# The Dark Duke

Margaret Moore

A Most Unsuitable Duke! Adrian Fitzwalter, the Duke of Barroughby, wore the taint of scandal with flair, his very presence charged with the promise of forbidden things. But the gentle Lady Hester knew the rakish pose was only a mask, hiding a desperate and lonely man.With her knowing eyes and quiet beauty, the spinsterish Lady Hester was a far cry from Adrian's usual amours. Yet though her goodness stirred him beyond imagining, he dared not give in to the longing to seek the comfort of her waiting arms, for his happiness would surely be her ruin… .

## Table of Contents

Cover Page

Excerpt

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Author Note

Copyright

## “I would not trust you any more than I would your master,”

Hester murmured as she paused to admire the horse.

“Which is to say, not at all, I warrant.”

The duke walked slowly toward her. “Lady Hester, you are an intelligent woman, so I do not expect you to trust me.”

“After yesterday, you can be certain of that,” she snapped, her surprise making her sharp when she would have preferred to sound nonchalant “Good day, Your Grace.” She tried to walk boldly past him, but he stepped into her way.

“There is no need to run off. I promise you I will keep my distance.”

“I am not afraid of you.”

“My dear young woman, are you telling me I am losing my ability to inspire terror and awe in the female breast?”

## Dear Reader,

Who would have thought that when we published Margaret Moore’s first book, A Warrior’s Heart, in 1992, we would be publishing her twelfth full novel, The Dark Duke, five short years later. This story is the next in the author’s terrific new series of Victorian romances featuring a trio of “most unsuitable” heroes. This particular hero has a very nasty reputation, but that doesn’t scare our brave heroine, who sees the lonely man behind the handsome facade. Don’t miss this one. And come fall, be sure to keep an eye out for Margaret Moore’s newest short story, “The Twelfth Day of Christmas,” in our in-line THE KNIGHTS OF CHRISTMAS short-story collection.

Sweet Sarah Ross by Julie Tetel, which follows the next generation in the author’s ongoing NORTHPOINT series, is a Western adventure story with enough perils to keep Pauline happy. The Secrets of Catie Hazard, by Miranda Jarrett, is a Sparhawk story, this time with a secret baby and lovers who must overcome not only a troubled past but a turbulent present in order to reunite. And Enchanted from Claire Delacroix is the magic-filled story of a valiant knight who can be rescued from a wicked curse only by the love of a beautiful noblewoman.

All four books this month are ones you won’t want to miss. We hope you keep a lookout for them wherever Harlequin Historicals are sold.

Sincerely,

Tracy Farrell

Senior Editor

Please address questions and book requests to:

Harlequin Reader Service

U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325, Buffalo, NY 14269 Canadian:

P.O. Box 609, Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3

## The Dark Duke. Margaret Moore


www.millsandboon.co.uk

## MARGARET MOORE

confesses that her first “crush” was Errol Flynn. The second was “Mr. Spock.” She thinks that it explains why her heroes tend to be either charming rogues or lean, inscrutable tough guys.

Margaret lives in Scarborough, Ontario, with her husband, two children and two cats. She used to sew and read for reasons other than research.

For Ruth, Louise, Allison and Amy, the other women in my husband’s life.

## Chapter One

Hampshire, 1863

Her Grace, the Duchess of Barroughby, was most seriously displeased.

Lady Hester Pimblett, who had been the duchess’s companion for the past four months, recognized the symptoms at once in the older woman’s compressed lips and furrowed brow.

“Have the goodness to bring the footstool with all speed!” the formidable woman snapped peevishly, her brown eyes full of anger, her white lace cap shaking with rage and her black bombazine dress suddenly looking like armor donned for battle. “And do close the drapes. I am getting a headache!”

At times such as these, Hester pondered the merits of being a companion to an older woman instead of living with her parents or one of her recently married sisters, for as she hurried to her ladyship’s aid, she suspected her efforts to soothe the woman’s perceived ills would be futile. The duchess crumpled a recently received letter in her long, thin fingers and Hester wondered what it contained to bring on this irate response.

The offending epistle appeared to be written in a masculine hand and, judging by the duchess’s extreme reaction, was not from her treasured son. Therefore, Hester concluded, either the writer of the letter, or its subject, was her stepson, the notorious Duke of Barroughby.

Hester moved the footstool so that her ladyship could repose her rather large feet upon it. The duchess was upset if she would recline, for the duchess considered it the height of poor breeding to loll, as she had remarked to Lady Hester any time her young companion seemed to be displaying any predisposition to lean back against a chair.

Hester then closed the heavy damask draperies and prepared the vial of perfume with which the duchess would surely wish to anoint her temples.

“He dares to come to me!” the duchess suddenly exclaimed vehemently. “The scoundrel! The blackguard! His poor father would turn in his grave if he knew even half of what his son has done!”

So Lord Adrian Fitzwalter, the eldest son of the late duke, a man also known as the Dark Duke of Barroughby, was coming home.

He had not been at Barroughby Hall since Hester’s arrival, and she had to admit to some curiosity to see this famous fellow up close. Once or twice the infamous rake had been pointed out to her at large assemblies, amid much whispering and speculation.

His powers of seduction were legendary, and Hester supposed if she were better looking she would have cause to dread his arrival. However, she was not, and so, surely safe from attracting such a rogue’s notice, she was free to indulge in the harmless excitement of anticipating his arrival. For once, she thought with a secretive smile, her family might actually pay attention to something in her letters.

Jenkins, the butler, appeared in the doorway of the drawing room. “Your Grace?” he inquired, leaning toward the women, “is anything the matter?”

Hester smothered another smile. The aged retainer was quite hard of hearing, yet he would have had to be completely deaf not to hear the duchess’s exclamations.

“Fetch the duchess some wine, please,” Hester said.

“Time? Time for what, my lady?” Jenkins inquired.

“Wine! Some wine for the duchess.”

“Oh, very good, my lady.” The butler tottered off, and Hester once again regarded the indignant duchess.

“At least dear Elliot is abroad!” her ladyship exclaimed, choosing to ignore the fact that she had been expecting her son to come to Barroughby Hall the whole time Hester had been a resident there. “I should refuse Adrian entrance to this house, the disgraceful creature! I shall send him from here at once. The impertinence of the rascal!”

Hester remained silent and let the duchess ramble on. She knew that her ladyship neither wanted nor needed any response to continue to voice her opinion.

“Yes, I shall give him no greeting, or any mark of attention. He may lodge at an inn in the town if he wishes, but he shall not stay here!” She moaned softly and covered her eyes. “Where is my perfume? Send for Dr. Woadly. I am most unwell. I feel quite dizzy!”

“I shall do so at once, Your Grace,” Hester said, although she hastened not to summon a footman to fetch the doctor, but to dab some scent on the duchess’s forehead. She wasn’t sure calling out Dr. Woadly was necessary, and he spent an inordinate amount of time at Barroughby Hall for a variety of minor complaints as it was. “When does the duke arrive?” she ventured as she straightened and set the perfume on a side table.

The duchess lowered her hand and gave Hester a severe frown. “Today, of course.” Her hand returned to shielding her eyes. “Oh, the audacity! He does not even wait for my reply!”

“Because I knew it must be all graciousness and felicity” a deep voice remarked from the vicinity of the door.

Hester turned at once and looked at the man standing on the threshold of the room, leaning against the frame in a casual pose, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He was tall and had a very fine figure displayed to perfection in a blue morning coat, brilliant white linen shirt, tan breeches and Wellington boots. His hair was black, as were his thick but shapely eyebrows, and he was so extremely handsome that Hester did not doubt she was beholding the Dark Duke himself.

If there was one thing surprising about his appearance, it was that his face was so pale, for the epithet “dark” also referred to a complexion browned by his time spent out of doors riding and hunting.

Hester made a slight curtsy and moved away from the duchess. The duke glanced briefly at her, then returned his attention to the duchess, who was regarding him with an expression that was a mixture of shock, anger and, Hester noted with some surprise, what might be fear. She had not supposed that there was a person in England who could intimidate the duchess even temporarily, but apparently here he was, in the flesh.

Or maybe the duchess’s reaction was not so very surprising, for there was something about the man’s overwhelming presence that seemed to inspire at least awe, if not more.

Her Grace, momentarily robbed of the powers of speech, watched as the duke sauntered into the room and took a seat without waiting to be invited. Hester made her way toward the door, for she felt her company was not wanted here. As she did so, she noted that the duke did not loll.

“Hester, where are you going?” the duchess suddenly demanded. She glanced uneasily at her stepson. “I have not told you to go.”

“I believe, stepmother,” the duke drawled, “that your charming companion feels it indelicate to remain. Is that not so, Miss…?” He turned to look at her with a slightly interrogative expression that Hester found quite unnerving. The least pretty of her sisters, she was not used to any kind of scrutiny, let alone the scrutiny of a man of the duke’s reputation.

Before Hester could speak, the duchess intervened by making a proper, ungracious and overdue introduction. “This is Lady Hester Pimblett. Her father is Lord Pimblett.”

“Charmed, Lady Hester,” the duke said, rising slightly and giving her a sardonic, somewhat self-deprecating smile that made her realize how he came to have his reputation for seduction. With his looks, piercing gaze and that smile, he could win many a maiden’s heart.

Although Hester felt herself equal to meet the duke, coming from a family at least as old as his if not of the same rank, she felt herself blushing at his steadfast regard.

“I wish her to remain. I am unwell,” the duchess said, and Hester realized that after the initial shock of the duke’s unexpected arrival, the duchess was returning to form.

The duke inclined his head in acceptance, or perhaps merely a reluctance to argue, and Hester resigned herself to the awkwardness of her situation.

