A Duke of Her Own(108)

He turned around. "I've never felt this way about another woman. But I don't have the freedom to choose whom I wish."

"I understand," she said. "I have—" She stopped.

"You've heard this before," he said, his voice flat. "There's no will constraining me, Eleanor. But I honestly think that Lisette is unique in her attitude toward the children's illegitimacy. She doesn't even see it as a problem. She can teach them to live without shame. She already adores the girls, and they adore her. I can't—"

He turned away again.

There was a long moment of silence. Sunshine came in through the balcony door and slashed across his broad shoulders. She didn't let herself feel... anything.



Finally he said, "I can't choose whom I would, because I made this bed, as the saying goes. And I must lie in it." He turned back to her.

"I understand," she said, quite peaceably. After all, as he said, she'd been through this exact scene before. She had a precedent; she understood the undertow of anguish that would follow, the sense of regret and loss, the bewilderment of loving someone more than he loved her.

The next time around, she thought, it's going to be different.

But it was different. She knew that. There wouldn't be any next time around for her when it came to love... but that was all right, too.

If she couldn't have the complicated duke in front of her, she didn't want to love anyone. He was still staring at the empty fireplace, so she just drank in the sight of him, his muscled legs and lean powerful rear, the way his shoulders flared, the exact color of his hair—

And that was when the door burst open.





Chapter Twenty-eight


It happened so fast that afterward Leopold was never quite able to describe it. One moment he was trying to figure out why his heartfelt as if it were splitting in two, and the next moment he was faced by an utterly enraged, out-of-control Duke of Astley who was screaming—literally screaming—about the fact that he had dishonored Eleanor. Which he had.

No one could argue otherwise, given the fact that he was stark naked in her bedchamber. He pulled on his breeches, but could think of only one thing to say. "Do you want everyone in this house to know?" His voice cut across Astley's hysteria like a knife.

The man choked.

"You will give me satisfaction," Astley said, his eyes bright as a lunatic's. "Immediately."

"You must be out of your mind," Leopold said, unwisely. "You don't believe in duels."

Astley went for his throat, forcing Leopold to throw him across the room, which was ridiculous and made him feel even more foolish.

"I know why you want to keep quiet!" Astley hissed, lurching back on his feet. "I will marry Eleanor no matter whether you've debauched her or not. She is not in control of her own impulses. She needs a man, and I left her. This is all my fault."

"I will not marry either of you," Eleanor cried, intervening. "So Gideon, if you wish to save my reputation, I would beg you to stop speaking so loudly."

Astley stared at her. "Of course you're marrying me. I have forgiven you, Eleanor."

She shook her head. "I will not marry either of you."

"I forgive you," he persisted.

"She doesn't need your forgiveness," Leopold found himself saying through clenched teeth. "You should be groveling at her feet, begging for her forgiveness."

"I already have," he said, with an odd sort of punctured dignity. "And now I shall defend her honor, just as I should have defended her years ago." The sound of his slap was shockingly loud in the quiet room. "Name your seconds."

"Oh, for Christ's sake," Leopold said. He turned away and walked toward the balcony window. He had won four duels and lost one, badly. And he had sworn never to fight with a sword again. He was too good—and it was only after almost losing his own to a dueling wound that he realized how much he prized life.

His successful duels had ended with him wounding his opponents, none mortally. It was only by the grace of God that he hadn't killed someone. He had no desire to alter that record.

"I don't want to kill you," he said, turning around. "You won't. Virtue—truth— God are on my side."

"Astley, you're one of the House of Lords's most vocal opponents of dueling, and you have been for the last few years at least. Tell me that you even know how to handle a rapier."

"Of course I do. I was trained as is any gentleman's son. Do I need to slap you again, Your Grace?"

Astley was maddened by rage. His face was completely white.

"No," Leopold said slowly. "But I won't fight you with seconds. If you want to fight, you'll have to do it privately."