Forbidden to Love the Duke Read online

  “It’s hardly how I expected to begin service.”

  He smiled at her. “It was rather uncivilized.”

  It was more of a Norman conquest. He had made up his mind. Should she ask for a day to consider his terms, whatever they might be? She thought of the other hopeful applicants gathered like a horde outside these walls and decided she couldn’t take that risk.

  “Remember the children,” he said, extending his hand. She stared at his wrist for a moment before he pulled her off the floor with a strength that brought their bodies together.

  “Children?”

  “Mary and Walker.” He drew her around the desk and placed a pen in her hand. “I know this seems rushed, but they need a stable influence in their lives. Do you mind signing the contract right now? It would take a burden off my shoulders, I’ll admit.”

  “Shouldn’t I read it first?”

  “It’s a standard contract. You will be committed to me for a year. Your wages will be forty pounds, which I think you will agree is more than fair.”

  It was twice what a top governess would earn, and now that Ivy had begun to emerge from her initial shock, she could hear voices rising from the hall. “We are about to be stormed like the Bastille,” he said, shaking his head as if sharing a weighty secret.

  She smiled dryly. “How difficult it must be for Your Grace to turn down all the women who desire to work under your roof.”

  “It won’t be difficult for me,” he said with a smile to answer hers. “Carstairs will inform them.”

  “Then thank you for your time. I’m grateful to have been chosen.”

  Again those gray eyes took an experienced survey of her person. Already her doubts rose up. Had she made a mistake taking the position? A peer of the realm might assume he had certain rights over a governess that she did not wish to relinquish.

  Her gaze met his. His eyes betrayed no further mischief. She’d like to think he had been studying her for neatness instead of as a woman he could take to bed. She lowered her gaze to the desk, staring at the contract she had signed. “Should I have read that document more carefully?”

  “Why aren’t you married?” he asked unexpectedly.

  The question would have mortified her had she not noticed the letter sitting on his desk.

  Dearest James,

  I am more excited to be with you than words can express. How long we have waited to be alone.

  The duke’s voice put an end to her spying career. “Lady Ivy?”

  She looked up in embarrassment. He’d asked her why she had never married, and she had discovered he was expecting a lover to arrive. Or so that letter seemed to suggest. Of course it could be old correspondence. Of course she could mind her own business.

  He shook his head. “Have you loved and lost, perhaps?”

  Only you, she thought, on the most tumultuous evening of my life.

  She could invent a story, but she was too taken aback to think on her feet. So this was the unabashed rogue who had offered to marry her if she didn’t have five proposals by noon the next day.

  He looked gorgeous without his mask. More gorgeous than she’d imagined, and he had figured in her imagination on innumerable occasions since then. Sometimes he’d gone beyond kissing her. In her dreams she had met him at midnight and he’d seduced her until morning so that he had no choice but to marry her. His proposal had interrupted her father’s duel. Instead of a funeral, there had been a wedding and honeymoon composed of wicked and wistful moments.

  “Lady Ivy?” The duke’s deep voice drew her back to the present dilemma. “It was a personal question. You don’t have to answer.”

  Question? What question? Oh, the one about marriage. She really should make up a story. The truth sounded quite unimpressive.

  She thought of the eligible gentlemen she had once turned down. Only two, it was true. But surely if she’d married one, she would be in a better place than where she and her sisters currently found themselves.

  The duke had investigated her background before he’d agreed to this interview, hadn’t he? He couldn’t know that Billy Wilson had proposed to her at Fenwick, vowing her father’s scandal didn’t matter, only to retract his offer a week later.

  Then again, the duke wasn’t a man to underestimate.

  She sighed. “I never found the right gentleman before our family fell from grace. Or perhaps, I was always the wrong woman.”

  His eyes searched hers until it became a battle to maintain her dignity. She had told the truth. He could order her out the door if he disapproved.

  He nodded slowly. “Your father’s sins are not yours.”

  So he had heard. “You’re one of the few men I’ve met in society to think so.”

  “Society is comprised of sheep. I care more about your present behavior. I assume you are not given to flirtation?”

  She could’ve hit him with her sanctuary hold. How presumptuous. Given to flirtation, he asked, and with a straight face. She blushed at the memory of the two of them on the floor. She certainly hadn’t initiated that kiss. And in no manner was that to be interpreted as a prelude to a liaison. It was criminal what a handsome man could get away with.

  “I assure Your Grace that I am not given to kissing or flirting with random strangers. At masquerade balls or on floors.”

  He rested his hip back against the desk. “Good. We’re no longer strangers, by the way.”

  “We were never introduced.”

  “We know each other now.” He assumed a somber attitude. “As governess you must hold yourself to be the North Star for the children. The last thing they need is another person drifting off on a whim.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” She knew how deeply a parent could damage a family.

  “Can you start on Tuesday, please?”

  “But that’s only a few days from now.”

  “The sooner, the better.”

  She panicked. She needed a wardrobe, shoes, food for her sisters until she was paid and could give them a little to live on. She’d intended to make a final journey to London to pawn her pearls before committing herself to service.