“I demand to know what latest unsavory business has brought you here,” the duchess said sternly. Apparently her triumph in the matter of Hester’s continuing presence had emboldened her, or been enough to return her to her normal state.

“Is it not possible that I merely wish to visit my stepmother?”

The duchess’s response was a sniff of contempt. “Was the woman married? Is that why you have to slink off into the countryside and disturb us here?”

“She was not married, but that is not why I have come”.

“Why, then?”

Hester saw a flash of temper in the Dark Duke’s eyes, yet he remained perfectly motionless, which was not what she would have expected from his passionate reputation. “I have every right to come home,” he said evenly.

“I’m not surprised you had to leave London. I suppose there was another duel.”

“Suppose what you like, Your Grace,” he replied, using the most formal of addresses. “I am going to trouble you only a little while. Where is Elliot?”

“Mercifully, still in France.”

“Ah. When do you expect him home?”

“Any day, Adrian, any day. I must say, I am delighted he is still abroad. He does not need to be tainted by another scandal involving you! Do you never think of us? Do you never think of your brother? No, don’t trouble to answer! It is perfectly obvious! You only think of yourself!” The duchess glared at him and Hester shifted uncomfortably, wishing she was not present.

The duke rose slowly. “If you will excuse me, I shall retire to my room.”

“I have not finished with you! I want to know what you have done now!”

The Dark Duke looked at the duchess, and Hester detected more than slight scorn in his black eyes. “As much as I am convinced your interest in knowing the details of the latest scandal is genuine, I am finished with you, Your Grace. My opponent was not the only one who was injured, and unless you wish me to get blood all over the carpet—” both women gasped, but the duke remained coolly calm “—you will not detain me. Lady Hester, I give you good day. Your Grace, my compliments.”

“Would you like me to call for a footman?” Hester asked, hurrying past him toward the door.

“Hester!” the duchess called out. “I need you.”

Adrian watched with slight amusement as his stepmother’s latest companion—or slave, as he always thought of these unfortunate creatures—hesitated. Then, to his very great surprise, Lady Hester did not immediately return to the duchess’s side. Instead, with a determined expression manifested by a slight downturn of her full lips, she said, “If you will excuse me. Your Grace, I will be but a moment,” and left the room without waiting for an answer.

Adrian would have smiled with satisfaction to see his stepmother disobeyed, except that he knew such a reaction from him would only inflame his stepmother’s anger and make things more difficult for Lady Hester.

Why would a young woman of wealth and privilege waste her days tending to the duchess? he wondered. She must have more opportunities than that, even if she wasn’t a beauty.

Pimblett. He knew that name, and recalled the daughters, although not a Hester. Helena Pimblett was reckoned a great beauty. He had seen her once at the theater, and thought her a vain, stuck-up creature. It was said by men of his acquaintance who could be expected to know such things that the younger sister was a beauty, too. However, he had never seen or heard of another sister, and it was fairly obvious why, for this young woman could never attract much notice in London.

Still, there was a certain wholesome prettiness to her. Her eyes were the friendly blue of cornflowers, fringed by lashes of soft brown that matched her chestnut hair drawn into a plain and rather severe knot of a bun. Her complexion was excellent and he had little doubt that she had been raised in the country, for her skin had the satiny texture of a country-bred lady. There was a delicacy to her features that he found interesting, and she had a nose that no woman need be ashamed of. She was simply and plainly gowned with good taste, and her figure was more than acceptable.

Judging by her response to the duchess, she must also be a rather uncommon young woman. He would not have said there was a young lady in all of England who would not be intimidated by his stepmother, yet apparently there was and, he realized with pleasure, she was in the duchess’s company.

Lady Hester appeared in the doorway, followed by Jenkins and two footmen. By now Adrian’s wound was aching badly and he could feel the blood seeping through the bandage. Nevertheless, he did not feel quite so decrepit as to need the assistance of three grown men.

“I took the liberty of sending for the surgeon to tend to the duke, as well as Dr. Woadly,” Lady Hester said in a voice as friendly and pleasant as her countenance. She spoke to the duchess before looking at him, whereupon she regarded him steadily, as if he were a specimen in a bottle.

He returned the scrutiny, more out of curiosity than anything else, and then decided to conduct his own experiment upon this unusual woman. He smiled at her with all the charm he could muster. “Thank you, Lady Hester.”

She did not blush or look away with false modesty or stare at him with impertinent curiosity. She simply resumed her seat.

Her reaction, or nonreaction, didn’t mean anything, Adrian told himself. Why should it, when she was nothing to look at? And it could be that, sick and pale from the loss of blood, he was not at his best. Yes, that had to explain why a woman of her age would not respond to his charm.

He decided to ignore her, and limped toward the door. “Jenkins, if I may lean upon your arm, you may dismiss the footmen. Send the surgeon to my room as soon as he arrives.”

“Lady Hester!” the duchess said. “Please fetch the smelling salts.”

Without so much as a glance Adrian’s way as he left the room, the young lady hurried to his stepmother’s side.

“I must indeed look sick,” Adrian muttered as he made his way toward the stairs, keeping most of his weight off the elderly butler, using Jenkins only for balance.

“Look at what, Your Grace?” Jenkins asked.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Yes, you did. Your Grace” Jenkins corrected. “You said, ’Look at it.”

“I meant my father’s portrait. I think it needs to be cleaned.”

They paused and surveyed the portrait of the late fifth Duke of Barroughby—in his full regalia for the House of Lords—which was hung on the landing. Beside it was a smaller portrait of Adrian’s mother.

“Ah, those were good days,” Jenkins said with a sigh. “I was younger then.”

“So were we all,” the sixth Duke of Barroughby noted as he passed them by.

“Don’t look so glum, John,” Adrian chastised the surgeon, who was applying a fresh bandage to the wound in his leg. “I’ve had worse.”

“What caused it?” John Mapleton asked. The stout man puffed a little from the exertion of bending over Adrian’s elevated leg. “Not a sword.”

“Pistols at twenty paces.”

“Ah!”

“It bled terribly, but no lasting damage, the London surgeon said.”

“Lucky for you.” Mapleton straightened with a grunt. “Lucky again. One of these days you’re not going to be lucky. You’re going to be dead.”

“I didn’t have very much to fear from my opponent. I was far more concerned that his shot not hit my second or some innocent bystander.”

“Huh.” Mapleton began repacking his black bag. “What was the cause? A woman?”

“Yes.” Adrian lifted his foot and placed it gingerly on the thick carpet. On the table beside the brocade chair was a basin full of bloodied water and a cloth the surgeon had used to clean the reopened wound, items that seemed distinctly out of place in the ornately decorated room with its expensive wallpaper, comfortable brocade chairs, delicate tables, large canopied bed, damask draperies on the tall, narrow windows and chinoiserie armoire.

Mapleton gave him a shrewd look. “Yours or Elliot’s?”

Adrian didn’t answer.

Mapleton frowned and went back to his task. “Elliot’s, then. I should have known. The young fool ran off to hide in Europe and you took the blame. Again.”

“All has been taken care of, so I would prefer to let the matter drop.” Adrian winced as he stood and tried to put some weight on his leg.

“I would rest some more, Your Grace, if I were you. Tell me, did it never occur to you to take a coach here?”

“Drake needed the exercise, and after London, I wanted the air.”

The deep, measured tones of Dr. Woadly were heard as he passed Adrian’s door. “I fear my presence has sickened my stepmother,” he noted sardonically.

“You could send her to the Dower House.”

Adrian slowly resumed his seat. “And have her tell everyone I turned her out?”

“She has no right to Barroughby Hall,” Mapleton said. “Your father left everything to you.”

“So he did.” Adrian reached into his vest for a cheroot. “I suppose, given my reputation, one more blemish shouldn’t matter.” He struck a match. “Don’t imagine I haven’t given it some thought. Still, my father wanted her to remain here. Along with Jenkins.”

“Your father has been dead these ten years.”

Adrian raised one dark eyebrow, well aware that Mapleton would never see eye-to-eye with him on certain things. “I was not aware there was a time limit on promises made to a dying parent.”

“There should be!” Mapleton said forcefully.

“This is such an unpleasant topic, John,” Adrian said as the smoke from his cheroot curled toward the high ceiling. “Sit down and have a drink with me.”

Mapleton thought a moment, then nodded his head. “If you let me get it.”

“Only too happy not to have to stir a hair,” Adrian replied lightly.

Mapleton went to another small table that held a decanter and some crystal glasses. He poured two drinks and handed one to Adrian before sitting beside him. “I really think you should consider retiring Jenkins. Give him a cottage and a pension. He’s getting too old for his duties, and his hearing…” Mapleton left off suggestively.

“I know. He’s worse every time I come. I’ve made certain he has only the basics to attend to, for the one time I said something about his age, I thought he was going to cry.” Adrian drew on his cheroot and let the smoke out gradually. “You can’t imagine a more worrisome sight than old Jenkins with a tear in his eye.”

“Must you joke about everything, my lord?”

Adrian gazed at the surgeon with a thoughtful expression. “It helps,” he said truthfully.

“I’m surprised the duchess hasn’t insisted he go,” Mapleton said after a short silence. “She doesn’t strike me as having the patience to put up with his mistakes.”

“Ah, now there I can offer an explanation,” Adrian replied, happy to be diverted from a serious subject like promises made on his father’s deathbed. “Jenkins was in his middle years when the duchess married my father. Now, if Jenkins is getting too old to do his job, well, how old is the duchess, then?”

Mapleton frowned. “You mean, if she admits that Jenkins has to stop working, she’s admitting she’s getting old herself.”

“Exactly!”

“And I suppose I could extrapolate that she also feels by having a young woman who is not noticeably attractive for a companion, she maintains her position as the most beautiful woman in the household.”

