The Duke (Daughters of Dishonour #2)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER 18

T he curse made manifest. That was what Kit had assumed when he’d seen the wreckage of the carriage that had been carrying his parents and sister. Before that it had all been rumour and speculation, but in that moment it had become real.

Such brutal reality Kit had been lucky to avoid, but it seemed it could no longer be ignored, shut away or avoided. That was the thought that he realised as he stepped into Flora’s bedroom, utterly prepared to face the devil if that was who was waiting on the other side.

Of course, it wasn’t.

Nothing could have matched the demon with the black hood and billowing cape, which Kit had envisioned in his youth. Yet the lack of dramatics of what was before him, almost disappointed Kit as he was ready and willing to charge into battle.

Flora’s bedchamber was disordered, with her clothes strewn here and there, books and keepsakes, equally as disregarded, cluttered the carpet. His sister was standing in the middle of the mess, holding on to the small table for balance, her ashen complexion flushed, her eyes wide as she pointed in an accusatory manner towards the man in her room.

Peterson. The household butler was poised by the window, as if he had been about to throw himself out of it, down onto the steps below. Perhaps Kit’s entrance had shown him the futility of such actions now he was caught, or perhaps the truth that he may well not survive the fall had stopped him in his tracks. Clasped in one of his hands was what looked like a warped piece of cloth, the kind that could be used to strangle someone Kit decided. Or, said the logical part of Kit’s brain, to clean something.

But logic be damned, the butler had no business being in his sister’s room at three o’clock in the morning, and besides he had never been employed to clean a thing.

In a few strides, Kit reached Peterson and slammed the pistol into the man’s skull. Peterson, who had been speaking a jumble of words that made for a very poor set of excuses, landed unceremoniously on the floor, gazing up at Kit, his expression scared.

“Stay there, or I will take great pleasure in shooting you.”

When he turned back to look at Flora. She had been joined by Elsie, who despite being several inches shorter than Flora, had wrapped her arms around the girl and seemed to be soothing her. He saw Elsie’s mouth moving but her words were not for his ears, presumably a mixture of comfort and strength.

“What are you doing here?” Kit crouched as he asked his question, lowering himself down to stare at Peterson.

Before the man could answer, Elsie brushed past him, and pulled from the butler’s unresisting hand, the cloth.

“What are you doing?” Kit asked in confusion as he watched Elsie lift the cloth up to her face and give it a tiny sniff, before hurriedly lowering it and shaking her head swiftly in an attempt to clear whatever she had smelt.

“Ugh.” She pulled a face at the smell, blinked several times, and then looked up at him. “It’s been dipped in a mixture—the cloth,” she said. “It’s got a dash of laudanum on it. I can smell that. My grandmother and her friends swore by it. There might be some camphor too, and perhaps some other herbs. I’m not sure about the rest.”

“He meant to…”

“I’m not certain.” Elsie threw the cloth onto the nearby table, her gesture clear that she did not want to be contaminated by it. “Flora just told me that she woke up and found him pressing it over her mouth.” A look of tender sympathy passed over Elsie’s face as she glanced back at Flora, and then in an undertone for Kit’s ears only, Elsie added, “She must have fought very hard at its strong smell.”

With a murderous feeling swelling in his chest, Kit reached out and pulled Peterson up by his collar. “Tell me what you were doing in here with that.”

“I—that is, Your Grace…” The man, who Kit had known for years, gave the appearance of someone else entirely as he shifted and squirmed under Kit’s gaze. His familiar features hardened as they struggled to form words.

“He’ll have trouble talking if you keep tightening your hold on his collar,” Elsie said. From her tone, Kit could tell she did not much care for the explanation that Peterson might give.

Reluctantly, Kit loosened his hold a fraction, and from hastily licked lips, Peterson said, “We—that is, I thought… The little miss—she is hysterical, and the medicine has helped in the past.” As he spoke, Peterson nodded to them earnestly, his rounded eyes bobbing between Kit and Elsie, desperate it seemed to be believed, before settling on Kit. “My lord—Your Grace, you know what she was like after your… after that crash. Screaming. Inconsolable. And?—”

“You have dosed her?” Elsie cut into what the butler planned to say next, her question sharp.

“It was only meant to help.” Peterson looked away from Kit and Elsie for the first time, out across the chamber, towards Flora who had sunk onto the carpet, holding on to Lancelot. “Tell him, my lady, you used to come to the kitchen and ask us for it.”

