The Forgiven Duke Part 20

Latimere nuzzled into the crook of her arm as if to say he would try. Standing, she grasped his collar and beckoned him toward the front door. "Let's get you outside for a while. I think a long walk would do us both some good."

GABRIEL BURST INTO HIS STUDY and shut the door with barely restrained force. That had been close. He had almost let that look in her pale blue eyes take over his sanity. He'd almost hauled her into his arms and kissed her silent instead of demanding on head shaking. He'd almost pressed his forehead against hers and told her everything.

But what if she recoiled from him? There was John's death on his hands. Could she forgive him for that? And his "affliction." He just couldn't risk her knowing the awful fact that he couldn't hear anything. What if she couldn't love him after knowing he would probably never be able to hear her voice . . . their children's voices . . . have a normal life, something she expected . . . deserved? He should marry her off to a normal bloke, the typical life of a lady of the ton.

The thought reminded him of the night before at a play. He sat in his box, as far from her as possible with ten guests in between them, and watched her from the corner of his eye. It had been her first real play on London's scale, and seeing her face soften and lighten, sadden and teary, the emotions of the performance registering on her face, well, he'd fallen deeper into this pit of love that had taken hold of his insides like a spreading infection.

Then Lord Basham leaned over and said something in her ear that caused her face to break into the sweetest smile. "Hush," she'd said while she tapped Basham with her fan as the tutors he had hired had taught her to do.

His heart pounded with the urge to pad over, pounce on the young hothead, and land a carefully aimed fist to his face. He wouldn't be so pretty when Gabriel was done with him. But then, Basham had proved only one of many suitors eager to find out what was so enthralling and original about Alexandria Featherstone. Gabriel had wanted to find her a husband. At least give her a good glimpse of what she could have. G.o.d help him, it was going entirely too well.

What if she did find someone else? The good Lord knew his behavior toward her hadn't encouraged any feelings toward him. What if despite the regent's sanction and his own desire to make her his wife, she fell in love with one of the youngbloods of the ton? He couldn't leave it to fate, and yet he was too terrified to do the one thing that would give his suit a chance-tell her everything.

The plan. He had to remember the plan. He prowled around the library for about an hour and then, when that didn't help, went to his fencing lesson with Robere for the remainder of the afternoon. After exhausting his body, he went back to his bedchamber to dress for dinner.

Sometimes he attended dinner with Alexandria, but only if there were plenty of people in the house and he could confidently converse with Meade and Jane nearby with Alexandria as far down as possible on the other end of the table. It was rare that he attempted it with only the four of them. Jane had said that Alex didn't think it strange that his secretary ate at the table like family most times. She had always eaten her meals with her two servants. Alexandria thought Meade was wonderful. Jane blushed when she told that morsel, obviously agreeing.

Walking into his dressing room, he shrugged out of his coat and waistcoat and untied his cravat. Laying that aside, he unb.u.t.toned several b.u.t.tons on his white s.h.i.+rt and strode to the wardrobe. George, his valet, was usually on hand to sort through what he would wear, but Gabriel had sent word through the butler that he would do it himself this night. The encounter with Alexandria still left him rattled and he wanted to dress alone.

He changed his boots for more formal ones, then walked over to the wide window and opened it, letting the spring breeze cool his face. His eyes blurred and he saw her face again, looking up at him, distraught by the mess her beast had made but not afraid of him, even when he'd scowled at her. He saw that sparkle in her eyes when he'd pressed his finger against her soft lips and demanded her not to speak. She'd clamped her lips together and met his gaze, unafraid, her blue eyes roving his face, seeming like . . . she loved him.

He blew out a breath and turned from the window, blocking the thought that if he threw his hat in the ring for her heart, she would reject him and then the ennui would come back like nothing he'd ever known. This agony was better than that.

As he turned he saw something white on his pillow. Frowning, he strode over to it and picked it up. Lavender and mint wafted to his nose. He turned it over and saw the Featherstone seal in pale pink wax.

She'd written him a letter.

He opened it and swallowed hard at the first line.

