The Duke’s Impetuous Darling: Christmas Belles, Book 3 Page 5

  He, however, did not sit. But placed his hands behind his back and stared at her. "What I am about to say may shock you."

  "Alastair, nothing further could surprise me this evening." She grinned at him.

  He threw her a wan smile. "One thing I do love about you is your ability to deal with surprising circumstances that are presented to you."

  "You pay me a compliment greater than my abilities."

  He frowned. "No, you are—”

  "Rash. You once said it yourself. Had not my aunt and my sisters led the way out of the salon, I would have kissed you there amid all those very high steppers."

  He did laugh now.

  "Tell me, Alastair. Tell me all. And then we will be done with it."

  He took a breath. "This is difficult. A long story. You must see I am not the man who left you in the spring."

  She considered the sparks dashing upward from the fire. If he told her he was posted to India, if he said he would never gain the promotion he expected, if he said he wished to retire to his father's small estate and manage it to never leave, all of that she could accept. "Very well. Tell me what you will."

  "I was very badly injured." He raised his arm in the dark sling. "This is as high as I can lift it. My arm is weak. I have use of my fingers, but that is all. I must have fallen on it when I fell on the field. I cannot recall how I broke it, but I did. The bone was not set for days and so it healed poorly."

  Alarm and insult mixed. She indicated his fashionable clothes. "Do they not want you in the Army because of it?"

  "Nothing like that. They'd have me. I'm to have my promotion to colonel. But I won't need it. As you can see,"—he lifted his good arm and opened a hand to indicate his attire—"in London before Griff and I traveled south, I ordered new clothes. Not new uniforms."

  "Very well." She settled backward into the plush cushions. "Go on."

  "I will resign my commission. Sell it. I'm done with war."

  So, India was not the possibility. And yet he would be a colonel, if he wanted to remain. She was confused. "I'd hope we all are done with war. The costs have been too high. Your brother William. Our brother George. Now your injury."

  "Yes. But not just my arm."

  She tipped her head. "What else? If you mean to say you're face is—”

  "No. I don't. Oh, certainly I'm not pretty, but—”

  "You are," she told him with a gleaming smile of reassurance.

  Did he blush? He shook his head and refuted her. "The gash is not as ugly as it once was. In time, it might be less apparent."

  "I'd say you're right."

  "What is ugly, can be, is that which you cannot see. Nor can you predict."

  "I don't understand."

  "You might not ever."

  "What?"

  "I'm—” He tapped a hand to his head. "Not right."

  "You look fine to me."

  "I hope so. Hope I do to one and all. But I have minutes, hours when I am not."

  "Tell me more." She wanted to understand, help him if she could.

  "When they found me in the field, I did not speak. They said they were surprised I was taken up as wounded, because I did not wake for days. And when I did, my eyes were open but I did not speak. Not at all, except to say your name."

  Her heart turned over. Tears scalded her eyes. "Oh, Alastair."

  "I did not speak for weeks. Scavengers, thieves who prey upon fallen soldiers, had stolen by uniform. I had no idea who I was. I did not know my regiment or where I was. Nor did I know my name. Only yours."

  Gratifying as that was, she rued the rest of it. Anger that he'd been so badly used, saddened that he'd lost his memory, horrified that he might have died untended alone, all of that set her to her feet so that she could wrap her arms around him.

  But he put her to arm's length. "Only lately have I remembered my name and regiment. Even my letters! I could not read, Bee. Were it not for compassionate fellows in hospital with me, I would be a blithering fool to this day."

  "Then we must find them, thank them and do compassionate services for them."

  "Oh, Bee!" He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly to speak into her hair. "I want you, my darling. As I did before I left. But you have to know I am an odd duck. Walking the floor at night. Sometimes, with as blank a mind as when I first came off the field."

  She stepped backward. "Alastair, you've suffered so much. I would take it from you if I could."

  He clutched her arms. "Think if you can live with my injuries, Bee. I want you to see me this week here. Watch me. Note how I am. And be careful to consider my condition. I may not be the man I was or ever will be again."

