Lady Saves the Duke Read online

  Lady Natalie laughed warmly. “I, too, am terrified. It seems there are a thousand things to go wrong! I love making the decisions, but then I second-guess myself. So many people are invited! Too many!” And then the uneasy expression crossed her lovely features. Despite having met only briefly, the two girls shared an unexpected bond. “I’m ever so anxious he’ll change his mind.”

  Her words lit new anxiety in Abigail. What if her betrothed changed his mind?

  He would not. He could seem cold and emotionless at times, but he would not change his mind.

  How could Lady Natalie fear such a thing? Perhaps because she herself had jilted the Duke of Cortland last spring.

  But Abigail had seen the way Lord Hawthorne watched Lady Natalie. “He will not, Lady Natalie. Anyone with eyes in their head can see that he adores you. You must know you have nothing to fear.”

  Lady Natalie smiled and then winced. “I hope you are right, Abigail.”

  The girls chattered on about other wedding concerns for several moments before various gentlemen approached to add their names to both of their dance cards. Yes, both of them. Abigail was shocked, but Lady Natalie took it with equanimity.

  And then her duke approached. He strode across the room just as he should—proud, flawlessly attired, and utterly confident—arrogant even. Which was only proper.

  The moment to lead off the dancing had arrived. It was to be just the two of them. All the other guests would be looking on, watching, waiting for her to take a wrong step. Her heart raced, and her breaths grew shallow. Where had all the air gone? Ringing threatened to fill her ears as he positioned one hand at her waist. The quartet, which had been playing softly, fell silent as the entire orchestra poised to begin playing.

  She watched his mouth move as though from a great distance but for the life of her could not hear a word he said.

  And then he leaned in and whispered, “Rest easy, my dear. You’ve no need to worry.” When she still didn’t move, he leaned in again. “Won’t you trust me?” And with a twinkle in his eyes, he added, “I’m a fabulous dancer.”

  He’d used that endearment again: my dear. And he’d boasted of his dancing skills. With a short laugh, she exhaled.

  Smiling tremulously, she placed her free hand on his shoulder. He grasped her other hand in his—not too tightly but with just enough confidence to convey some of his courage to her. “Of course.” I have since the day we met.

  Margaret had insisted the dance be a waltz. “Much more fashionable than a reel,” she’d maintained. “The two of you are not ducklings just out of the nest. It will be most appropriate for a couple of your age.”

  The orchestra sprang to life, and Monfort took control. And he had been right, he really was a fabulous dancer. Abigail hardly had to think as he took long steps, guiding and twirling her around the shiny parquet floor. Before she knew it, other couples joined them.

  The terrifying moment had passed, and it hadn’t been all that terrifying at all.

  “I didn’t faint.” Abigail blurted the words before thinking.

  Monfort chuckled and swept them around a few of the other couples. His hand lay firmly upon her waist, making it impossible for her miss a step. Her body responded to his direction perfectly. Abigail was not so confident as to think this was because of her own skill. But she was surprised to realize she was enjoying herself. In fact, dancing with her future husband was more enjoyable than practically anything she’d experienced before.

  Except for those moments when the balloon had ascended and he’d wrapped his arms around her from behind. In spite of her fear at the unknown, at being far above the ground, she’d felt safe with him. And she’d experienced exhilaration.

  Just as she did now.

  Perhaps their wedding night would not be something awful to endure. Perhaps it would be something…dare she contemplate the thought? Pleasant? Enjoyable? Even…wonderful?

  But then the music stopped. Monfort tilted one side of his mouth up, ever so slightly, before leaning down to her and speaking quietly, “I hope I’ve lived up to my boast?”

  Abigail held his eyes and nodded. “Thank you, Monfort. The dance was lovely.”

  He escorted her back to where her mother and now, Aunt Edith, were seated. He did not speak to either of them. Rather he confirmed with Abigail that he would partner her again for the supper dance and then pivoted and withdrew.

  Ah, if only the ball could have ended then.

  Chapter 13

  Something was decidedly off.

