Page 4 of The Duke’s Price (Wayward Dukes’ Alliance #18)

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D e-Ath arranged for the two women to have dinner in their room, Walter said when he accompanied the meal to the door. He told them his master was organising transport for the morning, and sending letters with instructions to move his yacht and those of his people who had headed into Spain. “He thinks Don Carlos might remember where the yacht was moored, ma’am,” Walter told Ruth. “Moving it will make it harder for the man to find us.”

When Ruth opened the door to Walter in the morning, he ushered in a maid with breakfast and reported, “Mr. De-Ath’s compliments, ladies. He asks you to take whatever time you need this morning. He and I will be ready whenever suits you.”

“We did not have much packing to do,” Bella told De-Ath a short while later, when they were settled in a comfortable carriage and on their way to the next town. “Ruth and I shall need to go shopping, De-Ath. Or should I call you ‘Papá’?”

Ruth found herself sharing an amused smile with the unaccountable man.

“De-Ath will do,” he said. “I hope to reach Toulouse tonight. I am certain that city will have shops to supply suitable clothing and other items for a wealthy merchant’s ladies.” He turned questioning eyes to Ruth. “If we are delayed on the road, will you be able to manage for one more night?”

“We will,” Ruth assured him.

“Why not ‘Papá’?” Bella enquired. “Do you feel too young to have a daughter of nearly fifteen, De-Ath?”

He didn’t allow Bella’s impertinence to ruffle his equanimity. “I know I am old enough to have a daughter of your age. I do not, as it happens.” He grinned. “At least, as far as I know. But I do have a son, Bella. My heir, the Marquess of Lockswell. He will be twenty-five this year.”

“Goodness!” Bella said what Ruth was thinking. “You cannot have been more than a boy!”

De-Ath laughed outright at that. “Are you asking my age, young lady? I am three and forty, and yes, that means I was married at the age of seventeen.”

“You are a widower, then, excellensia ? De-Ath, I mean?” Bella asked.

Ruth should really remind her that such personal questions were impolite, but Ruth also wanted to know.

“These twenty-three years. And that is enough, senorita. No more questions.”

He started telling them a story about his last trip through France, making an amusing tale of being chased out of town by burghers who had been treating him as one of their own until a Frenchman he’d met in London recognised him as the Duke of Richport.

When that episode had reached its end, with a lucky escape thanks to a sympathetic barmaid, Walter mentioned another escape, this time in Greece, and that led to a further tale and then another, so that Ruth was surprised when they rolled into a village and stopped at an inn for the first change of horses.

“It is very hard, Ruth,” said Bella when they had a private moment while the men were busy. “To lose his wife when he was not yet twenty. I wonder that he has not married again. Perhaps he loved her very much, and cannot bear to see another in her place. Perhaps that is why he is a rake. Do you not think that is possible, Ruth?”

Ruth thought it was more likely he had been a wicked youth, and that his wife had died of a broken heart. Ruth was going to take it as a warning. Don’t let his charm, his storytelling and his kindness fool you into thinking he is a good person .

He reinforced the lesson repeatedly over the course of the day, letting his hand linger as he helped her in and out of the carriage, or ushered her through a doorway at one of the inns they visited on the day.

He found other ways to touch her that were not so innocent, such as resting his leg against hers as they travelled, stroking her fingers when he handed her a cup of beverage or a glass of wine, even lifting her hand to kiss her fingers when he introduced her to one innkeeper as, “My cherished wife, Madame De-Ath.”

He was attempting a seduction—right in front of Bella and Walter. Furthermore, annoying though it was to admit it—shaming, too—it was working.

Ruth was responding to him. She might not realise it, but Perry did. Physically, the signs were obvious, but emotionally, too, she had softened towards him as he told his stories, ably supported by Walter, who had been with him through it all.

He had not intended to mention Lockswell or the young man’s mother. He never spoke of them, but Bella’s faintly hostile attitude, at first amusing, had begun to grate. Clearly, Ruth had told her pupil what the price was for his assistance, and she was indignant on her mentor’s behalf. Polite, but ever so slightly scornful. When she mocked his age, he had responded without thinking.

