Lily Dalton - Never Desire a Duke

He kissed her forehead. Then he opened the door and followed Haden outside.

Sophia turned to Annabelle, who sank down onto the bottom stair. “I love Meltenbourne. I don’t want him or anyone else to die.”

“If that’s true, Annabelle, then you have to do something. And you have to do it now.”

Annabelle, you’ve got to hurry,” said Sophia, urging the countess toward the distant field. Together they ran through the snow.

The countess stumbled, struggling with the cumbersome magnificence of her cloak.

“It’s too late,” she sobbed. “I can’t stop them now.”

“Yes, you can, if you hurry.”

Despite the frigid temperatures, Vane had removed his coat. Wind swept across the field and ruffled his hair. Standing boot deep in the snow, he handed his two-barrel flintlock to Haden, who marched forward to meet the earl’s young second. Each confirmed only one ball occupied the chamber before returning the weapons to their masters.

With that, the seconds moved aside to join the silent crowd of spectators who had drawn back to provide wide berth for errant shots. Sophia was abruptly consumed by a wild terror. Not for a moment did she believe that Claxton would actually shoot the earl. What she had feared, with a sudden and overwhelming certainty, was that by some chance of fate the earl’s bullet would find its mark in her husband’s heart.

If Claxton died—

The world spun around her, a kaleidoscope formed of stone, gray sky, and ice. She couldn’t breathe.

On the snow-blanketed lawn, the two duelists stood back-to-back and at Haden’s count began their paces.

She turned to the countess. “If the earl shoots Claxton, God forgive you, because I never will.”

Annabelle dropped the cloak from her shoulders and broke into a run.

“Meltenbourne,” she wailed.

Sophia followed, but over the countess’s head, she saw the pistols raised and cocked.

“Stop, darling!” screamed the countess. “Don’t do it. I love you.”

The earl turned his head to her. “Annabelle? Are you talking to me? Or him?”

“You!”

Suddenly, the snow upon which he stood collapsed.

With a bellow, the old man disappeared, until only his arm remained visible above the surface, his knobby hand clutching the pistol. The weapon discharged into the sky. The crowd roared with laughter and approval.

Claxton, expressionless, fired his pistol into the snow, several feet to the side of his boot.

“Oh, thank God,” Lady Meltenbourne sobbed, rushing toward the men. Sophia followed, but slower now, each breath painful, as if chilled by frost.

Striding forward through the snow, Claxton wrested the gun from the earl’s hand and peered into the hole. “Now, enough of this nonsense. I will suffer no more of your unfounded accusations, as they highly offend not only my sensibilities, but those of her Grace.”

“Here, here,” shouted several villagers.

Reaching into the hole, Claxton hauled his lordship out by his arms. Red-faced and clearly abashed, the earl sputtered out complaints about the weather and the misfortune of faulty firearms. Lady Meltenbourne collapsed, embracing him.

Sophia reached them just then. “Lord and Lady Meltenbourne, please come inside and out of the cold. I’ll make tea.”

Claxton’s head swung toward her, eyes wide and blazing. “What did you just say?”

“Lady Meltenbourne has something to say to her husband.” She looked at the countess. “Isn’t that so?”

Annabelle lifted a tearstained face from Lord Meltenbourne’s neck. “So much to say. And to you as well, your Graces. I have been the most foolish woman, and I beg you all to forgive me.”

Inside, Sophia saw to the tea service. Afterward, she fled the house. Emotionally raw and unable to remain inside for another moment, lest she burst into tears in front of everyone, she made her way through the snow toward the cemetery. Alone at last, she exhaled the breath she had been holding for what seemed an eternity. Her breath puffed out, white vapor against white snow, and she pulled her cap down over her ears.

Thank God Claxton had not been killed. Tears blurred her vision. She’d danced along a dangerous cliff for the past two days and had at last tumbled down, head over heels. Her neat little plan to wait to make love with him, until her heart could be held separate, lay burned to ash at the bottom of that pit.

Now, as a result, her heart felt as if it had been torn out of her chest and put back in place, but upside down. If only she was not so physically attracted to his handsome face, his brawny muscles, and his magnificent—

“Oh!” She kicked the snow and muttered a very unladylike curse. He was an indulgence she’d found herself unable to resist.