“One could say that,” Adrian agreed, for such an explanation might also illustrate why the duchess didn’t get angry over Lady Hester’s slight defiance. “How long has Lady Hester been here?”

“About four months.”

“Helpful, I take it?”

“I believe Dr. Woadly would say so.”

“Ah. Fewer summonses from Barroughby Hall?”

“So I understand.”

“We’ve made a very good guess as to why she might suit my stepmother, but why do you think Lady Hester would stay here?”

“I’m sure I have no idea,” Mapleton answered. “No alternatives, perhaps.”

“What of her parents? Have they died?”

“Oh, they’re alive. I understand they’ve gone to Europe for an extended period. Lord Pimblett apparently feels it would be better for his gout, or so Lady Hester said. She asked me some questions about the complaint. A most intelligent, compassionate young woman.”

“Which again begs the question, why would she shut herself up here with my esteemed stepmother?”

“Why don’t you ask her?”

“Perhaps I will.”

Mapleton’s brow furrowed and Adrian sighed with genuine dismay. “Oh, not you, too. I assure you, she will be quite safe from the clutches of the Dark Duke.”

Mapleton chuckled, then finished his drink and rose. “I know it. Now I really must be on my way. Take care of that leg. No riding for the next few days.”

Adrian nodded absently. “I wonder how long she’ll stay,” he mused aloud.

“Lady Hester?”

The duke nodded.

“Why should she leave, after putting up with the duchess for so long already?” Mapleton asked.

“Because while you and I both know she has nothing to fear from me, Lady Hester may feel otherwise.”

## Chapter Two

Later that evening Hester tried to pay attention to the card game she was playing with the duchess and not to let her eyes stray toward the drawing room door.

Indeed, there was no reason she should keep doing so. She couldn’t expect anyone to walk into the room, except a servant, for the Duke of Barroughby had not come down to dinner. It was because of his injury, so Jenkins said, after also informing them that Mr. Ma-pleton did not think it a particularly serious one.

She also suspected, however, that the duke was reluctant to listen to his stepmother continue to denounce him to his face, a quite understandable reason.

“So, Lady Hester, you have never seen my stepson before?” the duchess asked. She was currently winning the game of piquet, which Hester thought explained her somewhat mollified tone, and the duchess’s good humor was ample recompense for playing less than honestly.

“No, Your Grace.”

“I daresay you moved in better circles in London society.”

“I did not move much in any circle, Your Grace,” Hester replied.

“Why not?” the duchess demanded. “Surely your father’s rank made your welcome assured.”

Hester tried not to squirm with discomfort, because the duchess would surely chastise her for wiggling. “I preferred to remain at home.”

“With your mama? How sweet,” the duchess murmured as she checked the number of tricks she had taken.

If that was what the duchess preferred to believe, Hester did not correct her. It was better than admitting she found it difficult to watch as her lovely sisters received all the attention, while she was treated as little more than a piece of furniture.

The duchess smiled with satisfaction. “I win again! You know, Elliot is quite a clever fellow at cards. He can even defeat me on occasion.”

“Really, Your Grace?”

“Indeed. He is quite in demand at card parties, and when he can be persuaded to take a moment from dancing at balls. La, that is not often, I assure you.”

Hester merely nodded.

“But you shall see his qualities for yourself when he arrives.” The duchess opened her fan and frowned as she began to wave it. “Let us hope the duke is far away by then.”

It was on the tip of Hester’s tongue to ask the duchess why she didn’t send the duke away, if she found his presence so odious, but she knew the woman would not enjoy being questioned. Therefore, she was forced to merely wonder about that, and about the duke himself.

In one way, he more than lived up to his reputation. She had had more than ample time to observe people at the social functions she did attend, and she had never seen a more handsome man.

On the other hand, she had found his patience with his waspish stepmother quite astonishing and completely unexpected. She would have thought a man who had done all the things he was said to have done would be rather hot tempered and quick to take offense. Maybe the fact that the duchess was a relation explained it.

Hester glanced at the door again, to see the duchess’s maid waiting. “I believe it’s time to retire, Your Grace,” she said softly, nodding toward Maria.

“Ah, so it is.” The duchess rose majestically, moving her beaded black skirt around the delicate chair with a graceful gesture before she glanced at Hester. “Aren’t you coming?”

“In a moment. I believe I left my book in the library. I would like to read a little before I sleep.”

The duchess frowned with disapproval. “You will ruin your eyesight,” she admonished. “Or fall asleep with the candle lit and burn the house down.”

“I shall be very careful, Your Grace,” Hester said, trying to ignore being chided like a recalcitrant child. Again.

“Oh, all right,” the duchess said ungraciously. “Mind you do not sleep too late.” With that, she turned and left, preceded by the dark-haired Maria.

As if I ever do! Hester thought, taking a candle and heading for the library. She had never seen the duchess so much as pick up a book or newspaper, let alone read one, so it was no surprise the woman had no respect for reading.

It was a fair way along the corridor to the darkly paneled library, a room the duchess never ventured into, and where Hester went when she wanted a few moments alone. It was quiet and a little solemn, like an empty church, but Hester liked it all the more for its aura of benign neglect

Barroughby Hall itself was an immense building, the work of several generations and several architects, each seemingly trying to outdo each other in the spending of the Fitzwalters’ money. Fortunately, the estate was a large one, too, and more than one of the dukes had been a wise investor in art and sculpture, as well as business ventures, so there was little fear of putting the family into bankruptcy.

By this time the house and grounds were magnificent. Built in a square, with an open courtyard in the middle reached through the imposing main entrance, the hall boasted a corridor nearly a mile long around the inside, filled with paintings and statues purchased in Europe. The ceilings of the main rooms on the lower level were all painted by master artists; even the hearths of the fireplaces were works of art. The large dining room would easily seat one hundred at an immense mahogany table. There were over fifty bedrooms, not counting those in the attic used by the small army of servants.

Other rooms in the house included the large drawing room, the small drawing room, the library, the duke’s study, two smoking rooms, a billiard room, the Tudor hall that formed the main entrance, the servants’ hall and the kitchen, at an unfortunate distance from the large dining room. Outside, there were the formal gardens, a large shrubbery, the carriage house and the stables, as well as kennels for the duke’s hunting dogs.

It was not a cozy place to live, yet it did have its compensations, not all of them architectural. Here Hester was not always being compared to her more attractive sisters, or made to wait upon her mother, who, believing herself sickly, was always in need of assistance and accepted Hester’s help as her due. The duchess also pleaded a weak constitution, but not nearly as often, and she seemed to appreciate Hester’s efforts a vast deal more.

In addition to that, Hester realized, there was now the exciting presence of the Dark Duke himself to make her stay here something out of the ordinary.

She reached the library, found her volume and headed toward the back stairs, which would be the fastest route up to her room. As she did so, she heard the servants still at work in the kitchen, talking and laughing among themselves as they completed their daily tasks.

Once upstairs, she paused in the corridor, realizing that one of the bedroom doors between where she was standing and her room, a door that had always been shut tight, was standing slightly open. Perhaps that was the duke’s room, and she would have to pass it by.

This notion filled her with a curious mixture of excitement and dread, until Hester told herself she was being ridiculous. Surely she didn’t expect the duke to lunge out of the room, grab her and drag her inside. The image was so…so romantically gothic that Hester had to stifle a laugh. As if she could ever be a heroine! Besides, with an injured leg, he could hardly be skulking about!

Emboldened, she confidently walked down the hall.

Nevertheless, her steps slowed as she came even with the open door. A low moan caught her attention. No one else was near, so she cautiously stepped inside.

The room was dark, for no moonlight penetrated the drawn drapes. She lifted her candle a little higher, noting the fine proportions of the large room and splendid furnishings.

Including the canopied bed, with the curtains open and the duke slumbering upon it, lying on his side, and turned toward the door. He certainly wasn’t a person to fear at the moment, she thought, smiling at her previous imaginings. At present he didn’t look like the cold, sardonic man of this morning, or the villain rumor and gossip painted him. With his hair tousled and his eyes shut, he looked like nothing so much as a mischievous little boy—although there was a sensuality to his lips that had nothing of the child about it.

As she watched, he moved restlessly, rolling onto his back and throwing one muscular arm over his face. One naked, muscular arm. At the sudden realization that he might be nude beneath the bedclothes, Hester backed away, ready to depart.

The duke moaned again.

Perhaps he needed help. Maybe she should fetch someone—but then she would have to explain her presence in the duke’s bedroom. She recalled hearing his valet’s voice in the servants’ hall downstairs. She could ring the bell for assistance and leave before the valet appeared. The servant might believe that the duke had summoned him.

Deciding that would be the best course, Hester moved farther inside the room, for the bell rope dangled near the head of the bed.

What if someone passed by? They would certainly see her light.

Hester blew out the candle, so that the room was in complete darkness. She waited for her eyes to get used to the change, then slowly began to make out the shape of the duke, and the bellpull.

She went slowly toward the bed and reached for the pull, hesitating for a moment as she looked down at the slumbering duke.

He shifted again, rolling toward her and exposing his powerful shoulder.

With a gulp, she yanked on the bellpull, then hurried from the room as quickly and quietly as she could.

When she was gone, Adrian Fitzwalter opened his eyes and smiled.

The next morning, Adrian sank onto the stone garden bench that was as cold and hard as his stepmother’s heart and stretched out his left leg. His limb was very sore, and although he believed Mapleton when he said that the wound was not dangerous, Adrian couldn’t help wondering when the devil he would be recovered enough to leave here, or at least go riding.

Still, he might as well take some time to enjoy the garden, seen far too little of late, and bask in the warmth of an unseasonably mild autumn day.

