The Last Duchess (The Lennox Series)(18)

He’d been murderously angry. When Sherbourne told him she’d gone to Scotland, he seriously considered riding after her and demanding she stand up and do her duty, by God.

But he hadn’t. Pride, or stubbornness, or perhaps a deep realization that she still would not come to heel made him stay home.

Scarcely more than a month later, he married Lady Letitia. A year after that, she was dead. But he wasn’t done. A year after Letitia died in childbed, he married Miss Grace Dowling. Poor Grace hadn’t made it to labor. She miscarried at five months, hemorrhaged, and died. Each of his wives had died horribly, in great pain, their only comfort as they left this world the gentle kindness of Bella, the vicar’s daughter, who had befriended Annabel in the very beginning and was a steadfast friend to Letitia and Grace.

He was cursed with demon seed, it was said. Behind his back, polite society called him the Duke of Death. He’d once been the best catch in all England. Now, he couldn’t find a bride amongst suitable young ladies. Matchmaking mamas gave him a wide berth, less enthusiastic to see their daughters become a duchess. After all, how could one enjoy one’s status as such if one were dead?

Then Jane returned from Scotland. He didn’t know, not until he stopped into his club and was soundly roasted. “Your bride’s back in town, Blix. Word has it she’s been rusticating in Scotland, lo these four years. Never married. And here you are, widowed again. Shall we call upon the bishop and put in for another special license?”

Michael took it in stride. Had the shoe been on the other foot, he’d undoubtedly have given in to at least one pointed jab. He looked a fool, and hated it, but he would not, could not show a crack in his demeanor. He’d raised his quizzing glass and said evenly, “Deuced bad tempered, the Scots. I daresay a laird wouldn’t be interested in marrying one of equal disposition, and thus it’s not surprising the lady didn’t find a highland husband.”

They laughed, as he’d intended. He took a seat and had a brandy before taking his leave. He went home and started to plan. She’d returned to England despite not one of her brothers yet married, and long before she was dead. He surmised her reason was to find a husband –namely, him, for who else would have her? It had taken four years, but she had finally seen reason. He was so certain of it, he made careful enquiries to determine how best to meet her for the first time. He hit upon Lady Manderly’s ball when he heard rumors that Jane would be there, despite not being received, or, in fact, invited. Something told him she would attend for the sole reason of seeing him. It was neutral ground.

She would marry him. He would not believe otherwise.

But she wouldn’t do it on his terms. Only hers.

Michael would allow her the illusion.

Her father spotted him as he approached, and frowned. “Blixford.”

“Sherbourne.”

Michael returned the earl’s grudging handshake.

The earl nodded toward the cluster of men around him. “I don’t reckon introductions are necessary?”

Michael shook more hands and greeted each of them. He noted there were no ladies within the group. No lady would come within twenty feet of Lady Jane, lest her ruination cast any of its dismal shadow across their pristine womanhood.

At long last, he’d performed the necessary courtesies and could now ask Lady Jane to dance. She’d left off listening to Mowbry’s droll observations when Michael came up, and turned her attention to him, her gaze considering him curiously.

Sherbourne was called away to the card room by Lady Manderly, who exclaimed Lord Twykham had fallen asleep and another hand was needed to finish his game.

Michael saw it as the ruse it was. Everyone wanted her father out of the way, to see if perhaps Lady Jane would do something untoward in his absence.

She swept into a curtsy, one befitting a duke, and when she rose, extended her gloved hand. He grasped her fingers and bent low before releasing her and meeting her eyes. They were quite an extraordinary shade of blue. On the dark side. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Lady Jane.”

She was above average height, requiring her to bend her neck but a small amount to look him in the eye. “One must wonder, Your Grace, why you are come to a ball. It’s well known you despise balls. And one must further wonder why you’ve particularly singled me out. Word of your enquiry reached me even before you appeared.” Her voice was low, with a smoky edge. Seductive. “Your repute as a serious man precludes the notion of your seeking me out merely as a curiosity. I daresay your inquisitiveness is confined to matters of import, primarily those which directly concern you, and the remainder of life’s odd curiosities pass you by without notice. There are those who find cause to see me in much the same vein as they might scurry to Mr. Medford’s Curiosity Fair to ogle the two-headed lady, or the albino crocodile. You, sir, would not be interested.”