves all but covered her hands. It was loose and should have looked like a sack on her.

That was probably why Clarissa had chosen it. Even now, she liked to be the most beautiful woman in the room.

And yet, somehow, Miss Belmont looked…

Well, he couldn’t explain how she looked.

Good enough to eat.

He was not sure where that thought had come from and recoiled ever so slightly from it.

“Come, Miss Belmont,” he said sharply. “Tell me why you are here, at once.”

Daphne was gawping like a fool. The Duke looked like… well, he looked the way she might imagine some of those suave, handsome heroes in the novels that Emily tried to keep hidden from the rest of them. A faint fuzz of black hair peeked from his half-open shirt, and she could not stop imagining how his skin might feel. Warm, yes, and smooth. Would his skin twitch under her touch, like a horse’s hide? Would she feel his heart beating against her palm if she placed her hand just right?

Stop it! You’ve known the man for no more than a minute!

Besides, you’re here on an important errand.

Daphne cleared her throat, tilting up her chin. “I am sorry to bother you, Your Grace, but I?—”

“How did you find me? Did someone direct you to my study?”

There was an edge to his voice that indicated that any servant who had sent her his way might find themselves in trouble.

Daphne bit her lip. “It took me a while, but yours is the only occupied room downstairs. I saw the light under your door, and guessed.”

“Hmm. Go on.”

“Well, I daresay it’s none of my business, but it’s about Alex. Master Alexander, I mean.” The Duke’s face tightened, and Daphne continued quickly before she lost her nerve. “He’s upset. I think you should go and talk to him, for what it’s worth. He loves you dearly, and you didn’t even come to see him tonight, although you’d promised that you would. He came to see me—which perhaps he shouldn’t have done, but he’s only eight, and he wanted to say goodnight, so I’m sure there’s no harm in it—and I know how upset he is, and it really isn’t fair. I think you care for him, Your Grace. I truly do. So I thought I must come and talk to you, frankly. He thinks you don’t care for him!”

The Duke only stared at her for a long moment. After this little speech, Daphne found herself out of breath. She longed to speak, to fill the silence—she had always hated lengthy pauses—but she forced herself to be quiet and wait.

“Perhaps I don’t care for him,” the Duke responded. “Perhaps keeping my distance from him is the only way to protect him. Men of my standing often don’t consider or care for their children at all. What do you think of that?”

She clenched her jaw. “I think that it’s not true, Your Grace.”

He rose to his feet, his broad shoulders seeming to fill the room. “Then you are very naive, Miss Belmont. Naive and sheltered.”

She bristled. “I am not naive. Neither am I sheltered. If you only knew what my family has gone through…”

“I do hope you’re not here to tell me all about it tonight.”

She wilted. “No, of course not.”

“Good. Then let me tell you this, Miss Belmont. You are right.”

She blinked. “I’m… right?”

“Yes. You are right. This is none of your concern. In the future, I would suggest that you do not take it upon yourself to poke your nose into the families of others?—”

“I…”

“ — especially when you are a guest. You do not know me, and you don’t know Alex. So, I would argue that you have nothing to add to this conversation. I daresay that this is not what you wanted to hear, Miss Belmont, but there it is.”

Daphne opened her mouth to say something else. In a flash, the Duke had crossed the room and cupped his palm over her mouth. Not hard, of course. It was barely a feather-light touch. But it was enough to make Daphne almost choke on her words.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. He was close enough that their noses were almost brushing, and he leaned down to look into her eyes.

For the first time, Daphne noticed that the man had a peculiar scent. Crushed grass, perhaps? Earth turned over after rain? Whatever it was, it was peculiar, and Daphne had to fight not to breathe in deeply.

Abruptly, he withdrew his hand. Callused fingers brushed the underside of her chin—such a quick and subtle gesture that she thought she might have imagined it.

“That’s quite enough, Miss Belmont,” he said, his voice low, almost a growl. “I am not a man of many words, and hearing too many gives me a headache. I’m not accustomed to repeating myself over and over, so I shall say this one more time. Do not involve yourself in my family. You will leave quietly, tomorrow, and that is that.” He straightened up, his piercing gaze fixed on her.

He had blue eyes, Daphne noticed suddenly, the same shade as Alex’s.

“Go to bed, Miss Belmont.”

There was really nothing else to do but obey.

Daphne stormed to the landing, her skirts swishing, muttering angrily to herself under her breath. She did not notice a small boy darting behind a curtain as she approached, staying motionless and silent as she passed by.

Once she was gone, Alex risked peering out from his hiding place.

His little heart was pounding. He was meant to be in bed, of course, but he knew that Mrs. Trench slept soundly once she drifted off, and if he were quiet, he could move around without waking her.

He also knew that if the door to his father’s study stood ajar and he crouched on the landing, he could hear every word exchanged inside.

I cannot believe Miss Belmont tried to talk to Papa like that . Nobody’s ever talked to Papa like that. And she was so kind and so nice to me. It’s a pity she can’t stay longer.

She would not be staying longer, however. That had been made clear. While he was getting ready for bed, Mrs. Trench had talked a little more about propriety and how strict the rules could be for ladies. She made it plain that he should never speak about Miss Belmont’s presence here, as it could be damaging both to her reputation and the Duke’s.

“What would happen if her reputation was ruined?” he’d asked, and Mrs. Trench had sighed.

“Hard to say,” she answered, gesturing for him to climb into bed. “Women with ruined reputations have to marry, and quickly. Marriage is the only safety for a woman in this world, unfortunately.”

That did seem unfair, but there was nothing Alex could do about it, of course. Not until he was older .

A plan was forming in his head, so daring that it made his heart thump. He crouched down by the banister, peering down into the hallway below. The door to his father’s study was still open, and he could hear the man pacing up and down, muttering angrily, just as Miss Belmont had done.

Suddenly decided, Alex got to his feet and crept down the stairs.

I know who’ll help me.

A thin beam of light coming from under the door indicated that Peter Tinn was not yet asleep.

The steward had always been very fond of Alex, and hopefully, this would work in his favor.

The man answered the door, blinking down at Alex in surprise.

“Master Alex? It is too late for you to be awake,” he said, frowning. “What are you doing in the servants’ quarters? Is something the matter? Is it His Grace?”

“No, no, Papa is fine,” Alex said hastily, hearing the edge of worry in the steward’s voice. “But… but I am worried about Papa. He’s so miserable and so lonely, and I don’t…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. “I’m only eight, so I don’t understand how things work, I suppose. But I have an idea, which might make him happier in the long run, and I hoped you’d hear me out, at least.”

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. “An idea? What sort of idea? And why do you need to tell me about it? Why can’t Jemim—Mrs. Trench, that is—help?”

Alex sighed. “She’d never agree. And I would need you to do something for me—to send off a letter right now, tonight.”

“ Tonight ?”

He nodded. “Yes. It would need to be sent tonight, as tomorrow might be too late.”

Peter leaned against the doorframe, folding his arms across his chest. “Well, I’m intrigued. I’m rather getting the impression that this is all very hush-hush, and not a word of this should be breathed to anyone.”

“Yes, please, Peter. You can’t tell anybody.”

The steward pursed his lips, considering. “And who would I be sending this letter to?”

Alex drew in a breath. “To a publisher in London. I know exactly which one. You can be there and back before dawn.”

Peter’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. “A publisher ? Whatever for? What’s in the letter?”

“Ah. That’s the clever part. Or at least, I hope it is.”