Bewitching The Forbidden Duke (Steamy Historical Regency) Read online

  “I do. In fact, the less seen you are, the better.” Patrick said with a smile.

  “Eternal bachelor, that’s me.” Stenwick nodded proudly and Patrick could not help but laugh.

  “So now that we have established that, I do not know if the on-dits have penetrated this corner of the ton yet, so I shall tell you that last night, the party was infiltrated by a brigand.”

  “Indeed?” both Stenwick’s eyebrows rose in surprise, “How strange.”

  “It was indeed. He attempted to take the birthday girl hostage, to steal her necklace. Apparently, it was a rather unique piece, made specifically for the shindig.”

  Stenwick’s eyebrows rose higher, “You don’t say!”

  “I do indeed.” Patrick was enjoying Stenwick’s reactions to his story telling. The Earl had a very expressive face.

  “So, what happened?”

  “Well.” Patrick drew the moment out to pique Stenwick’s curiosity. The Earl leaned forward eagerly. “What, man?” he demanded.

  “I saved the girl. Cudgeled the man over the back of his head.” Patrick said with a proud grin.

  Stenwick jumped a little in his seat, his hand reaching out to close around Patrick’s arm, his eyes wide. “You did what? Are you well? Did you get hurt?”

  “No. I came at him from behind so he did not see me until it was too late.”

  “That is remarkable, yet typical of you,” Stenwick said dryly.

  “Yes well, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. Unlike you, I am interested in marriage…”

  “Or your father plans to match you as advantageously as possible,” Stenwick interrupted.

  Patrick glared at him. This was an old argument where none of them was willing to concede their position.

  “As I was saying, I am interested in getting leg shackled at some point. And my father seems to think that the elder sister, Lady Rose, would be perfect.”

  “You mean that he is eager to have the connections that a union with the Greyfields would bring.”

  Patrick glared again. “Yes, perhaps.”

  “So, seeing as you’re the ever-obedient son, what seems to be the problem?”

  “The problem is that while he is interested in a union with Lady Rose, I would much rather be joined in Holy Matrimony with Lady Melissa.”

  Stenwick stared at him open mouthed. “Did you not just meet them the day before yesterday?”

  “Yes, well that is beside the point.”

  “How is it beside the point? I would say that it is the point.”

  Patrick put a hand on Stenwick’s hand for a moment, to stop him from talking. “My father wants me to propose to one of them and now, I have just been there for tea and...”

  “And what?”

  “They were fighting over me.”

  “Poppycock. Ladies don’t fight.”

  “No, they simply say vicious things to each other in the politest of voices. It’s quite frightening.”

  Stenwick laughed. “That it is. So, your father wants you in that family and both girls are willing to have you. Again, I do not see a problem.”

  Patrick sighed. “The problem is, what do I do about this? Do I defy my father–and apparently The Duchess too–and ask for Lady Melissa’s hand? Or do I propose to the elder Greyfield sister and regret it for the rest of my days?”

  Stenwick sighed. “I do see your dilemma, believe me, Bergon, I do. But the answer to your question is in your question.”

  Patrick boggled at him, at a loss as to what Stenwick was saying. It was a common problem.

  Stenwick rolled his eyes. “You said yourself, you’ll regret it if you ask the older Greyfield to wed. So ask the younger. At least your father will still have the connections and you will be happy.”

  “I expect so. I shall think about your words and act accordingly.”

  Stenwick clapped him on the shoulder again. “There’s a good chap. Now, how about we get a bottle of something bitter and alcoholic and get ourselves well and truly jug bitten?”

  Patrick laughed. “You have the best ideas, Stenwick. Now I remember why I bother to keep your company.”

  “Ha-ha. You would wither away and die of loneliness and misery without me.”

  “Well, I do admit you do spice things up.”

  “Good. Now, where is that waiter?”

  * * *

  The Duke of Cheshmill walked slowly along Mayfair street thinking over the conversation he had just heard. His son and that dandiprat he called a friend were concealed in the corner but as luck would have it, his trip from the privy had taken him past their corner.

  He had stopped to listen as his son poured his heart out to that rattlepate. It had fed his ire and he had hastened to leave at once, making his way to Greyfield House. Perhaps it might have been less of a risk to meet with Lady Thalia Greyfield elsewhere but he felt strongly that he could better make his point right here in her home.

  He knocked on the door and waited. The door was opened by the butler who took one look at him and stepped back, closing the door in his face. Herbert gritted his teeth in anger, wondering how a mere butler could be so presumptuous. The door opened again fairly promptly, and the butler ushered him in without meeting his eyes.

  “Your Grace, forgive my rudeness, I was absent minded. Please come this way. Shall I fetch The Duke?”

