Dusk With a Dangerous Duke Read online

Hunter knew he wasn’t a madman, but he was beginning to wonder about Lady Grace’s butler. “Why? Is she hiding in the shadows overhead?”

  The butler paused, and gave him a shrewd glance. “My lady is not a spiritless creature, Your Grace. You will not find her lurking in the corners.”

  He was in no mood to listen to the servant’s defense of his mistress. “Then where is she? Speak plainly because I am too cold and wet for civility.”

  The butler gave him a hesitant look. “I cannot say, Your Grace. My lady departed Frethwell Hall more than a fortnight past.”

  Hunter brought his hand to his face and noted that his fingers trembled. He preferred to blame the weariness creeping into his bones, but he was only fooling himself.

  He was bloody furious.

  The woman was going to be the death of him. He had traveled all this way for nothing. Porter had once told him that the blasted woman rarely traveled beyond her parish. It had taken Hunter nineteen years to come up to scratch. The least the woman could do was remain at home so he could formally declare his intentions.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Loyalty to his lady warred with self-preservation. “Your Grace—”

  Hunter marched up to the servant.

  “N-north,” the man blurted out before Hunter could throttle the answer out of him. “I heard she journeyed north to visit a sick friend.”

  “Of course she isn’t here,” he said, mostly to himself. “The one place she should be.”

  “And why is that, if you don’t mind me asking?” the butler asked.

  “Because I am here!” Hunter replied, thumping his fist on his chest with frustration, “—in the middle of nowhere.” Cold, wet, and hungry. “While your lady is savoring a warm hearth and the company of her good friend. I must confess—what the devil is your name?”

  “Copper, sir,” the butler helpfully supplied.

  “Well, Copper, I must confess that it is becoming apparent that your mistress is proving to be difficult. It is an unpleasant trait for a wife.”

  Perhaps it was unfair to judge the absent lady so harshly, but he was not in a reasonable mood.

  “Quite right.” The butler cleared his throat. “Though perhaps you are mistaken about the lady’s intentions?”

  “I highly doubt it.”

  How many times had Porter chastised Hunter about his lack of interest in joining him on his annual visit to Frethwell Hall? His solicitor and his future bride failed to appreciate the demands on his time. Without a doubt, his absence had provoked Lady Grace’s defiance, and Porter had washed his hands of the entire affair. The elderly man even had the audacity to order Hunter to rectify the situation.

  It was the reason why he was there on such a godforsaken night.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed on the butler. “Copper, are you aware that your mistress has ignored my missives?”

  He had sent three. The last one had been sent after Porter’s visit. However, the lady had failed to respond.

  The butler hastily glanced away. “It is not my place to speculate, Your Grace.”

  “Your lady is vexed with my behavior,” he said, already guessing the butler’s response. “Porter has said as much on numerous occasions.”

  “Please, Your Grace,” the butler entreated. “I have been with the little mistress since she was a child, and I would not wish for her to view me in an unfavorable light.”

  Was Lady Grace intending to alter her fate?

  It was a tempting thought. One he had pondered over the years when deep in his cups. Perhaps they had more in common that he thought.

  The butler’s loyalty to Lady Grace should have annoyed Hunter, but he tilted his head back and laughed. “I doubt there is a gentleman who is more deserving of your lady’s ire than I.”

  The declaration was supposed to cheer the old servant. Instead the man looked utterly grim. “Give me time and I might be able to come up with another name or two.”

  Nineteen years was a long time for a bride to wait.

  Hunter offered no apology, but he was not blind to his many sins.

  In a friendly gesture, he clapped the butler on the back. “Care to wager on it, my good fellow?”

  Chapter Two

  March 13, 1825, Frethwell Hall

  “Straightaway, I knew the starlings were a sign of things to come.”

  Grace glanced up from her book and turned her attention to her agitated servant. “What starlings?”

  Rosemary plucked the book from her mistress’s hands and placed it on the table. “He insists on seeing you at once. ’Tis a shame there is no time to change your dress. This one is heading for the rag bin, but it will have to do.”