  "You think I am afraid of what you are?" With one finger, she tapped his chest. "Never. You are a hero. Home. Wounded from the war. Promoted. Now to take over your family estate."

  "Not simply that."

  "What then?"

  "I do not wish to be celebrated, Bee. I fought. As many did. The horrors of war are not to be held up as noble things."

  She inclined her head toward those in the Red Salon. "I doubt you can persuade the multitude of that."

  "Then I will persuade them by other means." He approached her. "I'll persuade them with the tools they use. Prestige. Wealth. Position."

  "You...you wish to stand for Parliament? Become a politician?"

  "No."

  Was this stubbornness, this fantasy the symptom of his injury to his head?

  "Darling, I am the Duke of Kingston. Due to the Lords soon to proclaim my rights. I am a leading peer of the realm."

  Her head thrummed. Yes, she'd heard her aunt speak of the old duke who'd passed away a few weeks ago. How the man had lost his grandson in the autumn and so the title, ancient and storied, without William or Alastair, had no heirs. It would go into abeyance until they found a lesser cousin to appear and take the reins. Her sight of Alastair tonight had not resurrected that particular fact.

  "Oh Alastair, I am so delighted for you. The dukedom. Land and home and title and riches. What a welcome for you."

  "Bee. Bee." He took both her hands in his. "My darling, listen to me. I love you."

  The very words she'd craved to hear him say rushed through her like the dizzy whirl of strong whiskey.

  "I've loved you all my life. I never thought I could presume to tell you, let alone ask you to marry me. But now," he reached to enfold her, "I can. I will. I want you to become my duchess."

  Love him. Marry him. She gasped. No other words could give her such joy. And such despair. Honored to think that Alastair could consider her, she was horrified that she could not accept.

  Now she had to recite the reasons she couldn't marry him. And they now were more potent than before he'd left for Waterloo. "I can't, Alastair. Honored as I am, I can't."

  He tried to speak, faltered. "You refuse me?"

  "I must." She took a step back. "I am still without dowry. But worse, I am still the daughter of a family whose name is sullied."

  "I don't care!"

  "I do. I won't bring you down. Not when you need to be celebrated. Revered."

  "Stop it. As a duke, I'll have more than enough reverence to go around!"

  "It will be yours. And I have no right to share it." She stiffened. "If I was not worthy of you when you were Viscount Lowell, I am certainly not worthy of you now that you are Duke of Kingston."

  His umber eyes went wide with shock. "You cannot say that."

  With certainty, she said, "I do. If I'd helped Revenuers to secure the smugglers and their agent, I hoped to cast a bit of glory on our family name. But I failed at that."

  "Darling, even if you saw them again, even if word went out that it was you who identified them, your life would be at risk from the men who shield him and take their profits from him."

  "I can't win a reputation that way," she said with bitterness. "What's left? To enjoy the blight of charity."

  "Bee, do stop."

  "Aunt Gertrude and Griff support us." She indica
ted her gown. "Everything we have is given. It's generous, kind, but it does nothing to commend us. It shames us more. 'Look at them. Those poor, unfortunate Craymore girls.'" She crossed her arms across her chest. "I shudder at the thought."

  "You're wrong about the ton."

  "Am I? Watch them here this week. They'll condemn us."

  "The sins of your father are not yours."

  "When we have no home, no money, only the courtesy of Miss this or Miss that, yes, his sins are ours."

  He grew angry, his face bright red, as he took her hands. "I don't care about them, Bee."

  "I'm sad to say, I do." She loosed her hands and left him where he stood.

  Chapter 4

  At the table she took her place between two men she cared naught for. Her lips stung from Alastair's kisses. Her heart ached from her refusal to marry him.

  He loved her.

  Was she mad to refuse him?

  No. No. But right. To marry him in her current state was unthinkable. People would laugh at him for such a choice—and at her for reaching above her station. She loved him too much to hurt him so. He'd been hurt enough. Still bore the scars outside and in.

