It's Always the Duke: Historical Regency Romance Page 2

  They all chuckled, nodding in agreement. It was all the encouragement they needed to delve into their meals.

  Dinner was as pleasant as it was quiet. When it came to an end, Caroline, her aunt, and her father escorted the Daltons to their carriage and bade them a good night’s rest.

  As soon as they stepped back into their home, Caroline held on to her father’s arms and looked up at him with doleful eyes.

  “What is it you want?” he asked, refusing to spare her a glance.

  “The Season isn’t starting for another month…”

  “And a fortnight,” her father added.

  “Yes. And a fortnight. Have you decided when it is we shall leave?” she asked.

  “Why? You want to know so you might run away?”

  “Father!” she exclaimed, feigning hurt. “You know I would never do such.”

  “Hmm…” her father huffed. “Shall I remind you of what happened two Seasons ago? And last Season?”

  Caroline’s cheeks flushed crimson.

  Her father had a point. She had run away both times, so she wouldn’t have to attend the Season. Of course, she had quickly been found and retrieved each time.

  The first, she had tried to convince her father to wait another year, as she was still young.

  He had agreed, quite reluctantly.

  The second time, she had made a promise that she wouldn’t miss the next Season. He had made her vow that if she tried to run off again, he would have her marry a man of his choosing.

  Caroline had had no choice but to agree. It had been a gamble, yes, but she had simply decided to trust that Edward would return in time for their love to finally blossom.

  She still couldn’t believe he was in London, only a few days’ ride away.

  If only her father would allow it, she would leave on horseback the next day, ride hard and fast until she fell into the arms of the man she loved. There, she would remain safe in his embrace.

  She wondered what he was like now. If he would recognize her. If she would, him.

  He had joined the war four summers ago. Saying goodbye had been so difficult; her heart had ached for months. All she had had to hold on to was his promise that he would return to her.

  Having faith in him, she’d waited all that while.

  No, it wasn’t a promise of love.

  She had never told him of her feelings and he had never told her if he nursed any. Yet, she knew in her heart of hearts that he cared for her as she did him.

  The memories of all the happy times they’d shared together were fresh in her mind, never to be forgotten.

  As children, they had been joined at the hip. It did not matter that she was a girl and he a boy.

  He had been his parent’s only child before their demise, and his guardians didn’t have children of their own. She was an only child as well.

  It was only natural that they’d grown so close, each being the other’s only playmate. They had spent a lot of time reading, learning, playing, and sneaking around together.

  They had gotten into a lot of trouble, and done a lot of good as well.

  He had been there to help her up and dry her tears when she fell from horse riding or climbing trees and fences. She had been there to patch of his wounds when he did the same.

  He was the only one who had never made her feel like she was less of a woman for enjoying all those activities. He protected her, stood up for her when need be, and accepted her wholeheartedly for who she was.

  How could she not love him? How could she not have waited for him when it was clear that he was the only man for her?

  The first months after he had gone to war, they had continued to correspond. Then one fateful day, she had received a letter that said he was going farther away and would not be able to write as often anymore.

  It was the last she heard from him.

  To fill the empty years, she had taken to reading all his letters, over and over again. She knew each one by heart.

  All that time, she had prayed for him as she awaited his return, for the heavens to guide and keep him safe so that he would come home to her.

  Even then, as they said goodbye, herself only four-and-ten summers and he eight-and-ten, she had known that she would be his wife. For her, nothing had changed.

  “I won’t run away this time, Father. I promise. You have my word.”

  Her father sneered. “Your word is as good as a pinch of salt. All it takes is a little wind and it’s gone, vanished into the air.”

  She gasped in mock hurt. “It wounds my heart so that you have such little faith in me, Father. Nevertheless, you must give me a chance to prove myself. Shall we leave in a fortnight?”

  It was too far away, but she knew her father wouldn’t have them leave any sooner.

  He turned to her. “Why are you suddenly eager?”

  She was taken aback for a moment, as she hadn’t been expecting that question, but soon recovered.

  “Why, because of what Sawbrook said, of course. Soldiers have returned home. I have a feeling the man after my heart is a brave one, Father. Perhaps I shall finally meet him. Beyond that, I have grown so weary of the countryside. I’ve always been curious about London. I reckon there’s no better time than now to enter society.”

  Her father’s eyes narrowed. He stared at her for a long moment before turning to Aunty Trudy, who’d been following quietly behind.