  Foreboding pricked at the back of his neck. Standing unaccompanied for a few moments, observing, Alex noticed a subtle wave of excitement fluttering through the guests. Had one of Abigail’s family spoken out of turn? He’d been concerned having had first-hand experience of Baron Riverton’s lack of discretion. The ballroom overflowed.

  He’d expected a crush, but had Margaret really invited all of these people? Most likely not. It was not all that exceptional for the uninvited to attach themselves to legitimate guests in order to gain entry. He ought to have told his butler to show no leniency tonight.

  It was too late, now, however.

  Against his own inclination, he casually mingled with various clusters of guests hoping to discover if salacious words about Abigail were being brandied about. But of course, nobody would speak of such a thing to him.

  Until he found Hugh Chesterton. Or, rather, until Danbury found him.

  “Why, in God’s name, would you allow him entry?”

  “Who?” Alex demanded.

  “Damien Farley,” Danbury said in disgust.

  Abigail’s attacker was in attendance at her prewedding ball? Alex had become more certain than ever that Farley was the one. And as if his own conclusion was not sufficient enough, Danbury confirmed it with his next words.

  “It was he who drove Miss Wright from London, I believe. The bastard practically admitted as much to me this spring.” He frowned at the look on Alex’s face. “I figured you knew. You did know, did you not? That she’d been ruined as a girl?”

  Danbury’s words were not meant to demean Abigail. Nonetheless, a slow burn of anger rose inside Alex. Abigail had not been ruined, by God, she’d been raped! And the bastard was here, inside his home!

  “Where is he?” he ground through clenched teeth.

  Danbury glanced about. “He came in about twenty minutes ago, but I haven’t seen him since. Oh, wait, he is dancing with Mrs. Gormley. Good God, Monfort, whoever drew up your guest list?”

  A cloud of red swarmed Alex’s vision. Elise Gormley had not been invited either. And Margaret would not have invited Damien Farley. No wonder the ball was such a crush. More than one uninvited guest had crashed the ball. He would have them both ejected immediately. Damn it, he would do it himself.

  His gaze settled on Farley and held steady as he approached the man who’d nearly ruined Abigail Wright’s life. He did not stop to think of the consequences of an altercation. He experienced none of the indifference that had taken hold of him over the past few years. He had but one purpose and would not be dissuaded.

  Grasping Farley’s arm, Alex jerked the vermin away from his own former mistress. He did not take note of the pleased expression on Elise Gormley’s face. All of his attention focused upon Farley, obviously already well into his cups.

  The man snarled a smirk in Monfort’s direction, and then made the mistake of speaking. “What’s the matter, Monfort? You cannot be upset that I’m poaching your leftovers. It’s only fitting, wouldn’t you say, seeing as you are marrying mine?”

  In his mind, Alex conjured unwanted images of Farley forcing himself on a much younger and innocent Abigail. Of Farley forcing his mouth on hers. Of Farley’s clumsy hands lifting her gown.

  His control snapped.

  He acted not as a duke, but as a man.

  And he was not even aware of his own intentions until his fists began stinging as he meted out a vicious punishment on the younger, heftier fellow. It could have b
een mere seconds, or perhaps several minutes, before several sets of strong arms pulled him off the blighter’s nearly inert body. Blood gushed from Farley’s nose and mouth, a few teeth had dislodged and were God knows where, and the man was crying and begging for mercy.

  Alex wasn’t done, though. He lunged forward a second time, only to find himself again restrained by the men who’d come up behind him. “Let me at him. The bastard deserves to die.” A growl tore through him as he broke free to launch another attack upon the bully who’d hurt Abigail so badly years before. In that moment, Alex did not care if he killed the man. In fact, it would likely be the best outcome he could imagine. This time he set his fists to the man’s midsection.

  Again, arms from behind pulled him off the villain.

  The Duke of Cortland, along with Lords Hawthorne and Danbury, managed to bring a halt to Alex’s rage.

  “You’ve made your point, Monfort. If you kill him, there’ll be an inquiry. Even you cannot murder a man in the middle of a ball without consequences.” Hugh’s calm reasoning penetrated Alex’s haze of anger.

