What a Duke Dares

Chapter Twenty-Five

Harry slouched against the back wall of Oldhaven House’s ballroom and moodily surveyed the crowd. Returning to the place where he’d met Sophie, memories inevitably assailed him. Since leaving for Northumberland, she’d managed three letters, each promising eternal love. All three rested in the pocket nearest his heart.

The concert was packed to the gunwales. Although the famous Dutch soprano and the Italian tenor had sung their lungs out, tonight’s principal entertainment was always going to be the new Duchess of Sedgemoor.

His sister, Penelope, who sat in the front row displaying less animation than the average statue.

Harry had caught a few comments before the speakers noticed the duchess’s brother within earshot. Surprisingly, most people had expressed grudging approval. Along with the inevitable dollop of spite. His sister’s elevation to the highest levels wouldn’t pass without a serving of jealousy.

When Harry was sixteen, he and Peter had met Pen in Rome. He recalled an independent woman widely admired for her sparkle. Even as a self-centered adolescent, Harry had recognized that all the men were mad for her. Penelope had remained strangely unaware of her effect.

Like everyone else, he’d heard rumors of love affairs. A few liaisons with glamorous Continental gentlemen would hardly blot the cloudy Thorne escutcheon. But occasionally he’d wondered about that curiously innocent girl in Italy. She’d always struck him as a one-man woman. Was she in love with her husband? At her wedding, she hadn’t been a glowing bride. But she’d just survived a shipwreck and worn a dress twenty years out of date.

The marriage had surprised Harry. However hard Lady Wilmott pushed Pen at the Sedgemoor heir, Cam was always going to choose a wife who catered to his arrogance. Someone like Lady Marianne Seaton, who sat a few rows back from the Sedgemoors.

Tonight people had prepared not only to scorn Cam’s unconventional duchess, but to gloat over Lady Marianne’s disappointment at losing such a prize. But to the chagrin of the old tabbies, both ladies had behaved perfectly. In his sister’s case, too perfectly. Seeing Pen like a doused candle, for all her diamonds and finery, deepened Harry’s suspicion that the Rothermere marriage wasn’t all rainbows.

Damn it, Pen deserved rainbows. If Cam hurt Pen, Harry would kill the bastard.

The Hillbrooks sat beside Pen. On Cam’s other side ranged arbiter of elegance Sir Richard Harmsworth and his lovely new wife. If nastiness became overt, Pen had powerful defenders. Harry almost found himself in charity with his brother-in-law. Until he glanced again at Pen’s set features.

Right now, she looked…

He struggled for some description that wasn’t inexpressibly sad. But the only word that came to mind was “cowed.” He glowered at Cam, lounging beside her with his usual insufferable pride. Harry had a fancy that if he took a razor to the duke’s aristocratic hide, iced water would flow.

“What the devil’s biting you, Harry?” Elias asked from beside him. “You look ready to shoot someone. Or yourself.”

Harry forced a smile to his lips. “I’d rather shoot the damned soprano.”

Elias, the most musical of the Thorne siblings, regarded Harry with disdain. “You’ve always had a lead ear. Waste of time explaining why that was a transcendent experience.”

“Transcendent?” Harry said snidely. “Good Gad, you’ll be writing poetry next. Does Byron know he’s got competition?”

Harry didn’t know why he jabbed at his brother. Elias hadn’t done anything wrong, apart from the inarguable fact that he wasn’t Peter. If Harry was angry with anyone, he should be angry with Peter for being so bloody careless with his life.

Not that Harry’s needling cast Elias down. “You’re an ignorant puppy. Byron died four years ago, as you’d know if you expressed a shred of interest in anything beyond playing the dashed fool.”

Elias was out of touch. Since Sophie’s departure, Harry had only shown his face at the most respectable gatherings. He knew his reformation wouldn’t change Leath’s mind. Leath had undoubtedly dismissed Harry Thorne from his thoughts even more quickly than he’d dismissed Harry Thorne from his luxurious house. But behaving himself was all Harry could do at present to forward his courtship.

