Dukes Are Forever Page 18

  He held his face impassive. “And what was that?”

  “That by taking over Benton’s life you were actually saving him from himself and giving him a chance to live.”

  Edward laughed dismissively.

  “It is true. Had you not intervened, the man would either have drunk himself to death or crossed the wrong people, who would have killed him in the street.” She paused to let her words sink in. “I let the guardianship stand without protest for the same reason. To save that girl. Becoming the ward of a duke gives her a chance at the proper life her father’s gambling and drinking denied her.”

  His face darkened. “Augusta, it’s none of your—”

  She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “But now you have gone too far. You have taken her away from her home and all she loves.” She shook her head. “She is not her father.”

  “No,” he countered, with rising irritation beneath his calm façade, “she’s worse. Her father is a stupid, careless drunk, but she”—he shoved himself away from the desk and circled behind it, his shoulders stiffening with smoldering resentment—“is as natural with deceit as any woman I have ever met.”

  “What exactly did she do to harm you?”

  Ignoring her question, he glanced down at the unopened letter on the desk with utter contempt. Then he asked icily, his voice so cold it sent a chill down her spine, “You want me to deal with the letters?”

  “Yes.”

  He put a finger on the letter and slid it across the desk toward her, unrepentant beneath her admonishing stare. “Then burn them. That will take care of them.”

  Augusta said nothing. Slowly, she placed the letter back inside her reticule, to return it to Meacham for safekeeping until Edward was ready to read it, along with all the others.

  Three weeks ago, her nephew had returned from Sussex in such a state as she had never seen him. Always before, his anger had manifested itself as cold disdain and distance, and in the case of Phillip Benton, a calculated plan for revenge. But this was different. This time, he was openly angry. Meacham had borne the brunt of his wrath, as had the poor girl who had the misfortune of becoming his ward.

  And Augusta delighted in it, because his anger meant he still had a heart left to burn.

  She had no idea what set him off. Although she was beginning to suspect…“At least give her a dowry and help her find a husband to take her off your hands.”

  “To let her wreak havoc on some other poor man?” But the sarcastic tone in his voice was undercut by something else, something she saw flicker hot and deep in his eyes. It was possessiveness.

  “It would be better for some other man to suffer her in his life than you.” Then she added, watching him closely, “And in his bed.”

  Another hot flicker deep in his cold eyes—there was no mistaking it this time. Jealousy lurked inside him.

  “What an excellent idea,” he drawled. “Except that God hasn’t yet created the man who could abide that hellcat.”

  Instead of upsetting his aunt, his words stirred an encouraging warmth inside her. If he could be that angry with Katherine Benton, then perhaps, finally, he could let himself feel other emotions as well.

  He returned to his chair and turned his attention to the paperwork he’d been reading before she entered, their conversation dismissed.

  She waited patiently, and after several moments of silence, she arched an imperious brow. “Edward.”

  “Yes?” He shuffled the papers, keeping his gaze downward.

  “Katherine Benton.”

  “What now?” he demanded irritably.

  “She has fallen ill.”

  “Ill?” He glanced up, his eyes intense, concerned. “What kind of ill?”

  “Fever, chills, coughing—”

  “Not stomach sickness, then?” he interrupted.

  She frowned. For a moment, she thought he might turn pale. “Whyever would you think that?”

  He leaned back in his chair, an odd expression passing briefly over his unguarded face. “No reason.”

  “She has taken to bed on several days. Mrs. Lutz has been attending her.” She paused. “But I think you should go to her.”

  Stubbornly refusing to speak any more of his ward, he turned his attention back to his papers. “Have Mrs. Lutz send for a doctor. I’m not going there, and she’s not leaving.”

  Knowing she would get no more from him than that, Augusta nodded. “I shall keep you informed of her condition.”

  He only grunted his reply.

  She knew not to press. The same hardness and strong-mindedness that made her love the Westover men had also taught her when it was useless to fight against them. But the same blood ran proudly in her veins as well, and she knew this argument was far from over.

  And when it was, she would be the victor.

  Leaving him to his work, and letting him stew in his emotions over Katherine Benton, she swept up the curving stairs to her room on the second floor, a lightness in her step. Oh, this was unexpected!

  In the five weeks since he’d become Katherine’s guardian, Augusta had seen Edward look more alive than in the ten years since Jane betrayed him. True, most of the emotions running through him now were rancor and antagonism, but at least the gel stirred feelings of some kind. No one else had been able to do even that.

  She smiled with amusement. Apparently, since Edward wanted to know if her sudden illness resembled morning sickness, the woman had stirred her nephew’s passions as well.

  “My, my, a country bluestocking,” she chuckled to herself. “Whoever would have thought?”

  * * *

  Edward stared at his cards. He’d lost. Again.

  Waving off the dealer, he pushed himself away from the table to make his way through the gaming room at White’s and into the adjoining smoking parlor.

  The club was crowded even for so late an hour as groups of well-dressed men gathered around the card tables, finishing hand after hand and drink after drink. Some carelessly tossed away hundreds of pounds on bad bets and poor cards; a few were so drunk they swayed even when sitting down. Each was considered part of the quality, the best of the English empire. But Edward despised nearly all of them.