  “He’ll not be the same after this, Monfort. Allow Cortland and me to take over from here. We’ll force him to leave England for good. He deserved every punch you’ve given him. Let him live with himself and his sins on another continent.” Lord Hawthorne’s words indicated a thorough understanding of Monfort’s motivation. He gripped Alex’s shoulder tightly. “I only wish I’d gone at him first.”

  Elise stepped forward, pushing herself through the men who’d gathered around the spectacle. Her eyes sparkled with a manic sort of excitement. “I didn’t know you cared, Monfort. Don’t you know I’ll always take you back? Farley is nothing to me, darling.”

  What the hell?

  Did she think…?

  Had she thought he did this for her?

  And then the gathering parted again, and through it he saw Abigail’s large eyes fixed upon the woman he’d once enjoyed often and thoroughly. A roar of murmured whispers spread throughout the room as Cortland and Hawthorne dragged Farley away. A few footmen had stepped forward and were mopping the floor with some handy linens.

  Without thinking, Alex took the drink Danbury handed to him. The impact of what he’d just done slowly settling upon him.

  At first, Abby was confused. She did not know what to think.

  Had she been asked even one day before if she would have liked to see her former attacker punished, she would have said, of course. The thought would have given her tremendous satisfaction.

  But seeing Monfort so utterly out of control, his eyes wild and fists pounding relentlessly, gave her pause. This was unlike him. Had he done this for her?

  For a fraction of a second, a warmth spread through her. He’d admitted to wanting justice for her. He must care somewhat, mustn’t he? In order to relinquish his proud and rigid control?

  But then she heard that woman speak. I didn’t know you cared, Monfort. Don’t you know I’ll always take you back? Farley is nothing to me, darling.

  Whispers carried shamelessly across the room.

  “Mrs. Elise Gormley, Monfort’s mistress…”

  “Her protector for over two years…”

  Abigail glanced from the sophisticated beauty who’d been dancing with Farley to her betrothed.

  Monfort’s eyes looked haunted.

  What had this been about? Did he love this woman? Had he been keeping a mistress all along? Oh, Abigail, you stupid, stupid fool! Of course he had a mistress. A man, a duke such as Monfort, would have his most primitive of needs met regardless of a timid fiancée.

  But did he love Mrs. Gormley?

  Of course he did! Why else would he fly into such an uncharacteristic rage? Jealousy was an extremely powerful emotion. Mrs. Gormley had been dancing with Damien Farley.

  And Monfort had attacked her partner.

  The display of violence had nothing to do with Abigail. She’d not told him the name of the man who ruined her.

  He’d been fighting for Mrs. Gormley.

  Margaret appeared as though from thin air. Without saying a word, she grasped Abigail’s elbow and steered her away from the dance floor.

  No more dancing tonight.

  “I don’t know what came over him, Abigail. In all of my life, I’ve never seen him turn as violent as this.” And in a more soothing tone, “Don’t worry, dear, all will be just fine. Probably just too much drink and an unfortunate disagreement. Not at all well done of my brother, though. Not at all well done.”

  Abigail’s lessons had not been for naught. She lifted her chin and met Margaret’s eyes. “We’ve spent hundreds of pounds for the food laid out in the dining room. Shall we announce supper early? Or send these people away?”

  Margaret blinked and then nodded slowly. “You are right.” Signaling a nearby servant over, she whispered instructions into his ear before turning again to Abigail. “They’ll announce supper immediately. Perhaps we can salvage what is left of the evening.” Looking closely at Abigail, she frowned. “You are certain you are not too overset? I can make excuses for you, you know.”

  Abigail nodded. “I am fine for now. But I think Monfort has left.”

  Understanding Abigail’s concern, Margaret waved her husband, the Earl of Clive, over. “Darling, Miss Wright needs an escort into the supper room. Please do the honors for me? Monfort, I believe, will be indisposed for the remainder of the evening.”

