Page 54 of Duke in Darkness

Sick to his stomach, Gabriel had left her bed. For a long while he’d sat in his own well-lit chamber and downed a bottle of brandy to calm himself, before dragging on the nearest fresh clothing available, and escaping outside to the mews. The sleepy stable boy had been stunned, but quick to fetch a block to help him mount, then he’d galloped away into the frigid gloom. Frantic for the freedom of fresh air. Frantic not to think about how broken he was, physically and mentally. What kind of man forced an innocent lady to participate in those kinds of acts? Even worse, he’d hurt her. Lilian would quite rightly never forgive him.

Aggie coughed, startling him back to the present. “Dear boy. Please don’t be offended, but you look bloody dreadful. I suspect far too much drinking and not nearly enough rest.”

“Devil take it, woman,” Gabriel snapped. “You can’t be…so plain spoken anymore. I’m a goddamned duke now. Duke of Exton. Both Quentin and Simon…died in a carriage accident.”

Her eyes bulged. Then the healer who had spent months coaxing him back from the brink of death before he’d been deemed fit to travel back to England, sighed and leaned over to clasp his hand in her gloved one. “Hell. After everything…hell.”

“Indeed. Last night I went to…my first society ball. Smashed a glass. Punched a dandy unconscious…when he started…needling me about Bayonne. Said me…and Wellington and Hope…were abject failures…and that I allowed myself…to be captured and tortured.”

Aggie gasped indignantly. “Give me his direction. I shall go and finish the maggot off with a rusty blade.”

“I don’t think he’ll venture…near me again. Although I doubt…I’ll be invited to another party. But let’s not talk about me. How are you?”

She leaned down and gave her horse a soothing pat as it snorted and shifted on the gravel path. “I’ve only recently returned to London. Decided I’d had my fill of blood, death and marching. Despite the foul weather, I’m glad to be back. I didn’t realize how much I missed the sights and sounds of England. And meat pasties.”

“Hobbs is still a bachelor,” Gabriel said abruptly.

Her cheeks went bright pink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, stop it. You think I never noticed…the calf eyes…you two made at each other…over my sickbed?”

“Stuff and nonsense. You were out of your head on laudanum.”

Gabriel stifled a laugh at the barefaced lie. “Come for afternoon tea. Thursday, perhaps? Exton House in Grosvenor Square. You can get reacquainted. And meet my duchess.”

“Good God. You’re married?”

“Newlywed,” he confirmed, rolling his shoulders, and flexing his feet in the stirrups to ease the ache. If he didn’t get off this horse soon, he would never walk again. “To the former Lady Lilian Nash.”

Aggie frowned. “Why is that name familiar?”

“She was…Quentin’s fiancée.”

“Oh. Oh my,” she choked out, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “Colonel…I mean Your Grace, I accept your invitation. I hope to meet your wife. I hope to find out why you are drinking heavily and not sleeping. If Mr. Hobbs happens to be there, I suppose I will greet him also. But for now I insist you return home. Don’t make me drag you by the ear.”

Bloody hell, she and his valet were made for each other. Both highly competent, big-hearted, and prickly as one of those American cactus plants. “Yes, ma’am,” he chorused like a choirboy, saluting her with his riding crop.

She rolled her eyes, but her lips curved in a smile. “Until Thursday, then. Good morning, Your Grace.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Taylor.”

Gabriel watched her mare trot away, then coaxed his own mount to continue home to Grosvenor Square. One thing could be said for Quentin, he’d had an eye for prime horseflesh. This stallion, named Onyx for its gleaming black coat, was an absolute pleasure to ride.

Unfortunately, when they finally returned to the mews, Hobbs waited with the darkest of Nanny frowns on his weathered face. Attempting to dismount with numb legs and a cramped foot would only make that frown worse, and Gabriel was in no mood for a lecture.

“Your Grace,” said Hobbs, as he took Onyx’s reins and guided him over to where the block sat. “May I say—”

“No, you may not. If you start bleating…I won’t tell you about…a certain redhead… riding astride along Rotten Row.”

His valet halted. “A redhead riding astride?”

“Yes. One who has left…the army behind…and is now residing in London. And who may be…coming to tea on Thursday.”

Hobbs, his sturdy, uncompromising, steel-spined man, blushed. “I see. Well.”

“Certainly hope you’ll improve…your conversation before then.”

“Never mind about that. You look chilled to the bone and in need of a hot bath and balm. Can you walk?”