A Duke for the Road Page 18

Rob shook his head, stunned by Royland’s sudden demeanor. Royland, who was passionate, and playful, and always dramatic. “You’re. . .”

  Heath narrowed his eyes on Royland. “You’re him.”

  “Him who?” drawled Royland.

  Heath’s lip curled. “The Hawk.”

  Royland lifted his dark brows. “I’ve no idea what that is, aside from a bird of prey. But we don’t need to linger here.”

  “I’m going after her,” Rob bit out, not interested in the current exchange, even as it occurred to him that Royland might still be involved in the undercurrents of political intrigue that had swayed his life during the Reign of Terror.

  Royland whipped towards him, his beautiful face suddenly sharp and dangerous. “Where? Will you wander the winding back streets and get yourself gutted?”

  “I’m not staying here,” Rob said, leveling his friend with a hard stare. “I can’t just wait—”

  “Sometimes,” Heath cut in, “waiting is the hardest thing to do.”

  Rob looked around at the veritable crowd of his friends that had formed. He took one look at Harley whose face was a mask of horror. He thought of their childhood, running through the fields, riding horses bareback. Had it come to this? Waiting? Waiting in a club to find out what had happened to the little girl who had followed them tirelessly and faithfully?

  “She deserved more than me sitting and waiting,” he said at last and turned to head out into the night.

  Harley fell into step behind him, then Drake, then Royland, and Raventon.

  The five friends who had sworn to always be true to each other headed out into the dark night, knowing that their entire future hinged on finding one young woman in the vast metropolis of London.

  Chapter 27

  Harriet stood close to the river. She had no idea how she’d managed to find her way out of the dark warren, but she’d trusted her instincts and headed away from the dark streets. She’d smeared her gown in mud, as well as her face and hair. If she traipsed about looking like a lady, she was dead. She knew it. So, now, looking like an urchin, she put her shoulders back and slipped through the crowded streets.

  As long as she kept her eyes straight ahead and she didn’t bolt, she’d be fine. She had to believe that.

  “’Ow much, sweetheart?” A tough man, his hair wild and his face tanned, asked brightly.

  She tensed, knowing the words that came out of her mouth could kill her. So, thinking of her scullery maid’s turn of phrase, she gave him a cheeky grin and shouted, “Not tonight, luv. I’m absolutely knackered.”

  The man laughed. “Already? Well then, off you go.”

  She sucked in a sigh of relief, grateful he hadn’t pressed. Then she heard it, the teeming mass of the bank and the coaches clattering to be let across London Bridge.

  Her heart fluttered in her chest. She was so close now to safety. So very close. Her entire body was shaking with it. She spotted a hackney and she darted up to the resting vehicle. “Hyde Park if you please,” she called.

  The driver looked at her like she was something the cat had dragged in. “I don’t think so, luv.”

  “I do think so,” she returned. “Now.”

  He gaped at her and, without waiting for him to say another word, she yanked the door open and hauled herself into the small, two-seated vehicle. “The Duke of Blackstone’s house, Park Lane.”

  Something about her voice and tone did that magical thing which she prayed it would. The driver was so flummoxed, he started to whip up his horse but then he stopped and jumped down.

  She swallowed, ready to beg if need be.

  He tore open the door. “Look, I’ve got no time for some sort of run around. I’ll have you thrown in the Fleet, my girl.”

  “Understandably,” she replied in a rush. “But I think you’ll find I’m the opposite.”

  “Right then,” he called, reaching in to pull her out. But then he froze, his brown eyes bulging. “My God, Your Grace. It’s you!”

  She wanted to laugh but could not. “Indeed, it is.”

  “I—I’ve seen your likeness in the news sheets,” he stuttered, gawking from under his black cap. “What’s happened to you?”

  “Kidnapped,” she said honestly.

  “Heathens!” The driver’s eyes widened into twin brown saucers of horror.

  “Highwayman,” she corrected. “I’m sure heathens are far better behaved.”

  He nodded, looking as if he’d seen the king. “Park Lane. Right you are. The missus will never believe this.”

  “I barely do,” she said, digging her fingers into the seat, unwilling to relax.

  Just then, as he whipped up the coach and started for the bridge, she caught glimpse of a group of men questioning people along the wharf.

  As the coach whizzed by, she could not believe her eyes. For it was he. Her husband. “Rob!” she cried out.

  Despite the wild din of the street, he heard her call and turned. They locked eyes and the entire world spun to a still.

  “Let me out!” she called.

  “Your Grace, I must see you safe,” the driver countered.

  “Let me out, man!” she protested, scrambling towards the door.

  And before the driver could even stop, Robert Deverall, Duke of Blackstone, jumped onto the runner of the hackney. His hands gripped the door, his eyes flaring with fear and passion.

  Trembling with relief, she leaned forward through the opening and said quite dryly, “Do you need a lift, sir?”

  Rob reached forward, seized her hands and pulled her towards him. “Harry. . . Harry. . .” His voice broke.

  “It’s all right, Rob,” she said, holding on to him. “I’m all right.”

  The hackney finally rolled to a stop and Rob leaned back, jerked the door open and pulled her into his arms. “Forgive me,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp. “Forgive me.”

