The Devilish Duke, page 3
“That may be the case,” the Queen allowed. “However, I am currently more concerned with the lack of respect you pay your ducal title. Honestly, Huntington, it has been in your family for generations, and your rather blasé attitude toward it does you no credit.”
He sat back against the chair and steeped his fingers together. For the past ten years, he’d been doing everything in his power to disrespect what had been his grandfather’s title: dirtying his hands in trade, parading one lady after another through the Ton, and generally doing anything and everything to make the old man’s life a living hell. It had been the least Devlin could do, after the reprehensible role the old man had played in Devlin’s parents’ deaths. Then, of course, after his grandfather died and Devlin inherited the title, Devlin was already well ensconced in the role of the Devil Duke. Obviously, he’d been doing an exceedingly good job of it—perhaps too good, as it had culminated in this conversation with the Queen. “Your Majesty, I fail to see how my bachelor status affects this contract. In point of fact, as a bachelor, I have a good deal more freedom in ensuring that my financial trades are successful. A wife would be an encumbrance.”
And quite frankly, a wife was sure to expect love, which was an emotion he had no intention of ever feeling again.
The Queen took in a sharp breath. “Are you suggesting that the sacred pact of a marriage between a man and wife is an encumbrance? Or rather that you being tied to only one woman would be?”
Devlin lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “I have never claimed to be a saint, and though you and the Prince aptly demonstrate how beneficial a marriage can be, you must admit that most of the marriages within the Ton are far from beneficial. Courting alone can take months, which is time I do not have as I am frequently traveling between New York and here.”
The Queen’s brows drew together. “I was under the impression that this telegraph line project would take months, if not years, to complete. I had assumed you would be overseeing a great deal of the scheme here. Particularly now that you are guardian to a young boy, or was I mistaken in that regard?”
The Queen always did have excellent sources of information. He had only arrived back in England three days ago, and already she knew of Nicholas. “You are correct, Your Majesty, on both accounts.”
Devlin himself had only found out about the boy when he had last been in London three months ago, on the very day he was to set sail for New York. He’d been so busy barking out orders to the crew of his ship, he nearly hadn’t noticed his man of affairs arriving at the dock with the little boy in tow. Apparently, the boy’s father, John Delaney, had passed away and, unbeknownst to Devlin, had decreed in his will that his good friend the Duke of Huntington was to assume guardianship of Nicholas upon John’s passing. News indeed to Devlin. Honestly, what had John been thinking to leave a seven-year-old child in his care? Devlin didn’t know the first thing about children.
But Lady Sophie did.
“We are pleased to hear it.” The Queen smiled. It was not reassuring. “If you were to marry, there would be no hindrance to signing the contract and thus allowing the telegraph lines to be built over my estates.”
Leaning back, he tilted his head to the side. “So it is to be blackmail then?”
“You tread a very fine line to suggest such a blasphemous thing.” The Queen pointed her fan at him, holding it aloft like a sword. “However, it is high time you lived up to your obligations. If assisting you in doing so is classed as something akin to blackmail, then so be it.” She stood and strode over to the window overlooking Buckingham Gardens. “I prefer to consider it as well-needed assistance. Really, Huntington, most men are quite keen to marry and beget an heir.”
Devlin stood also. “I am not like most men.”
The Queen scoffed. “That has always been abundantly clear. You have consistently had too many brainless ladies flocking to your side. It is no wonder you do not have a very high opinion of ladies in general. Particularly the sort you choose for company.”
“Surely you would not wish my title and future bloodlines to be besmirched by such scatterbrained creatures?” Perhaps he could convince her this was not a good idea.
The Queen was having none of it. “Perhaps then you will look elsewhere and find a lady of intelligence, compassion, and virtue.”
“Aside from yourself, Majesty, and a very select few, I fear those qualities in a woman to be in short supply.”
“I care naught for your cynicism.” The Queen’s voice grew stern. “You know what is required of you if you wish this project to go forward. It is entirely your decision.”
The Queen’s posture was rigid, and he knew she was finally serious in her marriage threats; she was determined to see him marry and would not be cajoled into signing the contract otherwise. He felt a burst of annoyance. He’d had no intention of marrying, yet his project was far too important to abandon.
Then again, a wife could not be that much trouble, provided that she was trustworthy and was under no illusions it was a love match. But what woman of the Ton could really be trusted and was pragmatic enough not to expect love from him?
There was only one whom he knew of, and there was no way imaginable that she would ever consent to marriage.
However, if marriage was the key to attaining the Queen’s signature to ensure the project went ahead, then marriage it would have be. “You will sign the contract upon news of my engagement?”
A rather satisfied smile lifted the corners of the Queen’s mouth. “Once I read the notice in the Times, you shall have my signature. However, I will only do so after a clause is placed into the contract, making it null and void should your engagement fail to culminate in a legal and binding marriage.”
The Queen was a master strategist. Marriage it would have to be. At least for the time being. She hadn’t, after all, said anything to preclude him from getting a divorce later. He wasn’t called the Devil Duke for nothing.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Devlin said, making a determined effort to unclench his jaw. “Expect to read my engagement notice in the Times within a fortnight and attend my marriage in one month.” Even though the very word felt like it was wrapping itself around Devlin’s neck and squeezing tight. He tugged briefly at his cravat.