Dear Gabriel, I only call you by your given name in my mind, when you aren't around and I imagine you won't mind. Do you mind? You seem to mind so much now that I am here.

I must confess some things as they are too heavy on my heart to remain there unsaid. Firstly, when I learned that my guardian was a duke, I thought you would be old. And fat. And have the gout or some sort of quizzing gla.s.s to make you eccentric and impossibly dukelike. But then when we started to write one another, I thought maybe you were not so old, mayhap just a little intimidating and wiser than I. When I saw you at the masquerade ball (you know the moment when I discovered it was you), I confess to being shocked and intrigued. You were nothing as I imagined and everything I could hope for. I was confused and told myself that I had to keep the mission to find my parents the most important thing in my heart and mind. Nothing could come between me and finding them. I still pray every day that they are alive and that I will see them again someday soon. Do you believe they might still be alive? I long to talk with you about them. I would do anything to find them, which brings me to my next confession.

I did not love John Lemon. I liked him enough to think we might match, and he promised to help me find my parents. And you seemed determined that I not find them, that I come here to London with you, so I did a rash thing and said I would marry him. But I couldn't. I wouldn't have done it. His death was more my fault than yours. He believed me when I said I would marry him and he loved me, in a way I now see was desperate and very wrong. It cost him his life, and I can't begin to sort through how wretched I feel about that. I wish we could talk about that too, together. Why won't you talk to me?

I live with you and never see you. Why? I miss you.

Yours, Alexandria P.S. I know I'm not to speak of Latimere, but I promise he will be good. You should walk with us some day and get to know him. If you will only give him a chance, I know you will love him as I do.

She missed him. Gabriel looked up at the ceiling. She didn't love John, never had. She wanted Gabriel to walk her dog with her and talk to her. She missed him.

And she was writing to him again, taking a great risk to tell him what was in her heart and hoping that letters would break the icy silence between them.

He walked to the desk and took out paper.

Dear Alexandria, Of course you may call me by my given name, I prefer it from you, but only when we are at home. Elsewhere, as my ward, it would only be appropriate for you to address me as "Your Grace." We don't want to set the gossips' tongues to wagging.

Listen to me, my dear. You are not responsible for John's death. I am. And he is. He decided to travel with you throughout Iceland. I wish you had known that I was prepared to do the same. I was coming to the sh.o.r.e at Dublin that day, not to take you back to London, but to go with you to Iceland. I had decided to defy the regent and join you on your search for your parents, but that giant friend of yours successfully forestalled me. You may be wondering why it took me so long to come to you. Let's just say I was waylaid by the Spanish, the same ones who were following you in Ireland. When I finally arrived in Reykjavik, it was too late. We were both caught by the king's soldiers and had to come back. You ask if I believe your parents might be still alive. Yes, I do. But we must wait and pray as the regent is keeping a very close eye on us both.

This brings me to another issue. You have done everything I've asked from the lessons to attending all the social events of the season. Next week, we will host your debut. The regent is demanding you choose your husband soon. Choose wisely, my dear, for you are what any man dreams of.

Yours, Gabriel He dripped the wax onto the folded letter and pressed it with his seal. Then he knelt on one knee, pressed his fist against his forehead with eyes closed, and prayed for courage.

Chapter Twenty-Nine.

No, no, no." Her dancing instructor, Mr. Wilson, shook his head as he rose from the pianoforte and came over to her, arms waving in the air like a featherless bird. "Like this." He stood beside her and showed her the intricate steps to the second figure of the quadrille. It was the tenth time that morning he'd demonstrated them.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wilson. It seems I cannot concentrate today." Alex looked down at his feet and tried to pay attention, but all she could think of was the duke's letter. He'd written her back. And so soon.

She had gone to dinner to find that he had left the house again, gone to some play or the opera, his favorite pastime. Or maybe he was dancing with beautiful women at a ball-a thought that made p.r.i.c.ks of pain score her heart. That's what she had been thinking when she'd entered her bedchamber and with despondent fingers helped Clarissa, her bossy, chatty maid, unb.u.t.ton her gown. The gown she had carefully chosen for the night thinking that after reading her thoughts, he might be there and finally speak to her, acknowledge her. But he hadn't been there at all.