  Concerned, Grace stood and stilled the housekeeper’s attempts to tidy the library. “Slow down. What about the starlings?”

  The servant closed her eyes and murmured a soft prayer. When she opened her eyes, the stark worry in her gaze made Grace’s stomach flutter. “Dead. Fifty of them. They fell out of the sky and hit the front lawn like black stones. Their wings and heads were twisted at horrible angles.”

  Grace brought her fingers to her lips. “Good grief! When did this happen? No one said a word of it.”

  “That was my doing,” Rosemary explained. “I did not want to frighten you. But it’s a dark omen to be certain. His Grace’s arrival is proof enough.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. He was here. Her wait was finally over. “I do not believe it. Are you telling me that the Duke of Huntsley has arrived?”

  She glanced down at her plain dress in alarm. Rosemary was correct. Her dress was entirely unsuitable for her first meeting with the gentleman she was betrothed to marry.

  Grace frowned. Well, second meeting, she silently amended. She had been too young to recall the occasion. “I cannot have him see me in this dress.”

  “Not that duke,” the older woman said, smoothing some of the wrinkles with her hand. “The other one. And there is no time to fret about your dress. I told him that you required a few minutes, but his sort do not like waiting for anyone. He will be here at any moment.”

  A polite knock heralded the arrival of her unexpected visitor.

  Rosemary was all business when she strode across the room and opened the door. “Lady Grace will see you now,” she said cheerfully, refraining from pointing out that the duke should have waited for the butler to bring him upstairs.

  “Your Grace,” Grace said. She was unable to match her housekeeper’s false cheery demeanor, so she simply smiled as she curtsied. “What an unexpected pleasure.”

  Of course, she was lying.

  There was very little Grace liked about her uncle.

  The second son of the Duke and Duchess of Strangham, Lord Gasper had inherited the title from Grace’s father at his unexpected death. According to her grandfather, her uncle had donned his mourning clothes as was expected, while he quietly started spending the family’s fortune on horses, lavish parties, and mistresses. He might have exhausted Grace’s inheritance as well if not for her grandfather’s shrewd decision to betroth her to the young Duke of Huntsley.

  As a child, she could recall the heated arguments between her grandfather and uncle. On numerous occasions, her grandfather had warned her to keep her distance from Strangham. He was not to be trusted, he had said. Unfortunately, her grandfather had passed away and could no longer protect her. The passing years had claimed the life of the dowager, too. As for the Duke of Huntsley, well, His Grace had more important business than visiting Frethwell Hall.

  In his stead, she received an annual visit from the duke’s solicitor Mr. Porter.

  So she endured her uncle’s visits, which were infrequent and blessedly brief. She could not fathom why he bothered to call on her. He did not seem to appreciate her or her home, Frethwell Hall.

  After a brief hesitation, the Duke of Strangham clasped her hand, encouraging her to rise. “Good afternoon, niece. How charming you look. Did I catch you at some light housekeeping? I
thought Huntsley was taking better care of you than that.”

  Grace managed to keep her pleasant expression in place, even though she longed to pick up the book she had been reading and hurl it at the duke’s head. Her uncle always reminded her that the Duke of Huntsley’s protection was in name only.

  “I confess, I was not prepared for visitors this afternoon, Uncle,” she said, moving aside as he walked to the center of the room. “As for the duke, do not fret. I am provided with everything that I require.”

  Her uncle ran two fingers over one of the tables and examined them. He made a soft disgruntled noise as he rubbed the imaginary dust from his finger.

  His eyebrows lifted as he glanced in her direction. “Ah, so you have heard from him recently.”

  Grace tried not to fidget under his scrutiny. “His solicitor visited last month.”

  “You are referring to astute Mr. Porter, are you not?”

  The duke’s tone implied that he did not think the man was astute at all.

  “Mr. Porter is fully capable of conveying my wishes to the Duke of Huntsley. If you must know the truth, I am quite spoiled by His Grace’s generosity.”

