Duke Takes All (The Duke's Secret, #3), page 13
Which left only Drake.
That wily duke was nowhere to be seen. Max breathed a silent sigh of relief. For the only one who saw through him with the same skills of Yvette was Drake. Drake was a born masker, who’d long ago learned how to hide his true feelings about the world and everyone in it.
Max wasn’t quite prepared to be examined by Drake in the presence of Diana.
Leaning back ever so slightly, Max prepared to pour a glass of wine for his wife, eager to shower her with all the fine things his life could bestow, when the curtain to his box opened and in entered the very devil he’d hoped would not make an appearance.
“Raventon,” boomed Drake. “How pleased you look to see me!”
Raventon fought a groan. “Of course, old man. What better bliss than your good company?”
Drake strode into the small, yet lavish box and, without waiting for invitation, sat in the chair behind Diana.
“Now, where the deuce have you been, dear girl, since your oh so romantic marriage?” Drake asked conspiratorially. “Has he kept you away lock and key to himself?”
Diana turned slightly in her chair and, completely unperplexed, faced the Duke of Drake. “Och, no. I have been most busy, Yer Grace. London needs a good deal of sorting, ye ken.”
Drake clasped a hand to his heart. “Indeed it does, Duchess. And how lucky it is to have you to do it.”
She eyed him carefully, clearly amused.
Raventon kept silent, watching the exchange. Some people felt immediately cowed in Drake’s presence. The man made a marvelous show of charm, but he could be bloody terrifying with the coldest eyes in all of Europe.
The cold glance was his actual person, the jovial chap? A complete sham.
Still, only those that crossed him saw it or those who knew the depth of the pain he’d endured over the years.
“And ye?” Diana asked brightly. “Ye have no’ come to call upon me in the last weeks. So, either ye found me very dull, indeed, or ye have been most occupied.”
“Dearest Duchess Diana, only a fool could find you dull,” Drake drawled, making good play of his alliteration.
“And ye are no’ a fool?” she queried easily, completely unintimidated. In fact, she seemed to enjoy the banter. “Or perhaps, ye think it is I who is the fool. I think ye are a good deal more serious than ye pretend.”
Drake laughed, a booming sound before his mischievous mask fell away, replaced by his more genuine, sardonic self. “No, dear lady. Neither of us are fools. Shall I be myself then?”
“’Tis the best person ye could be,” she informed him simply.
Drake’s glance angled to Max as he asked quietly, “Is it? Not everyone would agree.”
She quirked an elfish smile. “No’ everyone has any sense to speak of.”
Drake laughed dryly. “Ah. Honest. Whatever shall you do in society?”
“Ignore it for the most part.” She looked out to the sea of the ton. They glittered with thousands of jewels and shone with their silks and brocades. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by them. “Or give it little thought.”
“But you are a duchess. You are inherently a part of society,” Drake said factually.
“And so I shall set the fashion,” she countered, not perturbed. “Is that no’ the point of power?”
Drake leaned back, seemingly surprised by Diana’s bluntness and rather sharp analysis of the ton. “Perhaps you shall, dear girl. Perhaps you shall. Society could use your guidance. Obviously, you’re not a Puritan.”
She grinned. “Because I’m at the theater?”
“Exactly so.” Drake shuddered. “I’m only here tonight as a favor to the Duchess of Devonshire. Lowest form of entertainment, don’t you know.”
“Drake prefers the opera,” Max whispered sotto voce.
“Och, I’ve never been to the opera,” Diana replied, apparently taking no offense at Drake’s comments. Instead, she leaned towards Drake and arched a brow. “Tell me, is it true that live sheep do bound about the stage during the choral passages?”
Drake’s lips twitched. “On occasion, I do admit.”
“Ye like a good spectacle then?” she asked, clearly amused and not at all flummoxed that her tastes apparently ran to the lowest form of entertainment.
Drake’s eyes widened, both clearly surprised and pleased that she stood up to him so easily. “What could be better than the opera, spectacle and all?”
Diana’s eyes positively glowed before she announced, “Poetry divine. The bard!”
“You mean this drivel?” Drake asked, gesturing towards the stage.
She scowled. “Shakespeare? Drivel?”
“The most overrated author of any time,” Drake intoned, peering at her from the corner of his eyes.
Max bit down on his tongue. Drake was having too much fun baiting her. He could, of course, sweep in and rescue her, but he had a feeling that his wife could hold her own.
Her cheeks flamed red and she opened her mouth, clearly ready to give him a set down before she suddenly stopped. “Ye, sir, are terrible.”
“So they tell me,” Drake confessed in dramatic tones.
“I wager,” she began knowingly, “ye’ve read every play and sonnet. Which is yer favorite play?”
Drake shook his head. “They’re all sop.”
She arched a brow, daring him.
“Hamlet,” Drake finally said.
“Truly?” she asked, seeming genuinely surprised by the selection. “Why?”
“Because they all die in the end,” Drake drawled. Then he turned to Raventon. “Old boy, I need a quick word. Could you spare a moment before curtain’s up?”