Fury that Peterson would dare to address Flora, after invading her bedroom and attempting to dose her, made Kit yank Peterson close to him. He stared into the older man’s face until Peterson closed his eyes in fear, unable to read what Kit was thinking. The ugly truth was that Kit was not just angry because of Peterson’s nerve in asking such a query, but that Flora would take such action on her own without telling him, that she would make such a choice and believe Kit to be better in his ignorance. How long had his little sister been taking such doses and in what quantity? “Be that as it may, what business had you to administer to her in her sleep? Quite clearly my sister did not desire another dose.”

“You should send for the magistrate.” Elsie had come to stand close to him, shielding Flora from looking at Peterson. “What if he…” She paused, and Kit realised she was trying to formulate words to express her fear that Peterson had done this before and all that could entail. “What if this is not the first time he has invaded her bedroom?”

“I’ve never, madam, come here before—only tonight after what happened with the ball, I thought Lady Flora would need it. She’s never been right in the head, not after what she saw and?—”

“Enough,” Kit spat out. He doubted whether he could trust the man, but it didn’t matter what Peterson swore. All that mattered was talking to Flora. After that, he would decide on the best course of action. Dropping the butler down to the ground, Kit grabbed up his abandoned pistol and handed it to Elsie. “Keep this pointed at him, and I will go and talk to my sister. If he moves, shoot him.”

Elsie accepted the weapon unquestioningly, it was over large in her small hands, and she sucked in a breath before assuming a position with the pistol angled towards Peterson.

“I…” For all his bustle and desire to speak, Peterson’s lips co ntinued to move but no words came out until he finally slumped still.

Walking across the chamber, Kit felt the weight of his failings as an older sibling—the obligation he owed to his sister and how he had let her down. Kit realised he had been overly focused on what the curse meant—far more interested in what havoc his dead relatives might have wrought, rather than what Flora was enduring. No, instead he focused on what could have caused the crash. What act of vengeance could be inflicted on those who had wronged his family. Instead of caring for the last member of his family that he had left.

When he reached Flora, he leant close, folding her into his embrace. She came stiffly and with great reluctance, and Kit knew he didn’t have the right words to offer the safety she needed.

“Tell me what to do,” he said to Flora.

Finally, after what felt like forever, Flora said for his ears only, “Make him leave.”

Raising his eyes, he sought out Elsie. She stepped back away from Peterson and lowered the pistol. Her expression was so trusting, guilt twisted through his mind at how he had behaved towards her. To all extents and purposes, he had acted as badly as the relatives he always judged—making love to a young lady, who he was meant to safeguard, and was, he supposed, in his employ since he had offered her the role of the companion to Flora. And then refusing to even make her an offer. Elsie met his gaze, her expression sympathetic and if anything, that made the whole thing worse. The messy muddle of the business sprawled out before him as he watched her, wondering what course of action he might take to make matters simpler. And whether that could make either of them happy.

Peterson twitched, perhaps considering making a run for it again. Well at least Kit reasoned he could deal with him. Letting go of Flora, he moved closer to Peterson, taking up the pistol and weighing it consideringly .

“We want you gone,” Kit said, “and don’t ever consider trying to return to this estate or any of my other holdings. I will take great pleasure in wringing your neck if you do.” Then with quick strides, Kit moved over to the servants’ bell and pulled. When Flora’s maid arrived, he told the girl to fetch up Peterson’s belongings and three of the manservants.

“What about Mrs. Clarke, Your Grace?” The wide-eyed girl threw a confused look up at Kit. There was a nervous hesitation which Kit did not understand, but perhaps the poor maid was tired and confused by the scene before her, which must strike almost anyone as strange.

“What about her? I would imagine the woman is asleep. Let us keep it that way.” He could almost resent someone who might be able to slumber through the last few hours. Then again, he wouldn’t have missed the opportunity of being with Elsie for…

“I was just wondering, Your Grace, if she should be informed?”

“No, wait until morning. But fetch the men. I want Peterson escorted off my estate tonight.” He was pleased when the girl vanished and even happier to drag the butler to the door and, finally, out of his sister’s bedroom. When Peterson was pulled away by three of the servants, Kit watched him go before slipping back into Flora’s chamber. To his surprise, Flora was asleep, with Lancelot the dog curled up next to her, a thick blanket thrown over her shoulders, whilst Elsie was busy setting the chamber to rights.

Kit watched her, wanting to say something that captured the depth and range of his feelings, that lumbered uncomfortably and with no definition through him—the best he could sum it up as was rather like having an acute stomach-ache combined with the jovial side of being drunk—none of which any sensible, hell any woman, would wish to hear. It was hardly flattering, but no one had ever labelled Kit as charming, and being locked away in the depths of Cornwall hadn’t helped with that .

“You don’t have to do that,” Kit said as Elsie started folding up Flora’s dropped shawl and ribbons. “Send for a maid.”