  At least most of them had the decency to leave him alone. One, though, a greasy-looking man with a balding head and paunchy gut, had been staring all night. Edward dismissed him as nothing more than an annoyance.

  He signaled to the attendant to bring him a whiskey, then sank into a chair in front of the fire.

  His concentration was gone, enough that tonight he couldn’t even keep track of the cards put in front of him, no less keep a running tally of the ones remaining in the deck. Two months ago, he’d have been able to count his way through two decks of cards.

  But two months ago, he hadn’t yet met Katherine Benton.

  She’d managed to legally attach herself to him, invaded his thoughts and dreams, manipulated her way into his arms…and then betrayed him.

  He should have expected it. After all, she was Phillip Benton’s daughter and a woman, an enemy on both fronts. But her trickery was made worse by the fact that he’d trusted her. He’d misled himself into thinking she was different from other women, and in the end, she proved to be just like the others.

  Worse, he’d let himself desire her.

  Christ, he still desired her.

  During the day, he distracted himself with work and somehow managed to beat down the lingering yearning he felt for her.

  But at night, when he was alone, the house silent and dark around him, he remembered in unbidden flashes how delicious she tasted, how sweet her touch, how eagerly her body welcomed his. And when she came to him in his dreams, it wasn’t imaginings of sex that brought him wide awake and shaking as if from a nightmare. It was the way she simply held him in her arms and comforted him as no other woman had ever done.

  So he spent his evenings at White’s and gladly welcomed whatever distractions the place could give. Here, at least, he could be left a
lone.

  “Colonel.”

  Damnation. He rolled his eyes, not bothering to glance at the man who sat down uninvited in the chair next to his. “Grey.”

  Major Nathaniel Grey stretched out his legs and kicked up his well-worn boots onto the fireplace fender, despite the frown thrown at him by the club’s manager. His brown coat was coarse, the white shirt beneath just as plain as his tan breeches. Without waistcoat or cravat, he was drastically underdressed for a night at the club. Yet the scruffy man sporting two-days’ growth of beard was also one of the best agents in the War Office and on the club’s permanent list as a personal guest of Lord Bathurst, Secretary of War and the Colonies, which gave him the right to be in the club whenever he chose.

  But even the manager of White’s would never dare to criticize Grey openly for his careless attire. Not when he was with the Duke of Strathmore. Not with the reputation that followed him. And certainly not when everyone could clearly see the pistol-shaped bulge beneath his coat.

  Edward accepted his drink from the attendant. Despite the interruption to his solitude, he was happy to see Grey. The man had been his best captain in Spain and along with Thomas Matteson his closest friend, and his presence tonight was a pleasant reminder of happier times. “What’s a scoundrel like you doing here?” Despite his teasing words, warmth laced his voice.

  “Reformed scoundrel,” Grey corrected. “I’m a respectable man these days.” He grinned at his former colonel, withdrew two cigars from his jacket pocket, and offered one to him as if they were once again sitting at an army campfire instead of in the most exclusive club in England. “I’ve been hearing rumors about you, Colonel. Had to hurry over to see for myself.”

  Edward laughed. “You heard rumors that Strathmore was at White’s playing cards? Dull evening for you.”

  “No, I heard Strathmore was losing.”

  Edward cut off the cap of the cigar and tossed it into the fire. “I never lose.”

  “I once saw you lose a hundred pounds to a Spanish flamenco dancer,” Grey reminded him.

  “She cheated,” Edward clarified as he lit the cigar on the tableside oil lamp, “and I let her win.”

  “How do you know she cheated?”

  “I found the cards she’d hidden beneath her skirts.”

  Grey grinned with rakish admiration at his old friend. “You devil!”

  A crooked smile pulled at Edward’s lips. “Why do you think I let her win?”

  Grey gave a laugh around the cigar he held clenched between his teeth. It was almost like old times. “But if you’re losing at cards, Colonel, something’s amiss.” He removed the cigar and studied the glowing tip, not meeting Edward’s gaze as he admitted, “Of course, I’m not worried about you—”

  “Of course not.”

  “But Thomas is.”

  Irritation flashed through Edward that Thomas and Grey were interfering in his private life—but then, he most likely wouldn’t be alive today if they hadn’t watched over him while they’d been in Spain together. He would never be able to repay them for the way they’d saved both his life and his sanity during those dark days.

  Leaning forward with elbows on his knees, Edward blew out a breath and admitted soberly, friend to friend, “I’ve lost my concentration.” There was no point in denying it. Grey knew him too well to be fooled.

  “The rumors are rife with explanations for that, too.” Grey settled back in his chair and chuckled. “My favorite is that Strathmore is hunting a wife.”

  Edward laughed, but the guess hit far too close for comfort. “Frequenting courting parlors are you now, Grey? You’re not the lemonade and petticoat type.”

  “Never knock the value of a good petticoat, Colonel.” He grinned rakishly. “I certainly never have.”

