The Dark Duke Page 2

  Imagine how terror-filled each day would be if she’d trusted that her mother and father would always be there for her welfare. Imagine how horrifying every day would be if she were foolish enough to rely on Harry to provide for her.

  No, she had only herself to rely on. She’d been resolved from early on to never trust anyone other than herself. Certainly not a man.

  The male species of this world only took. They took whatever wealth a woman had the moment they married her. They took a woman’s freedom. And they took a woman’s body whenever they desired it, even if the woman wasn’t a willing participant.

  She shuddered at the thought of marriage. That would be a fate of the worst kind. Men dominated—they controlled. They didn’t feel masculine unless they forced a woman to submit; unless they owned someone weaker to whom they could demonstrate their power. Well, even if she knew a man she’d trust enough to help her, she wouldn’t ask for his help. She’d rather die first.

  “I don’t want to involve anyone else, Jenkins. In time, whoever is after Lord Mattenden will realize he isn’t in London and everything can get back to normal.”

  Jenkins turned his head to look at Fillmore and they shared a worried glance.

  “I can’t promise to be of much help, my lady, but I’ll do my best to protect you.”

  Amanda looked at the loyal servant. Jenkins had to be nearing his fiftieth year, and had more gray hair than brown. His cheeks were ruddy and turned even darker when he laughed, which was often. He was loyal to a fault, and would give his life for her.

  Amanda knew if that happened she wouldn’t be able to live with herself. But what choice did she have.

  “Just until life returns to normal, Jenkins.”

  She closed her eyes, as if in the darkness she could conjure up a picture of what normal meant. As if in the darkness the realization of what might lie ahead for her wasn’t so terrifying.

  “Go now,” she said as she headed toward the stairs. The sooner she got Harry away from London, the safer he’d be. “Bring the carriage to the back.”

  “Very good, my lady,” Jenkins said, then left.

  Amanda walked up the stairs on feet that felt as if her slippers were lined with cement. Her shoulders sagged as if she carried the weight of the world.

  She wanted to believe that everything would turn out all right, but she wasn’t sure.

  She’d never felt so alone in her life.

  CHAPTER 2

  Sterling Randolph, Duke of Hadleigh, took another swallow of the expensive brandy he’d nursed for the past half hour, then reread the letter his secretary had handed him as he walked through the door this afternoon. The letter was from his sister, Cecelia, Lady Haywood.

  He stared at her graceful script and felt a longing that gripped his heart in a rush of hopefulness.

  This was the first time she’d made an effort to contact him since his pigheaded actions nearly eight months earlier had all but destroyed any feelings she had for him. The first time since she’d turned her back on him that she’d offered him a chance to make up for how he’d nearly ruined her life. The first time since he’d shown her what a heartless bastard he was that he was being given a chance to prove that he’d changed.

  He looked back at the letter in his hands.

  He’d give up everything he owned to prove to Cecelia how much he regretted what he’d done. He’d lay down his life to show her, but...

  He stared at her words again then threw the paper to the floor.

  Bloody hell! Not this! She was asking too much.

  He stared at the lifeless paper at his feet for several minutes, then picked it up and read it again.

  Please, Sterling. If you feel any regret for what happened in the past, do me this one favor.

  I fear something is terribly wrong with my dearest friend, Amanda. Haywood just received word that she sent Mattenden’s staff to Haywood House so they would be safe.

  Haywood inquired, but no one is aware of Lord Mattenden’s whereabouts. He hasn’t been seen for several weeks.

  You are the only one I trust to help her. She has no one else to turn to. No one but me.

  I’d come myself but Jonah refuses to allow me to travel until after the baby is born.

  Regardless of what you think, Haywood is a wonderful husband, and will be a perfect father. I wish we could bridge the gap that separates us, and perhaps in time that will be possible.

  I’d give anything if we could forget our painful past and live only in the present and the future. That possibility rests in your hands.

  Just as you took the first step to destroy Jonah’s life and mine, you will have to take the first step to amend it.

  I await your decision.

  Cecelia, Lady Haywood

  He dropped his head back on the plush leather cushion of his wing chair and closed his eyes. Bloody hell. Cecelia didn’t know what she was asking of him. He’d do anything to make up for the mistake he’d made. His attempt to ruin Haywood had separated him from the only family he had. He’d do anything to repair the damage he’d done.

  Anything but go near Cecelia’s childhood friend.

  Lady Amanda Radburn was the most outspoken, opinionated, dominating, impertinent, irritating, repulsive woman he’d ever met. She delighted in insulting him and arguing with him over the most insignificant matters.

  He’d experienced nothing but relief the day the cheeky twit walked out of his life. He thought he’d never have to see her again.

  Bidding her good riddance had been the only positive thing that had happened the day Cecelia had discovered that his lies nearly separated her from any chance for happiness.

  Now Celie wanted him to seek out the bane of his existence and make sure she was all right.

  Celie wanted him to submit himself to the harpy’s sharp tongue and her lack of respect, to play nursemaid to her and her wastrel brother until Cecelia was delivered of her babe and could see to her friend herself. His sister had the gall to suggest that Lady Amanda had gotten herself into trouble.