He slowly surveyed the flower beds, walks and shrubbery. His stepmother had been busy here, or busy giving orders at any rate. Very little of his mother’s garden remained. All was now formal and, to his mind, lacking any sense of natural beauty. He wondered what his father would have made of the change, and then decided that thought was a foolish one. His father would have said nothing, no matter what he felt. He had always been reserved.

Far too reserved, except on that one memorable occasion.

As for the “improvements” Adrian did not like, his stepmother could not live forever. When she died, he would put it all as it had been before his mother had passed away when he was ten years old, and his life had changed forever.

Perhaps it had not been wise to come to Bar-roughby, with all its memories. He should have remained in London, at least until Christmas, and braved this latest scandal, too.

Adrian forced himself to concentrate on the scent of the roses, and tried not to remember Elizabeth Howell’s tear-streaked face or the little body of her infant, robbed of life after a few short gasps, lying in the wooden cradle beside the narrow, filthy bed.

He leaned forward and rubbed his temples, as if he could rub out the memories. He had done all he could, knowing full well he could never make up for the loss of her honor, her happiness or her child.

“My dear duchess! How distressed you must be!”

Adrian turned his head so swiftly in the direction of the main drawing room that a pain shot through his neck.

It was the Reverend Canon Lyton Smeech, the vicar of the local church. He had held that living for several years at the discretion of the duchess, and apparently he still felt beholden enough to fawn over the woman.

Adrian heard another feminine voice murmur a greeting, and thought he recognized it as Hester Pimblett’s.

A rare smile crossed his face. A most surprising young woman, Hester. Outwardly so timid and demure, obedient and pliable. But only outwardly, for it took no small inner strength to ignore his stepmother, and no small courage to enter the Dark Duke’s bedchamber, even if he was ostensibly asleep, given his reputation as a lascivious libertine.

Well, perhaps not courage. Perhaps nothing more than feminine curiosity. Or a passionate nature beneath the self-effacing facade.

He rose slowly. He had met that type of woman before, the kind who used the trap of sweet modesty to get a jaded cad’s attention. Once he got her alone, she would say they were acting most improperly, all the while pressing her lithe, shapely body against his. It was hypocrisy at its finest, and he knew hypocrisy very well indeed.

Another voice responded, that of a younger man. He wasn’t aware of any visitors expected today, which was not surprising really, considering his hostile relationship with the duchess. Who could it be?

Maybe it was someone to be avoided, like the Reverend Canon Smeech. Or maybe it was a gentleman with some interest in the quiet Lady Hester. There was a fascinating course of speculation, and one worthy of further investigation, if for no other reason than to provide some necessary distraction.

Adrian smiled grimly as he limped into the house.

## Chapter Three

“A, um, most trying surprise for you, I’m sure, Your Grace, the Reverend Canon Sraeech intoned pityingly.

“Nobody knows how I suffer,” the duchess responded plaintively. “Hester,” she snapped in an aside to her companion, “I need my fan!”

Hester, seated in a small chair to the right and slightly behind the duchess’s sofa, reached forward with the necessary article. The canon strolled to the windows, and Hester smiled at the curate who had arrived with the august clergyman, Reverend Hamish McKenna, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable. Whether it was because he was overwhelmed by the magnificence of his surroundings or not sure how to respond to the robust duchess’s claims of illness, Hester wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, he managed to smile briefly in response.

“Yes, nobody knows how I suffer!” the duchess continued. “Another scandal! The name of Fitzwaiter—which my son also possesses!—dragged in the mud. What is a mother to do?”

“Perhaps if you spoke with the duke,” Reverend McKenna offered gently, his Scots accent giving his words a slight burr.

The duchess looked startled, and Reverend Canon Smeech gave his curate a censorious look.

“It was merely a suggestion,” the reverend said helplessly.

“An inappropriate one,” the canon replied. “The duchess has no wish or need to sully herself by contact with the duke.”

Hester couldn’t help feeling sorry for Reverend McKenna. It wouldn’t be easy working with Reverend Canon Smeech, who was the type of clergyman who clearly considered the few needs of the wealthy of his parish first and foremost, and left the bulk of the work to his assistant.

“Did I hear someone mention the duke?” the nobleman asked as he strolled into the room.

Reverend McKenna rose in greeting, the duchess frowned and the canon bowed. “Your Grace,” he said with a smile. “We were not expecting you.”

“So I gather,” the duke noted as he continued toward the sofa and seated himself beside his stepmother. “We meet again, Canon Smeech.”

The duchess inched away as if the duke had a disease, Hester noted.

She also noted that he looked quite rested, his leg apparently caused him no trouble, his hair was considerably more tidy than the last time she had seen him, his clothes fit to perfection, and he didn’t seem to notice she was there.

Which should not be surprising or cause for dismay.

“My -lord, allow me to present Reverend Hamish McKenna, my curate, “the older clergyman said with an obsequious bow, and Hester had to stifle a smile. Obviously the poor canon didn’t want to offend either the duke or the duchess. “Your stepmother was telling us of your, ah, wound.”

“Was she?” he asked lightly. “Must have been a short discourse, since I have told her so little about it. Please sit down, Smeech. You, too, Reverend McKenna.”

Reverend Canon Smeech blushed at the duke’s lack of courtesy, and so did Hamish McKenna, from the roots of his red hair to the bottom of his freckled chin, as he sat on a chair opposite Hester, who gave him a warm and understanding smile. The duke’s overpowering presence was enough to cast a pall over the most mundane of conversations, a fact brought forcefully home when he glanced at her. He made her feel as if she had suddenly been put on display at the Crystal. Palace.

Adrian looked from Lady Hester, wearing the plainest of blue gowns and seated like some quiet little serving maid beside his stepmother, to the blushing young clergyman. Were they ordaining children these days? Surely this fellow was far too young to be in orders, Adrian thought, until Reverend McKenna smiled at Hester. Not so very young, after all. And what was he to make of her, so cool and composed? “I trust you slept well, Lady Hester?” Adrian asked.

“Quite well,” she replied with equanimity. “Did you?”

“Yes,” he replied, somewhat nonplussed. He began to wonder if he had imagined last night, when he thought she had come into his bedroom. Or maybe he had been dreaming, and he had pulled the bell rope to summon James, who had been dispatched to fetch his master a drink to soothe his restless sleep.

They all sat in awkward silence for several minutes, and Adrian did nothing to lessen the tension. He was well aware his stepmother was bursting to speak and complain about him. If his presence stopped her, he would sit here for the rest of the day, and they could all be silent. As for the others, including the confusing Lady Hester, he didn’t care if they were uncomfortable or not.

Then Lady Hester addressed Canon Smeech. “I understand the harvest was particularly good this year.”

“Ah, indeed, um, yes. Very fine, very fine.”

The canon rambled on for some time about the crops and livestock of the village of Barroughby, needing no further prompting to indulge in the sound of his own deep, sonorous tones, and Adrian realized something had gone amiss. It was not for this mousy young woman to direct the conversation, nor was it fitting for her to look slyly at McKenna, as if sharing some kind of secret with him.

Not when the Duke of Barroughby was present.

“I suppose you’ve already collected the tithes?” Adrian demanded, not particularly caring if he sounded rude or not.

The Reverend Canon Smeech cleared his plump and pompous throat. “Yes, my lord.”

“I did not think you would neglect that,” Adrian noted dryly.

Lady Hester frowned slightly, a peevish little downturn of her full lips. So, she did not approve of his remarks. He didn’t care. She had probably heard worse things about him than his lack of respect for a bombastic hypocrite like Smeech.

The duchess’s companion rose gracefully and faced the duchess. “If you will excuse me, Your Grace, I promised Reverend McKenna that I would show him the garden the next time he visited on a sunny day. This one would seem to be perfect.

Hamish McKenna got to his feet awkwardly and flushed deep red. “Indeed, yes, I would be delighted,” he said.

I’ll wager you would, Adrian thought. “Apparently Lady Hester prefers not to be in my presence—today”.

There! A flash of fire in her large blue eyes, just enough to tell him that she understood his reference, and that he had not imagined her in his room last night.

“Is it any wonder, when you are so abominably rude?” the duchess demanded.

“You wound me, Your Grace,” Adrian said with a mockingly injured air as he put his hand over his heart, while at the same time resolving to be more courteous to Lady Hester. “I give them leave to go.” Indeed, he was tempted to join them, but the idea that he would have to hide his limp or endure pitying remarks kept him in his chair.

Jenkins appeared in the doorway and bowed as far as his rheumatic back would permit. “Sir Douglas Sackcloth-and-Ashes and his daughter have arrived, Your Grace,” he announced.

“He means Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper and his daughter, Damaris,” the duchess explained to the confused clergymen. “Poor Jenkins—his hearing is beginning to go.”

Adrian made no effort to hide a smirk. Beginning to go? Jenkins’s hearing had been going for fifteen years.

“Show them in,” the duchess said brusquely, and Adrian was glad that he hadn’t offered to walk in the garden, for this was surely going to be interesting.

He easily remembered Sir Douglas, a country squire with good manners, small intellect and vast ambition. As for Damaris, he had last seen her five years ago. She had been about twelve then, and a very pretty child, if rather dull.

Sir Douglas marched into the room, his bearing military and his fifty-year-old body remarkably well preserved. Obviously country life agreed with him, judging by his robust good health. “My dear duke!” he cried, taking Adrian’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I heard from Smythe at The George that you were come home.” He faced the duchess and the risen canon. “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Canon Smeech.” He bowed to Lady Hester, who made a small curtsy, and he nodded dismissively at Reverend McKenna.

Then Damaris Sackville-Cooper, no longer a little girl, entered the room. Adrian realized at once that she was a rare beauty, with dark hair topped by a pert dark green chapeau and veil, which hid limpid gray eyes that were quickly and demurely lowered, her dusky lashes fanning her satiny cheeks. Her figure was perfect in a very fashionable riding habit of dark green velvet, and her posture graceful and elegant.