If he was not mistaken, the fact he’d been a widower for more than half his lifetime had softened the girl’s attitude, though he had not been seeking her pity. No doubt she’d invented a whole romantic story about the poor duke grieving for the love of his youth.

What would she think if she knew the truth? What would Ruth think? She would probably pity him more than ever—yes, and despise him too, the weak innocent ignorant creature he had been, a dupe of his uncle and his faithless wife.

There was a reason Perry never spoke of the youth he had been and the mistakes he had made.

Ruth, he was pleased to note, did not take it on faith that he was a pitiable widower, pining for his long-dead wife. She was warier than ever. Whatever she thought of his personal revelations, she was not allowing it to overwhelm her good sense.

It was already too late for her, did she but know it. He had her hooked, senses and emotions. Only by the most careless of mishandling would he lose her now. And Perry was far too experienced to mishandle a seduction.

He had already planned the next step, and when they arrived in Toulouse, he set about putting it into action. Once again, they walked to another inn after leaving the hired carriage and team. Perry ordered a suite of their best rooms, and it was perfect—three bedchambers, a single dressing room, and a shared sitting room, which included among its furnishings a dining table. The bill had used up almost the last of his gold, but tomorrow he would sell a couple of jewels and they would be in funds again.

Since Bella clearly knew that Ruth had agreed to be his lover, he did not have to disguise the sleeping arrangements, so he assigned Bella to the middle-sized room, Walter to the smallest room, and him and Ruth to the largest. Bella opened her mouth on what was, by her expression, going to be a complaint. Ruth waved her to silence.

“I have ordered a bath for you ladies to be brought to Bella’s room,” Perry said, “and one for me and Walter in the dressing room. Once we have bathed, our dinner will be served in the sitting room.”

Ruth looked relieved, which was ever so slightly insulting. Did she think Perry was so inept that he’d insist on bathing with her when they had never done more than kiss? Nor would he do more than kiss tonight, even though his inflaming touches had left him as aroused as they had her. Perhaps more aroused, for he knew where the amorous journey led.

Tension was the way to play the game. By the time they were fully intimate, she would be eager. Indeed, if he played her well—and he fully intended to do so—she would be the one to initiate the action at each step of the game.

He was no longer a foolish boy, falling head over heels in love with the first woman in his bed, nor a grieving and angry youth shagging every female in reach with little finesse and less control. He was Death Richport, the Duke of Depravity, known for his affaires throughout the civilised world. Abstinence and denial now would pay off enormously in the end, and what a magnificent end it would be.

That didn’t mean it was easy, however, particularly given the uncertain but smouldering looks she sent his way during the meal the four of them shared. Walter would have excused himself from the table had Ruth not insisted that he join them. She cast him a challenging look when Walter demurred.

“You usually eat with me when we are travelling,” Perry pointed out to his faithful servant.

“Not when you have company, Your Grace. Mr. De-Ath, I mean.”

“We are not company, but travelling companions,” said Bella. “Please join us, Mr. Walter.”

The stew was excellent, the pie robust and tasty, and the apple tart delicious. Furthermore, the inn had been able to supply two excellent bottles of wine, one a rather lovely Chateauneuf-du-Pape.

When Bella could not repress a yawn, Perry suggested it was time for bed. “I believe all of us would benefit from an early night.

Ruth nodded. “I shall be fine, Bella. Off you go. Sleep well.”

Bella kissed Ruth’s cheek, glared at Perry, and left the room.

“Walter, I shall not need you again this evening,” Perry told his valet.

Walter stood and fetched the trays on which the dinner had arrived. “I shall just pack up the dishes and put them outside the door, sir.”

“Leave the wine,” Perry directed. “Another glass, Ruth?”

“Not for me, thank you,” she said.

“Leave my glass, Walter. Pack up the rest unless you want another.”

He waited to see what Ruth would do, as she shifted in her chair and switched her gaze from him to the bedchamber door and back again, but when Walter left the room with his tray, he took pity on her. “Not tonight, Ruth, either. Perhaps a kiss on account? But I shall not leap on you as soon as we are in bed, I promise. Or at all, tonight. Go and ready yourself for bed, my dear, while I finish my wine. I shall give you thirty minutes.”

“She is not your usual sort,” Walter observed, when he returned.