  She cupped his face. Then in answer, she leaned into him and took his mouth in a fiery kiss.

  Chapter 28

  Rob went through the next day in a reverie, utterly stunned and yet not entirely shocked that his beautiful, spirited, resourceful wife had saved herself.

  That did not stop him from never leaving her side. Wherever she went, he went. Whatever she desired, he supplied. He could not stop touching her. For he understood how close he’d come to losing her. He was never going to let that happen again.

  He’d wanted to kill Jamie Heath, but Richard had made it plain that he would take care of his brother. And knowing Richard, Jamie was in for hell.

  Soon, he’d have to visit Heath to make sure Jamie would never darken their door again. But even he felt certain that the highwayman who had caused such fear would never see them again. What had been meant as a simple act of revenge had gone completely awry.

  And Rob also knew that it was he who had put his wife in danger by living so closely to the wild side of the world. The prophecy of his father slipped through his mind. That he couldn’t escape the pain he would cause others. The mere thought caused his stomach to roil. It had been so easy to condemn his father and his debauchery.

  Still, the destruction had taken root in his heart in a way he never thought it would. By trying to keep her away in the end. Oh, he might argue that it was because he’d been a highwayman. But if he had not forced her to search for him in the dark of night, if he had not tried to protect her from himself, she never would have gone after him and been taken.

  Much to his dismay, and despite this realization, after several days of utter attention, she had grown silent. She had then turned to him and asked him to give her a bit of peace.

  Stricken, he’d done as she asked. What else could he truly do? Then to his utter horror, she’d let him know she was going down to the country. . . alone.

  Standing by himself in his study, he wondered if he had somehow destroyed his marriage. His life since his father died had been one of utter chaos. Now, it seemed it still was.

  There was no one to b
lame but himself.

  He’d driven her away. Trying to protect her. . . no, himself.

  That was it, wasn’t it? He’d been trying to protect himself from further pain. What a bastard he was. Just as his father had said he would be.

  Suddenly, he knew what he had to do.

  Rob strode from his study and took the stairs two at a time until he stood before her bedroom door. He squared his shoulders and knocked.

  There was a long pause then she called, “Enter.”

  He slipped into the room, catching sight of her sitting before the fire, reading. The gash on her hand was healing nicely. It hardly needed a bandage now at all.

  She lifted her gaze. “Yes, Rob? Do you require something?”

  Was this what he’d done? Driven them to such small exchanges? Yes. That’s exactly what he’d done. He’d pushed her away.

  “We must speak,” he said, really having no idea how he would reach her but determined to try.

  Her brows lifted. “Indeed?”

  He nodded and then he crossed and knelt before her, ready to offer up his soul on a platter if need be to make amends. “I—I don’t know how to say what needs to be said.”

  She closed her book. “Say it. Nothing can be worse than what has already occurred. Can it?”

  He gave a tight shake of his head. “I’ve been so afraid of disappointing you and myself. I was ready to waste our entire lives.”

  She stared at him patiently.

  “My father was a terrible man. So was my brother. I cannot tell you what they did to our family. My father told me I’d never escape it. And I believed him.”

  “Rob, you’re not a terrible man.”

  “Not yet,” he whispered.

  Her eyes shone with tears. “Rob—”

  “No, I must say this,” he cut in, driven now. “So, I was determined that I not hurt anyone, especially not you. But that is exactly what I did. No matter what I chose, I hurt you.”

  A tear slipped down her cheek. “And yourself.”

  “And myself,” he agreed, hating that he had been the source of her pain. “But I cannot bear to lose you. You are the only good thing in my life. The only thing which makes me feel hope.”

  Her eyes shone and she looked away. “I don’t know. We were such good friends—”

  “We can be again, don’t you think?” he queried, willing her to try again. Willing himself to believe he could try.

  “Can we? I was ready to be.”

  He pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t. I thought I had to push you away to keep you safe. But it didn’t work. I miss you.”

  “Are you now ready?” she asked softly. “Ready to be friends? Ready to not push me away?”

  He drew in a rough breath, afraid, afraid to open his heart but he forced himself to nod. “I want that more than anything. Can you help me?”

  Her face softened and another tear slipped down her cheek. “I can try. But you cannot shut me out.”

  “I promise.”

  “Do not promise,” she protested. “But I must ask you something.”

  He tensed, then nodded, knowing he had no choice, not if he was to try to repair all that had befallen them.

  “Why are you so determined not have children? Perhaps I can understand if you explain it to me. For even in lovemaking, you are distant, the way you control yourself.”

  He looked away, hating that she was correct.

  “I made a vow.”

  “I beg your pardon?” she whispered, aghast.

  “I vowed I would never have an heir.”

  “Why would you do such a thing?”

  “My father, in a stupor, instructed me to get an heir before I died. . . because he said my destiny was inescapable, just like his father, himself, and my brother. I could never do that to a child. I could never. . .”

  “What if our child is destined for pain? Does it matter, truly?” she asked softly.

  He blinked, not understanding.

