Duke Takes All (The Duke's Secret, #3), page 9
She was not sure which one, exactly, but one of her accusations hit bone. His entire demeanor changed. He all but snarled at her, an anger and resentment so deep and old came forward that she nearly recoiled.
“Ye always stole their love,” he accused. “Always. There was none left for me.”
The passion in his words shook her to her core. She had not expected this. For in his statement, there was absolute conviction. Whatever the truth was, Hamish actually believed that their parents had not loved him and that it was Diana’s fault.
The anger that had been in her burned away as she looked at the man who should have loved her as her brother.
“Och, Hamish, it breaks my heart to hear ye say it.”
“Ye havena a heart to break, Diana,” he said simply. “Ye wouldna help me if I was the last man alive.”
She gasped. “That’s no’ true.”
He took a step forward, his hands flexing into fists.
It was then that she noticed she was alone with him. Abbot had disappeared.
And as he took the first step, her skin crawled. For though her heart broke for him that he felt so completely unloved, she now understood his hate for her and how it might drive him to do the unspeakable.
“Laird Duncross, you’ve not been invited upstairs,” a dark voice growled from the adjoining hall.
Hamish froze and whipped towards the sound. Despite his own breadth and strength, he paled. “Yer Grace.”
“Yes, Duncross.” Max stepped out of the shadows, his face a mask of danger. “And you’re upsetting my wife.”
Hamish did not back away immediately but he shifted on his feet. “She’s my sister.”
“Yes. But the position of wife is the most important,” Max pointed out coolly. But there was a warning in his words. “She’s under my care now. Thank you for ensuring her welfare until now. But I think it’s best you leave until you can offer us congratulations.”
“Congratulations?” Hamish stared for a long moment then ground out, “Ye lied to me.”
“It seemed wise.” Max took a step forward, a frightening smile parting his lips. “You also lied to me. There isn’t a mad bone in your sister’s body. But you? I do think you might be as mad as a March hare, though.”
Hamish’s jaw tightened. “Wait,” he warned. “Ye wait and see. She’ll destroy everything ye care about. Just as she did to me. And then ye’ll lock her away.”
Her husband strode to the center of the foyer. “I think it best you leave now, pup. My solicitors will be in contact with yours posthaste.”
Hamish winced. For despite his youth and strength, even he seemed to know he was no match for the duke. “But—”
“Yes?” the duke asked with eyes so decidedly tigerish that Hamish nearly stumbled as he stepped away from the staircase.
“Fine,” Hamish rushed, raising his hands in supplication. “I’ll await yer. . . communication.”
Max gestured a hand towards the door, but then he stopped. “Oh, one more thing, Hamish. If you ever ruffle one of my servants or upset even a hair upon Diana’s head again, I’ll have you sent to the bottom of the Thames. My range of associates is far wider than yours. . .” He raked Hamish up and down with a dismissive glance. “And when I set out to task, I succeed.”
Diana nearly gasped at the clear allusion that Max knew Hamish had tried to kill her and that, unlike Hamish, Max would not fail if he attempted such an act.
Hamish had the intelligence to pale then give a firm nod before he retreated out the still-open door to the pavement.
Quietly, Max closed his own front door, a shocking thing to do, then turned to face her. The distance between them, since she still stood frozen on the stairs, seemed strange.
“Are you well?” he asked carefully, clearly concerned the experience had left her fragile.
Somehow, she managed to nod, barely hearing his inquiry.
“It must have been upsetting,” he offered.
“Upsetting,” she agreed, unable to move, her slippers firmly planted into the Oriental runner.
“He’s unhinged,” Max said firmly, crossing the foyer calmly. And yet, his entire body crackled with his concern for her.
“Yes,” she whispered as she fingered the concealed dagger she’d placed in her sleeve.
Max strode quickly up the stairs, his gaze dropping to her sleeve. “You have my present?”
She nodded, barely able to believe what had just transpired but at least it was over now. Over. Would it ever be over? Or would she dream of this for the rest of her life? The way he had looked at her. . .
Gently, Max took her hand in his, their fingers twining.
It was the gentlest and most comforting gesture she’d known in years.
She began to shake.
“Could you have used it?” he asked softly.
“On my brother?” she breathed. “I. . . I suddenly do no’ ken.”
“That not knowing?” he replied, his lips close to her temple. “It is what makes you a good person, Diana. I know you are strong but you are also good. Come.”
And he led her down the rest of the stairs and into one of his studies.
He tucked her into a chair before the fire then quickly poured out two large brandies.
“I’m glad that is done,” she said, amazed that she was still shaking. She hoped he wouldn’t think less of her for it.
He wrapped her hands around the carved crystal snifter. “Yes, the first encounter is done,” he agreed. “And I will do everything in my power to ensure it was the last.”
“Thank ye,” she murmured, dismayed to see the brandy jump ever so slightly while her hands continued to tremble.
“I hope you understand,” he said, crouching slowly before her, “but I am going to hire you a permanent guard for the time being. A man who knows how to handle himself.”