If Damaris were to appear in London with him, Adrian thought, she would cause a sensation. However, he was quite used to causing a sensation, and somehow, the vision didn’t excite him. He would just as soon appear with Lady Hester on his arm.

He smiled to himself. Now, that would cause a very different sensation. The Dark Duke in public with a homely woman—the gossips would have a high time.

He glanced at Hamish McKenna to see how the young man of the cloth reacted to the sight of such loveliness.

Reverend McKenna looked completely stunned.

And what of Lady Hester? Surely she would not welcome such a visitor.

Lady Hester smiled warmly at the young woman, apparently without envy. A rare woman indeed, to feel no jealousy in the presence of such pulchritude.

When Adrian rose to greet damris, he wondered why he felt absolutely nothing beyond mere curiosity as he regarded her. Could it be that he was getting old? Or had he simply seen too many beautiful women? He reached out to take her hand, and she drew back, shying like a terrified horse—not a completely unexpected reaction from a country lass, and not at all disturbing.

Her father cleared his throat, and damris held out her gloved hand, albeit as if she feared Adrian was going to bite it off.

“We were about to take a turn in the garden,” Lady Hester said softly. “Perhaps Miss Sackville-Cooper would care to accompany us?”

“Charmed,” the young lady replied, not looking in Adrian’s direction.

“Delightful idea!” Sir Douglas said. “Delightful! I’m sure the duke knows many interesting things about the flora!”

“I regret my current indisposition forces me to remain behind,” Adrian said. He had no great desire to stay here with his stepmother, yet he knew his leg couldn’t bear the walk around the garden. He would wait until they were gone, then decamp to his room. Boredom was infinitely better than enduring the duchess and Canon Smeech.

Damaris Sackville-Cooper brightened considerably at his words. The other two young people turned away before he could catch their expressions, even though he didn’t particularly care how they felt about his refusal.

“Nothing serious, I trust?” Sir Douglas inquired with grave concern.

“A mere flesh wound,” Adrian replied lightly. “I have been advised to rest.”

“Why don’t you go, too, Sir Douglas?” the duchess suggested in her own, unsubtle way. “And you, too, Canon. You can explain to Sir Douglas about that new plant, the one you suggested I put in near the rose garden. I shall await your return here, for you all must stay to tea.”

“Won’t you join us, Your Grace?” Canon Smeech asked.

“I fear my heart couldn’t take the strain of walking about in this unseasonable warmth.”

The garden party departed, Lady Hester in the lead, followed by Reverend McKenna and Miss Sackville-Cooper, then the slower canon and a reluctant Sir Douglas.

They soon moved out of sight and presumably out of hearing. Adrian was about to rise and leave the room when the duchess turned to him. “You know what that man’s trying to do, don’t you?”

“Which man?”

“Sir Douglas, of course.”

Adrian raised one eyebrow with sardonic speculation. “No, but I suspect you’re going to tell me.” “Don’t give me that look, Adrian. What I’m about to say is for your own good.”

“Well, then, I must hear you out,” he replied, wondering what the duchess considered “his own good.”

The duchess frowned darkly. “He has designs on you.”

“Carnal?” Adrian inquired nonchalantly.

The duchess gasped and reddened. “No! Of course not, you. vile creature! He wants you to many his daughter.”

“I see.”

“She is to be his bait.”

“And I the prize?”

“Your title,” the duchess replied, sneering as much as a well-bred woman could. “He wants her to become the next duchess. That little nobody!”

“She’s a very beautiful young woman,” Adrian noted.

“They have no family connections worth speaking of, and I will not see this estate in the hands of Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper’s daughter.”

“Since you are likely to be deceased before I am likely to be wed, I do not see that you need to worry,” Adrian remarked, beginning to stand,

“Will you take this matter seriously? Sir Douglas is going to be laying snares for you everywhere! We all know your reputation and, as you so flippantly point out, she is a beautiful creature. You must stay away from her! I will not allow you to pursue your own selfish pleasures!”

It was Adrian’s turn to scowl, although he tried not to, for he could think of only one person on the entire earth who was more selfish than his stepmother, and that was her son. “Then I am not to deflower damris Sackville-Cooper?” he asked, regarding her steadily.

“Must you use such words in my presence?”

“Isn’t that what you are trying to tell me? That Sir Douglas may not care how he manages to get his daughter married to me? That he might, in essence, throw her at my head?”

“Since you insist upon using such terms, yes.”

“Obviously you were too preoccupied to notice that the young lady in question does not seem to regard me with a favorable eye.”

“Don’t try to talk smart to me, Adrian. You and I both know that you could seduce a stone if you took it into your head. Heaven knows you have had enough practice!”

He made a mocking half bow. “I thank you for the compliment, Your Grace. I believe it is the first one you have ever given me.”

“Just stay away from Damaris Sackville-Cooper!”

“But how am I to assuage my base desires, which you seem to think determine my every decision?” he asked with deceptive calm. “Surely you don’t expect me to be as chaste as a monk.”

“I don’t care, as long as you don’t endanger the family honor.”

He knew she meant only the honor of herself and Elliot, her dear boy. “I have no taste for servants,” Adrian replied, wondering how far she was willing to take this subject. “Perhaps Lady Hester?”

“You are a rogue to even think of corrupting Lord Pimblett’s daughter!” the duchess replied. Then she smiled coldly. “Go ahead and try. Not even you would have much success with her.”

“Why not? If I can seduce a stone, surely I could succeed with her.”

The duchess fanned herself. “She is no flighty, silly creature given to overwrought emotions. She is a good, quiet, dutiful young woman who will keep her virtue for her husband.”

“Does this mean I can expect a parade of eligible young men through Barroughby Hall?”

“Don’t be impudent.”

“She seemed quite friendly to Reverend Mc-Kenna,” he noted.

“Are you trying to be amusing?” the duchess demanded. “Lady Hester has more sense than to ally herself to a country curate, even if he does come from a well-to-do family. They made their money in trade.”

“Oh, well, then, obviously he’s out of consideration. What about Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper? He’s been a widower for years.”

“Lord Edgar Pimblett’s daughter and that man?”

“It would be a decent match for her.”

His stepmother looked at him with something resembling respect. “You might be right, Adrian. She’s rather old and certainly plain. She might be willing to settle for him.”

Adrian reflected that he should have known that if his stepmother approved an idea, he would find it a bad one upon further consideration. The idea of Hester Pimblett and Sir Douglas now struck him as ludicrous, even if he couldn’t say why. All he could be sure of was that he had had quite enough of this conversation, and more than enough of his stepmother for one day. “If you will excuse me, I’m going upstairs. My leg is aching like the devil.” He bowed and strode toward the door.

“Don’t use such vulgar terms in my presence, if you please, Adrian,” the duchess replied tartly. “And I don’t excuse you.”

But the duke had already gone out the door.

## Chapter Four

Hester led the way along the walk to the rose garden, feeling not unlike the Pied Piper as Reverend Mc-Kenna and Damaris, Sir Douglas and Canon Smeech followed. Reverend McKenna caught up to her quickly, matching her pace. Damaris soon joined them, walking on the other side of Hester.

“Well, isn’t he just the most wicked man!” Damaris exclaimed quietly, with an anxious glance over her shoulder as if she expected to see the Dark Duke pursuing her like Hades after Persephone. “Papa says he’s simply a spirited young man—spirited! I can believe everything I’ve heard, and more.”

That Adrian Fitzwalter had a streak of devilment in him was all too obvious, Hester thought as she recalled his words this morning. He must have been awake when she entered his bedroom, a humiliating realization. And yet, if he was as evil as the duchess and everyone except Sir Douglas seemed to believe, he wouldn’t have continued to feign sleep. He would have done something horrible, like leap from the bed and kiss her.

Moving his full lips, which curled with such secretive, knowing smiles, over hers. Slowly. Seductively. Pressing his hard, muscular body against hers. Embracing her with a fierce and wild passion, perhaps even picking her up and carrying her to the bed—

“Oh, dear, have we been walking too fast?” damris asked. “You seem all out of breath, Lady Hester.”

“No, no, I’m fine”, she replied, trying to compose herself. She had never known she possessed such a vivid imagination!

“We should be charitable,” Reverend McKenna offered meekly, although his tone seemed to imply this would not be an easy task. He gave the lovely damris a sidelong glance and Hester was sure she heard him sigh.

“He is very handsome,” Hester said.

“Handsome in a sly, nasty way!” Damaris said. “And, my dear, I have it on the very best authority that he doesn’t confine his unsavory activities to London. The butcher’s girl told my maid that she actually saw him leaving that house on Stamford Street when he visited here once before.”

Hester knew to which house Damaris was referring with that knowing, condemning tone. Even Bar-roughby had a brothel. “She was quite sure it was the duke?” Hester inquired, finding it hard to believe that a man of the duke’s attributes would have to pay for services of that sort.

“Well,” Damaris equivocated, “she did see only his back—but the man was the right height, and very well dressed, and when he said good-night she recognized his voice.”

Hester didn’t respond, and Reverend McKenna only stared at the ground.

“Why has he come here again?” Damaris demanded. “He and the duchess have no liking for each other.”

“He was hurt,” Hester replied.

“How?”

“A duel, or so I understand,” she said.

“Oh, dear!” Damaris responded, her eyes widening. “No wonder the duchess dislikes him! And to think Papa—” She paused and colored, then continued. “It’s illtego to duel!”

“I daresay many things the duke is alleged to have done are illegal,” Hester noted.

“Are you going to stay here?”

Hester paused and looked at Damaris. “Why should I not?”

“Because of his reputation, my dear!” Damaris said. “No woman is said to be safe around him!”