“Boys!” Pen said, coming up to them. Lost in his brooding, Harry had missed the end of the concert and the room clearing. “Stop it.”

“Now you’re a duchess, you imagine you can order us around,” Elias said drily.

Harry bristled before he caught the amusement in Elias’s face. Pen was smiling, although without the brilliance that Harry recalled from Rome.

“Only when you’re likely to compromise my duchessly reputation,” she said lightly as Cam joined her. “I hear you’re making your maiden speech in the House this week.”

Elias nodded. “Will you be in the gallery to support me?”

Because Harry watched so closely, he caught the quick glance she shot Cam, as if unsure whether to request his permission. Harry’s displeasure with his brother-in-law deepened. Devil take Cam for bullying her.

“I hope she’ll come to see us both in action.” Cam slipped his hand around Pen’s arm. Pen started as though her husband’s touch was unfamiliar. Unwelcome?

Oh, Pen, what the deuce have you got yourself into?

Cam squeezed Pen’s arm and released her, asking Elias about his parliamentary debut. The two wandered toward the door. It was the opportunity Harry sought.

Before he could speak, Pen leveled a glare upon him. “What on earth are you doing?”

“Doing?” A guilty flush rose in his cheeks. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.” She folded her arms and regarded him with a stern expression that made him feel about six. “You looked at Cam like you wanted to poison him.”

“Poison’s a woman’s weapon,” Harry responded with unconvincing humor.

“You always liked him.”

“So did you,” Harry retorted.

“I still do.” She looked surprised and if he wasn’t mistaken, uncomfortable. “He’s a good man.”

Harry grunted. Five minutes ago, he’d burned to punch the duke’s nose. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

“He’s a good man, Harry,” she repeated adamantly. “And I won’t have family discord. Nor will I become a martyr to gossip. There’s been enough talk about both the Thornes and the Rothermeres. You’ll have to put on a better face than you’ve managed tonight. And quickly. People notice.”

“Pen!” He tugged her into a tight embrace. Briefly he’d glimpsed the forthright woman he remembered. “I’m so glad you’re back.”

She struggled free and patted her hair. “You’re quite mad.”

She could call him a lunatic a hundred times as long as she lost that gray aura. “It runs in the family.”

“Ha ha,” she said. The mocking sound pleased his ears the way a harmonious chord pleased Elias. “Now if you can bring yourself to act like a gentleman and not a grumpy bear, let’s find my husband and make our farewells.”

He had more on his mind tonight than the state of his sister’s marriage. “Wait.”

Impatiently she paused. “What is it?”

“Have you thought about what we talked about?”

“No.”

It was Harry’s turn to be annoyed. “It’s important.”

“Harry, you’re so young—”

“I won’t change,” he said steadily.

He saw the moment she realized that this wasn’t a passing attraction. She sighed. “Leath won’t let you near his sister. You’re asking for an ocean of heartbreak.”

“I don’t care. I love her,” he said stubbornly. “I want you to help me to see Sophie. Leath won’t watch you. You can carry messages.”

“Like a sneak.”

“Like a loving sister.”

Pen looked hunted. “Is Sophie back?”

“She returns next week. The aunt is in Edinburgh for some lecture series so Leath wants Sophie under his eye.”

“I thought communication between you two was cut.”

He shrugged. “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“You’re reckless.”

“Faint heart never won fair lady.”

“If you’re not careful, your rashness will bring a scandal down around our ears. Cam doesn’t deserve it. And if you think Leath won’t resent me for promoting this illicit flirtation, you’re a blockhead.”

Harry’s jaw firmed. “I’ve considered the arguments. I can even bring myself to agree with a few of them. Sometimes.”

She looked relieved. “Then stop this before someone gets hurt.”

“Never,” Harry said adamantly. “Nothing will convince me that Sophie’s better off married to a man who doesn’t love her. A man she doesn’t love.”

“I suppose she fancies herself in love with you.” Pen considered him. “I’ll concede that you’re serious. But she’s young too.”

“She knows her heart. With all the trouble involved, it would be easier to give me up.”

“Perhaps she’s swept up in the excitement. Secret meetings and the drama of family opposition can turn a chit’s head.”