“No,” Perry agreed. “She is not.” Was Walter going to admonish him? If anyone had the right, it was Walter.

“Have a care, sir. Someone might be hurt.”

Interesting. Walter didn’t say “she might be hurt”. Did he think that Perry was in danger?

“I will do nothing she does not want, my faithful friend,” Perry said. “Nothing I don’t want, either.”

Walter nodded, and said nothing more until he was leaving the room, when he muttered, as best as Perry could hear, “Enough good intentions to pave the road to hell.”

But it wasn’t true. Perry’s intentions were as bad as they could be.

However, the kisses and perhaps a caress or two he had intended for tonight would have to wait until the morning, for Ruth was either asleep or an expert actress.

In the night, he woke from a nightmare that fled his mind even as he reached after it to drag it into the light. But in the next breath, every thought of nightmare fled as arms enfolded him and he was held to the shoulder of a soft fragrant woman.

“Shush,” she murmured. “Shush, my dear. It is only a dream. You have nothing to fear. The bad earl is gone forever. Ruth and Anne will never let him hurt you again.”

Where did she think she was? Who did she think he was?

A former pupil, he had to suppose, as she stroked his hair and murmured reassurances, all—he was beginning to realise—without waking up. His baser self was taking the attention as his due, and making suggestions about next steps, but Perry ignored it. Ruth was still asleep, and was—in any case—offering a mother’s comfort, not a lover’s.

He wondered how she’d feel if she woke to find her arms enfolding him, and his head on her breast. There was one way to find out, though it wouldn’t do anything for the rest of his sleep. To his surprise, though, he did drop off to sleep again, cradled against her, her heart beating firmly just under his ear.

He woke when she gasped and pushed at him.

“Richport! De-Ath, I mean. You said you wouldn’t… De-Ath!”

He lifted away from her and smiled as he noted her position in the bed. “I am still on my side of the bed, Ruth,” he pointed out. “You came to me, and I must say, I slept very comfortably. I would like that kiss now, if you would be so kind.”

Was that a growl? His prim governess woke up growling in the morning! Who would have guessed? Was she always grumpy before she was fully awake? Or was it his presence? He couldn’t wait to find out. And if he had never had such a thought about a lover before, what of it? New experiences were what he lived for.

“You are a horrible man,” the delightful lady growled. “A kiss, indeed, when I need tooth powder and… and other things.”

Perry rolled out of bed, springing far more lightly to his feet than he felt inclined to do. But he would suffer the tortures of the damned rather than admit that his bones ached. He was, after all, only three and forty—a healthy man in his prime.

“I shall order coffee, shall I? Or do you prefer tea or chocolate at this time of the morning? That should give you enough time to use the chamber pot and clean your mouth.”

He decided that the dark look she cast him was answer enough. He’d order all three and hope to coax her into a better temper.

His own temper took a turn for the worse when he found Bella and Walter already awake, and when Bella announced that she would take Ruth her cup of tea. That had not been how the morning was meant to go.

The coffee was excellent, though, and he was about to spend a considerable amount of money on the two ladies. Surely shopping would put her in a more amenable mood?

The first stop was to break their fast in a cafe, with another coffee and a selection of delicious pastries. The innkeeper had recommended the place as being near a bijoutier —a jeweller’s shop.

Perry left the ladies with Walter as their escort while he crossed the square to the plain-fronted shop, where he soon managed to translate several unset emeralds and two large pearls into enough money to outfit two ladies and purchase outright a carriage to see them to the coast.

He always travelled with a pouch of saleable objects. Today’s transaction left the pouch severely depleted, and he’d probably empty it before the journey was through. However, he had more aboard his yacht, so if he was in a place where his bank had no connections, he could still afford whatever he wished.

They would be travelling to Sète, the seaport for Montpellier, for one of his messages yesterday had instructed his people to move his yacht to Sète. Collioure was too close to the Spanish border for his comfort, and besides, Carlos knew he’d left his yacht there.

“I have a list of modistes who have readymade clothing,” Walter offered, when he rejoined the others at the cafe. “Also, other places that will have items the ladies might need.”

“Then let us begin,” said Perry. “Which is closest?”