  He wanted to laugh. Of course she was in trouble! He doubted a day went by that she wasn’t in trouble of some kind or another. She attracted trouble like a hanging attracted onlookers.

  He should have forbade Cecelia to have anything to do with the troublemaker the day he realized what a bad influence she was. He should have forced Cecelia to avoid the scrappy baggage like the plague she turned out to be.

  Instead, his sister had formed a lasting friendship with the antagonist that was unbreakable. And now she wanted him to seek out Lady Amanda to make sure she hadn’t gotten herself into another scrape.

  He’d rather take a beating. He’d rather contract the pox. He’d rather—

  He stopped, then raked his fingers through his hair in an angry gesture. What he really wanted was to be close to his sister like he’d once been. To experience the special connection that had bonded them from their youth. He was desperate for Cecelia to forgive him.

  He threw a long swallow of brandy to the back of his throat then sank back into his chair. Ah, hell. How intolerable could it be? Surely whatever the woman had gotten herself into couldn’t be that bad.

  He tried to convince himself he could survive being around the harpy long enough to make sure she wasn’t in a hazardous predicament, but he knew he was only fooling himself.

  However long it took to make sure Lady Amanda wasn’t involved in something perilous promised to be the most dreadful days of his life.

  Hadleigh tucked the letter from his sister in the top drawer of his desk and pushed himself to his feet. He would keep the letter handy so that when disaster struck, as it was certain to do when Lady Amanda was involved, he could throw Cecelia’s promise in her face and demand that all his sins be forgiven.

  “Barkley,” he called to his butler when he reached the foyer, “have Billings lay out my evening clothes. I’ll be going out after all.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Barkley left to inform h
is valet of his employer’s change of plans while Hadleigh followed up the stairs at a much slower pace. He wasn’t in any hurry to begin this venture.

  It promised to be the longest, most agonizing ordeal of modern history.

  …

  Sterling stopped at his club first to gather any information he could concerning Lady Amanda. She had obviously changed since her association with his sister. There’d been a time when the two of them balked when he suggested they attend ton gatherings. Now, it seemed Lady Amanda missed very few of the more well-attended functions.

  At first he thought it was likely that his tormentor attended so frequently because she was in the market for a husband, but his theory was quickly dashed when he discovered she’d rejected the few suitors who’d showed the courage to put up with her sharp tongue and harsh dismissal.

  He also learned that Lady Amanda spent nearly all her time while at the social events conversing with every man who would give her the time of day. That tidbit of information made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. There was undoubtedly something not right.

  When she had been Cecelia’s constant companion, neither of them had anything to do with anyone of his gender. For Lady Amanda to openly seek out every male in attendance meant she had some purpose in mind.

  After he’d gathered all the information he could about Lady Amanda and her questionable behavior, he left his club and went to the ball he thought she’d most likely be attending that evening.

  When he arrived at the Marquess of Eversplea’s home, he handed his hat and cloak to the waiting butler, then climbed the stairs to the ballroom.

  He felt the weight of wariness wash over him as he stood at the top of the stairs above Lord and Lady Eversplea’s ballroom and looked down on the crowd below. It didn’t take long to spot her.

  If he forced himself to be honest, he’d have to admit she was passably pretty. Perhaps even more than pretty. And perhaps more than passably. But she was not beautiful. He would never call her beautiful. How could he when he knew her personality so well. Her abrasiveness deleted a great deal of her attractiveness.

  If he were forced to find one outstanding trait, he’d have to admit it was her hair. Yet, he wasn’t sure why. Even though her deep golden-blond hair framed her face in a most becoming style, there were other females here who could boast having hair close to that same color. Although none of the other women’s hair shone with the same glow as hers or looked so rich and heavy he wondered what it would be like to remove the pins and let it hang loose. The forest green ribbon her maid had threaded through the glistening tendrils drew his attention and refused to let go.

  Then there were her eyes. Her sparkling azure eyes would have set her in a class of her own if he hadn’t seen that sparkle shoot fiery daggers when she became angry. Or when she argued. Or when she was frustrated with him. Which was every time they were near each other.

  Now that he thought of it, he had to admit he wasn’t sure if he and Cecelia’s friend had ever had a non-confrontational conversation. If they had, he certainly couldn’t remember it. And he doubted she’d be able to either.

  Sterling studied her as she left her group of friends and migrated toward a trio of Society’s more influential men. She stopped close enough to them that they were forced to take note of her.

  Bloody hell. Didn’t she know it was highly improper for a single young female to approach such a number of men? If she weren’t careful, she’d acquire a reputation for being loose.

  He took the stairs with a determined stride, trying to appear relaxed, yet impatient to greet his hosts and make his way to where the little hoyden so brazenly approached the Earl of Stanwich, the Marquess of Velentin, and the Earl of Marquit.

  Having a conversation with Velentin would not sully her reputation overly much since he had to be nearing sixty and had five daughters of his own, one of them the same age as Cecelia and Lady Amanda. But Stanwich and Marquit were another story altogether.

  Neither were married, and both had reputations that should scare her to death. At least they would if she knew about them, which she obviously didn’t.