“It’s not like that,” Harry said obstinately. “Sophie loves me. We’re going to get married.”

Pen sighed again. “Over Leath’s dead body. I don’t know the man, but everything I’ve heard says that he won’t yield. If he’s decided you’re not the right husband for his sister, you’ll never get his approval.”

“Then we’ll act without his approval,” Harry said sharply, causing a footman stacking chairs at the other side of the empty room to glance up.

Pen looked shocked. “Harry, you’ll ruin us all.”

He sucked in a breath and lowered his voice. “Right now, all I want is a chance to see Sophie.” He read his sister’s reaction. “You have my word that my intentions are honorable. You won’t be assisting a rake’s stratagems.”

Pen’s expression was pensive and something went on behind her eyes that he didn’t understand. Then to his relief, after a long delay that had him nervous as a cat on a stove, she nodded. “Very well. For the moment, you have my cooperation. God help us if this comes undone.”

“What did Harry want?” Cam demanded, once they were in their carriage away from listening ears.

Nervously Pen glanced across at him. Of course that perfect gentleman Camden Rothermere sat with his back to the horses. God forbid he should ignore etiquette and sit beside her.

“Well?”

Pen was grateful that the lamps inside the carriage remained unlit for the short journey to Rothermere House. Cam always knew when she lied.

“You’re sounding very lordly,” she responded, bristling at his tone. And eager to evade the question.

Her eyes had adjusted enough to see him fold his arms across his powerful chest. She didn’t need to see his expression. It would inevitably be implacable. “Humor me.”

“Why should he want anything? After all, we’ve been separated for the best part of ten years.”

“If he didn’t want anything, you’d tell me.”

Devil take him, he had a point. Pen reminded herself that she’d promised obedience. Still, she couldn’t betray her brother. “What do you think he said, Cam?”

Cam stretched his long legs across the well between the seats. He’d looked magnificent tonight. Tall and distinguished, a striking man even in the company of spectacular Richard Harmsworth. Pen had fought desperately hard to hide her bedazzlement. Unfortunately, she had a feeling she’d overcompensated and convinced Cam’s friends that she didn’t care a fig for him.

Genevieve had been friendly and Richard had always been a darling. Sidonie and Jonas Merrick clearly thought that Cam’s marriage was a mistake.

She reminded herself that anything, even a cold reception from Cam’s friends, was better than the exposure of her secret. How the world would laugh at the awkward duchess unable to hide her adoration for her indifferent husband. Worse, Cam would feel sorry for her.

“Tonight I heard a disturbing rumor that Harry sets his sights on Leath’s sister,” Cam said.

“I don’t know Leath or his sister,” Pen responded with perfect honesty. To hide how her hands trembled, she slid them under her velvet cloak.

“Leath’s ranged himself against me.”

“Surely he can’t do much harm,” she said.

“Surely he can. Support has dwindled to nothing on a number of my projects, not least that canal scheme that Elias has invested in. I have wool and coal in Derbyshire and a mill in Manchester that I’d dearly like to link, not just for my own prosperity but for the people of Fentonwyck.”

“But you’re Sedgemoor.”

“And Leath’s spent his life building political influence, whereas I’ve been out of the country for the last few months.”

She hid a pang of guilt. Cam had neglected his interests because he’d been haring after her. “You’re back now. You’ll sort it out.”

“Sorting it out means smoothing his resentment,” Cam said austerely. “Your brother’s plans to seduce the man’s sister won’t help.”

“I imagine not.” She kept her voice calm. “I have no control over Harry.”

“Just don’t encourage any delusions about his courtship.”

“I’m hardly likely to promote the joys of matrimony to someone I care about,” she said bitterly.

A blistering silence crashed down.

Shock at her unguarded response had her stiffening against the carriage’s sway and peering through the darkness at Cam. Her voice quivered with remorse. “Cam, I’m sorry.”

A passing street lamp revealed his devastated expression. At that moment, she loathed herself.