Hester began walking again. “No beautiful woman, perhaps,” she replied, hoping Damaris would take the hint. “I think I shall not tempt him.”

“Nevertheless, it might be wise to advise the duchess to suggest he leave,” Reverend McKenna said with unusual boldness.

Hester could easily envision what the duchess’s reaction would be to Hamish McKenna’s advice, clergyman or not, so she said, “I believe he shall soon grow bored and go back to London, so let us not cause more dissention in the family.”

“But still—!” Reverend McKenna began.

“Oh, let’s not talk about such a disagreeable subject!” Damaris ordered with a very pretty pout.

Reverend McKenna fell silent.

The young people turned down the footpath to the rose garden, leaving the older men to follow some distance behind. From the snatches of conversation Hester could overhear, they were discussing the duke’s financial situation, as best as people could who had no real knowledge.

If only Sir Douglas could be a little more aware of the danger! He was naive if he thought the duke would see Damaris only as an object of matrimony, not seduction, yet it was obvious listening to him speak of the estate with Canon Smeech that the knight considered only the title and wealth that would belong to the wife of the Duke of Barroughby. The taint of scandals and gossip clearly meant nothing.

Hester thought Damaris’s denunciation sincere enough, yet she didn’t doubt that Adrian Fitzwalter possessed enough persuasive abilities to make the most virtuous woman’s honor falter, if he cared to exert himself, which he might very well do for the beautiful Damaris. Add to that his good looks and muscular body—well, a woman might be tempted to overlook many things in the face of such attributes.

This did not bode well for Damaris, or Reverend McKenna, either, Hester thought, as she saw the young man glance at the beauty again. It didn’t take a lot of perception to see that he was completely smitten with her, and extremely worried about the presence of the duke.

Poor man! Hester feared his romance was doomed to failure, for even supposing Damaris’s father did not succeed in his plans concerning the Duke of Barroughby, Hester was sure Sir Douglas would set about searching for an equally advantageous marriage for her.

Hester repressed a sigh of her own. Her parents had no such ambitions for her. After Helena had made a match with a rich manufacturer’s son, and Henrietta with a clergyman who had a wealthy lord for a patron, they seemed to feel they had reached the end of their responsibilities. After all, Hester was no prize—or so their attitude seemed to suggest.

The reflection stung her as it always did, for she knew it did not have to be so. She had a lively and intelligent mind; if she could but have been taught more, she would at least have been able to find solace in learning. Instead, she was reduced to being little more than an elite companion for a difficult old woman, who complained about everything except her dear son, Elliot.

Could it be possible for one son to be such a paragon of virtue and the other apparently the very devil in human form?

If Adrian Fitzwalter was a devil, Hester thought him a perceptive one. No one else seemed to feel as she did about Canon Smeech, whom she had disliked from the moment she had met him, when he had looked at her with such condescending pity. She had listened to him condemn the duke with nearly as much venom as the duchess, only to see him smile at the duke as much as he dared while the duchess was present. Still, the duke shouldn’t have been so rude to the man’s face. The canon did represent the Church of England, after all.

Perhaps the duke’s animosity to a clergyman wasn’t so surprising, if one considered that the duke seemed to sin with such regularity and relish.

“Isn’t the scent delightful?” Damaris said, holding up a rose for Hester’s inspection and catching her quite off guard. “Don’t you think so, Reverend McKenna?”

“Beautiful,” the young man murmured, blushing, as Damaris bent her head toward another bloom. She colored very slightly, and Hester couldn’t be sure if it was because of her action, or because she, too, realized the remark was not strictly intended to refer to the flower.

Hester hoped Damaris would fall in love with Hamish McKenna. Damaris could do much worse for a husband, and she wanted the young woman safe from her father’s machinations.

And those of the Dark Duke, if she was being absolutely truthful.

Adrian spent the next few days closeted in his bedroom, where he did not have to put up with his stepmother, or make pleasant conversation with Sir Douglas and his daughter, who visited every day, or listen to the canon attempt to lecture him on the errors of his ways while trying not to offend him.

He saw nothing of Lady Hester, but he could guess that she was spending her time attending to his stepmother, whose various and sundry ailments would all have been made worse by the arrival of her prodigal stepson.

If Adrian regretted anything about his self-imposed confinement, it was missing the opportunity to study that interesting miss a little more. She certainly did not seem to begrudge Damaris Sackville-Cooper her beauty. Perhaps that could be explained by Lady Hester’s lovely sisters. She was probably used to being the plain woman in any gathering. However, he had been rather more surprised by her apparent lack of jealousy where the attentive young reverend was concerned. Adrian was quite sure of his ability to gauge reactions, and he was certain that Reverend McKenna was smitten with Miss Sackville-Cooper. Did Lady Hester see this, too, or did she simply not care?

That Sir Douglas was making grandiose plans for his daughter was also painfully obvious, and completely useless, for Adrian did not intend to marry for a very long time. He had enough responsibilities without adding those of a wife and subsequent children.

Nevertheless, by this time Adrian was heartily sick of his own company. To make matters worse, it began to rain, making his bedroom unremittingly gloomy. If the weather brought any comfort, it was that no unwelcome visitors would come to Barroughby Hall on such a day. Therefore, Adrian reasoned, he could venture to the library, a room his stepmother never entered. Jenkins could be counted on to have a fire there, for he lived in perpetual fear of the late duke’s library falling prey to mildew. It would be warm and cozy and he could find himself something new to read.

As he had hoped, a fire burned merrily in the library’s grate, making the dark-paneled room seem like a book-lined cavern. Adrian felt like Robinson Crusoe, marooned with only books for company. This did not particularly trouble him, for he had spent many such hours in this comfortable room, which had been his father’s favorite. His mother’s, too.

The peace of the room enfolded him. How much better it was to be here, instead of clubs and theaters with the men people liked to call the Dark Duke’s Dandies. Not a one of his London cronies was what a man could call a good friend. They simply amused him, and helped him pass the time.

He chose a book at random, something silly by Mrs. Radcliffe, and settled into a wing chair. He propped the foot of his sore leg on the grate as he prepared to read about the terrible dangers faced by the virtuous heroine in The Mysteries of Udolpho.

Soon Adrian was lulled into sleep by the warmth of the fire and the dull pit-pat of the rain on the window.

He drifted down into a dream, a memory. Of finding Elizabeth in that hot, filthy, dingy room. The efforts of her labor. The way she wailed and sobbed. The long, terrifying wait for the doctor and the dismissive look on the man’s face when he entered the room. Then the doctor’s fear when Adrian grabbed him by the throat and identified himself.

Too late. He was too late. The doctor was too late.

But there was someone else in the room. A woman. Quietly and competently swaddling the dying baby, cooing softly. Then, with infinite tenderness and patience, she turned to Elizabeth and wiped her feverish brow before looking up at him, with calm forgiveness and understanding.

It was Lady Hester, her smile like a balm on his tortured soul.

“Your Grace!”

Adrian awoke at once, to find Lady Hester shaking him gently, her face close to his, looking at him with worry and concern. Without thinking, he took her face between his two hands and pulled her toward him, kissing her deeply as if he could drink her in, like a dying man who finds water in the desert. For the briefest of moments she yielded, her lips soft and pliable against his.

How much he wanted her, he realized, the strength of his desire shocking him.

But only for a moment. She pulled back, staring at him with what could have been surprise or horror, her hand wiping her lips of his unclean touch—so different from his dream.

He cursed himself for a fool. Why, she wasn’t even pretty! It had to be because of the lingering effects of his dream that he had kissed her. “What do you want?” he demanded, wearily leaning back in his chair and waiting for her to slap him, or denounce him, to start crying, or run from the room.

She did none of those things. Instead, she took a step back, watching him, the expression in her large and shining blue eyes changing from shocked surprise to puzzlement. “Why did you do that?” she asked softly.

“Why not?”

“Because it was not a gentlemanly thing to do.”

“Given my reputation, this surprises you?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she answered calmly.

What a strange woman! Does she never react like other females of her age and rank? he thought. He smiled cynically. “My stepmother would tell you I am no gentleman.”

Lady Hester nodded her head slowly, although not with agreement, he didn’t think. It was more a pondering of his words with a gravity he found extremely disconcerting, considering what they were discussing. “You were very rude to Reverend Canon Smeech.”

“He’s a greedy hypocrite.”

She didn’t look at all shocked. “That is no excuse. He is a representative of the church.”

“That excuses him, I suppose.”

This plain woman in her simple, unadorned gown of gray regarded him so steadily that despite his efforts to assure himself that her opinion could not be important, he was quite nonplussed. “No, it does not,” she said, “although I agree with your estimation. However, you can’t expect him to change because you are discourteous to him. You would do better to use your influence to get him appointed to a position where he will have less opportunity to be a greedy hypocrite.”

“Well, well, well,” Adrian said, rising slowly. “You seem very confident of my influence.” He went to the fireplace and leaned against the mantel.

“Your rank alone assures it.”

“If not my personal attributes?”

“I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace. If you will excuse me—”

“I don’t excuse you.” Surprisingly, despite moments of discomfort, he was enjoying himself, perhaps because it had been years since anyone had responded to him with something other than blatant animosity or fawning flattery. “What are you doing here?” he repeated.

“I came for a book.”

“And instead you found me. Why didn’t you creep away?”

“You were…dreaming. I thought…”

“I take it I did not appear to be enjoying my dream?”

“No, Your Grace.”

“As it happens, I was not. Grateful to be awakened, I kissed you. A moment of weakness.”

“I gather you have many such moments,” she noted dispassionately..

Adrian frowned slightly. “Where is my stepmother? Doesn’t she require your constant attendance?”

“She fell asleep. That’s why I came for a book. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, Your Grace.”