She made her way to her bed and crawled into the dark, warm covers to hide and cry, only to hear the crinkling of paper. Her frenzy as she opened it made her heart race. She read it twice, lay back, clutched it to her chest, and then reread it several more times. She had already memorized every line: Of course she might call him by his given name, he preferred that she did.

He was coming to the sh.o.r.e at Dublin that day, not to take her back to London, but to go with her to Iceland. He had decided to defy the prince regent and join her search for her parents!

She would have her debut next week and he wanted her to find a husband soon. Was he offering himself as a candidate? He did say, "he thinks her a woman that any man would dream of."

Did he mean that? Any man? Even himself? Then why didn't he pursue her? But the letter was a start. He sounded like himself, the one she knew, in his letter. And he thought her parents were alive!

"Lady Featherstone!" Mr. Wilson barked. "The ball is a mere week away. You must pay attention!"

She jerked toward him, her face burning with embarra.s.sment. "Sorry."

"Please pay attention!" He took her hand and held out her arm in an elegant position.

The door to the drawing room suddenly opened and Gabriel stepped inside. He was here! Was he looking for her? She stared at his face, willing him to look at her. He appeared torn, eyes downcast and holding his hat as if he didn't know how it had gotten there. He turned as if he would leave.

In a panic, Alex rushed over to him, touched his arm with a brush of her fingertips, and hurried to say, "Please stay. I cannot seem to concentrate on my lessons today."

He was looking at her lips so she smiled encouragingly at him.

"Perhaps I can be of some help," his deep voice rumbled.

He gave a dismissive wave to the dance instructor and turned Alexandria into his arms. His hands fit perfectly around hers. His body snapped into the pose to dance, shoulders back, chest up, chin up, but looking down at her. "You know the waltz. We danced it at the masquerade. Shall we practice that?" Without waiting for her answer, he turned his head toward Mr. Wilson. "The waltz, if you please."

They waited while he seated himself and found the music for the song. They waited, facing each other, so close Alex could feel his breath against the top of her hair, his hand clasped in hers, holding it with just the right amount of pressure-not too tight or too loose, his other hand lightly at her waist, causing warmth to spread down to her knees. She was so attuned to his nearness that she dared not speak and break the spell.

He seemed to feel the same. He stared down into her eyes, so intent, so unguarded for these few heartbeats in time . . . as if a s.h.i.+eld had lowered and he stood before her as bare and utterly beautiful as G.o.d had made him. The sudden notes from the pianoforte made her jump and then they were moving.

It was like the last time. She didn't need lessons when she danced with him. The simple steps came easy. She stepped into his world and he guided her through it with a twirling masculine grace that made her heart light with joy. She was smiling so big that she suddenly laughed. She couldn't hold it in, this joy. He tightened his grip on her, his eyes lighting with equal pleasure.

On and on around the room they turned and floated, every now and then he would pull her tighter to him so their chests almost touched. It was scandalous, the way he held her and made her feel, but she didn't care. She didn't want him to ever let go.

The music came to a slow stop but they kept dancing. Around the room again they went until a sudden, strange look came into Gabriel's eyes, a mix of irritation and embarra.s.sment. He stopped them and looked at the dancing instructor, "You may leave us," then quickly back to Alexandria.

"How long ago did he stop playing?" He gazed down at her with such a look of anger, she couldn't begin to understand what had happened to change his mood so abruptly. The door shut behind Mr. Wilson.

Alex took a step closer to him and pressed her hands against his chest. "Only a little while ago. It's all right," she said in a soft voice. "I didn't want to stop either."

He grasped hold of her hands, hard. He was staring intently at her lips. Did he want to kiss her? She leaned toward him and closed her eyes.

"I hope you'll not offer yourself so easily to any man who dances with you."

