The Seduction of a Duke (36 page)

She turned and saw admiration dawn in Nicholas’s eyes. Lady Mandrake quickly moved to offer condolences to Randolph.

“I have to find William,” she said to Nicholas. “Do you know where I should look?”

He shook his head. “We spoke in the studio. I don’t know where he went from there, but he was not necessarily thinking clearly, which was understandable at the time.”

She nodded. “I will find him.”

“Do we have to wait on him to eat?” the Viscount whined to Lady Rosalyn. “The food will get cold.”

Fran stopped in the doorway, then turned. “You are guests in my husband’s home and you will wait on the Duke’s pleasure.” She sent a cold glare about the room. “If that does not suit, I shall be happy to arrange a carriage to the rail in Deerfeld.”

She checked the library and his study, which were in the same wing as the parlor. She was about to take the steps to check the upstairs bedrooms when she thought she heard singing—faint singing. Following her instincts, she stayed on the first floor and followed around to the far hallway. The doorway was open to the arched breezeway, the one she had imagined was trafficked by monks. She approached. The garbled bawdy tune grew louder.

It certainly wasn’t a hooded monk that sat slouched with a bottle on the bench across from one of the arched openings. Spotted Dick lifted his head from his position at William’s feet and looked at her with huge, sad eyes as if he too recognized the magnitude of William’s pain. Her heart twisted to see her competent Duke in such a sad, vulnerable posture. She advanced slowly.

“There she is,” he called. “My lovely, lusty Franny, come see what your money has wrought.” He patted the seat beside him.

She wasn’t sure if he was happy or sad, but she was certain he’d had too much to drink. The stench of stale beer and stronger spirits surrounded him.

“Look at that!” he exclaimed as she moved in front of him. “Your bees have swarmed to carry your train. It’s just like one of your fairy tales.”

That image made her smile. He waved his hand as if to chase them away, then smiled much like an innocent babe. “Those bees are loyal to you, Franny. They won’t leave. Maybe they think you’re the queen.” He lifted his bottle in salute. “To Francesca Chambers, queen of the bees.”

She sat on the bench next to him, while he took a swig from a whiskey bottle.

He placed his arm around her and tugged her close to his shoulder. “Look there, right through the arch. Can you see?”

This particular archway framed a magnificent view of the recently placed capstone and completed courtyard wall. The scaffolding that had been constructed to assist in the renovations had been torn down. She could smell smoke on the wind, a bonfire.

William’s chin nuzzled against her forehead, his lips pressed her forehead in a kiss. She closed her eyes soaking in his attention. Even deep in his cups, he cared for her. His finger reached and traced the bee pin he’d given her.

“I think you must be the queen of bees, Franny. Your barb is greater than the rest, deadly, painful.” He shook his head then took another drink from his bottle. He rubbed his mouth on his sleeve. “When you leave me, I’ll have to come here and sit and remember that we did this, you and I.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Fran said, tilting her head toward him. “I don’t think I could ever leave you.”

“See, there you go. Stinging at me with that barb again.” His lips pulled into that half smile she loved, but his eyes didn’t share the mirth. “I heard you in the library. You and that Randy fellow. You said you were going to have the magistrate annul our marriage because I wasn’t man enough.”

Even the knowledge that she said no such thing couldn’t compensate for the undeserved pain caused her husband because he thought she had considered such a vile proposal. Her heart twisted in agony.

“William, listen to me,” she pleaded. “I love you. I have no wish to annul our marriage. You heard Randolph talking. You didn’t hear my agreement.”

“Yesterday you said you didn’t want to be a duchess.” He caught her gaze and her heart melted. “If you don’t want to be my duchess, I don’t think I want to be a duke.”

“But you are.” She took the bottle from his fingers and set it on the far side of her. “I may not want to be a duchess, but if it’s required to stay here with you, then I’ll be your duchess.”

“We could run away together.” He looked at her hopefully. “I helped set that capstone. The foreman said I could work on his crew anytime. I was with them at the bonfire. They’re a good sort, Franny. You know that and they all like you. We could run away, and I’ll be a laborer and you’ll be a laborer’s wife.” He patted her hand.

“As pleasant as that sounds,” she said with a smile, “who would be left to watch over Nicholas and Emma, and keep in touch with Arianne? Who would keep the abbey intact for our children?”

“Children?” His eyebrows rose to impossible heights, which caused an immediate lift to her lips. He placed a hand on her belly. “You’d have my children?”

“I’d have you plant your seed tonight,” she said.

“But the doctor said—”

“I think I know of a way. I have a book that talks about positions and—”

He frowned. “You have a book of positions for the four-legged frolic?” He shook his head. “You Americans. Where are the morals in providing young women with books—”

“It’s French,” Fran said.

“Oh, that explains it.” A sly smile twisted his lips. “Does it have pictures?”

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Fran said, her spirits lifted. She rose from the bench and held out her arms for assistance. “You have guests.”

He accepted her hands and gazed up at her.

“I didn’t invite any of those people. You know that, Franny?” He glanced away. “Well, I did invite Nicholas and Emma, but I’d hoped Nicholas could tell me how to determine if you were pregnant or not so I would know if I could—you know—”

“The four-legged frolic?”

“Precisely.” He stood grinning. “He wouldn’t let me look at his nude sketches of Emma.”

“You asked if you could look at nude pictures of his wife?” She placed his arm around her shoulders so she could assist him, then shook her head. “And you complain about the morals of Americans?”

“It was only for sci . . . scientific purposes,” William said solemnly. “I wouldn’t want to see nude pictures of her otherwise.”