Quite unexpectedly, he realized he didn’t want her to go. “There is no need for you to rush off. I haven’t had a decent conversation in three days. Sit here beside the fire and tell me how you come to be living in my house.”

Hester hesitated, torn between the desire to flee and the desire to stay. She knew she should leave, especially after the duke’s impetuous and impertinent kiss, which would seem to lend credence to the popular opinion of the duke as a notable lecher.

However, she felt more confident in his presence now, because of the look on his face when she had awakened him. He had not been the handsome, sardonic, provocative nobleman then. He had been as vulnerable as anyone she had ever seen, and his eyes had been full of anguish, as had the soft moans that had escaped his lips as she had entered the library, sounds that had compelled her to approach him.

As for the kiss, she had never known anything more unexpected and exciting in her entire existence. She had never been kissed by a young man, and the sensation had been every bit as wonderful as she had ever imagined. Nor had she ever felt so flattered. To think that the Dark Duke, known for his taste in women, had bestowed that mark of favor upon her, even if she had been returned to prosaic reality by his admission that he had kissed her because of “a moment of weakness.”

Propriety demanded that she leave, but her own lonely heart told her to stay, and for once, Hester decided she would follow her heart. Surely they would be safe from discovery, for the duchess was a sound sleeper, and she had only just nodded off in the drawing room. They were in the usually empty library, and nobody even knew they were there.

She sat in a chair near the one upon which he had been sitting. “So, Lady Hester,” he said in a low tone that set her heart beating rapidly, “what are you doing at Barroughby Hall?”

“Your stepmother corresponds with my mother, and when she heard the duchess was looking for a companion, she thought I would do,” Hester replied matter-of-factly, trying to regard him with composure, reminding herself that he was a flirtatious man by nature, and his attention had nothing to do with her personally.

“What did you think?” He strolled behind her chair, and she wished she could see his face.

He sounded as if he truly cared, which created a sense of intimacy far more dangerous than his kiss had been. Nevertheless, she would remember who and what he was, and who or what she was. “Since I had no better prospects, I agreed.”

“No better prospects?”

She didn’t answer. He knew very well what she meant.

“But you cannot like it here,” he said, as if she could not possibly disagree.

“This is a lovely estate. I enjoy the garden very much, and—” she smiled and gestured at the walls “—the library.”

“My stepmother is not an easy woman.”

“Perhaps she has mellowed during your absence.”

The duke’s response was a sniff of disdain.

“The duchess provided a change of scene,” she replied honestly.

“I daresay,” he said, continuing his stroll around the room. “I have seen your sisters in London, but not you, I don’t believe.”

“No doubt you didn’t notice me.”

“Are you often overlooked?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“You don’t sound very bitter,” he remarked with a wry smile.

She shrugged her shoulders. “My sisters are beautiful. I am not. There is nothing I can do about that.”

“I see.”

She didn’t think he did. No man as handsome as he would ever understand what it was like to be the ugly duckling in the family.

He moved back to the fireplace and continued to regard her with a scrutiny that grew increasingly unnerving. “I wonder what you really want, Lady Hester” he murmured.

“I told you. Your Grace. A book.”

He smiled, a more genuine smile, she thought, than she had yet seen him bestow upon anyone, including Damaris Sackville-Cooper. “I meant from life.”

“I hardly think, Your Grace—” she began to protest.

“Oh, I suspect you do a great deal of thinking,” he interrupted. “Let me guess at the deepest desires of Lady Hester Pimblett”.

She started to stand. “My lord, I—”

“First, attention.”

She straightened her shoulders and frowned deeply. “Your Grace, I really must protest—”

“Second, excitement.”

“If by that you mean the type of excitement you seem to crave, Your Grace, I assure you I can well do without!” Hester said sternly. “Since you are apparently only interested in making sport of me, I will take my leave of you, whether you excuse me or not!”

“I promise I shall stick to only the most mundane of subjects,” he pleaded unexpectedly, and with a most beguiling smile. “The weather. My injury. The fungus on my horse’s hooves. Whatever you wish, as long as you will stay a little longer.”

Hester suddenly realized there was nothing about this man that was not seductive, whether it was his looks or his voice or the way he could make every word an invitation, every gesture intimate. “I believe I have stayed far too long as it is. Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

She hurried to the door, then turned on the threshold and faced him with a mocking little smile of her own. “I shall tell your stepmother you are feeling better, as you most obviously are, and that you will surely join us for dinner.”

When she was gone, Adrian stared at the fire and tried to tell himself that Hester Pimblett was nothing so very special. They were both unappreciated children—they had that one little thing in common.

Well, that and a kiss. And he would not come down to dinner, even if he was finding the thought of speaking with Lady Hester again very tempting indeed.

## Chapter Five

“Hester, where on earth have you been?” the duchess demanded when Hester returned to the drawing room.

Hester, having never felt so frazzled before, dearly hoped her absence would not be remarked upon further. Her wish was granted as the older woman rose from the sofa with more alacrity than Hester had ever seen her demonstrate before and waved a letter as if it was a call to battle.

“I have just received the most exciting news!” the duchess declared unnecessarily.

Hester thought she had had quite enough excitement for one day; nevertheless, she put a happy smile on her face as she tried to calm down.

“Elliot is coming home tomorrow!” the older woman cried triumphantly. “My darling boy, here, tomorrow!” She paused in her exclamations, and a small frown creased her alabaster brow. “If Adrian will send the barouche to Barroughby. Oh, but he must. Just think of it, my own dear boy home at last!” The duchess paused in her raptures. “You seem very dull this afternoon.”

Hester was still considering the part of the duchess’s declaration that had seemed rather odd. Why should the duke have to approve the order of a carriage? Was the duchess not in command of the estate? Had it not been left to her upon the fifth duke’s death? She always acted as if it had, and spent money frequently and lavishly.

The present duke had referred to Barroughby Hall as “my house,” but she had assumed he meant his family’s house.

If this were not so, and he was in sole possession of the estate, why did he endure the company of a woman he so obviously disliked, and whom he could send away whenever he chose? That would be the response one would expect of a scoundrel.

“I am so happy for you,” Hester said, attempting to sound delighted, and reflecting that if she wasn’t careful, she would become as hypocritical as Canon Smeech. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help mentally contrasting the reception of the news of this son’s return with the way the duchess had received word that the duke was coming home. Still, one was a step son, the other her own child. The duchess would not be alone in preferring the child of her body over that of a son by marriage.

“He writes from Dover to say he can hardly wait to get here!” the duchess exclaimed. She walked to the windows and gazed out at the drive, as if she expected to see Lord Elliot’s carriage at that very moment. “He was ill, and only now recovered. I shall have to be a little cross with him for not telling his mama.”

“What is all the excitement?” the duke asked nonchalantly as he strolled into the drawing room. “Have we been robbed?”

Hester eyed the door with a view to escaping, but knew she was trapped as surely as any fly in amber. She would just have to forget about his kiss and try to maintain her composure.

“Of course not!” the duchess replied. “Elliot is coming home.”

“Is he, indeed?” the duke said, regarding his stepmother with a steely gaze such as Hester had never seen, at once cold and pleased. Thankfully, no one had ever directed a look like that at her, and she was reminded that the duke was also said to be a violent man. She had forgotten that, thinking of his other reputed qualities, but anyone witnessing him now could well believe the other, too, even if the expression was gone nearly as rapidly as it had appeared.

His initial response seemed to penetrate the duchess’s unbridled happiness. “I hope you won’t make things difficult, Adrian,” she said anxiously.

“Not I,” he said, sauntering toward the sofa and sitting. “I’m quite looking forward to seeing Elliot again.”

The duchess visibly relaxed. “Good. Unlike some people, he tries not to fret his family.”

The duke ignored her pointed remark. “What else does dear Elliot say?”

“He will be here tomorrow, if you will send the barouche to Barroughby.”

The duke smiled. “Heaven forbid I should do anything to delay Elliot even more. Of course he may have the barouche.”

“We must have an especially fine tea tomorrow, too,” the duchess continued, and Hester noted that she did not thank her stepson for his acquiescence.

“Ah. So we should kill the fatted calf?” The duke glanced at Hester, a mocking expression on his face.

It was a peculiar comparison. Was he not the prodigal son, wasting his inheritance in indulgence and indolence?

“We really should have a party or a ball to welcome him back from Europe,” the duchess said.

Hester could not suppress her displeasure at that thought. She had spent too many boring and disturbing hours sitting against the wall, watching other couples dance, to think of balls or other such entertainments with any pleasure.

She realized the duke was looking at her again, and she quickly smiled. “A ball will be quite delightful,” she lied.

“It will be too much work,” the duke said firmly. “And too expensive.”

“I might have known you would begrudge us the pleasure,” the duchess replied peevishly. “You seem to have no trouble finding money to fritter away on your own vile pursuits, but when I suggest a ball—something we should have done long ago, as befits our place in society!—you are suddenly lacking in funds!”

“Expense aside, if I were to agree, who would make all the arrangements?” the duke inquired calmly.

“Why, I would, of course!” the duchess exclaimed.

“I’m sure,” the duke muttered. He glanced at Hester with a knowing smile that seemed to suggest he knew who would do most of the work if such an event were approved. Further, as the blood rushed to her face, she felt he sympathized with her. “That a ball will require much effort I do not doubt,” the duke commented to his stepmother. “However, if you are willing to take it on, I suppose I could find the funds.”

Hester addressed the duchess. “Your Grace, considering that the duke will surely be unable to dance, perhaps we should postpone consideration of a ball until a later date.”

The duchess looked at Hester as if she had proposed a beheading. “I understand my stepson is said to go hunting after drinking all night. Surely he will be able to manage a few short dances, for propriety’s sake.”