Raventon smiled at Diana, playing his part of leisurely duke as he stood. “Of course.”
Drake gave Diana a decidedly deep bow with an extra flourish. “A surprising pleasure. Expect me for tea.”
“I suppose it’s possible that I could be at home,” she teased. “Even for someone who calls Shakespeare drivel.”
Drake threw his head back and laughed before he exited the box.
“One moment, my dear,” he assured his wife. He didn’t wish her to think he was running off for a considerable time. After all, this was their first night out together.
Diana nodded absently, her gaze already fixed again on taking in the elaborate theater.
Max followed Drake out into the dark, now quieter hall. The performance was about to begin and most had taken their seats. They paused in one of the darker shadows.
Drake casually tugged at his cuff as he asked, “Have you heard any whispers about an angry young Scotsman?”
Max stilled, his heartbeat increasing. It certainly wasn’t what he’d expected Drake to say. After all, O’Malley’s reports had all been good. Further, Max’s reach stretched far and wide, into almost every tavern, every workhouse, every gin shop, salon, and ball room.
“I have not,” he admitted warily.
Drake’s face grew serious, his eyes dark and hard as they had been when they’d first met. “Perhaps it was odd luck,” Drake observed. “But. . . I think you need to put Hamish Argyle on a boat. Soon. Or kill him.”
“You saw him?” Max demanded.
Drake leveled him with a warning stare. “He fancied having his palm read, of course. That sort of fellow.”
Max nodded patiently, knowing exactly what Drake meant. Drake, when the darkness of his life encroached, took to the fields and could be found, only by a very knowledgeable few, in the camps of Irish Travelers which had somehow roamed over into England, unwelcome, but determined to survive.
And somehow, Drake had seen Hamish enter a Traveler camp as so many fool English did to have his future foretold.
Dread pooled in Max’s gut.
Quietly, Max asked, “Did he ask anything in particular?”
Drake arched a brow and said flatly, “He inquired if there would be a death in his family.”
That dread formed a rock in his abdomen. He’d hoped Hamish would cease to be a problem. He’d hoped mistakenly it seemed.
Max drew in a long breath, knowing the answer wouldn’t be pleasant. “Did the palm reader oblige him with an answer?”
“She convinced him that only a reading of the cards would suffice.”
“Of course.” Max snorted with disgust. “And she discovered?”
“It seemed. . .” Drake’s shoulders stiffened. “He was looking for confirmation that a certain course of action would be successful. He was not asking about a natural death, if you understand my meaning.”
“I see. Will he go back to her, do you think?”
“That one?” Drake’s jaw clenched. “His wits have left him. He is being governed solely by emotion, Raventon. He’s dangerous. A cornered animal, I think.”
There was nothing left to say, so Max said the only thing he could. “Thank you.”
“Do you need assistance?” Drake asked, clearly ready to take Duncross in hand.
Max ground his teeth together. Duncross was Diana’s brother and he still hoped to make him see reason. Living with the man’s blood on his hands while married to Diana might be a very difficult thing and if she ever found out. . .
No. For now, he would follow the rule of law and not the rule of power. He would ensure that Hamish hied off to new lands. Tonight.
“Not yet, Drake.” Max narrowed his eyes. “But when I do, I’ll send word.”
“Good.” Drake started to turn, eager to be away.
Max reached out and clapped him on the shoulder. “And we need to watch Ardore. He is. . .”
“Also dangerous just now,” Drake finished.
“Righteous,” Max corrected, wishing to think the best of his friend, even if what Drake said was true. “But I don’t want him dancing the Tyburn jig.”
Drake nodded his agreement then clapped Max in return on the back. “We shall ensure he doesn’t go to the place from whence he came.”
Wordlessly, Drake turned and strode into the darkness.
Years of masking should have made returning to Diana with a smile simple. But it seemed with Diana, nothing was simple.
And he knew why.
He winced. It was hard to admit to himself. A man who was always so carefully in control.
He cared.
Bloody hell, he cared about her. He cared about the way she never backed down. He cared about the way she held her head high and faced the world with a wry smile. How she took action. Diana didn’t sit about waiting to be rescued. No, she made things happen.
Even their kiss.
An unbidden smile came to his lips then. But it seemed she had that power over him, to make him smile, even when there was trouble on the horizon.
She was remarkable.
For she had not come to London to immediately be swept up by the ascertaining of jewels, clothes, and social invitations. No, she had gone to work where she saw work was necessary.
Like he had done all those years ago.
He loved helping her with it, offering her suggestions and simply helping her to achieve her wishes.
She could not rest while she saw injustice being done.
And like him, her nature had put her in danger.
For she did not choose the easy way or the path of least resistance. She had fought her brother and refused to be intimidated by him.
Yes, Diana was a magnificent woman. Just as he’d thought the night he’d met her.
But now. . . now, he longed to hold her close. To reveal all of himself to her.
But what if. . . what if he lost her?
He paused before the closed curtains of his box. He’d never let that happen. Not while there was breath in his body. Diana was his to protect, and protect her he would because. . .
Without a doubt, something he’d imagined impossible was occurring. He was falling in love with her.