It was like a slap in the face. Alex reared back as heat flamed into her cheeks. Of course she wouldn't. He wasn't any man. The memory of the times she had let John kiss her filled her with shame. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she was a wanton woman with no principles. Perhaps she would like kisses from any man. It wasn't true though! It was him. Tears sprang to her eyes.

She turned to leave but he caught her and pulled her back into his arms. "I'm sorry." He pressed his cheek to her temple. "Forgive me. II, Alexandria." He took a long breath that she felt against her chest. "There is something I haven't told you. Your guardian . . . I . . . I cannot hear . . . anything anymore. I can't hear you when you speak to me. I couldn't hear when the music stopped."

He let go of her then, looked one time into her eyes, and then pushed away from her and hurried from the room. Alex stood staring at the slammed door, stunned, unable to move or think. Her duke was deaf?

WHAT HAD HE DONE? GABRIEL rushed toward the dark recesses of the house, to the blue salon that was so rarely used, his grandmother's salon, where he could be alone with the wretched feeling that he'd ruined everything.

Oh, G.o.d, what have I done?

He felt like hitting something. Instead he took long, deep breaths and prowled around the room. Finally he stopped and made his way over to the grand piano. It was the best instrument in the house and, sadly, never played. He sat on the bench and poised his fingers over the black keys. He plucked at them, head hanging over them, feeling for the vibration through his hands and feet, trying to remember a song he had once played. With a straining in his heart for some solace, he closed his eyes and played a chord and then another. No colors yet. Nothing but a silent emptiness that filled his whole being.

He felt a sudden hand on his shoulder.

It was her. He knew it. He felt her particular gentle strength coming from her hand, chasing away the despair that was devouring him. Without opening his eyes, he began to play the song in earnest. It flooded back to him and through him, her hand on his shoulder giving him strength. Slashes of blue and green streaked across the darkness of his closed lids and then turned to droplets of vibrant color, notes that floated up and away. A shower of yellow when he played the higher notes and dots of purple on the lower scale.

He played like he had never been able to play before. With the colors guiding him, it was as natural as breathing. With her hand on his shoulder, anything seemed possible. The song ended. His eyes flew open and he turned his head to find Alexandria looking at him with big, questioning eyes that did, as Meade had said when he first tried to describe her, perfectly match this room.

"It doesn't matter," she said slowly.

Her lips were easy to read, like Meade's, her face an open book of compa.s.sion and love. He turned on the bench and wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. Her hands, hesitant at first, touched his hair, running her fingers through it and then down the sides of his face, a gentle caress.

"What of John? Don't you hate me for what I did? I killed the man you were going to marry." He looked up at her, tears on his cheeks.

Her thumbs wiped away his tears. "I forgave you for that a long time ago."

Oh, G.o.d, thank You. I've been such a coward, but You knew all along, didn't You?

He pulled her down onto the bench beside him. With his thumbs he wiped away her tears and then leaned down to kiss her.

HIS LIPS CAME DOWN ON hers. A mere brush of softness and breath held against a wild tenderness. She could feel it, his tenderness toward her, and that thing that lay deeper, an unleashed power that lurked, that said he could devour her if he chose. But he didn't choose. He undid her slowly, with painstaking intent that had her breathing shallow and her heart thudding, caught in his spell. She couldn't move, her hands splayed across his wide chest, feeling his heartbeat underneath her fingertips, trapped by tenderness.

He changed, ever so slightly, his arm around her waist pulling her as close as her trapped hands would allow. He demanded more, coaxing her mouth open, delving inside, the wildness he held in check beating against her palms and pulsing through her body-the panther, as they called him, surfacing. He would take her over, if they continued. Brand her forever his. And she wanted that, didn't she? She wanted this.

The thought of what John had possibly done made her suddenly sick to her stomach. Excitement turned to dread. What if she got what she wanted? This glorious man as her husband. He might find out that she wasn't a virgin. He would demand to know what had happened, and she wasn't even really sure what had happened, how much of it was her fault, how much she had led them to. Gabriel might be unable to hear, but she was quite possibly something far worse.