Left to herself, Ruth would have bought next to nothing, and then only the most basic items—dull in colour, cut, and fabric. “Please remember, my dear Madame De-Ath,” Perry told her in the hearing of the first modiste, “what you wear reflects on me and our daughter. I trust, of course, in your quiet good sense not to go too far, but do not, I beg you, give our customers the notion that my business is failing.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “This is quite unnecessary, De-Ath,” she said. “I shall be reunited with the rest of my wardrobe when we reach the coast.”

“Meanwhile, how many people will look at me and think, there is a poor man who cannot dress both his wife and his daughter?” said Perry, enjoying himself enormously in the part of a burger from Belgium.

“You,” said Ruth, “are a very annoying man. But I suppose, if you wish to waste your money, you will, and I cannot stop you.”

“Remember that, darling,” Perry murmured. “I am determined to get my way.”

Shopping with Richport—De-Ath, rather—was confusing, infuriating, and glorious. He insisted that his wife must have the best of everything, and for every kind of occasion. His daughter, too. Bella was thoroughly enjoying herself—Las Estrellas had spent its entire treasury during the war and all of Bella’s gowns were makeovers of old garments from the attics.

In the end, Ruth stopped arguing, and if she was not going to argue, she might as well take pleasure in having new things. New things suitable to the wife of a wealthy merchant, furthermore—a far cry from the sober and demure wardrobe of a governess.

“Perhaps you can recoup some of your costs by selling them when we part,” she whispered to De-Ath, just to annoy him.

It didn’t work. He chuckled. “Something I shall keep in mind if I hear the Richport coffers have inexplicably emptied overnight. Take heart, Ruth. Just imagine all the seamstresses and cobblers and stocking knitters who will eat well for a month, thanks to your purchases.”

“You need not think I can be bought with a pretty bonnet,” she warned him a while later, as he coaxed her into buying a frivolous item of fabric, ribbon and lace that made her look at least five years younger.

“How quickly you forget, darling,” he retorted. “It was you who purchased me! And my handy yacht, of course.”

The man was impossible!

They lunched at a restaurante , on onion soup and baguettes, followed by lamb shanks cooked with vegetables in red wine, and finished with cheese. After a stroll through the Place du Capitol admiring the old buildings, they returned to shopping.

De-Ath had purchased some items over the morning—shoes, a pair of boots, stockings, a hat. But now he left them to Walter’s escort while he visited a tailor. “You shall be next, Walter,” he said to his valet. “When I return to accompany Madame and Mademoiselle.”

“As you wish, Monsieur,” Walter replied, with a bow.

He was gone for a little over an hour. “I told them you would no doubt wish to check my selections,” he told Walter, when he returned. Walter merely grinned, which said volumes about their relationship. They were far closer than Ruth had observed before between a valet and his master. Though, to be fair, the Earl of Chirbury had purportedly had a similar friendship with the manservant who died rescuing his dear lady from a criminal.

After they had exhausted the shops—and themselves—De-Ath proposed a stroll along the banks of the Garonne River outside the walls of the city, and then an early night. “We should discuss tonight. Just so there is no confusion, Ruth,” he suggested in a murmur while Bella was listening to Walter explaining about the canal boats and their horses, and the huge quantity of goods they could transport.

“Tonight?” Ruth’s voice squeaked on the word, as her mind ran riot with images that were not as disagreeable as they should have been.

“Kisses. Perhaps a few caresses,” he decreed. “You are not ready for more.”

Ruth found herself wanting to argue she was ready enough, though she should have been grateful. Or should she? Knowing him, he would make her burn and then walk away as if nothing had happened. Ruth must not give him her trust for a moment.

She inclined her head in agreement, and then their private discussion was over. Bella hurried up to convey a miscellany of information about the value of canals to manufacturing and trade, and they walked the rest of the way back to the hotel debating whether canals would one day be replaced by railways. De-Ath had heard a presentation by a Mr. James who was proposing a network of railways throughout England and Scotland.

Ruth, who had once seen a demonstration of Mr. Trevithick’s steam locomotive, was inclined to think no one would want to replace the peacefully plodding horses of the canal paths with noisy smelly steam engines. De-Ath pointed out that the leavings of horses were smelly, too. With predictable cynicism, he added that business men would choose the method giving them the cheapest transport. Bella agreed.