“I am not such a task master. You are free to take more time in order to choose a suitable lady. After all, a marriage is no amusement but a solemn act.”
“That will not be necessary.” Devlin strode to the door and pulled it open. He paused and glanced back at her. “This project is too important to waste any more time.”
The Queen stood. “I trust the lady will be suitable.”
“Too suitable for me, I am sure. Particularly as she’s a bluestocking who champions orphans. Nonetheless, I assure you, you will approve.” He bowed to her.
“Ah, so it is to be Lady Sophie Wolcott then?”
Devlin straightened, an unwelcome jolt of surprise gripping him. “What makes you say her name?”
The Queen smiled smugly, delight at being right dancing across her features. “She is the only one who fits that description that I approve of.”
Her statement should have been reassuring, but he was having too difficult a time quelling his internal panic to feel much comfort. “And if it is not Lady Sophie whom I was thinking of?”
“As I said, she is the only one I approve of.”
“So not only are you blackmailing me into marrying,” Devlin said, the area between his shoulder blades aching with tension, “you are choosing my bride also?” She might be the Queen of England, but that gave her no right to meddle in his personal affairs. If he didn’t need her agreement for his project, he was certain he would have walked out, then and there.
“Do not play the outraged male with me, Huntington,” the Queen replied. “We both know perfectly well that you have already decided upon her. I might suggest, though, that you not delay in your courtship. The Earl of Abelard has returned, and after the tragic passing of his wife early last year, I believe he is searching for a new countess. If my memory serves, Lady Sophie might be quite welcoming of his suit.”
“Your sources are, as always, remarkable.” He knew she had the Intelligence Department of the War Office at her disposal, but he doubted they were the origin of all of the gossip she seemed to possess regarding Society and its members. Not for the first time, he wondered who was supplying her with the details. Whoever it was was worth their weight in gold.
“I shall look forward to the next two weeks immensely. Oh and Devlin? Do have a care. Marriage is permanent, and the way one enters into a marriage is generally the rule of thumb for how it will turn out.”
“My business transactions always turn out successfully.”
“Men always look at marriage as some sort of business endeavor,” the Queen replied, “yet it is not until they actually marry that they realize their notions on the subject were most incorrect. Though I fear until you actually experience this firsthand, you will remain quite misguided in your thoughts.”
Devlin bowed. “Well then, I had best hurry, for I should not wish to remain misguided for too long.”
The Queen pursed her lips. “Disbelieve all you wish, but I shall look forward to talking with you after the lovely Lady Sophie has run you through your paces. But do remember,” she said as she motioned him out the door, “that I shall sign nothing until the official announcement has been made.”
“Have your quill ready then, my Queen.” He bowed again. “For you shall be requiring it very shortly.”
Chapter Three
Dorset, England 1856
The dark night was her enemy. Jane stumbled through the brambles and thicket, the bare soles of her feet bleeding onto the rough earth beneath.
Faster, she had to move faster. She had to escape.
Heedless of the branches tearing at her exposed flesh, she pushed through the greedy arms of the gnarled oaks.
She heard his voice calling out, and her heart stopped.
Twisting her head from side to side, she searched past the gloom of the forest that surrounded her. Nothing. Not even the wind or the moon’s light penetrated the evil lurking in the cold night air.
She shivered. He was out there somewhere, but all she could hear was her own frenzied breathing, magnified by the smothering silence.
Crouching down beside a tree, she dashed away some stray tears. How could this be happening to her? Why was he doing this?
His hideous voice once again echoed all around her, somehow sounding closer and more malevolent.
“You did not think I would let you get away, did you?”
Jane screamed, scrambling on all fours out onto the forest path. From the corner of her eye, she saw some gleaming black boots and knew then that all was lost; he’d caught her.
One of those boots swung toward her. She tried to stand but was too slow. The hard leather tip connected with her temple, and her head exploded in pain, her body crumpling onto the forest floor.
“There, there now,” he crooned, kneeling beside her and gently brushing her hair off her face. “Such a silly girl, trying to run away from me. You didn’t really think you would be able to escape, did you?”
“Please,” she begged, struggling against him to sit up. “Please don’t hurt me again. Just let me go.”
“It is too late for that.”
“I promise I won’t tell anyone who you are,” she pleaded.
“But you have already tried to tell someone.” His voice dropped an octave as his hand slowly began stroking her neck.
Her breath hitched in her throat. “I…I don’t know what you mean.”
“Do not lie to me!” he growled, his smooth veneer slipping for an instant as his hand clenched tightly about her neck. “Tell me of the letter?” he asked, the pressure slowly receding from his grip.
Jane sucked in a deep breath. “You know I sent a letter?”
His hands gently caressed the place on her neck he had just been squeezing. “Of course. A stupid thing to have done, was it not? But who would have thought a silly orphan maid would know how to write?”
“But, please, I didn’t tell Lady Sophie who you really are—”
“Lady Sophie? Sophie Wolcott?”
