What a Duke Wants (21 page)

Passing the shop with the bonnet she had so loved earlier, she paused for a moment, distracted by the perfection of the foolishness. She was about to turn away when a man’s reflection joined her own. He was only an inch or two taller than she, but the width of his shoulders almost doubled her own.

“You’ve caused me quite a lot of trouble, Miss Masters,” he said, moving to block her escape. She knew that voice. It was the man who had grabbed her on the stairs at the inn, the last rider who had followed after the man in the blue coat. She had been found.

She started to turn, but his hand gripped her arm, forcing her to stillness. “Just keep looking at the hat. I am sure you would look quite fetching in it.” His fingers wrapped tighter.

“I don’t know what you want,” she replied, keeping her eyes locked on his reflection in the glass.

“I don’t believe that. Why would you have taken it if you didn’t know what it was?”

“Will you just tell me who you work for, then perhaps I would know?”

“Come, come, Miss Masters, you can do better than that. We have been quite patient with you, but I want it now.”

Isabella closed her eyes for the briefest of seconds. “I really don’t know what you want.”

The man’s fingers dug into her arm. She was sure to have bruises in the morning. “Just hand the papers over—you must have them by now. I can’t believe you don’t have them with you. Do I need to drag you into an alley and search you myself?”

“I’ll scream.”

“I don’t think you will. You cannot have attention drawn to you now, can you? If you scream I will simply say that I apprehended you, that I remembered seeing you fleeing from Foxworthy’s after his murder and wanted to bring you to the authorities. Do you wish to hang?”

Every nightmare she’d ever had seemed to come true in that one moment. “I will deny I know what you are talking about. It is years later. Who would believe that I had anything to do with such a thing?” She widened her eyes, trying to look even younger than she was.

“The man I work for will make sure that interest is taken. Do not force him to such measures. He was no fonder of Foxworthy than you, but he must have the papers that you took.”

“Papers? What papers? I truly am not sure what you mean. I would admit to grabbing some things from his desk, but I was only after letters regarding my own family. There was nothing else of any import. And I certainly do not have them with me.”

The man loosened his grip slightly, considering her words. “Then why did you take them?”

“I was just grabbing what I could. I didn’t have time to look for exactly what I needed.”

“Assuming that you speak the truth—and that is not my decision to make—where are these worthless papers that you grabbed?”

They were in her room at Masters’s house—or at least that was where she had left them. Should she just say she had destroyed them, tossed them in the fire to burn? The man met her gaze in the window, staring deep into her eyes. It was impossible not to believe that he would know if she lied. “I don’t know. It was years ago. Why did you not ask me then?”

“It took a while to find out who you were. We thought it was your sister, Lady Peter St. Johns, who had taken them. By the time we realized it was not, you were gone. We might still be looking for you if we hadn’t followed your brother’s man.”

Even with her fear Isabella stopped at those words. Lady Peter St. Johns. Violet had married Lord Peter then. For the first time Isabella felt some sense of relief. At least that had gone right. Her leaving London had allowed Violet to marry the man she truly loved.

The relief did not last long.

The man’s fingers tightened again. “Do not play with me. My employment depends on my getting those papers. I suggest that you find them and fast. You have until tomorrow.”

That was impossible. “With everything going on with the coronation, that is not enough time for me to retrieve them. I left them behind when I left London. Even if I tried to get them nobody will be receiving until after the coronation.”

He considered. It was clear he did not like to give ground. “Three days, then. The day after the coronation. But do not think to run. You will be followed, and the next time my employer will not be merciful”

Then he was gone. A crowd hurried by and he disappeared along with them.

Isabella was left staring at the hat. It did not seem so enchanting now.

Chapter 21

“W
here have you been?” He sounded like an overprotective father, waiting at the door. Mark was glad he wasn’t actually waiting at the door. It had been close.

Isabella walked slowly up the stairs toward him. “You are here early.”

“Not so early—and where have you been?”

“Does it matter?” She sounded very weary, her face pale.

“Of course it matters. I do not like to be kept waiting.” That should have brought a spark to her eyes.

“Should I just remove my dress and get on the bed then?” She sounded serious, not joking at all.

He was tempted to say yes. He might have been worried, but there was still that core of anger burning. She was his. She should not be late without his permission. He hated how he sounded, even in his thoughts, but he could not rid himself of the feeling. “That will not be necessary. You simply need to explain why you are so late.”

He turned and stalked to the bedchamber.

She sighed softly and followed. “I went out to choose some new ribbons and baubles. I thought that was the purpose of the purses you leave me.”

“You do not like the purses?” He didn’t know how he knew that from her words, but it was very clear.

“No. There is not a problem with the purses. I am your mistress. What does it matter how you pay me?”

“I do not pay you. I choose to give you gifts. That is quite different.” How had they ended up talking about this?

“If you say so.” It was clear she was not convinced. She sounded so tired, so lifeless.

She walked to the dresser and started to pull the pins from her hair. “Have you eaten? I am going to call for a tray.”

“Do I need to demand that you tell me where you’ve been?” He came up behind her and placed a hand on each of her hips.