  “Your Grace, please, may I start on Friday next?”

  He wavered. She remembered what he’d said. She must not drift off and be caught staring at him every time they crossed paths. It was rather difficult, however, when his eyes traveled over her person, stopping at every button and indentation of her gown as if learning the topography of a map.

  “Fine,” he said. “My carriage will collect you early on Monday morning at Fenwick Manor.”

  She curtsied, turned again, and darted through the door the steward held open for her exit. “Welcome to Ellsworth Park, Lady Ivy,” he said warmly.

  Good heavens. She did feel wanted.

  “Thank you, Mr. Carstairs. Thank you ever so much.”

  She must have regained enough decorum to satisfy the steward, for he granted her an approving nod and politely overlooked the fact that she almost fell through the door he had opened. The duke, she feared, would not be as easy to please.

  By the time she reached the end of the entrance vestibule, Ivy understood why Carstairs had warned the duke to remain hidden until the grounds had been cleared of hopeful governesses. Gentlewomen of all ages soon filed from the receiving room, Carstairs dismissing them like cattle. Within moments the wrathful eyes of the rejected noticed Ivy sneaking down the hall.

  A cry went up. “Is she the one? The first one?”

  “He never heard about my experiences working in Siam.”

  “She isn’t much to look at.”

  “Which is a benefit, you ninny.”

  “Well, I’m ordinary, too!”

  Ivy quickened her step. The applicants had multiplied like rabbits since the time she had arrived at the estate.

  Her heart sang with guiltless joy.
This early bird had caught her worm, although nothing about the duke reminded her of a measly creature she could crush beneath her foot. In truth, she had signed a contract pledging her subservience to him.

  Strange that he had already put his signature to the document. What made him so sure of her? What if one of the other applicants proved more qualified than Ivy and pleaded the chance to prove herself the better governess?

  He had chosen her.

  And if a long-ago kiss and her door knocker—she stopped in sudden realization, turning slowly. She had left her reticule and dragon behind in her rush to escape before he could change his mind.

  The dragon would have to wait.

  She wasn’t about to brave those parasols.

  Or face the duke alone again.

  * * *

  Carstairs closed the door on Ivy’s rather graceless exit and approached the desk. “I hope you will not make a habit of that,” James said.

  The steward stared at the floor. “Of what, Your Grace?”

  “Of eavesdropping, you rapscallion.”

  “I was only standing guard in case you required my assistance.”

  “Against a governess?” James asked, grinning at the thought.

  “You haven’t seen the mob in the reception room, Your Grace. There must be a hundred of them, and more arriving by the minute. Some of the ladies are poking one another with parasols in such antagonism I fear hostilities are about to break out.”

  “Well, tell the parasols that the position has been filled and send them on their way.”

  “Sight unseen?” Carstairs glanced down again at the floor. “Excuse me for asking, but what is that by your desk?”

  James looked down at his feet, laughing quietly. “Damn me. She forgot her reticule, and her dragon.”

  “Oh, dear,” Carstairs said. “Shall I run after her with the items?”

  James went down on one knee. “Don’t bother. I shall return them to her myself.”

  “But she hasn’t left the property yet.”

  “Are you suggesting I subject myself to a horde of hostile umbrellas?”

  Carstairs shuddered. “I will brave them for Your Grace. Stay hidden until the grounds are cleared.”

  “Take reinforcements. I can’t afford to lose you, Carstairs.”

  Chapter 8

  Rosemary ran down the garden path ahead of the others to greet Ivy at the gatehouse. She took a long look at Ivy’s flushed face and drew back in disappointment. “It didn’t go well, did it? You didn’t get the job? Cook heard that a parade of carts left the village carrying applicants for the job to his estate. Never mind, Ivy. They’ll be other positions.”

  “Not in the duke’s house,” Lilac said, staring at Ivy in chagrin. “I was hoping you’d come home with a basket of food.”

  “I forgot my muff and reticule,” Ivy explained. “His Grace is really going to think I’m absentminded, practically dropping the door knocker on his foot and then leaving it there after all the fuss over it.”

  Rosemary grinned. “I understand why he didn’t hire you.”

  “But he did,” Ivy said, taking a deep breath.

  Lilac blinked in disbelief. “Then why do you look so unsettled?”

  “Because—oh, what does it matter?”

  Rue gasped. “Congratulations.”

  “You must have made quite an impression,” Rosemary said, looking her up and down. “Either that or he has impeccable taste.”

  “It’s a miracle is all I know,” Ivy said, eluding further questioning. “And I have to start on Monday, which means one of you has to come with me to London to sell the pearls so I can buy a dress and food to see you through until I’m paid my wages.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Rue said, slipping her arm around Ivy’s waist. “That way Rosemary can keep on writing and Lilac won’t be jostled around in the streets.”

  Ivy turned to Rue. She looked so wan that Ivy started to say she would be fine with the footman. But Rue, reading her mind, would have none of it.

  “Nonsense, Ivy. If you’re willing to make a sacrifice, then so am I. This is good news, isn’t it?”