“Why, stepmother!” the duke said, placing his hand upon his heart. “I am so touched to think that you want me to attend. By all means, then, Lady Hester, we must and shall have a ball.”

The duchess shot Hester a black look, as if she had been the one to suggest the ball in the first place.

“I’m sure all the county will want to see Lord Elliot again,” Hester said placatingly.

Which, she realized when the duchess smiled, was the best thing she could have said. “Indeed they will!” the duchess exclaimed. “Everyone adores him!”

Not everyone, Hester thought. Not the duke.

“Hester, you must help with the invitations. Now, what day would be best?”

“Should we not consult with your son, Your Grace?” Hester asked softly. “He may be too fatigued from his journey to attend such a function for a few days.”

“Lady Hester is forever concerned about other people’s welfare, I see,” the duke remarked.

Hester felt herself blushing again and told herself to stop at once.

“I didn’t think of that,” the duchess said. “Of course, you are quite right. And we should have him to ourselves for a little while.” She laughed as gaily as a women twenty years younger. “He is so popular, he is sure to be invited riding and hunting every day, and he is so accommodating, he will never refuse.”

“Elliot never says no,” the duke confirmed before standing. “I believe I shall retire to my room. I find all this talk of balls fatiguing.”

“As you wish,” the duchess replied.

The duke bowed politely. “Your Grace. Lady Hester.” He turned on his heel and strolled out of the room.

“Did anyone ever have such an infuriating relation?” the duchess demanded when he had closed the door. “Really!”

“It seems a pity you need his permission to hold a ball,” Hester said nonchalantly.

“It is! Let this be a warning to you, Lady Hester, to make sure that your husband leaves you your own money, and not in the control of his heir. It is most aggravating, I assure you.”

Hester dutifully nodded as she digested the import of the duchess’s words. The duke apparently had complete control of the estate and the money. Complain as the duchess might, it was undeniable that the duke was generous, for only last week the duchess had ordered several jewels reset, three new gowns, several hats and five pairs of shoes. The meals at Barroughby Hall were inevitably bountiful and excellent, the wine the finest and the servants well attired.

“Now, whom should we invite?” the duchess said happily, resuming her usual seat on the sofa. “I suppose we’ll have to have Sir Douglas and his daughter.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Hester replied, fetching some paper, pen and ink, ready to write down her orders. Then she realized that the duchess was giving her a rather peculiar look. “Is something the matter. Your Grace?”

“You seem a little flushed, Hester.”

“The excitement of your son’s return and the ball, Your Grace,” Hester answered, hoping that would do for an explanation.

“Sir Douglas is not a very old man to have a grown-up daughter, is he?”

“No, Your Grace.” Hester gazed at the duchess, wondering what the woman was getting at. She usually spoke of Sir Douglas with undisguised loathing; this morning she seemed disposed to be gracious. Perhaps the news of Elliot’s return ensured good spirits. Hester certainly hoped they would last!

“He seems in good health, too.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

The duchess said nothing further about Sir Douglas, except to put his name on the list, which soon grew to fifty families. By the time they were finished, it was the hour to dress for dinner.

The duke did not join them at the meal, and Hester told herself she was glad to be spared the anxiety his presence would no doubt have engendered.

“He is three hours late,” the duke said, nodding at the antique German clock on the lacquered table in the drawing room. Hester followed his gesture and tried not to sigh. The barouche had been dispatched, and the weather was fine. Although it was difficult to know the. exact hour Lord Elliot might arrive, she, too, was wearying of sitting in disappointed expectation in the drawing room. “We should have our tea,” the duke continued.

Hester regarded him silently as he stood near the mantel, for he was not looking in her direction, but only at his stepmother. His attitude was one of graceful negligence, yet he was not fooling her. She could see the tension in his well-dressed body, the anger in his shoulders and the frustration in his frown.

“Nonsense!” the duchess exclaimed. “Elliot is only slightly delayed. Perhaps he had to rest awhile on the journey.”

“No doubt,” the duke remarked, and Hester knew by the tone of his deep, rich voice, that he was still not impressed. “Nevertheless, we do not want Lady Hester to perish from hunger.”

“I am quite all right,” replied the lady in question, wishing she could retire from the room. She had absolutely no desire to be drawn into a family dispute.

“But I would be remiss as a host if I did not do my best to see to your needs.”

There was something in his tone that commanded her attention, and when she looked at him, she wished she had not, for he was once more giving her a slight smile that seemed to promise that he could, and would, fulfill any and every wish she might make of a handsome man.

How many times had she sat at a ball and overheard this type of remark, and how many times had she silently replied, always mentally responding much more cleverly than the actual participants. But now she seemed to have been rendered incredibly stupid, for she could think of nothing at all to say except, “I assure you, I am in no hurry for tea.”

The duchess stalked to the window, her body visibly shaking with what seemed a combination of agitation and excitement, setting the several blue silk flounces of her dress to dancing. “I see no harm in waiting a few more minutes.”

“You must be sure to tell me if there is anything else I can provide, Lady Hester,” the duke said with a decorous bow and twinkle of knowing laughter in his eye.

“As long as it’s not too expensive,” the duchess said snidely without turning around from her vantage point.

“I appreciate your generosity, Your Grace, but I am content,” Hester said to the duke.

“You are a rare human being, then, to be content.”

“You make contentment sound boring, Your Grace.”

“Isn’t it?”

“To one of your temperament, perhaps, but it suits me well enough.”

The duke raised his black brows. “I think you do not approve of my temperament.”

“Since I hardly know you, I am not in a position to judge.”

“Then you are a rare woman, for most people have no compunction about judging me, whether they know me or not.”

“What are you two prattling on about?” the duchess demanded, glancing at them over her shoulder and reminding Hester that there was another set of ears in the room, and another mind to interpret their banter.

Which was very unfortunate, for Hester was just beginning to enjoy herself. She felt as if she was being offered a glimpse into the duke’s character, and she wanted to know more.

“You did send the best horses, did you not, Adrian?” the duchess demanded.

“My finest pair,” the duke replied. “I fear I am responsible for his tardiness,” he continued sorrowfully, “for I sent my finest carriage, best horses and a large sum of money to cover any expenses he might have incurred at the inn.”

“There’s the coach! I see it!” the duchess cried suddenly, excitement and relief in her voice as she stared down the long, winding drive leading to Barroughby Hall. “I can see Elliot! Come, Hester, look!”

Hester did as she was bid, and watched the black barouche with the ducal arms on the door, drawn by equally black horses, sweep up the drive. Inside was a tall young man wearing a hat, more than that, only a mother’s eye could discern.

The duchess watched until the carriage disappeared behind the stable wall, then turned triumphantly to her companions. “There, Adrian. I told you we should wait tea for him. He is sure to be hungry, the poor boy, after his tiring journey”. The duchess lifted her bounteous silk skirt and hurried from the room, no doubt intending to meet her darling boy at the front door.

Hester realized she was alone again with the duke, just as she noticed that the duchess had left her shawl. Mindful of the crisp autumn air and her own racing heart, she quickly decided to take it to her. She hurried to the sofa and picked up the soft wool shawl.

The duke raised one eyebrow inquiringly as he watched her. “You seem in a very great rush to meet the epitome of virtue,” he remarked, drawing a cheroot from the breast pocket of his jacket.

“I have never met a paragon before,” she retorted.

“If you do not take care, Lady Hester, I could be jealous.”

His mocking smile told her that he was merely teasing her, so she met his gaze boldly. “If he is virtuous, so you should be.”

Adrian’s eyes widened. It seemed there was no end to the surprises Lady Hester could provide.

She faced him now as one equal to another, again a trait that set her apart from every other woman he had ever known. Some, the vain ones, had believed themselves superior to him; others, the hopeful ones, had an almost pathetically needy manner. “Should you not take that to the duchess?” he said at last. “We wouldn’t want her to catch a chill, would we?”

“No, Your Grace, we wouldn’t.”

He watched her go, wondering at the emphasis in her final words to him. We. We, as in you and I together here? We against the others?

Not alone anymore.

Tempting thought. Tempting, foolish thought.

He lit his cheroot and sauntered after her, deciding his stomach could bear witnessing the tender reunion of mother and son, if only to see how the surprising Lady Hester would react to his half brother, the fair and charming Lord Elliot Fitzwalter.

## Chapter Six

By the time Adrian reached the foyer, a pair of footmen were already carrying in a trunk, maneuvering the bulky piece of baggage up the wide stairs. Outside, three more servants stood ready to receive smaller pieces of luggage at the direction of Elliot’s Italian valet.

Elliot, all five foot nine of him, looking healthy as a horse, his hair lighter from the sun of southern Italy, his eyes bluer in his tanned face, and sporting the latest in European fashion, met his mother at the door, smiling blandly as she embraced him.

“Elliot, my dear boy, how are you?” the duchess cried.

“I am much better, Mama, now that I am here with you.”

The duchess hugged him again, but his attention had already wandered toward his half brother. “I see you have other company, Mama.”

The duchess drew back. “Yes.”

“Elliot, how good of you to arrive at last,” the duke said in greeting.

Lord Elliot made a crooked little smile, one side of his mouth rising slightly higher than the other, and continued to survey the foyer. His gaze came to rest on Hester, who stood silently at the bottom of the stairs, the shawl draped over her slender arm, waiting patiently, more like a good servant than a woman of rank.

The duchess had some right to be vain of her son, Hester thought. He was tall, attractive, fair and blue eyed, his manner pleasing, his posture erect and his movements athletic. His lopsided smile added to his charm and was not nearly so sardonic as his brother’s. They were nearly the same height, and their voices remarkably similar in their smooth, deep tones. She also realized that for a man who had been too ill to travel, he looked extremely healthy. Indeed, it was interesting to contrast the appearance of Lord Elliot with that of the duke upon his arrival.