Trying to manipulate William through the door to the staterooms apparently raised enough of a ruckus that Carruthers came to investigate. He quickly advanced to offer assistance.

“His Grace is in need of a bath,” Fran said with her most upper-class smile, in spite of the fact that her muscles were complaining. “Where is the nearest hip bath?”

“I shall have one delivered immediately to the study, Your Grace.”

That would require them walking past the dining room and the salon. She didn’t want anyone to see William in this state. She looked about. The nursery was on this wing. “Is Miss Sarah sleeping in the nursery?”

“No, madam. Miss Sarah is staying with her governess for the moment.”

“Then let’s have the hip bath delivered to the nursery. I’ll need towels, a maid’s apron”—she glanced at William—“some black coffee, and if you could send Hodgins and Mary, that would be helpful.”

“Yes, madam.” He left to issue his long string of orders.

Fran opened the door to the nursery and guided William inside. She lowered him to a chair she’d remembered from her earlier visits before locating candles and matches.

Hodgins and Mary arrived together shortly after she had the room ablaze with candles. Their timing was such that she wondered if Hodgins was Mary’s Englishman. She glanced between the two of them but hadn’t time for inquiries.

She sent Hodgins to retrieve the necessary toiletries and clothing to look the part of a duke. She sent Mary to hurry along the coffee in necessary quantities.

She gazed at William, who was examining a piece of paper.

“What is that?” she asked.

“I believe it’s an example of my niece’s artwork. She seems to have inherited her father’s talents.”

She stepped to look over his shoulder at the drawing. She almost laughed. There on the paper in childlike scrawl was a line drawing of a fat frog with a tiny lopsided crown.

William tilted his head up to her. “I love you, Franny. I truly do.”

She would prefer to hear the words from him when sober, but she had no doubt of his sincerity. She smiled back. “I love you too, Your Grace.”

IT TOOK THE CONCERTED EFFORTS OF THE THREE OF them to flush the alcohol out of him. Not an easy task. His hair was still wet from several jugs of cold water poured overhead, and his stomach soured at the sight of dark liquid in a cup, but he could stand and walk on his own power. Franny hovered nearby, her determined gaze buoying him when he wasn’t sure he could remain upright. He wished he could remember all that had happened. He remembered the overheard conversation in the library, but Franny was here, her eyes wide and compassionate. His heart leapt into his throat. Did she have any idea of the devastating effect it would have on him if she should leave? Probably not. He should tell her, he thought, but not now.

She looked magnificent in her blue frock. She wore his pin, he noted. The significance gave him hope that he had misunderstood that earlier overheard conversation. He would rectify that tonight after this infernal dinner. He seemed to recall Franny mentioning that she had some sort of a bawdy book that would at least eliminate the possibility of an annulment. Of course, that sounded too much like something from her fairy tale books. Hmmm . . . did such things exist? Bawdy fairy tales?

The entire company was subdued, especially the Viscount, who he suspected was asleep. He couldn’t bring himself to engage Franny’s American friend in conversation, but as she likewise avoided the man, he didn’t feel extremely guilty.

Nicholas raised a wineglass. “To the man of the hour that set the capstone in place through design and by deed.”

“Hear, hear,” the others repeated and toasted his accomplishment.

He raised a glass. “To my wonderful wife. I could not have done it without the assistance of the Duchess of Bedford. She, indeed, is my capstone.”

After a moment’s silence, Emma’s cheer of “hear, hear” led to an echoing from the others.

This time Franny rose from her chair first, leading the ladies out of the dining room. He watched her retreating back to the point that she stopped in the door frame, letting the others pass her by as she glanced back at him. Lord, he loved that woman.

The footman advanced to pour wine, but William placed his hand on his glass and requested more coffee instead. He’d need his wits about him a bit longer.

“You disappeared for a while, Brother; could you tell us where you went?” Nicholas asked.

William smiled. “I enjoyed the rewards found at a bonfire with my fellow laborers. Perhaps I enjoyed the rewards a little too much.”

The men laughed.

“I must say I was surprised to see a duke at the end of that rope line when it came to raise the stone,” Randolph said. “I always thought the English gentry were more concerned with keeping their hands callous-free than putting them to work.”

“I think you’ll find that dukes, lords, and viscounts”—William nodded to the softly snoring Lord Mandrake—“are basically just men at heart. Some may be more inclined to heavy labor than others, but all are men.” He narrowed his gaze toward Randolph. “Very possessive men.”

Thankfully, they did not stay at their wine long. When they went to rejoin the ladies, he discovered that Franny had claimed her injury was paining her and had thus retired. William took the steps two risers at a time to check on her condition. He knocked on her door to no avail. She wasn’t within.

Worried and frustrated, he walked down the hall to his own removed room. As he approached, a distinct scent of lavender and rose teased his nose. He opened the door and heard the swish of water a moment before he found his luscious naked wife in a bath illuminated by the flickering light of numerous candles.

He stepped inside, taking care to lock the door behind him. Then he tugged free the bow of his white silk cravat before pulling the material free of his collar. “This is a pleasant surprise. I was told your injuries were paining you.”

“They were mental injuries, Your Grace.”

“Such formality.” The imp was grinning like a she-cat. He raised a brow while he set the neck cloth aside. “What is the nature of these mental injuries?”

She changed positions in the tub, the sound of splashing water amplified by the copper sheeting that saved the heat and covered her lower torso. Bloody design hid what he’d most like to see. Red rose petals and blue lavender seed heads floated on top of the water, obscuring what lay beneath. His manhood recognized what his eyes couldn’t quite see and thickened in response. Rose petals jostled her skin about the same spot as her neckline, but knowing that eventually she’d need to rise from the water . . . his mouth dried to ash.