  She wanted for nothing except the man himself. In that instance, the duke was downright miserly, giving everyone but her his personal attention.

  Her uncle extended his hand, inviting her to join him on the sofa. “You are indeed fortunate, my dear.”

  She placed her hand on his and they sat down together.

  “I heard gossip about Huntsley when I was in London last month.”

  “You surprise me, Uncle. I would not take you as one who would pay attention to such tripe.”

  His mouth thinned at her light rebuke, but it did not prevent him from sharing what he had heard. “Normally, I do not bother. However, I have discovered over the years that most of the gossip I have heard about Huntsley and his acquaintances is true. In fact, most of the stories are understated in a useless attempt to protect their families and the innocent who have the misfortune to be connected to these scurrilous gentlemen.”

  Grace looked down at her hands. She doubted her uncle’s news about Huntsley was anything she wished to hear. She had deduced years ago that the gentleman took a perverse pleasure in sharing personal details about the duke that would inevitably hurt her feelings. She subtly straightened her posture and awaited the verbal blow.

  “Your concern is touching, but unnecessary,” she said, offering him a faint smile. “I may be sheltered here at Frethwell Hall, but the London gossip does make its way out to the country.”

  Any hope that her uncle would drop the subject was dashed at his next words. “I only intended to share good news. Rumor has it that Huntsley has parted ways with his latest mistress. Granted, these soiled doves only share his bed briefly, but this particular woman had managed to dig her tender hooks into the duke. Their arrangement lasted for several months, and the woman was quite devastated to lose such a flush protector.”

  Protector.

  Grace had grown to despise the word. She wondered how many women the Duke of Huntsley had taken as mistresses over the years. Since the subject was viewed as inappropriate drawing room conversation, she was not well versed in the rules of engagement. For instance, how did one go about procuring a mistress? And once the gentleman tired of the relationship, how did he end it? Did the duke send Mr. Porter to deliver the unfortunate news to the poor woman?

  Her silence seemed to please her uncle. He had come to stir the pot of mischief by revealing the sordid nature of her betrothed, and he had succeeded. Grace could have pinched herself for falling for her uncle’s predictable ruse. She raised her chin and met his gaze to prove that his news had not upset her as he had hoped. When she was alone, she could allow herself to cry.

  “Is it wrong for me to pity the scorned woman, Uncle?” she inquired. “A part of me does, though her loss was inevitable. As you know, my twenty-first birthday approaches, and the time has come for the Duke of Huntsley to clean house if he plans on honoring the marriage pact his grandmother and my grandfather arranged.”

  For the first time, the Duke of Strangham struggled with his words. He had presented her with a clear case of the Duke of Huntsley’s infidelity, and she, in turn, had praised the scoundrel for ending the affair.

  “My dear, I do not believe you comprehend the man’s true nature.”

  “Most brides do not,” she said, her voice hardening ever so slightly. “Otherwise, we would not be so eager to legally bind ourselves to one man.”

  “And knowing this, you are still prepared to marry Huntsley?”

  Grace shrugged. “An agreement was struck. I am prepared to see it through. Our family honor is at stake.”

  “What if I told you that I fear Huntsley has no intention of marrying you.”

  Nineteen years had passed since her marriage to the Duke of Huntsley had been arranged. As a child, the duke’s absence had not troubled her, but the woman she had become understood the implications.

  The duke rejected her as his duchess.

  Once she had believed him to be a man of honor. However, she suspected a marriage born out of duty made for a cold marriage bed. Besides, the Duke of Huntsley’s bed was filled with so many women, there was no room for her.

  She kept her doubts to herself. To her uncle, she said, “Mr. Porter assured me that His Grace will return to Frethwell Hall before my birthday, and our marriage will take place. I assume it will be an intimate affair, but I pray you will attend.”

  “Damn Porter, and to Hades with Huntsley!”

  Grace gasped in surprise as her uncle seized her by the shoulders. “Your Grace!”