She blinked then frowned. “Ye deem it necessary?”
“After seeing your brother today?” He cupped her cheek in his palm. “Yes. I’d be a fool not to take precautions. And that’s all it is. A precaution. Besides, you’ll like O’Malley. He’s a good man.”
She nodded, barely able to take it in. She allowed herself to ease her cheek into his palm and closed her eyes, savoring the safety of that feeling. Still, she refused to be controlled by fear.
Slowly, she opened her eyes and lifted her head. “Ye canna be with me every moment of the day.”
“Alas, no,” he agreed.
“I wouldna wish such a thing,” she declared passionately. “I ken ye’re a powerful man, and ye must run the country.”
“Now it is you who flatter to assume I run the country.”
She arched a challenging brow at him. “Dinna ye?”
“I suppose I do.” He touched her snifter, gently helping her raise it. “Now, drink that. It will steady you. May I ask; were you and your brother close once?”
She was still for a moment before taking a long drink. The intense flavors of the brandy slid over her tongue and burned straight down to her stomach, warming her.
Close? Once, they had been inseparable. She’d held his hand and they had wandered the estate like wild things. Always wishing to be together. Always adventuring together. Even curling up to sleep together when one of them had a nightmare. The distance between them was a gulf she could scarce understand now.
But she couldn’t ignore it or pretend it wasn’t there. She never was and never would be that kind of fool.
Something had happened to Hamish. And it was something that neither of them could come back from.
“Aye,” she said firmly. “Once, there wasna a closer brother and sister. But he hates me now. He blames me for all his misfortunes.”
“He has a good many of them, Diana.” Max stood and crossed to the fire. He took up the poker and stoked the fire, sending embers wafting upward. “The moment you arrived, I arranged his investigation. And, already, the picture I’ve received is quite bleak. Sadly, some men cannot accept the responsibility for their own misdeeds and their only recourse is to blame others.”
She nodded, but even as she tried to be strong, her eyes burned with tears. “Och, forgive me. I’ve turned into a watering pot.”
“I’m glad,” he suddenly said. “I’d be most worried if you continued in your stoic behavior.”
She shifted uncomfortably and took another long drink. “Well, I am most unaccustomed to tears.”
“Because you hold them in or you have little reason for them?” he asked with what seemed to be genuine curiosity.
She considered his question carefully, wishing to give him an honest answer. “Sometimes both. Ye see, I had little reason for them until my parents passed. My aunt died. And then, since my brother’s changes. . . well, I havena cried. No’ really. For I didna see the use for tears.”
“They do a tremendous job of releasing emotion.” He hung the poker back on the stand. “Admiral Nelson was known to shed a tear or two, you know.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help herself. “And ye? Do ye shed a tear or two?”
“Certainly,” he replied easily. “It is most good for the soul.”
“I dinna ken if I believe ye.”
“You shall see one day,” he protested, smiling. “I’m not truly a great believer in this new line of manhood where men aren’t supposed to feel. No, I prefer Nelson and the men who appreciated the importance of expression. Mind you, not all my friends adhere to my thinking. But I do.”
She could not hide her smile at his kind words. “I shall have to remember that.”
“Indeed you shall, Wife.” He cocked his head to the side, oh-so-serious. “No recrimination of manly tears, if you please.”
“Never,” she promised.
“Good.” He folded his arms across his chest, which caused his coat to tighten ever so slightly along the breadth of his wide shoulders. “We shan’t reproach each other for feeling.”
“Ye are most unexpected,” she said without thinking.
He laughed. “What did you expect?”
She shook her head, astonished she’d been so bold as to say such a thing out loud. But now that she was in for a penny, she might as well go in for the pound.
Diana cleared her throat. “I thought ye would be someone formidable, which ye are. . . but no’. . . so kind.”
“It costs little to be kind,” he observed. “The only reason I can see that people are not kind is because they are afraid of suffering. They’re afraid of feeling pain. Pain is a part of life. It cannot be escaped. So why not spread kindness which, in my experience, is the only antidote to pain in any case?”
She blinked. “I’d never thought of that.”
“I confess to having thought on it a great deal.” His face grew serious, his gaze shadowed. “I have seen enough cruelty for a thousand lifetimes. I will not add to it.”
“Nor I, if it can be helped.”
“Good.” He blinked away his dark thoughts. “We are in accord.”
And, she realized, they were. They might still know each other very little but, with every passing moment, she found that he was a man that matched her heart, her soul, her mind. Now, she could only hope that he would wish her to match his.
Chapter 15
London was a magnificent city. Truly, it was undeniable. It mattered not that the clouds of winter lowered over the vast metropolis. The teeming masses of people who went about their daily lives, walking from the growing suburbs into the city were a marvel.
Och, there was great poverty. Of that, she knew. For she was not like some of the ladies of the West End that never left their hallowed halls.
No, she couldn’t be such a one. To live in such ignorance? It was beyond her.
All her life, she’d grown in the knowledge that her privilege brought with it the necessity to care for those who had not been born to her status.