“But…but I thought you knew I’d sent her a letter?”
“The letter I knew of, but not to whom you had sent it. Damn,” he cursed, and his hands once again tightened around her neck. “Why would you send it to her of all people? Explain!”
The pressure slowly increased. Jane struggled to speak. “I am a Grey Street Orphan.”
“Ah, the lovely lady’s pet charity.” The man eased his grip slightly.
“Lady Sophie helped me learn to read and write, and she got me my position with the Crowley’s.” She gulped in a deep breath of air, her ribs straining painfully against her corset. “She’s one of only a few people who’s ever cared a fig for me.”
The thought brought a vivid picture to Jane’s mind, of the last time she had seen Lady Sophie a few years ago. Jane had been finishing reading to the other children at Grey Street Orphanage when Lady Sophie had burst into the classroom, waving a letter high into the air, an excited grin spread wide across her face.
Jane could still remember how elated she had felt when she had read the letter, in which the Countess of Abelard actually was offering Jane a job as a laundry maid. Lady Sophie, too, had been ecstatic.
Suddenly, Jane was jolted back to the present as the man’s gloved finger traced the hollow of her neck.
“A shame you repay her by bringing me to her doorstep,” he said.
A sense of horror, unlike Jane had ever known, whispered down her spine. She couldn’t allow such a monster anywhere near Sophie. The very thought filled her with unbridled panic. “But I didn’t tell her nothing about what I overheard ‘bout you,” she tried to convince him. “I swear by all that’s holy, I didn’t tell her! I just wanted to apologize for running out on the Crowleys after all she’d done for me. Please don’t hurt her.”
“How dare you put me in such a position?” The man appeared genuinely affronted. “I am not a monster. I have no wish to hurt such a lovely lady, but you have made it practically impossible for me to take any other course. Make no mistake, it is not my actions that will condemn the lady; that rests squarely upon your shoulders. Stupid girl,” he tittered.
His fingers clenched harder and harder against her throat until Jane thought her lungs would burst. She clawed at his gloved hands, her body bucking as she struggled to get free, but his hold was relentless. Her strength waned, her arms falling limply to her sides.
As black spots began to dance across the edge of her vision, she looked into his eyes and saw her death mirrored in them.
“Poor Jane. In the wrong place at the wrong time, and then, contrary to what you say, you send a letter about me,” the man’s harsh voice reprimanded. “That was a mistake, wasn’t it?”
She stared into the icy depths of his eyes. They were the last thing she saw before her own world went black.
Chapter Four
London, 1856
“My dear, what wonderful news I have just received!”
Sophie looked up from the accounting ledger she had been working on as her aunt burst through the study door waving a note in her hand, her eyes alight with excitement. Her heart leaped. She hadn’t heard from one of her former charges at the orphanage, Jane Thompson, for quite some time, and she couldn’t help but hope that the mail in her aunt’s hand contained a letter from her.
Several months ago, Jane had left her position with the Abelards, after the sudden passing of Lady Abelard, and had taken a position as a maid in the household of Lord and Lady Crowley. Jane had been writing to Sophie twice a week—to keep up her writing skills, she said, although both of them knew it was mainly because she missed her former home. Until about two weeks ago, when the letters had suddenly stopped.
Worried, Sophie had been checking the post daily. But one careful look at the note in her aunt’s hand only led to disappointment on that front. The handwriting was not Jane’s. And her aunt was hardly an enthusiastic supporter of the orphanage, so she wouldn’t be this worked up over one of its former charges.
She simply waited for her aunt to enlighten her as to the reason for her exuberant entrance.
“It is simply the most marvelous news ever!” Mabel Winthrup hastened across the room, the pink feathers in her greying auburn hair bobbing madly. “There is simply no time to waste. We must act with all haste.”
Her aunt was, to put it mildly, an avid gossip enthusiast with a flair for the dramatic. Her wardrobe often reflected her eccentricity, as she was always dressed in whatever colors and styles were deemed to be the most fashionable of the season, regardless of whether they actually suited her or not. And of course, to top it all off, she insisted on pairing each outfit with about a dozen of the same-colored feathers, pinned through her hair to cascade around her head in a halo of plumage. At least they made her easy to spot in a crowded ballroom, even if they did often impede her aunt’s vision.
This year, the color of the season was a vibrant yellow, which unfortunately clashed with the red of her aunt’s hair and only seemed to brightly enhance her rotund figure. The day dress she was wearing was, of course, made of bright yellow silk decorated with patches of even brighter pink and magenta flowers across it. The overall effect vaguely reminded Sophie of a canary wearing a fancy dress costume.
Sighing, she resigned herself to the interruption and replaced the quill she had been writing with into the ink pot. Her aunt collapsed onto the chaise longue perched under the window.
“Sophie, why must you work on those dreadful accounts? You know it pains me to see you stoop to levels so beneath you.” Disapproval warred with love in her aunt’s hazel eyes. “You are the daughter of an Earl; when will you start acting so?”
“Aunt, I have a sound mind, as well you know. You should not worry simply because I choose to make use of it instead of letting it go to waste.” If she’d been born a boy, her aunt never would have thought to question her over such things.