“And disturb Flora again?” Elsie shook her head. “I don’t mind, I’ve done it enough times for myself, or my sister when she was unwell. Besides, sometimes I think there is a sense of putting the world to rights even if it is just in one room.” She smiled down at the ribbons as she laid them down on the dressing table, and Kit had to suppress the desire to cross the chamber and hug her. With easy soft movements, she moved around the bedroom soothing and settling anything that looked out of place. No wonder Flora had felt safe enough to fall asleep, in Elsie’s company there was the abiding feeling of security.

It was ironic, Kit thought to himself as he watched her covetously, how he had always hoped to give Flora that sensation, and then this diminutive northern woman swept in, and with her mere presence instilled a sense of home.

“I will stay with her.” Elsie glanced up at him. “She asked me to.”

“Do you think it necessary?” He had hoped to be able to stay in Flora’s room, to stand guard and to focus on that. If Elsie remained, then he would hardly be able to ignore her.

“Perhaps, perhaps not, but I think it wiser to humour her. It is no trouble for me. Especially…” She paused.

“Yes?” Kit braced himself for whatever comments or pointed remarks Elsie could justifiably make. She moved a little closer, and her hand pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, he watched as the curl slotted behind her ear. How he would like to bite down on the small shell of her earlobe.

“You suggested I should be her companion?” Elsie asked. “If that offer remains, staying here would be the least I could do for her.”

“What would make you think I would withdraw that offer? Surely you do not think I am such a braggart?” He hoped she didn’t, although he wouldn’t blame her if she did .

A smile creased Elsie’s face, illuminating her with a glow of grace that surprised him in the way it simply flowed out of her—goodness, kindness, and willingness to help others. It wasn’t enough simply talking to her, and watching her move, why did he constantly want to touch her? Yes, there was an overwhelming sensual component to it, and yet, there was also the sheer desire to be close, to smell the scent of her hair, to nestle in her small but surprisingly strong body. To be comforted and to give comfort, and then perhaps to whisper the thing he wished more than anything else to say, “Please let me keep you.”

It would fade. He had been telling himself that since Elsie arrived in his life, and admittedly it hadn’t happened yet. But surely, at some point it would.

“In that case, I will stay outside.”

“There is no need.” Elsie followed him towards the doorway. “I can lock the bedroom and ensure we are both well.” She put her hand out and touched his arm. “Flora was relieved you dealt with the matter so quickly… I know you are far more familiar with her, but I can see how well she trusts you.” Her fingers lingered on his shirt, and Kit could no longer resist. He snatched up Elsie’s hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a fervent kiss upon the palm.

For a brief moment, he saw a hesitation pass over Elsie’s face, as if she were being pulled in two different directions, and then she leant up on her tiptoes and gently kissed his mouth. It was such a contrast to their earlier coming together, this time all sweetness and softness, her mouth pressing against his until Kit wished to the bottom of his heart that he could deepen the kiss, that they weren’t in his sister’s room, but his own.

When that idea entered his head, he pulled back, Elsie’s forehead coming to rest beneath his chin, and he slowly let himself pull her in close. Revelling in the feeling before she said, her words tangling in the folds of his shirt. “After tonight you know we cannot be like this again.”

He had realised he was waiting for her to say that. Of course, they both knew it.

“Is that so?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to Flora.” Elsie leant back, her pointed chin raised as she gazed up at him. “Her companion should be above reproach.”

It was true and yet… how Kit wished he had never even kissed her. How much simpler things would have been. A temptation tasted was worse to give up. He saw that now.

“Tomorrow—or rather I suppose I should simply say in the morning, you and I can discuss this further. We have a great deal to talk over it seems.” It was not a conversation he was particularly looking forward to, given he felt sure of the particulars—all of them rather dry and exacting, and none of them as sweetly romantic as he’d prefer them to be.

“Do you think the dawn will bring some clarity?” There was a faint note of humour to her question as she watched him step away and move towards the door again.

“Yes.” Kit gave her a smile. “Everything will be better in the morning. Lock the door behind me.” He waited for the sound of the key turning, knowing he had told Elsie a lie. As he walked down the corridor towards his own chamber, the thought twisted through him with vile certainty. All that the morning would bring was the unpleasant consequences of his actions and possibly a broken heart.

An odd thing realisation dawned on him as he slipped into his own bedroom. As he discarded his snatched-up clothes and splashed a little cold water from the pewter bowl onto his face, he pondered the quandary—he had assumed that to suffer a broken heart, one would have to have a heart originally—one which might be offered out. As he stretched out on his bed, staring up at the canopy above him, rage and unspent confusion ravaged his thoughts, but what overwhelmed him was the disquieting idea that he had lost his heart without even realising that it was in play.