  But if Bee thought she'd escape him at supper, she was wrong. Aunt Gertrude's dining table was huge and her two newest arrivals were put to either hand. Like Prinny at his Pavilion, Aunt sat in the very middle of her long table. On her right sat her step-son Griff, the fourth earl of Marsden. Alastair, the new duke of Kingston, took the chair to her left.

  From her seat five down the table, Bee had a clear view of him. Somber, he spoke little. But to his left sat Marjorie's friend, Lady Elizabeth Kent. An Incomparable with perfect ivory complexion, Eliza had been out for three years. Surprisingly still unwed, she had influential connections, a sizable dowry and a widowed father whom, it was said, she ignored. Her presence here away from him during Christmas put truth to that statement. But one other quality she had was a flirtatious nature. Tonight she set her sparkling green eyes on the prize of the new duke in her midst—and he let her amuse him.

  How could he? How could he!

  Spearing her soup, Bee fretted over the ripples she made. But oh, she must be practical.

  Eliza Kent, the earl of Leith's daughter, with her bubbling charm and her noble blue blood was more a match for Alastair than she. The very probability, however, of the cheerful redhead in his arms churned Bee's stomach.

  Lord Carlson leaned close. "You're not eating, Miss Belinda. Do you not care for white soup?"

  Had she frightened him? She must wield her spoon more delicately—and take more care of her aunt's guests. "I love it."

  Over the cod in mornay sauce and pike garnished in roe, she learned he preferred champagne with his fish course. "And you?"

  "I like it too though it was difficult to get during the wars."

  "Plentiful now. But expensive," he complained. "The French steal us blind. I prefer a less costly way to drink the best wine."

  "Is there one?"

  He picked up his glass and examined the liquid. "If one has friends who do one the favor of decent pricing."

  "Ah. You have a friend perhaps who owns a French chateau?"

  "I do. He is most kind and sends me casks of his fine product."

  From Carlson's girth, Bee imagined the man's friend sent far too many casks his way.

  Tiring of his focus, she brought up the greenery excursion for the guests on the morrow. He asked to be her partner. She accepted but wished she hadn't had to.

  Over the next course, the spit-roasted woodcock and the Duck Luxembourg, he did not tickle or pinch her. For this, she was grateful. But then quite abruptly, he invited her to his home. "The New Year, shall we say? I shall invite your sisters, too. A party most proper."

  "Thank you," she said with little gratitude for the offer. He appealed to her not at all with his enormous appetite for food and his penchant to talk while chewing. "I must first check with my aunt. She has many social obligations on her calendar."

  One look at Alastair and Eliza had Bee hoping none of them included the vivacious young miss.

  When the tables were turned and Bee smiled upon Lord Hallerton, he filled her ear with details of a new Parliamentary bill. Now she liked politics as much as any young woman, which was to say only if the discussion were of veterans' orphans or soldiers' pensions and prize money. Yet the man did drone on, insisting she care about taxes on spices imported by the Dutch. So when the footmen presented the marinated haunch of boar, she decided how fortunate the beast on the platter. He could not hear this patter, and better yet, did not have to comment upon it.

  Down the table, a particular laugh caught her ear. Her gaze shot to Eliza, that happy young woman, atwitter with some subject that made Alastair chuckle.

  "I say do you skate?" asked Hallerton, once more gaining her attention, over the Great Parisian meringue and profiteroles.

  "I do. We'll have a party of it if the ice on the pond still holds for day after tomorrow. Will you go?"

  "I will. May I ask you to be my partner?"

  "For a turn, yes," she agreed, playing up to his interest with a laugh far too gay. She'd pay for that, she knew, when she would have to rebuff him, but for now it meant Alastair glowered at her. "My duties as hostess for my aunt mean I must skate with many, you see."'

  "Of course. I understand. No pistols, I imagine!"

  "I am sorry. What?"

  He grinned and the expression made him more handsome than she'd first assumed. "I've heard the rumors of your skills with a weapon. Admirable."

  "Is it?" She couldn't tell if he teased her or was complimenting her.