  “She didn’t hit her head or drink too much wine, did she?”

  Aunt Trudy shook her head, smiling. “It is another kind of malady that plagues her, I’m afraid.”

  “Do I want to know what it is?” he asked again.

  Aunt Trudy shook her head. “I think it unlikely.”

  “I see. Very well, if you truly want to go to London, then go to London you shall. I will make arrangements for us to leave in a fortnight.”

  “Yes!” Caroline cried, releasing her father’s arm to wrap hers around him.

  He stiffened for a moment before relaxing, but she didn’t care.

  She had a rather complicated relationship with her father. Some days, they were close. Others, they were friendly enemies.

  That night, she was willing to call a truce.

  “Thank you, Father! Thank you so much!”

  She soon broke the embrace and began to skip all the way to her chambers, too happy to walk quietly.

  Her father’s voice bellowed after her in a stern warning.

  “Caroline! Ladies have no business skipping and running about the house. You’re not a child anymore, wild one!”

  By the time he finished, she was long gone, hearing nothing but echoes.

  As soon as she got into her chamber, she fell on her bed and heaved a dreamy sigh.

  She was sure going to have a good night’s sleep.

  It had been too wonderful an evening.

  Chapter Two

  There was fire and smoke everywhere he turned.

  His vision blurred as his eyes started to burn from the fumes. He could feel his lungs closing up. It wouldn’t be long now before he wouldn’t be able to breathe again.

  By the time the dust settled and the air cleared, they’d find him lying dead in the midst of his fallen brothers. He wondered what the cause would be… suffocation or blood loss?

  No. He couldn’t give up. Certainly not. He had made promises.

  To Aunt Helen and Uncle Ethan, he had sworn they would never have to bury him as they did his parents.

  To his parents, he had vowed that he would return to the home of his birth someday and take his rightful place as duke, filling the seat in Darkwood that had been left empty for too long.

  And her… especially her. He had given her his word, sworn he would come back to her, for her.

  After all these years, it would be cruel that the news she’d finally hear from him would be news of his death.

  When he closed his eyes, it was easy to imagine her face.

  That face that had kept him going even in the darkest ni
ghts… countless nights just like this one. Tears would fall from those lovely eyes, he knew.

  He had told her a long time ago that he would never make her cry.

  It was one more promise he still intended to keep.

  He quaked as a blast went off a few meters from him. The ground rumbled, the heat singed. His ears rang and he feared he would lose his hearing even if he managed to leave with his life.

  Finding his will to survive, forcing himself to be strengthened by it, he began to crawl.

  He had no inkling where it was he was crawling to, as he could not see a thing. He could only hope it was far away from the enemy and close to safety.

  A fit of coughing racked through him, making him tremble even harder. His lungs revolted, rejecting whatever air he succeeded in taking in.

  All of his body hurt. His bones felt like they’d been broken into a thousand pieces and the bullet in his thigh try to lay claim to his life.

  Still, he continued to crawl. It was all he could do.

  As he moved, lying low, grateful for the cover of smoke, he came across dead bodies of fallen brothers and enemies alike.

  Death. So much death. All for what?

  It was senseless to him. The unending bloodshed, meaningless.

  Tears began to fall from his eyes as he thought of all the strife he’d endured. He wept for those who had fought valiantly and yet had still fallen to their graves.

  For those who lived in constant fear for their lives, but put on the armor of bravery when the battle gongs sounded, marching to war again and again, hoping each march wouldn’t be their last.

  He thought of his present predicament. Even if he survived the night, tomorrow wasn’t promised.

  Why wouldn’t this war just end?

  Another blast went off, closer than the last.

  There was no warning, none at all. One moment, he was on the ground, the next, he was flying in the air.

  His life flashed before him.

  His heart broke from all the promises he’d never keep, all the people he’d failed. Again, tears singed his eyes.

  With a heavy thud, he hit the ground. He heard bones crack and he groaned in pain. Tears falling, his eyes came open.

  He flinched as he was immediately blinded by sunlight. He started to blink rapidly, struggling to adjust to the golden rays.

  As he did, he finally came to awareness.

  He had been dreaming. Again.

  Edward Brandon heaved a tired sigh. He wondered when the nightmares would end… if they would ever end.

  It’d been six months since he’d left the battlefield.

  He’d spent four months being tended to by physicians, who had worked hard to give him his life… and his future.

  They’d only succeeded in achieving one of those feats.