She removed the last pin and, as her hair fell down her back, leaned back against him. “It really does not matter. I shopped and wandered for several hours without buying anything. I almost bought a hat, but then lost my taste for it. I had a long tea and then I walked in the park and thought about life. I was out too late, I know. I lost track of time as I wandered and considered. I know it was dangerous, but I truly was not thinking about it. I would have returned sooner if I knew you would be here. I did not think it mattered.”

“There is more that you are not telling me.” He nuzzled the top of her head, his anger dissipating. Now that she was here, in his arms, the world seemed right again—if only she did not seem so troubled. “You can tell me your secrets.”

She rested her head back against his shoulder and for a moment he thought she would answer honestly, but then she pulled back. “What more could there be? Do you worry I have another paramour? A second duke come to sweep me off my feet? I assure you that one is more than enough for me.” Her eyes were closed and he could not see her expression.

He did worry. That was the thing. He wanted her to be his, completely—and he wanted her to be happy. He was not sure that he liked either feeling. “I am hungry—but not for food.” He let his fingers wander up from her waist.

Her shoulders tensed and then relaxed. Turning in his arms, she laid her face against his chest. “I’ll ask for the tray to be sent in an hour. Does that suit you?”

Now his hands moved lower, cupping her buttocks, squeezing lightly—and then harder. He felt himself harden against her soft belly. “That should suit me just fine.”

He waited as she tilted up her chin and began to kiss him. Her eyelids were still lowered, hiding her gaze. He wished she would look up, but was afraid of what he might see.

S
he was crying. In all of her years Isabella could never remember waking with tears upon her cheeks. She slipped from Mark’s embrace, easing away from him in the bed. The whole room was in darkness, the candle gutted on the bedside table. Her pillow was cool to the touch and she turned her face into it as tears continued to stream.

She had dreamed the most wonderful dream. The cottage, a garden of flowers, the smell of bread baking—and Mark—and a baby, a small, dark-haired creature who had combined the best of both them. She’d felt the baby in her arms, his gentle weight. She’d felt Mark’s hands on her shoulders easing her aches, his soft kiss upon the back of her neck. She’d been so happy, so content. All the desire for family, all the desire to fit in, to belong, captured in one bright moment.

But it was a dream. A dream that would never be.

Her heart ached with the longing for it.

It had been so wonderful and now she was back in her life, back with the whispering man’s threats hanging over her.

Careful not to sob, she rolled onto her side and stared at her lover. There was just enough moonlight that she could see his sleep-softened features. His long lashes lay heavy against his cheeks. His lips curved upward in a small smile of satisfaction.

She wrapped her arms tight, fighting the chill that took her. How was she ever going to find the papers she had taken from Foxworthy’s house? Was there a way she could return to her brother’s house? Could she sneak in? It might be possible. She’d certainly left it enough times without being detected.

Looking about the dark room, she wished that she could stay in this moment, put aside her desire for more—and her fear that she could not even keep this.

If she could not find a way to retrieve the papers, or could not find the papers at all, what would she do? The whispering man was correct that Mark, that a duke, did not need a mistress hanged for murder. Even the accusation would cause Mark to cast her aside.

The thought was too painful. She could not risk it.

It might even be better to hang. That was just being morose, but at this moment, this exact moment, the emotion seemed true.

Despite the whispering man’s threats she would have to flee again, leave again.

Could she go to Annie? Surely if she was careful nobody would make the connection. This time she would stay inside, never let her face be seen until they went to the country. She could care for Annie and the child Annie longed for. It would in so many ways be the answer to all her problems. Nobody would seek her there and if she was gone there would be no reason for the man and his mysterious employer to bother Mark. She would never feel the pain of his rejection.

Mark stirred in his sleep, rolling onto his back and reaching out to lay a hand upon her shoulder. His warm fingers gripped her and then relaxed, reassured of her presence.

How could a moment so sweet cut her so deeply?

She started to turn away, but his fingers caught her again.

He opened his eyes. “You’re crying.”

Denying it would have been pointless. “Yes.”

She waited for him to ask why, but he did not. He just stared across the bed at her in the moonlit twilight of the room.

His hand moved from her shoulder to brush a tear from her cheek. He brought it to his lips.

“I thought I could make you happy,” he said at last.

“You do.” It was not a lie.

“But the situation does not.”

“I was not brought up for this.”

“And you want more?”

She closed her eyes. The word hung on her tongue—it felt as if she had to physically push it out. The word was honest, but it would also leave him unsurprised when she disappeared. “Yes.”

He sighed and stared up at the canopy. “I don’t have more to offer.”

“I know. I should be content with what I have. It is far more than I would have expected. You are very generous.”

“Too generous, apparently. You do not like the purses of coin.”

“To be honest I do not think any woman would. It makes the fact that I sell myself to you too apparent.”

Turning back toward her, he brushed her cheek again. “I do not feel that you sell, or that I buy. Why can I not take care of you without it being a transaction? I want to care for you.”

“If you only wanted to care for me you would have given me enough funds to survive on until I found other employment. I am here because you want me here. Let us be honest. We are always honest in the night—it is only the morning that brings distance and deception. The purses are left in the morning.”