They split to have their baths. After that, Ruth and Bella helped one another pack their new belongings into their equally new luggage, leaving out a gown each for dinner and another in which to travel in the morning.

Ruth found herself fiddling with her food—another magnificent meal. Kisses and maybe caresses . What did he mean by caresses?

All too soon, it was time for bed. “We have two or possibly three more days of travel before we reach my yacht,” De-Ath said. “We should sleep so we are rested tomorrow.”

Tonight, there was no half hour to change and leap into bed. De-Ath was waiting inside their room when Ruth returned from helping Bella with buttons, hooks, and laces, and receiving the same help in return.”

“De-Ath!” she said, indignantly. “I need to change.”

“There is a dressing screen, darling Ruth,” said De-Ath. “Change behind that. Do you need help with your buttons and laces?”

Ruth tugged at the shawl that she’d thrown on to cover her unlaced back, making certain it kept her modest. “What do you want of me, De-Ath?”

“You know what I want,” he replied, inexorably. “You want it too, or part of you does. You will have to be patient, though, my dear delight. Tonight, I have no intention of letting this go beyond kisses and relatively innocent touches.”

The rebellious spirit Ruth had never quite managed to suppress, even though it was unbecoming in a vicar’s daughter, wondered if she could tempt him beyond his limits. Not that she wanted to do so, of course, even if she could. He was the one who wanted this, whatever this was going to be. Not her.

Even in her own mind, her protest sounded hollow.

“Now,” De-Ath said. “I am going to strip for bed. You are most welcome to stay and watch, or you can change behind the screen.”

Ruth gasped, grabbed her night rail from the top of her trunk, and hurried to put the dressing screen between her and the sight of the Duke of Richport, removing his coat, then his waistcoat, and beginning to unbutton his falls.

Thank goodness she had brushed her teeth and attended to other bodily needs before leaving Bella’s room. She would die rather than use the chamber pot while De-Ath was listening!

How foolish was that? He intended to take her to bed and ravish her! She couldn’t help but feel that this was all a mistake… that he would take her right to the point of ravishment then tell her she was past her youth and only passably pretty, with no experience and little charm.

Which, of course, she knew.

At least the nightrail was pretty. It was a new one, purchased today—in a sweet powder blue linen, trimmed with more lace and ribbon than she thought appropriate for a governess, but cut sensibly full and sewn all the way to the floor on both sides. Quite different to some of the others the modiste had shown her—pieces of temptation in silk and lace with strategic peepholes and open seams that allowed one’s legs to show as one walked.

“You can come out now,” De-Ath said, after several minutes. “The bits you were trying hard not to look at are covered.”

She emerged from behind the screen. Dear Merciful Lord. He wore nothing but a pair of loose silk pants, tied low on his waist, the fabric a riotous oriental print that thankfully disguised the shapes the thin silk lovingly hugged. And nothing else. He wore nothing else. His chest was naked! And magnificent.

His feet, too. Stark naked. Ruth had left her stockings on, feeling diffident about him seeing her unclothed feet. At least he would not see anything else through the modest night rail. Unlike her. Ruth, you are standing there with your mouth open, almost drooling. Sharpen up, girl .

Papa had always said she had a wild streak, and all these years, she had prided herself on proving him wrong. And now look at her. Papa, you were right, after all .

“Like what you see?” De-Ath asked, provocatively.

“What is it you are wearing?” Ruth asked.

“Mogul pants. Comfortable wear around the house, and I prefer them to sleeping naked.”

“One normally wears a night shirt,” she reminded him.

De-Ath smirked at her. “One might. I do not. Horrid things. They get all tangled around one’s legs, or ride up and make lumps under one’s hip. Or worse. Come here and give me a kiss, Ruth.”

Kiss him? When she was naked under her night rail, with no stays or petticoats to give her a sense of protection? When he was completely unclothed except for a pair of thin silk pantaloons? She couldn’t do it.

But he had his hand held out for her to take, and was waiting. Patiently. The fiend.

Torn between fear and what even an innocent like her knew to be lust, she took one slow step and then another, until she could put her hand into his.