Chapter 22
Something had occurred between Drake and Max. It was impossible to tell what though or the enormity of it. Both men were ridiculously enigmatic.
Drake had gone back to his box across the theater and sipped champagne as if there weren’t a heavy cloud in this world. As soon as the handsome, yet mischievous man had sat, he’d been visited by a pair of beautiful women.
They’d sat with him and seemed to find him more amusing than the play. . . which from the slightly sardonic expression on his face, Diana could tell amused him.
And not in the way the ladies hoped.
Max, on the other hand, had attempted to act as though he had as few cares as Drake.
He had failed.
At least, in her eyes.
There was something in his posture, the way his broad shoulders were slightly tense beneath his perfectly-cut black coat. His smile seemed. . . slightly brittle. It certainly didn’t reach his eyes.
It was tempting to simply ask him what was amiss, but she resisted.
It was impossible to ask during the performance and, somehow, she managed to follow the plot of the play she had read so many times.
The antics of Andrew Aguecheek and Sir Toby Belch transported her to heights of amusement. After all, she could do nothing at present. And the hilarity of poor Viola, forced to pretend to be a man and facing all sorts of troubles in love struck a nerve.
She, too, felt as if she had lost her heart to a great man, yet it was a difficult thing to confess. And she’d lost her heart as quickly as Viola had done to Orsino.
It was such a coil, for he showed no signs of sharing her feelings. Except for, perhaps, when he kissed her.
Truly, it seemed to her that love was a very odd thing. It could grow slowly over time, or it could strike like a lightning bolt, taking one in a quick blast of fire.
She knew unequivocally that the latter was what had happened to her.
She longed to be close to her husband because the feelings in her breast had a name. Not lust. Not simple admiration. Oh no. It was so much more. It was love.
How could she not love such a man? She’d be an utter fool if she did not. And she’d assured Drake that she was no fool. Drake had agreed with her assessment. So, she saw no point in arguing with her heart.
Now, she had only to decide when and how to tell him. Or should she simply show him through deed?
With the play done, and them safely ensconced in their luxurious ducal coach, her heart and mind played terrible games with her.
One desperately longed to proclaim itself, the other cautioned reason. It was bloody annoying.
The coach swayed as it bumped over the cobble streets leading back to their grand residence on St. James’ Park.
He had said little, preoccupied with whatever had occurred in the interchange with Drake outside their box.
She, too, had said little, lost in her own personal reverie of feeling. Staring out the window, she wished they could return to the passionate intimacy they had shared before arriving at Drury Lane.
“You liked the play?” he asked suddenly.
“I liked everything about it,” she said honestly, dragging her gaze from the passing, unlit London street. “Except. . . one thing.”
“Oh?” he asked softly, that deep voice of his rumbling through the shadows.
She nibbled at her lower lip, wondering if she really should throw caution to the wind.
So far, her bold behavior had won out. What point was there in denying it now?
“Tell me what happened with Drake,” she said softly.
He shook his head, pretending confusion. “Drake?”
“Come now,” she tsked. “Do no’ show such ill thought of me. I can see ye, ye ken. Ye were. . . different when ye came back.”
“And if I told you he shared some rather concerning news about a revolutionary group in South London?” Max inquired casually.
“I’d believe that there was a revolutionary group in South London doing things it should no’. . .” She folded her hands in her lap. “But I dinna believe that is what Drake told ye tonight.”
“Then you’d be correct,” he said ruefully. “I knew how astute you were the moment I met you, but I failed to see you would use that astuteness on me.”
She smiled at him, hoping for a smile in turn. “Is that such a very terrible thing?”
A smile did not form. Instead, he looked quite contemplative. “I’m accustomed to people not knowing what I am truly thinking or feeling.”
“That must be very lonely,” she observed. How did one go through life thus? Hiding all of the time? She wasn’t capable of it.
“I suppose it is, but I am so familiar with it that I don’t know if I know how to. . . reveal myself.”
“Try,” she whispered.
Max leaned back, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths. “It was about ye.”
“Me?” she almost yelped. She’d thought it could be many serious things but, for some reason, it had never occurred to her that she was the subject of their conversation.
He nodded. “Your brother is acting suspiciously.”
She swallowed. “Whatever shall we do?”
“We?” he queried.
“Yes,” she returned. “We.”
He reached across the short distance between them and drew her hands into his. “I’m going to see him and make clear what I failed to before.”
“Will it work?” She forced herself to remain relaxed, to remain calm, even as she savored his reassuring touch. She would not appear hysterical before him. Besides, there was no point to losing her wits.
But the one thing his confession made plain to her was that life would always be a risk. It would always be precarious. And one had best enjoy what they had while they had it.
“I want ye to make love to me,” she said suddenly.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Make love to me,” she reiterated, clasping his hands now with her own. “We’ve waited long enough. I ken ye. My soul kens yers, despite yer secrets, and yers kens mine. I think ye kent me from the moment ye let me enter yer chamber.”
She held her breath then, terrified he would decline her request. Terrified that he would deny everything that she had said.