  Sterling didn’t know where her brother kept himself, but the wastrel should be horsewhipped for leaving his sister without a chaperone.

  A sudden sense of impatience took hold of him. No wonder Cecelia was concerned for her friend. The twit obviously didn’t have enough sense to keep out of trouble. And the trouble she could get into by approaching a group of single men with dubious reputations could be disastrous.

  He greeted his hosts, then made his way across the ballroom floor as quickly as he could. No doubt people would wonder at his determination but they would simply have to wonder. If he wanted to make amends with his sister, he had to do everything in his power to keep Cecelia’s friend from doing something disastrous. No matter how distasteful he found his mission.

  He walked to where Lady Amanda stood and listened to her conversation with Stanwich and Marquit.

  “I can’t believe a woman of your breeding is so interested in shipping, Lady Amanda.” The glint in Marquit’s eyes told Sterling he considered Lady Amanda’s curiosity a ruse to make herself more available to them.

  Sterling rolled his eyes.

  “Neither can I,” Stanwich said. He stepped closer to Lady Amanda. His arm brushed dangerously close to her breast. “But I’d be more than happy to teach you everything I know about the shipping business somewhere more...” He scanned the crowded room, “...private.”

  “Actually, Lady Amanda,” the Earl of Marquit interrupted, “I have far more knowledge than my friend. If expertise is what you desire, I’m sure I’m the one from whom you’d like to take lessons.”

  Stanwich smiled. “Of course, I can guarantee you’d learn twice as much if we both instructed you at the same time.”

  Velentin noticed Sterling standing close by, listening to the game the two blackguards were playing, and wisely separated himself from their small circle.

  “I do want to learn,” Lady Amanda said, looking uncommonly demure and innocent. “And I’m sure you are both adequate instructors—”

  “Adequate?” Marquit said on a teasing guffaw. “I’m afraid the lady underestimates us. We are both experts on the subject at hand.”

  “Absolutely,” Stanwich agreed. “If the lady would like, I’d love to give you a private tour of my shipping office.”

  “Are you sure you even have a shipping office?” she asked in a tone that was blatantly enticing. “I’ve been to the harbors several times and have never seen a sign that advertised the offices of Stanwich Shipping.”

  “That’s because Father refuses to allow his title to be connected with something that employs common laborers. Terribly prejudiced of him, but there you have it.”

  “So what is your shipping concern named?”

  “Bulford Shipping. Father took my mother’s family name. He didn’t want ours sullied, you know.”

  “Of course,” she answered. “I think I’ve seen your offices. They’re at the far east end of the Blackwall docks.”

  “No,” Stanwich corrected. “Our offices are just west of the Blackwall Ferry landing. Quite close to Marquit Shipping.”

  The Earl of Marquit laughed. “Obviously my ancestors had no compunction that prohibited them from being connected to the working class.”

  Marquit turned a knowing glance in Stanwich’s direction. “I too am more than willing to personally tutor you in the running of the shipping venture. Say, tomorrow afternoon.”

  “I’d love—”

  “Unfortunately, the lady already has another engagement tomorrow afternoon,” Sterling interrupted.

  “What?”

  Lady Amanda Radburn spun around to face him. So did Marquit and Stanwich.

  The looks on the two men’s faces indicated they realized that the Duke of Hadleigh understood their intent perfectly. Whether or not they remembered the friendship between the Lady Amanda and his sister wasn’t as obvious. It
didn’t matter. They caught the meaning from the glare in his eyes and took a step away from their quarry.

  Sterling solidified his meaning by taking a threatening step forward. He positioned himself between Amanda and the two blackguards to indicate that the lady had his protection.

  He didn’t have to look down at her to see the blazing anger in her gaze. He expected to see that. The fact that he’d stepped into the sharp angle of her elbow told him she had her fists propped on her hips and was about to throw a tirade.

  To avoid a scene, he knew the wisest course of action was to remove the lady from the prying eyes and straining ears of anyone surrounding them.

  “I’m sure the two of you have something more worthwhile to do than to stand here making improper advances to the lady, don’t you?”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” both Stanwich and Marquit said in unison.

  “No!” Lady Amanda said in a voice he was certain half the ballroom heard.

  “Yes,” Sterling ground through clenched teeth.

  “But I—”

  Sterling didn’t offer his arm to the woman. He knew she wouldn’t take it. Instead, he reached down and grasped her hand and looped her arm through his elbow. “If you will excuse us,” he said to the two men who had, only moments ago, worn lecherous expressions he’d wanted to wipe from their faces with his fist. “The lady would like a breath of fresh air.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” they stammered in unison.

  If only Lady Amanda could muster such reserve. If only she’d go quietly as he escorted her toward the open doors that led onto the balcony. Instead, she dug in her heels and refused to move.

  “How dare you, you—”

  Sterling clasped his hand around her fingers that dug into his arm and squeezed. “You can either come with me quietly,” he said leaning closer to her ear, “or I will pick you up and carry you from this room.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

  He paused. “You’re correct. I wouldn’t. I would call that footman over and let him carry you out. He looks muscular enough to lift you.”