  No, Grey had certainly never done that. Even on the Peninsula in the middle of a war, he’d managed to find women willing to engage in assignations without futures or consequence, charmingly moving from one to another as the whim suited him. And when the affairs were over and the regiment moved on, each woman somehow believed that he had done her a favor by convincing her to engage in a few nights’ pleasures. Marriage was never a consideration.

  It was ironic. Grey had spent years as a soldier and now risked his life for the War Office, and he thought nothing of riding hell-bent into cannon fire to attack the enemy head-on. But domestication terrified the daylights out of him.

  Grey watched the cigar smoke rise into the air. “There are other rumors as well.” His voice was still warm, but now, it took on a more serious tone. “That Strathmore has a new ward.”

  Edward slid him a suspicious glance. “You didn’t hear that in a courting parlor.”

  “No.”

  “Are you spying on me now, Grey?” He took a large swallow of whiskey and bit out a laugh. “I’m not important enough for that.”

  “The Prince Regent has a parliament full of men he doesn’t trust.” His old friend’s voice was low. “And he’s very aware of what happens to rulers when the people become too powerful. And you—the new Duke of Strathmore, a former army colonel whose men would walk though fire if he asked them to, with a not-so-distant claim to the throne—your return has made Prinny very nervous. So when you do anything unexpected, it draws attention at the highest levels.” Grey looked at him with concern, a subtle warning in his voice. “And your sudden guardianship has drawn attention.”

  Edward said nothing, forcing down his rising irritation at the mention of Kate. The last thing he wanted to talk about tonight was that damnable guardianship. And certainly not with Grey. Thomas was already driving him mad about it, still urging him to give up his revenge, and Augusta kept badgering him about returning Kate to Brambly. Neither of which he would do.

  “I don’t think you’re doing a very good job of spying by telling me,” Edward joked halfheartedly. “Bathurst should demand his promotion back.”

  “Oh, I’m certain he will sooner or later.” With a sigh of resignation, he shook his head. “I’m not spying on you, Colonel, but as your friend, I am wondering the same thing. Why would Strathmore suddenly take a ward?”

  He shrugged. “The child needed my help.”

  “And exactly what kind of help were you planning on giving a twenty-year-old child?”

  Edward’s hand froze in midair, the glass halfway to his lips. His gaze slid sideways to glare at Grey for a long moment, the aggravation inside him flashing to the surface. Instead of being cowed by his murderous look, though, the damned man only smiled more broadly.

  “Her family has no political connections, no money, no title—all in all, a girl of no importance. I assured those concerned that Strathmore’s interest was nothing more than charity.” Grey puffed on his cigar and grinned at Edward’s expense. “Personal charity, that is.”

  “Thank you,” he bit out sarcastically. “How did you manage not to get shot by your own men?”

  “Fast horse,” Grey answered, deadpan.

  The attendant handed Grey his drink, and he tossed a coin to the man. Then he flicked off the ash at the tip of his cigar, his brows drawing together.

  “Of course, you and I both know that’s not the real reason you became her guardian,” Grey continued much more seriously. “You’ve never had to plot to seduce a woman. So perhaps the other rumor is actually true, that Strathmore’s not only hunting a wife—” He paused pointedly. “He’s found one.”

  “Ludicrous,” he muttered, tossing back the remaining whiskey in a gasping swallow and wishing they would all just leave him alone.

  With a shrug, Grey rolled the cigar thoughtfully between his fingers. “Make her the ward of a duke first, and her social worth is immediately elevated. Then, after you introduce her in silks and jewels, no one will give a second thought when you announce your engagement. You get the wife you want without the scandal. Is that your plan? If you don’t deny it, that’s what I’ll report back.”

  Edward couldn’t deny it. He’d once considered doing ex
actly that, but that was before Kate deceived him. “Since when does the War Office care about my personal life?”

  “They don’t. I’m here by order of a higher authority.”

  “Whose?” he demanded.

  “The countess.”

  Augusta. Of course she was behind this. It wasn’t enough that she insisted on pestering him about Kate herself; now she’d drafted his two closest friends to lead the charge, knowing he didn’t have the heart to launch a counterattack against the two men who were like brothers to him. Bloody hell. The woman should have been a tactician for Wellington.

  Edward clenched his jaw. “I made a mistake by taking her as my ward.” He pushed himself out of the chair. “And you can tell my aunt that I have no intention of marrying anyone, least of all Katherine Benton.”

  Grey made no comment, but his expression declared that he clearly didn’t believe him.

  Thomas Matteson approached from behind and slapped him on the back. “Colonel!”

  Edward rolled his eyes. “Should have known you two traveled as a pair.”

  “Two captains are better than one, that’s what you always said,” Thomas reminded him.

  “Two good captains,” Edward muttered irritably.

  Which only earned him a grin from both men.

  “The balding man by the door,” he commented, turning their attention away from him and anxious to put an end to this conversation about Kate. “He’s been watching me, too. He’s one of your men, then?”

  Grey’s eyes settled on the man. “No.”

  “Never seen him before,” Thomas seconded.

  Instead of looking away at being caught staring, the man set his own glass aside and made his way through the crowded club toward them. Grey slowly stood, and the three men turned shoulder to shoulder, forming a solid, muscular front, just as they’d done many times before in Spain.