  "If I'm a poor skater, I don't wish to be punished for my lack."

  She was not amused. "I strike only those who look suspicious to me."

  "So I have heard." He laughed and raised his glass in a toast. "To your skills."

  She responded in kind and from down the table, Alastair's dark eyes hurled daggers toward Hallerton.

  Triumphant, she devoured the pancakes in Chantilly cream, followed by a large serving of rose ice cream and almonds.

  By evening end, she was not proud of herself. Stuffed to her eyebrows with the fourteen different dishes, frustration and jealousy, she rose with the others and adjourned to the Red Salon. The discussions were brief, praise heavens and her aunt. The house guests bid good night and drifted off to their rooms. Alastair was one of the first to excuse himself. Eliza soon followed. Then her sisters, Bromley and Griff.

  "A success, don't you think, Belinda?" Aunt Gertrude sank into her stuffed Chippendale when they were alone.

  "I do, Aunt."

  "So superb to have Griff home with us. Lord Bromley and Alastair, too. What he's endured, we can't know. But now, now, to become Kingston, no less. He has a fine life ahead of him." His succession had filled much of the diners' table conversation.

  "He does."

  "He must marry. Do his duty. Eliza might suit him." Aunt Gertrude had no idea that Alastair had ever been more than Bee's friend. Just as well she not know. “What do you think, hmm?”

  “I hadn’t.” And don’t wish to. She stripped off her gloves. The night had quite exhausted her. "If you'll excuse me, Aunt. I will retire."

  "Certainly, my dear. Sleep well. We'll have the greenery party tomorrow. Eleven o'clock. All the carriages. I won't go, but you must order them all."

  "I'm happy to do it, Aunt. Good night."

  Bee hurried away. The night a joy and a sorrow, how would she survive the next six? With Alastair near her, she'd have to be quick to avoid him, smart to pretend that he'd never asked her to be his wife.

  She opened her sitting room door and sank against it, relieved. Candles glowed in her bedroom and promised solitude. Mary would expect her to ring for her help, but she was loathe to face anyone.

  Except the man whom she glimpsed sitting in her overstuffed boudoir chair, frowning at her.

  She went to stand before him, unwilling to argue.

  Hi
s huge dark eyes lustrous in the flickering light, he took her hands in his and leaned forward to put kisses to each palm.

  She jerked backwards but he would not let her go. "I will leave, once you tell me one thing."

  Always good at mathematics, he'd thought in terms of numbers of issues. One thing. Two things. Promise me...

  Ohhh. She could not promise him anything. Not marriage. Not love.

  He got to his feet, his arms wrapping around her, his body firm and vibrant and warm against her own. "All these years, since I went away to the Army, did you ever care for any other man?"

  She caught back the lie she should give him. He deserved the bald truth. "No."

  With his good arm, he pressed her flush to him. Her breasts crushed against him, her hips too, she detected his very ready male interest. Her own body fired in response. "I never wanted any other woman."

  "A fine compliment." She loved his tender affirmation racing through her like hot rivers of delight.

  "More than that," he said and dropped a kiss to her bare shoulder. "I hungered for you. Years, when you were all I thought of on the field, in the saddle, afterward as I counted my men and cried at their wounds and their deaths, when I yearned to sit with you by a fire in a room like this, to smoke a pipe and have you read me Moliere in your flowing French."

  "Alastair," she breathed his name as he trailed his lips along the cords of her throat to nestle behind her ear, his breath tickling her skin as he kissed her there...and just there. She tingled with his touch.

  "I never said a word, never hinted how I wanted you, my darling."

  "We were...different then."

  "I was poor. Without means. You were my lovely friend meant to marry a man with more than I could ever own." He lifted her chin and gazed down at her with compassion. "Yet I always hoped if I could earn enough, rise high enough, become so decorated that I'd become worthy of you, that if I asked, you'd marry me."

  Her heart ached with the beauty of what he'd strived for and the hope he'd carried all these years. "I didn't know. But hoped myself."