Coming to London had not changed that. How could it? Years of established teachings by her parents couldn’t be easily dismissed.
So, it had not been to the haberdashers or dressmakers that she had instructed the coachman and her new guard, a Mr. Thomas O’Malley, to take her. Och. No. It was to the East End and the Aid Society that she had immediately established.
It was a good thing she’d done it, too, for her new husband whom she had felt such admiration for was, indeed, never home. If she had relied upon him for her company, she would have been very lonely, indeed.
It had been rather astonishing how she had felt such a closeness to him and then how he had suddenly been away so very much. One might have thought the two were linked, but that would have been giving herself a great deal of importance.
But much to her good fortune, she had reached out to the Duchess of Blackstone and the Duchess of Harley, inviting them to partake in her venture. They had readily agreed.
While they had charities of their own, they’d seemed most happy to be included and considered helpful.
So, it had not been over tea and scones that they had become friends, but in the hiring of a building, workers, and the distribution of help to those who needed it most.
Especially since the height of winter was upon them.
Diana had found that the darker months, while sometimes joyous due to the merriment of Christmas, could be the hardest time for those in need. And she was determined to help as many as she could to fight the difficulties of the ensuing cold and winter nights.
Now, it might have occurred to her to stay in her London townhouse locked away from all society what with her brother. But she refused to be a prisoner and now he had no reason to see her done in. For, what could he gain? All her funds now would go to her husband. And she had the best protection possible.
No, life was for living. Not for sitting tucked away in fear. Besides it wasn’t as if she were being wool-brained, going about willy-nilly.
She took a good deal of care, as did O’Malley.
And in the little time they did have together, Max had begun teaching her how to use her wedding present with skill. If only for a few swift minutes a day. After all, he did always seem to be on his way to a very important meeting.
Diana leaned forward and looked out the window, still awed by the sight of Fleet Street.
How she loved it!
Coaches, carts, and riders choked the historic thoroughfare and she adored the sight of the newspaper men bustling about, their fingers stained with ink and their fashionable coats flapping about their lean persons.
She’d grown to love the nooks and crannies of the old city in a way that she felt few ladies could do.
It was the history of it, of course. For she had read so much that finally traveling down the roads in which such remarkable things had occurred for hundreds of years was positively thrilling.
Why, the sight of St. Paul’s left her in awe every time they did drive past.
It mattered not that all the other drivers seemed to be yelling and that the traffic was so great that they could move at but a snail’s pace.
It gave her time to think and to admire.
Finally, the buildings began to appear in a more dilapidated state, packed more closely together, the occupants attired in ratted costumes, sold again and again until the street urchins were able to purchase them in a tattered, patched state.
They did not go deep into the East End. The Seven Dials and Bethnel Green were not places a woman such as she could go, not even with O’Malley.
Or at least not yet.
She had a strong feeling that Max might struggle not to shake her if she did. For those were the sorts of places that people from the West End went in and might not come out again. . . at least not with their clothes.
The coach rumbled to a halt in front of one of the better kept buildings. It had been washed and painted to within an inch of its life. Of that, she had made certain. Not an inch of it hadn’t been sloshed with vinegar. . . once a week.
She would not have people come for aid and leave sicker than when they’d arrived.
The coach door swung open and a strong, black-gloved hand reached in. “Right you are, Your Grace. Are you ready to make the holy saints and angels jealous with your bounty?”
“Now, stop that, Mr. O’Malley,” Diana tried to say firmly but it was impossible. Thomas O’Malley had a bit of the devil in him, but only in the best possible way, and he did love to tease. Anything said was often delivered with such a merry lilt that it was impossible to be offended.
“Stop what, Your Grace?” he asked as he helped her descend.
“Blasphemy.” Diana tsked. “Yer mother would be most distressed.”
O’Malley laughed, his deep blue eyes twinkling beneath his dark brows. “My poor suffering mother has offered up my behavior to the Holy Ghost many a time.”
“She was a good woman,” Diana said without hesitation. It was clear O’Malley had been raised well, despite what must have been crushing poverty.
“She was that,” O’Malley happily confirmed.
Over their short time together, she had learned an astonishing amount about the Irish man. More than she’d learned about Max, in fact. For though O’Malley was extremely efficient in her care, when they had a moment, he happily regaled her with tales of Ireland. It was a country he clearly missed but seemed disinclined to return to.
He was less willing to discuss his fighting against Napoleon, but she knew he had been a most valiant man. Max had assured her of his valor.
She’d also gathered, though O’Malley had said nothing specific, that life in Ireland had been exceedingly difficult which was why he’d gone off to fight with the English. It was something she understood all too well, having seen the poverty in so much of the Highlands after The Clearances and the rebellions.
She admired him for finding a better life. It was no easy thing, being an outsider in another land.
O’Malley’s dark great coat swung about his tall form as he allowed her to go before him, up the few stone stairs, and into the Aid Society.
She was well aware that under his great coat lay a veritable armory of weapons, yet he moved as if he were as lithe as a cat.