She loathed herself more when he caught her hand and stared at her with piercing concern. “Pen, I’m so sorry that you’re unhappy.” His regret made her poor, aching heart cramp. “Tell me what I can do.”

Love me.

She bit back the inevitable answer and forced an unconvincing laugh. Surely they must be nearly at Rothermere House. She could retire to her room for a serious conversation with herself about making one’s bed and lying in it.

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace.” She pulled free. “I’m a fishwife. I hope you’ll pardon me. The evening’s been difficult.”

His sweeping gesture conveyed impatience. This situation bore down on him too, even if he didn’t live with the object of an impossible passion. “Hell’s bells, stop it, Pen.”

“I don’t understand,” she said in a leaden tone, retreating against the seat and huddling into her cape.

“For God’s sake—”

To Pen’s craven relief, the carriage turned into Grosvenor Square. “We’re here.”

“We’re home,” he snapped. “Don’t imagine this discussion is over.”

Most men wouldn’t notice that she was yet to call any of the Rothermere properties home. She cursed his perception. But none of his houses felt like home. Amidst all the oppressive splendor, she felt like an interloper.

She fell back on the standard excuse. “I’m tired—”

“I’m sure you are,” he flashed back. “And I’m tired of being called ‘Your Grace’ and treated like a pariah. I’m tired of seeing you shy away from me as if you expect a kick for the slightest show of spirit.”

“I hardly think—” she began heatedly, before she reminded herself that an argument would shatter their fragile truce.

The door opened. She hurriedly gathered her reticule and stepped out of the carriage, leaving Cam fuming behind her. In his usual dignified style.

Cam watched sourly as his beautiful wife sailed into his imposing London house. He felt like a toad for haranguing Penelope. None of this was easy for her.

It wasn’t easy for him either. Ever since he’d discovered her in the Alps, Penelope Thorne had demonstrated an unprecedented and decidedly disagreeable ability to stir his emotions.

He’d spent weeks burning up with lust. Foolishly he’d imagined that appeasing his hunger would end it. Yet he wanted her more now than before. Somehow the simple fact that he wanted his bride—surely a good thing—became just another tangle in the knots she tied him in outside the bedroom.

It was a damnable situation.

He stared like a moonling after his wife. Even worse, he did it in view of the servants. He caught Thomas, the footman’s eye, as he descended from the carriage. The man’s neutral expression must hide a wealth of speculation.

Disheartened, Cam trudged inside. Although the night had been a success. Society seemed willing to wait and see if Pen was ready to put her wild ways behind her. Even the sticklers had admired her poise. His friends had rallied around her. There was some sign that the scandalous Thornes mightn’t be quite so scandalous from now on. Elias had always been the steadiest of the family and his behavior tonight had been commendably restrained. Harry remained unpredictable, but even so, the evening could have gone worse.

So why did Cam feel like his dog had died?

He paused in the hallway under the cold stare of the marble Roman worthies. His habit since his marriage was to have a quiet brandy in his library, then undress before seeking Pen.

Thomas opened the library door. Cam stared into the starkly masculine room as his mind sifted the quarrel—or what they’d managed of a quarrel before reaching home. It was clear that Pen regretted her frankness. Which cut at his heart. Once he’d thought they could share anything. But that was long ago.

She was upstairs preparing for bed, even though within the hour, if every other night was any indication, her nightdress would be a tangled heap on the floor. Right now her maid was brushing out Pen’s shining hair and turning back the covers. There Pen would lie waiting for him. After they’d got past their disastrous wedding night, he’d assumed she enjoyed their encounters, but tonight’s acerbic comment made him wonder.

Damn it, did she welcome him to her bed only to make the best of a bad job?

Sick anger flooded him. Not with Pen. With himself. He couldn’t bear to be a bad job.

He shook his head at Thomas and climbed the stairs two at a time toward his wife’s ornate bedroom. Fleetingly in the carriage, the possibility of genuine honesty had hovered. Then Pen had backed away. Cam couldn’t accept that.

Tonight he wouldn’t give her a chance to prepare for him the way a city prepared for siege. Tonight, he’d mount a surprise attack and see what lay hidden behind the city walls.