But if she were honest, her feelings went much deeper than that. These past several days she’d seen something else in his eyes, an openness she’d never perceived in him before. He’d always been so cool and imperturbable before, his ducal façade never wavering. It was as if Lacenfleet had unlocked some hidden part of him, a missing piece that completed the puzzle of him.

Did that make him a better man, one capable of constancy, no matter the trial or misfortune?

What would happen after Christmas, when the magic faded? What if she became pregnant only to lose the baby again, like her dear friend Lady Peyton, who had endured not one, but four miscarriages over the past three years? Without a child to keep them together, what would happen to their marriage? Would it dissolve into the same sad state as before?

This morning, after waking to the shocking realization of Lady Meltenbourne snuggled up asleep beside her, she’d quickly gathered up her clothing to dress in the next room. And yet, for some reason, she’d hesitated at taking Claxton’s list. She had even considered throwing the despised piece of paper on the grate to curl, blacken, and dissolve into ash.

But…what had changed between them since last night? Nothing, other than she’d surrendered a large measure of the power she had battled so fiercely to assert and now felt weaker for the loss.

No matter how much the earth had trembled for her when they’d made love, she could not be so foolish as to believe some magnificent transformation of her husband or their relationship had occurred simply because they were again sharing intimacies. To do so would return her to the same indefensible position in which she’d been before.

In the end, she had snatched the folded paper up as well, a reminder to keep her heart in its rightful place, behind its safe little wall—not in her lover’s hands.

“My lady,” a voice called, drawing her attention.

Haden rode horseback toward her from the stable.

Quickly she wiped her eyes. “Lord Haden.”

He dismounted smoothly, his boots crunching on the snow, and removed his hat. Drawing the animal by its reins, he walked toward her, cleared his throat, and laughed.

“Well. Thank God things turned out as they did.”

Beside him, the animal stamped and snorted.

“Indeed.” She smiled, struck in that moment by Lord Haden’s similarity of appearance to her husband. The stark winter light revealed the younger man’s hair to be a shade lighter than Vane’s. While they shared the same startling blue eyes and height, Haden’s face and physique were decidedly leaner, more leonine, and elegant than Claxton’s muscled stature.

“I—ah—well—” he stammered handsomely, peering at her with an almost boyish shyness. “I have already apologized to my brother. I wished to apologize to you as well.”

“You already apologized inside.”

“Insufficiently.” He rotated his hat in his hands. “If not for me bringing Lady Meltenbourne here that first night, this duel and all the rest would never have happened.”

“You certainly added excitement to what could have been four dreary snowbound days.”

“You are too kind, I’m afraid.” He glanced down at his boots. “My behavior of the last week, and indeed, for the whole of my life, has been nothing short of reckless.” His lips twitched. “And thoughtless. At some time we must all come to the realization it’s time to become an adult. I am twenty-eight years old. I suppose I’m long past due for that, and it is time for a change.”

“Thank you for saying so, Haden, and of course I accept your apology.”

He nodded again and shifted his stance. His gloved hand tightened on the reins.

“My brother is fortunate to have married a woman such as you.”

“That’s very thoughtful of you to say.”

“No, not thoughtful.” He shook his head and winked at her. “Just true. I can only hope that one day I will be as fortunate. I know I’ve been very much absent, but I’d like to be a better brother, not only to Claxton, but also to you.”

The earnestness with which Lord Haden spoke earned him a very immediate and solid place in her heart. “It would make me very happy to see more of you.”

His cheeks flushed. “Wonderful. And I say that not just because you have two very lovely, ever-so-charming unmarried sisters. Daphne and Clarissa—they are both well and…remain unattached?”

“Indeed.” Sophia laughed. She would not tell Lord Haden that he was too much of a rake for her to ever recommend him as a match to either of her sisters or anyone she considered a friend. Even though she would never play the part of his matchmaker, she liked him very much.

He chuckled. “Well, then. I ought to go.” He returned his hat to his head and retrieved the reins from where they trailed in the snow. “Wouldn’t want to be here if things go badly between Annabelle and Lord Meltenbourne.” He chuckled. “If anyone is looking for me, except either of them, mind you, I’ll be on the pier, waiting for this damn frost to break so I can get on the first barge out. See you in London, then?”