  Giving Margaret a warm look of approval, he nodded and then winged an arm for Abigail to take. “Of course.” Winking at Abigail, he smiled charmingly. “Shall we, Miss Wright?”

  Abigail endured supper by nodding and smiling, experiencing it all as though she were watching from outside her own body. Nobody dared broach the subject of the duke, her betrothed’s, attack, nor his absence. That would be bad ton.

  But they were all speaking of it.

  And speculating.

  Eyes averted from her far too easily.

  Of course they would all be talking about it. Whoever would have imagined that the Duke of Ice would put on such an exhibition? As she went through the motions of making inane conversation in a vain attempt to divert attention from the earlier spectacle, she herself endured a number of conflicting emotions.

  Part of her wanted to lash out at him for ruining everything. After all the lessons and training she’d undergone so as to not make a spectacle of herself, how dare he make such a scene over his mistress? At their prewedding ball, no less? He was a bastard! A cad! A phony and a fake!

  How dare he propose marriage while having relations with another woman? How dare he speak of honor while in the midst of an affair?

  But then other thoughts defended him. He’d never spoken to her of love. He’d never promised fidelity or any other sort of husbandly regard. He’d known she was in a bind. He’d spoken of having been the cause of her scandal.

  He’d offered her protection.

  Nothing more.

  And then her heart cried out.

  He’d bought her a horse and given her riding lessons. (Heart).

  Only because you demanded them. (Head).

  He took you up on a balloon, to help you to conquer your fears. (Heart).

  So that you would not embarrass him. (Head)

  He kissed you. He wrapped his arms around you. (Heart).

  Silence.

  And on and on the inner argument continued.

  They were to be married tomorrow.

  Abigail nodded at some unknown question as she contemplated the status of her would-be wedding.

  Was he going to cry off? She’d be ruined forever if he did that. Ought she to cry off? She glanced over to where her mother and father chatted amiably with a few friendly guests. She could not return to Biddeford Corners. She could not live as a dependent upon her parents any longer. She would go through with the wedding.

  As long as the duke was still willing. She turned her head and smiled at another mindless comment. The evening proved to be the longest of
her life.

  ****

  Alex’s sister took hold of Abigail’s arm and led her away from the remnants of the scene he’d created. He then raised the glass to his lips and downed the liquor handed him in one satisfying swallow.

  Elise was standing before him, one gloved hand upon his chest. “Oh, Monfort, that was brilliant! I had no idea your affections persisted, my darling.” She glanced around the room before leaning closer still, “Shall we go to my house now? I’ve missed you so!” She pressed herself against him.

  Steeling his eyes, he gently, but firmly, pushed the lady away from his person. “You misunderstand, Mrs. Gormley. You are not the cause of my disagreement with Farley. The man had it coming to him for other reasons entirely. As I am certain you received no invitation, I’d appreciate you making your way home, alone, at this time. Your presence here is an abomination to my future wife. Whyever would you think you might be welcome?”

  Her eyes flared just a moment before she purred once again. “Monfort, you needn’t be so proud with me. I realize—”

  But Alex would not allow her to finish. If Abigail knew Elise was his former mistress…If she suspected…Oh, hell, his fiancée already suffered enough self-doubt. She most certainly mustn’t be allowed to think he’d invited his former mistress to their wedding ball.

  Especially when he’d made a spectacle of himself for her!

  “If you do not leave on your own, I shall have you physically removed…by a servant.” He flicked her a stern look. “Now, Elise. As I told you last spring, we are over. I’m sorry if you have misinterpreted my actions tonight, but my mind has not changed in the least. I have moved on. You must as well.” He lifted one arm and gestured for a nearby footman. When the man neared he said, “Niles, escort Mrs. Gormley to her coach.”

  Without waiting for a response, he spun on one heel. Where was Abigail? She had most likely absented herself from the ball, retreating to her uncle’s house. She would be too overset to remain. Margaret, he knew, would salvage what remained of the evening. Most likely, his sister would have Clive announce a premature end to the ball. Or not. At that moment, he didn’t really give a damn.