  She felt a niggle of uncertainty about Rue’s offer, but she let it pass. It wasn’t a long journey, and they had just enough money for lodgings. “I’ll be grateful for your company.”

  * * *

  The evening of that same day, Rue was helping Ivy pack their bags for their journey when they heard rain on the roof. Seconds later they hurried into one of the upper halls with oil rags to stuff the broken panes. The branches of the ancient oaks quivered in the rising wind.

  “It’s not raining heavily yet,” Rue said, scanning the moonlit sky through the window. “And there aren’t many clouds.”

  “It has to pass by tomorrow morning,” Ivy said, and turned, her eyes widening, at the momentous shudder that rent the lower regions of the house.

  “What is it?” Rue whispered, slipping her icy fingers over Ivy’s hand.

  Lilac materialized at the bottom of the staircase with Quigley in tow, three puppies following at his boots. “There are two men hammering something onto the door,” she said. “Shall I have the servants shoot them?”

  Ivy went to the stairs, descending in uneven steps. “It must be a lien against the manor. And no, we can’t shoot agents of the court, as much as I would cheerfully do so if I could.”

  “A notice?” Rosemary had emerged from her room, stuffing one arm into her robe. “At this time of night? In the rain? I don’t believe even a bailiff would brave this weather.”

  Ivy marched toward the door, her voice echoing to the dark beams above. “Rue, put down that sword or we shall be arrested for—inciting a riot.”

  “In our home?”

  “Perhaps it is no longer ours,” Ivy said, swallowing hard. “To think I spent the morning convinced I was our heroine.”

  And convincing herself that, despite his questionable behavior, she had found sanctuary in the duke’s employment. What would he think of her now? He could not be expected to keep a governess who had spent time in debtors’ gaol. Would he show her any kindness?

  The hammering at the door had stopped, and the house was plunged into a profound silence. Cook had been awakened to appear from her bed with a candle stub that threw the chaotic scene into relief. “Don’t open that door, my lady. They might spirit you off in your nightclothes.”

  “I sold my soul this very morning to the devil,” Ivy muttered, lifting the heavy bolt. “If I’m taken away, perhaps one of you can explain to him why I will not be available for work on—”

  She opened the door to the collective gasp of those gathered behind her. Rain splattered her face, temporarily blurring her vision. Even so, she recognized the nobleman in the black hat and greatcoat who stood before her, two menservants bearing hammers at his side.

  “Your Grace,” she said in disbelief, conscious of his warm gaze and the damp air traveling over her at the same instant. “What do you think you’re doing here at this hour?”

  His smile was the stuff that sent maidens to the couch, an act Ivy might have considered had she been capable of movement. The effect of darkness on his chiseled face gave her the quivers. In fact, if not for the rain, she might have stood there forever, a prisoner of his dark charm.

  But it was cold, and above all else she was practical.

  She lifted her arm to stay the gun that Quigley had raised in her defense. In the middle of the stairs hovered Rosemary, clutching, of all despicable weapons, the mate to the dueling pistol that had failed their father on the night of his death.

  “Put down those guns,” she said over her shoulder. “It’s only the duke.” She turned back to him in time to glimpse another smile that amplified his general manly appeal. “May I ask Your Grace what you are posting on my door with enough clatter to awake those at eternal res
t in the family vault?”

  He removed his hat, rain sloshing around the black rim and dribbling to the step. He would stand there and be soaked for all Ivy cared. If he had tricked her into signing a contract today to test her desperation, only to sink his talons into Fenwick, then she might order Rosemary and Quigley to fire a few shots in his direction, after all.

  “It’s very wet out here,” he said, shifting his feet. “My men are getting cold.”

  There wasn’t any point in manners. If he planned to seize her property, then he could find another governess to kiss and mislead.

  It was a heartless deed, she thought, that had brought him out on a night like this. She felt Rue trembling at her side although, knowing her sister as she did, Rue was more liable to be shivering from fury than apprehension. “What were you posting on my door?” she demanded.

  “Oh, yes. That.” He grinned, rain sliding down his broad cheekbones to his jaw. “The sanctuary hold, of course. You forgot it. And this.” He withdrew her reticule and muff from the folds of his coat. “I assumed you would want these to travel to London. You said you were leaving tomorrow?”

  She opened her mouth in astonishment, staring briefly at her reticule before she stepped outside, braving the rain, and looked at the other side of the door. “We’ll leave if the weather improves.”

  “Ivy,” Lilac whispered in embarrassment, “you aren’t dressed for company.”

  To which the duke replied, casting a surreptitious glance at Ivy in her night rail, “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have called on you without notice. But I’m a bit superstitious. I fancied that the dragon wanted to be home. He’s a protector.”

  “And are you?” Rosemary asked rather dubiously from the position she had taken behind Quigley.

  “I certainly hope I am,” the duke said, gallantly removing and shaking off his coat before he placed it around Ivy’s shoulders as if to prove his claim.

  Ivy’s breath caught. The wool enwrapped her in his warmth and a sense of ownership she was defenseless to fight. She felt as if he’d put his mark on her. “Please put your coat back on.”