  “Who among us is not acquainted with trouble?” she asked, taking his hand in hers. “Should we as a species not have children because we fear they will bear our worst traits? Or shall we chance it, and do all we can to shower our children with love and understanding so that they might grow? A plant kept in darkness will wither and twist. But one given good earth, light, water, and attention? It will thrive. It does not matter if there is something wrong with it. We can teach it how to be the best it can be.”

  He peered at her, trying to comprehend. Trying to grasp the idea that he had completely forgotten that she would be the mother of their child, that she would guide their child and teach it. To love, to be, to see this world as a beautiful thing.

  “I’m afraid,” he said at last.

  “As am I. But that does not mean I shall give up, Rob. I shall never give up.”

  “On me?” he asked, hardly daring to believe it.

  “On us. On our family,” she said firmly. “For despite the fact you see that darkness in you, I see the light. I see the way you are kind to people. How you love your mother and sister and would do anything to protect them. How you took care of me when we were children. That is who you are. Who you always will be. And that will be the sort of father you are, too. If you can have children.”

  The feel of her hand in his was a balm to his soul. But he could not lie to her. “I don’t. . . I don’t know.”

  “You don’t have to know today,” she replied, her eyes bright with a fervent honesty. “You need only say you will choose love, not fear. I was given very good advice recently. There is what I can accept and what I can’t. I cannot accept a life of fear, Rob. So, I will continue to believe that you will one day embrace love. But until then, I think it best that I go to the country.”

  “You’re still going?”

  “Until you know what you truly want?” Sadness tinged her gaze. “Yes. And I want you to think about something when I am gone.”

  “What is it?” he asked, bereft.

  “Do you wish a child? Do you wish to hold your babe in your arms? To teach the child to toddle, and laugh, and see the world as a wondrous place and not one of shadow? Do you wish to love for the rest of your life? Until you can answer that, whether it be yes or no. . .” She looked away for a moment then met his gaze with unflinching resolve. “We must be apart.”

  With that declaration, he felt swallowed up again by a yawning chasm. She was asking him what he wanted. He didn’t know. He knew he didn’t wish pain, but beyond that. . . he had no clue. And that, he knew, was why she was going away.

  “I understand, Harry.”

  “I will miss you,” she whispered.

  “And I you,” he replied. And then he slipped from her room without a kiss or another word. For he knew neither would do any good.

  Chapter 29

  “Shouldn’t you be with your wife?” Royland asked as he paged through one of the new books which had been added to the collection at Number 79.

  Rob grimaced. “She’s gone down to the country.”

  Raventon and Royland exchanged glances. Royland put his book back upon the shelf and gazed at him curiously.

  Drake picked up the decanter of brandy and headed for the pianoforte. Sitting with a flare of his coat tails, he then danced his fingers over the keys and began a death march.

  “Cease that,” Rob roared.

  “Well, it feels like a funeral with you here, Rob,” Drake said as he transitioned into a sonata by Beethoven.

  Rob sank further down in the leather chair wishing they’d just leave off. But then again, if that was what he really wanted, why had he come to Number 79?

  “Come now,” Royland coaxed. “Tell us what is amiss.”

  “We are your friends, after all,” Raventon said with a dose of cheer as he joined Drake by the pianoforte.

  Rob shifted uncomfortably. “She wants children.”

  “Is that all?” Royland laughed.

  “I don’t know if I can do it,” Rob replied honestly.r />
  “Surely, you’ve had enough practice,” drawled Raventon.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Rob snapped.

  Drake’s hands paused over the keys. “What are you saying, old man?”

  Rob’s throat tightened. It was so tempting to keep his secret. But he no longer could. Not if he wished to keep his sanity. “I made a vow to myself that I would not have an heir.”

  The silence that met his words sent a veritable shiver down his spine for his proclamation, no doubt, sounded absolutely mad. He knew it. Perhaps his friends did, too.

  Before he could say anything else, his friends suddenly resumed their activities as if nothing had occurred.

  Royland poured brandy into three snifters and said, “She wants children?”

  Rob gave a terse nod. “But I made a vow to myself and I have concerns—”

  “You needn’t be concerned,” Raventon said, exchanging a barely noticeable glance with Drake and Royland.

  “You think she will accept it?” Rob ground his teeth. “I don’t—”

  “The solution is obvious,” Drake replied merrily.

  “Is it?” Rob asked, straightening.

  “Certainly,” Raventon agreed.

  “What is it?” Rob looked from duke to duke, stunned that they had an answer at all.

  Drake played a sprightly air. “It’s obvious and steeped in tradition.”

  Rob grew wary, for he sensed suddenly that he had stepped into a trap. “What the devil are you on about?”

  “I’d be happy to help,” Drake continued.

  “Or I could do it,” Raventon said airily.

  “I suppose I could, too,” Royland said with a sigh. “Once more into the breach and all that.”

  “What the devil are you suggesting?” Rob growled.

  “She wants a child, does she not?” Drake asked, his eyes surprisingly wide. “Any one of us could oblige.”

  “Since you find the idea so upsetting,” Raventon added. “I’m sure one of us could find a way to close our eyes and think of England.”

  “She’s not that bad,” Royland said, with exaggerated consideration. “Not bad at all, actually—”