  At the end of those months, he had decided to accept his fate and be happy to leave with only his life.

  Another month he had spent on sea, before returning, the last, to London.

  The only welcome change in all that time was the quiet. Though sometimes his ears still rang from all those blasts. He supposed the silence was taking him quite a while to grow accustomed to once again.

  He threw his covers aside, throwing his legs off the bed, and rose to a sitting position at the edge of the wooden frame.

  Holding on to the sides, he let his head fall to his chest and started to gather his thoughts. He tried for a long moment but it proved futile. Nothing came to him.

  Why did his head hurt so much? Why couldn’t he remember anything from last night?

  He remained there, taking deep, steady breaths.

  Eventually, he recalled.

  He had had more than too much to drink. Again. He had found his way home with a woman in his arms and had ravished her all night long. Then, he had finally given in to the wiles of sleep.

  This was his life now. What else was he to do when there was nothing more to live for?

  He had lost his future… yet he was too much a coward to wish for death.

  At least the wine helped him get through the days—and nights.

  A soft moan filled his ears in that moment. Eyes wide, he turned around to see where it had come from.

  He frowned when he saw her… Rosa.

  The woman he had brought home from the brothel the night before. He had told her to leave after they’d recovered from the throes of passion.

  It appeared she hadn’t. He couldn’t have sent her away himself, as he had fallen asleep as soon as he got off her.

  Releasing a deep breath, he rose to his feet and went around to her side of the bed.

  Gently, he shook her. “Rosa. Rosa, wake up. It’s dawn.”

  She stirred, opened her eyes slightly and closed them again. She turned away from him, returning to sleep.

  “Rosa,” he called, shaking her again. “You have to leave. The sun’s out.”

  That did it. Her eyes flew open and she shot up.

  “What? The sun’s out?”

  He gestured at the open windows, through which streams of golden rays poured into the room.

  “Damnation! No one should see me leaving your home. Whatever are we to do?” She was on her feet the next instant, running around the room with covers draped around her body.

  He found this amusing. He had seen all that there was to see the night before.

  For some reason, the sight of her frantically picking up her strewn clothing all over his chambers was even more humorous.

  She was a beautiful woman, Rosa. Hair like fire. Tall, slender.

  The covers fell all the way down to her waist, leaving her smooth back bare. His member stirred as he caught glimpses of her beautiful skin and fine derriere.

  Memories of how that body had molded perfectly against his just the night before flooded him. He immediately chided himself.

  No more—not at the moment, at least.

  So, he simply continued to watch, resisting the urge to go to her. All the while, his upper body remained bare.

  In no time, she managed to find every piece of clothing and got into them. Fully clothed, she brushed her fingers through her wild mane and scrubbed at her face with her palm.

  She looked awfully disheveled, but he supposed it would have to do. She couldn’t stay any longer.

  “I must apologize for not leaving. I didn’t mean to stay. I guess I was more taken with the wine than I believed,” she words rushed out as she looked herself in the mirror.

  Edward raised his hands, stopping her.

  “Do not feel the need to apologize. I understand.” He turned around then, pulled open a drawers beside his bed, and took out a pouch of coins.

  Turning back, he threw it at her.

  Her eyes widened as she caught it easily. “What is this?”

  “Compensation,” he said simply.

  “But you paid last night, your grace.”

  He shrugged. “For the trouble. Hire a coach to bear you home.”

  Her lips spread into a wide smile. It was dazzling. In that moment, he saw why she succeeded as a woman of pleasure.

  “Why, you are most kind, your grace. Gracious indeed. I thank thee. For this and for… the wonderful night. If you ever happen to be in need of my services again, you know where to find me,” she ended with a purr and proceeded to tuck the pouch into her bosom, adjusting her bodice so it wouldn’t be evident.

  Edward chuckled at this.

  He shrugged on the nearest shirt he could find. When he was done buttoning, he rang the bell by his bedside.

  There was a servant at the door in an instant.

  “Yes, your grace?” she asked as she entered.

  “Please, see Miss Rosalyn out, will you? I’m afraid she might lose her way in this awfully large house. Take her through the other door.”

  He didn’t have to explain further. The maid already understood that he meant the backdoor, where the chances of her being seen leaving his home at that hour were minor.

  The maid dipp
ed into a small curtsy. “Yes, your grace,” she said softly. If she had any reservations about her master’s rakish ways, she didn’t let it show on her face—not that it mattered to Edward in any way.