  “No. I am here to see The Duchess.”

  Despite his training, the butler showed his surprise although he hid it quite quickly. He ushered The Duke into the parlor and went off. The house seemed to be in an uproar and The Duke was curious as to why. Certainly, the butler appeared to be more fatigued than was normal for one of his station and he had most certainly been expecting to see someone other than The Duke when he opened the door.

  It was all very interesting.

  The Duchess blew into the room in a cloud of abstraction and annoyance.

  “Herbert,” she hissed, completely forgetting herself. “What are you doing here?”

  “I came to remind you once again, that I wish my son to marry Lady Rose and only Lady Rose. Do not for a minute think that I will accept the other in my family. Do we understand each other?”

  Lady Thalia fixed him with a glare. “I understood you perfectly well the first time, Herbert. Now, are you done, because I am busy?”

  “My son seemed to have developed a tendresse for your younger and I am just curious as to how you let this happen.”

  “I did not let it. You know how susceptible these young girls are to any perceived champion. I am still not convinced you did not send that man to terrorize us.”

  Herbert laughed. “Think what you like. But remove her from the picture. I want a clear field, and no vacillating allowed. Get her out of sight if you have to. Do you understand me?”

  Thalia’s lips pursed in anger. “You do not tell me what to do.” she hissed.

  He moved closer, hand hovering an inch from her cheek, “Oh but I do.” He turned without another word and left.

  He trusted that she had got the message.

  * * *

  Melissa lay in bed, eyes fluttering, breath coming fast as she burned. The wound on her neck where the brigand had cut her was swollen and red. The fever had taken her very suddenly and it was only luck that Brynn had found her, collapsed on the floor of her chamber as she tried to get out of bed in search of water.

  “Is she dying?” she heard somebody ask.

  Chapter 6

  Repercussions

  The fever had Lady Melissa in its grip and she murmured nonsense words, seeing people that weren’t there as Brynn tried to cool her down with a wet cloth. The physician had been by and cupped her as he placed leeches to suck the blood from her wound. So far, it had not managed to break her fever but the swelling had gone down.

  She twisted and turned, eyes fluttering as she made inaudible protests Brynn could not understand. The Duchess had ordered her to spend the night
with her mistress and to make sure that if there was any change for the worse, she should alert them at once. The lady’s maid was terrified of falling asleep and missing it if Lady Melissa took a turn. Her body was very tired and so she asked the butler if she might have some coffee. He had reluctantly agreed.

  “Do not make a habit of it,” he warned her with a stern look. She waited until he had left to make a face at him.

  * * *

  George Alford the third, The Duke of Greyfield, knocked on the door of his wife’s sitting room before letting himself in.

  “May I speak with you, Your Grace?” he asked.

  Thalia put aside her knitting. “Of course. What can I do for you, Greyfield?”

  The Duke sat himself down opposite her on her flowered settee. “I am worried about this Cheshmill situation.”

  Thalia inclined her head. “What situation would that be?”

  “I understand he is sniffing around both our daughters and I am worried that the apple does not fall far from the tree.”

  “Cheshmill is a Duke and highly respected.”

  The Duke snorted. “Forgive me, for speaking of vulgar things in your company but I do assure you, Cheshmill is far from respected.”

  “Why? Because he engages in trade?”

  “Not just trade my dear. He is known to dabble in Paphian affairs quite often as well as other unsavory pursuits.”

  “Mmm.” Thalia did not sound the slightest bit shocked at this bit of news. “The man imports silk from China. The rest is simply conjecture and not worthy of our notice.”

  Greyfield sighed. “I am afraid that conjecture has a lot of truth to it. I have seen it with my own eyes.”

  Thalia narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

  “I am afraid it’s too vulgar for your delicate sensibilities my dear but just know that that man is no good and the only reason he hasn’t been rounded up and charged with a crime is that nobody will come forward to accuse him.”

  “Why not?” Thalia was very curious as to how much, exactly, her husband knew.

  “Extortion and what not, or so I am given to understand. It’s a bit of a shambles.”

  “And you think the son is like the father?”

  Greyfield sighed. “I’ll admit, I have only heard good things about the boy in spite of his devotion to his parent. All inquiries I have made seem to indicate that the boy knows nothing of his father’s more nefarious activities. The Duke keeps him out of them.”

  “Well then?”

  Greyfield sighed. “We should be grateful to the boy, and I am. But joining our families together is something else again. We must think seriously about it.”

  “You’re right. We must think seriously if, the boy makes an offer. So far, nothing has happened.”

  “Yes, that is true. And how is our dear Melissa? Is she feeling at all better?”