  “See here, girl,” he said, his fingers digging into her flesh. “The Kearlys do not breed dimwits, and my encounters with you have revealed that you do possess an intellect higher than most ladies your age.”

  “Thank you—”

  “Silence!” he shouted, and her eyes widened at his outburst. “I have tried to reason with kindness, but I see that I must be blunt. Huntsley will never marry you. His grandmother and your stubborn grandfather foisted you off on him because your impeccable bloodlines and wealth were considered an asset to the Towers family.”

  Her throat tightened as he gave her private fears a voice. “Nothing has changed.”

  Her uncle gave her an incredulous look. “Everything has changed. The dowager is dead, and Huntsley has no desire to take a bride—particularly one not of his own choosing. You must face the truth, my dear niece. Huntsley has abandoned you. Even now, he scours London for a new lady to fill his empty bed. Any lady will do as long as it is not you.”

  His words were so beyond cruel, Grace blindly pushed her uncle aside and rose from the sofa. Was it all true? Had Mr. Porter been lying to her all of these long years so the duke had use of her fortune? What would happen to her once she turned twenty-one and the terms of the arranged marriage went unfulfilled?

  “I see that I have distressed you.” He stood and strode to her side. When he placed his hands on her, the touch was tender. “Forgive me, my child. It is a harsh truth to burden an innocent heart.”

  Still in denial, Grace shook her head. “I will write Mr. Porter. No … I will write the duke directly. I will demand an audience immediately.”

  “How many times have you written Huntsley over the years?” he gently countered. “How many times were you denied the courtesy of a reply?”

  Too many.

  Grace felt the brush of her uncle’s fingers as he pressed a handkerchief into her hand. She silently cursed, realizing she had tears on her cheeks. “I am not crying,” she muttered as she wiped away the wetness.

  “Of course not, child.”

  She discreetly studied her uncle as she tended to her face. Although his voice and touch had been gentle, it was the fierce triumph in his eyes that troubled her. Her grandfather’s warning that her uncle could not be trusted soothed her bruised heart.

  “You are too kind, Uncle,” she said, re
turning his handkerchief to him. “It dismays me to disagree with you, but I believe you are wrong about the Duke of Huntsley. He will come for me.”

  “And if you are wrong?”

  “Then I will not marry him,” she said simply. “I will be of age, and have control over my inheritance. London’s polite society will eagerly embrace a titled heiress.”

  “Not precisely, dear niece.” The Duke of Strangham’s gaunt visage hardened, emphasizing the lines time had furrowed into his flesh. “If Huntsley fails to marry you by your twenty-first birthday, then your lands and investments are placed in my hands as your only living male relative.”

  She could not believe it. Why had no one told her?

  Grace offered him a practiced smile. “I am no longer a child, Uncle. I can manage my own lands.”

  Her steward and Mr. Porter had been offering their guidance for years. There was no reason why they could not continue to do so.

  “That is not how the courts will see it,” he said pointedly. “If Huntsley cries off, you will no longer have the protection of the Towers name and influence. I am confident that the courts will see things my way. Besides, my brother would wish me to look after his daughter.”

  Grace felt cornered, but she managed not to react to her uncle’s baiting. “I appreciate your generous offer. However, in the coming weeks you will see that your concern is unwarranted. The Duke of Huntsley will marry me.”

  Her uncle chuckled softly and shook his head. “Foolish child. Very well, we will see this through to its humiliating end. I will visit you again.”

  Grace turned away, avoiding the chaste kiss her uncle attempted to place on her cheek. “Good afternoon, Uncle. Shall I send you an invitation to the wedding?”

  He gave her a pitying glance. “Huntsley is likely rutting between the fleshy thighs of his latest conquest, and you stand before me feathering your dreams with the misguided hope that the man possesses honor where you are concerned. I pray that you will be more sensible the next time we speak.”

  Grace sank into the nearest chair the moment the door closed. Before she could bring her hands to her face, the door opened again.