Even though she hadn't had her monthly time, that wasn't uncommon for her.

She still didn't know. She might be pregnant with another man's child.

Chapter Thirty.

He was frightening her. Gabriel pulled back and saw the confusion in her eyes. He'd let too much of his feelings show and would scare her off if he wasn't careful. Get control. She stood and backed away from him.

"Alexandria, would you like to go riding in the park? I hear you are a very good rider."

She hesitated and then nodded.

"I can read your lips if you talk slowly and distinctly." He c.o.c.ked up one brow with a self-deprecating smile. "Some of the time anyway."

A look of compa.s.sion came into her eyes. He never thought to use his inability to hear as an advantage, but with her he would do anything to make her feel comfortable with him again.

"That would be nice." She took a step back, then took a deep breath, seeming to gather herself. "I will go and change." She pointed upstairs on the word go and then gestured toward her dress.

"Meet me at the entry in an hour?"

She nodded, turning away.

"Alexandria."

She turned her head back toward him.

"Thank you."

She blushed and looked down and then hurried from the room.

AN HOUR LATER THEY WERE mounting their horses in front of the stables for the ride in Hyde Park. Alex didn't know where Gabriel had heard that she was such an accomplished rider, but it certainly wasn't true. She had only ridden on a few occasions since coming to London, with Jane and Meade to Hyde Park and once with Jane to the new shops at the Burlington Arcade on Bond and Piccadilly where they had found the most splendid bonnets.

Hyde Park had been illuminating, to say the least, with Jane and Meade pointing out personages of interest such as the famous Viscount Petersham, who they a.s.sured Alex was a great dandy and most elegant dresser. He had a brown carriage, brown horses, and all of his footmen wore elaborately golden-trimmed brown livery. Jane said he was a friend of the prince regent and that they enjoyed taking snuff and drinking imported teas together.

They had also seen Beau Brummell, the most fas.h.i.+onable man in London, with a razor-sharp wit that one did not want to be on the receiving end of. They had directed their driver to stay clear of him.

There had been so much to see-Dalmatians riding with their owners, a gentleman and his poodle looking remarkably alike with their curling blond hair, ladies parading in the height of fas.h.i.+on, some waving to Jane and looking curiously at Alex, others looking at Alex with green-eyed jealousy once they learned she was the Duke of St. Easton's ward and lived with him at his town house. There was more than one arched brow, but Jane did her best to smooth things over.

"Her parents are daring treasure hunters and they've come up missing. Isn't it the greatest tragedy?" Or "She was all alone on that dreary Holy Island in the wilds of Northumberland. Can you imagine? Why she hardly sees the duke, of course, but I have a new best friend."

Jane proved deft at deflecting anything that might make for a nasty rumor, all the while making Alex seem like the most interesting, exotic thing to happen to the ton in a great while. And the callers they'd had after that day in the park! Well, Jane had somehow, magically, launched her before her official coming-out ball.

For the first time ever, Alex found herself in the sweet solicitude of a woman's friends.h.i.+p. It was one of the many unexpected joys she'd found living in London and sometimes, even though she squashed the thought feeling strangely disloyal when it came to her mind, made the idea of going back to Holy Island rather dismal.

Alex looked over at Gabriel's ruggedly handsome profile with his high cheekbones shadowy with stubble, his jet black hair worn shorter than any other man she'd seen but so perfect on him, square chin and wide shoulders that any girl would think attractive, and made a quick decision. She didn't want to ride in the park with him on horses; she wanted to be in a carriage so they could finally talk, though she wasn't sure how successful that would be without paper and so little experience. But she wanted, needed, to hear him tell her things about himself and his life.

What had happened to him? When did it happen? So much had clicked into place when she learned the truth-the day in front of the regent when he kept looking at the book Meade was writing in, the avoidance of her in the house, not wanting to have dinner with her. Was it any wonder he was so different in person than from his letters? But why hadn't he told her? Did she seem so shallow that she would care less for him if she knew? She hoped not and she planned to somehow find answers to these questions.