Page 28 of Defending the Duke (The St. Clairs 4)

Chapter Nine

Anthony tossed hiscards down and left the table, claiming another drink. A butler announced supper was now being served and the card room was quickly vacated. He didn’t want to be around people, having to make pointless conversation. Cigar smoke still hung over the room so he decided to claim some fresh air and slipped out a side door to the balcony, knowing it would be deserted, thanks to the lure of food. He walked the length and went to stand at the end, shadows enveloping him.

It was a mistake, him being the Duke of Linfield. One that he had no power to correct. He felt like an imposter, everyone addressing him as Your Grace. He needed to live up to his responsibilities, though, and stop neglecting his estates. If only he could leave London now and visit them. Unfortunately, he was bound to remain a few more months, escorting his aunt and half-sister to Season events. Though he’d laid down the law with Hannah regarding her budding friendship with Laurel St. Clair, he knew she would disregard his wishes, especially with Aunt Constance encouraging them since she approved of the girl.

Regrettably, he also liked the chit. Too much. She was totally wrong for him and he was smart enough to recognize it. If he had to wed, he wanted a malleable young miss who hadn’t a thought in her head, not one who could speak knowledgeably about recent laws passed by Parliament. Lady Laurel, though illegitimate, was proving to be a true St. Clair. Beautiful. Intelligent. Someone who would live life to the fullest, demanding to be let into her husband’s heart.

He didn’t have one. Where his heart should beat, there only existed a black hole still filled with rage. He couldn’t let go of what his father had done to him. And despite being recognized as a valiant officer and superb strategist and leader, he loathed war and regretted all the men he’d lost. The fact that he’d never wanted to be a duke, much less carry the dreaded name Linfield, caused him further pain. Amidst his anger he felt emptiness engulfing him, a loneliness so deep and isolating that nothing could cure it.

He would fulfill his duty to Hannah. He knew she was hungry for his love and eager for them to act as if they were a true family. Anthony just didn’t have it in him, though. That’s why he needed to marry her off, so she’d be someone else’s responsibility. Perhaps his aunt could even go live with Hannah and her new husband and then he wouldn’t have to think of either of them.

Movement caught his eye and he groaned inwardly. It was probably some couple, thinking they were madly in love, sneaking outside for a few stolen kisses while the rest of Everton’s guests ate and drank their fill. The door closed and a lone figure began walking toward him. Anthony slunk deeper into the shadows, pressing his back against the wall of the structure, not wishing to be seen and having to speak to anyone.

It was a woman. A tall one. As she drew near, moonlight fell across her face and he recognized Laurel St. Clair. Usually, she stood with perfect posture. Now, though, her shoulders slumped as she moved to the edge and braced herself against it. She was only mere feet away from him and he held his breath, willing her to go away and leave him in peace.

Then he watched as her shoulders shook and a sob broke from her.

What did the chit have to cry about? It was her come-out ball. All of London’stonhad turned out for this night. She was like a fairy tale brought to life, elevated from the dregs of London society to the household of a wealthy and powerful duke. True, the circumstances of her birth were a strike against her in some people’s eyes but Anthony knew the entire St. Clair family had taken her in wholeheartedly. Likely, Everton had set aside a huge dowry. Someone would wed the girl, if not for the money then for the social connection to a duke.

She cried, though, as if her heart were rent in two. Had some other wicked gossips confronted her? He remembered the pair from last night and how they sought to slander her.

And how Lady Laurel had bravely confronted them.

Suddenly, a fierce urge to protect her—comfort her—filled him. His feet moved without thought and he came to stand next to her.

“What ails you, my lady?” he asked softly.

Her head whipped up and Anthony saw tears glimmering on her cheeks. Most women turned ugly when they cried, their faces red and drawn. Laurel St. Clair only appeared more beautiful—and quite vulnerable.

Her lips trembled, drawing his attention to them, especially her full, bottom lip. Desire shot through him as she bit it, trying to still it.

“I was with Lord Aubrey,” she began shakily. “He... received news... that his father has passed away.”

Anthony knew the viscount she spoke of. He’d been at Eton with Aubrey, who was just ahead of him. Why would she be distressed about learning this, to the point of shedding tears?

Yet they continued to stream down her cheeks. His hand reached out and cradled her face, his thumb wiping away a tear as it fell. Her breath hitched and those emerald St. Clair eyes gazed into his own.

“Did you know Lord Rutherford?” he asked.

Her mouth trembled. “We had met. His family and the St. Clairs are friends.” She shook her head. “My tears are not for him. They are for... my mother.”

She swallowed, sorrow filling her face. “She was ill for several months. When she passed, I never grieved for her.”

“Why not?”

She shook her head. “You would not understand. No one here tonight would.”

“Try and explain it to me,” he urged.

Lady Laurel shrugged. “It took everything Hudson and I had to be able to bury Mama. With her gone, I was too worried about how I would put food on the table for us. How we would pay a rent that had soared higher than the sky. I had no time to mourn when all my thoughts were consumed with survival.” Anger flashed in her eyes. “How many guests tonight would have an inkling of that?”

Fresh tears spilled down her cheeks and Anthony embraced her, wrapping his arms about her and holding her close as she wept. He’d never embraced anyone before. When he’d been banished to his aunt’s house, she had put an arm about him that day. She wasn’t much for physical affection, though, and had never done so again, probably because he acted so stoically around her.

Lady Laurel lifted her face. “I’m sorry, Your Grace. I’ve probably ruined your coat with my tears.”

“You haven’t spoiled anything.”

With that, he lowered his mouth to hers.

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