  “Well, it seems her fever broke in the night but she is still miles away in her thoughts. I was thinking that we should send her to take the waters. She can stay with her Aunt Prudence while she is in Bath and travel with her lady’s maid. I feel sure that she shall feel better much faster.”

  “Well yes, that does seem like a good idea. I fear she might still be a little upset at the incident. Getting away from Town will do her a world of good. I trust that you shall arrange it?” he asked as he got to his feet.

  “Yes, you may trust me to see her safely away to her aunt.”

  * * *

  The drive to Bath was grueling for Melissa, she still felt weak and ill and did not understand why she had to make the trip.

  “Why could we not have waited until I felt better, Brynn?” she complained as the coach hit yet another hole in the road.

  “The very reason for the trip is to take you somewhere where you’ll feel better,” Brynn replied as she tucked a pillow behind Melissa’s head and urged her to lie back.

  The coach lurched as one of the wheels went over a rock on the road and Melissa groaned. “Why does the world hate me so much?”

  She could not help the few tears that rolled down her face. She was tired, her whole body hurt and she did not want to be here in this coach, traveling to another city. She might have been happy that her mother had shown enough concern for her to send her away for treatment but she suspected that there was an ulterior motive. Now Rose had the way clear to ingratiate herself with the Marquess to her heart’s content.

  Melissa groaned again, as she thought of it.

  “Shh, m’Lady. Try to rest, yes?” Brynn ran a hand up and down her arm, trying to soothe her.

  “That is easy for you to say, you’re healthy.” Melissa knew she was whining but she absolutely could not help it. She felt so miserable.

  They arrived in Bath just as the sun was setting and were met at the door of her residence by Melissa’s Aunt Prudence.

  “Oh dear, look at you,” she said taking a step back from Melissa, “I do hope you’re not contagious?”

  Melissa sniffed miserably.

  Aunt Prudence turned away quickly, leading the way into the house. “We have a room set up for you, perhaps you should go and lie down. The servants will bring you hot water to bathe and some refreshment. Tomorrow we shall head to the baths.”

  Melissa nodded and sniffed again, “Thank you, aunt.”

  “Think nothing of it. Now go on and rest.”

  Aunt Prudence took care to stay out of breathing range and for some reason that made Melissa feel a little rejected. She and her aunt had never been close but they had also never had any falling out. She did not like that her aunt was treating her like a leper.

  “Brynn? Do I look really awful?” she asked as her lady’s maid arranged her limbs on the bed before bending down to take off her shoes.

  “What? No, you don’t look bad. A little tired.”

  Melissa almost asked for a looking glass but then changed her mind. If she looked hideous, she did not want to know. She slumped back onto the quilt, closed her eyes and before she knew it, she was asleep.

  * * *

  Patrick waited three days before calling on the Greyfields again. He sent a note ahead, to make sure of his welcome and was happy to receive a reply from The Duchess inviting him for tea once again.

  He was eager to see Lady Melissa again, get lost in her hazel eyes, and enjoy her mischievous nature. So, it was with great concern and disappointment that he learned from The Duchess that she had gone to Bath to take to the waters in order to recover from her ordeal.

  “Is she quite well?” he asked.

  “As well as can be expected. I am sure by the time she completes her treatment; she will be all better.”

  Patrick nodded, now at a loss as to how to proceed.

  “Shall we adjourn to the music room? My daughter is holding a piano recital with a few friends. She would be honored to have you attend.” The Duchess said clutching at his arm to prevent him from escaping.

  “Oh, if you are certain it would not be an intrusion?”

  “Not at all, come along.” She led him down the corridor, in the direction of the ballroom if memory served. They stopped just short of it, entering a room that must be adjacent, where a few debutantes and their chaperones, as well as a few suitors, sat while Lady Rose played the pianoforte. Patrick was surprised at how well she played, she seemed to have an ear for music. She wrapped up her song to raucous applause and pleas for an encore.

  Patrick sat quietly, a slight smile on his face and watched it all. Once the impromptu concert was done, everyone stood up as The Duchess announced that a picnic had been laid out in the garden. Lady Rose slipped her arm through Patrick’s, leaving him with no choice but to escort her outside and endure whatever assumptions his fellow guests made.

  The sun danced in shining pinpoints of light on the surface of the brook running through the woods that bordered Greyfield House. A warm breeze whispered gently through the secluded back garden as Patrick rested his back against a tree, trying to remain as separate from t
he picnic party as possible.

  Dressed as he was in trousers, boots and a tail coat, it was not exactly comfortable lounging about on the ground. He made do, however, albeit with an internal sigh of despair. Lady Rose had deposited herself next to him, continuing the narrative of courting couple in front of her guests. Patrick couldn’t help but feel checkmated.