“I will have to inquire how these things are handled. You make it clear that I have it very wrong.”

She smiled, with only a slightly bitter edge. “I do not know that there is a right way. And who would you ask? Divers again?”

“I don’t know who I would ask. Maybe Brisbane?” He said the last as if speaking to himself.

She had not meant to fight. There was a good chance she would leave him tomorrow—forever—and she had not meant to spend their last night bickering. Even when he had seen her tears she had thought it was concern that marked his face. Now she was not so sure. It was the first time that she’d felt so separate from him in the dark of the night.

She dabbed at the tears on her cheek with the edge of the sheet, the embroidery abrading her cheek. The dark of the room lay around them, isolating them from the purple madness. This was their time. The small hours of the morning when passion and caring met. She wiped at the tears harder, willing them to stop. She knew her emotions were not leaving her rational. “Why could you not just give me money and let me go? You’ve given me more in this last week than I would have needed to survive a year. Why could you not have done this days ago? Before—” She stopped and took a deep breath. “You say you don’t pay me, but if the money is a gift, why wait? Why not give it to me before I became your mistress?”

“I did not force you to come to me. I never have.”

“Then let me go.”

“I am certainly not stopping you. As you’ve said, I’ve given you enough funds.”

S
he wanted to leave him. Mark stared at the purple pansies embroidered on the bed’s canopy. He could not really see them, but he knew they were there. He had forced her into this situation. He wished he could deny it, but he must be honest with himself. He had wanted her and he had taken her.

He had been very much the duke. Perhaps he was learning far quicker than he had believed.

He tried to ignore the tears that still leaked down her cheeks, tried to resist the urge to wipe them.

He had not meant what he said. He had spoken in anger at the thought that she was not happy. He certainly did not want her to leave.

She was better off with him. He could not begin to imagine all the trouble she could land in if she left. A young woman alone was not safe. And even if she found employment it could be for somebody like Mrs. Wattington, someone who would abuse her with words and perhaps even hit her.

That was not what he wanted for his Bella.

And she was his.

Only. . .

Only she wanted to leave him. He could see it in each tear that trickled down her soft cheek. He longed to kiss the tears away, but feared that would only make them flow faster.

He stared at the flowers he could not see and awaited her answer.

“Is that what you want, for me to leave?” She followed his lead, rolling onto her back to look up into the darkness.

“It is you who speaks of wanting to leave. I make no such demands.”

“So you want me to stay?”

Such a simple question, such an easy answer, but the words would not come. She was better off with him, he could keep her safe—but he could not give her what she wanted, what she needed to be happy. “You need to do what you think best.”

She rolled further, turning onto her side—away from him.

The inches between them could have been feet, or yards—but they were as uncrossable as an iron fence. He swung out of bed and went to stare out the window at the silent street. Not even the leaves on the trees moved to distract him. He had hoped for the first traces of daylight, some marker that things would soon begin afresh. There was only black.

He grabbed his pants off a chair and pulled them on. “I shall return home. Divers will be happy not to be dragged over here to dress me in the morning. It will be a very long day preparing for the coronation and I will have events to attend until late into the night.”

She did not reply, did not tell him she would miss him, did not tell him he was welcome at any hour.

He grabbed the remainder of his clothing and headed to the door. He slipped through it quietly, closing it with barely a click.

It felt more final than a slam.

H
e’d never left her before. It felt as if he no longer wanted her. She’d always heard that about men, heard that once the pursuit was over, the challenge gone, they lost interest. She had not expected it to apply to herself.

Granted, she had tried to make it so he would not be surprised if she left. She just hadn’t expected it to be so easy.

Not that she thought he would kick her out. Isabella dropped the brush on the dresser and turned to survey the purple room.

This was the moment. Did she stay or did she go?

She wanted to stay. Despite everything, she wanted to stay.

But she could not, not while the whispering man’s threats surrounded her.

She did have more than enough money to keep herself for quite a while and Annie had given her a place to go. If she could sneak over to Annie’s house and stay out of sight once there, she would be safe. She refused to believe that the whispering man would find her again.

Why was she even debating? She had been over this before. There really was no choice. She would run as she had before.

If she could have trusted Mark with the truth she might have been able to stay, but she did not trust him. If he could not even consider marriage to her now, then how would he feel if he knew the truth? He would never protect a murderess. And even if he did, what would that do to him? She knew how he cared about his station, his duties; helping her could only hurt him.

Her dreams had been false.

Leaving felt like cutting a piece out of herself, but it was a piece she would have to live without.

She began to plan.

“I
am so glad that you have come.” Annie grinned from cheek to cheek as she led Isabella in through the kitchen door. “I was worried that you would not—and I realized that I could not get in touch with you if you did not. I suppose I could have asked Strattington tonight . . . Oh, don’t look at me like that. I am joking. You know that I would never do that. I must guess that you have come to stay, given your method of arrival. It quite confused me when the maid told me the cook said that I had a visitor in the kitchen. That has never happened before. But do come in now and have some tea—or would you like to go to your room first?”