The Duke's Secret Heir

Ellen’s eyes dropped to the dark sleeve. She would as lief put her hand in the jaws of a crocodile, but she was trapped. To turn away would cause talk and speculation. Ruin. Slowly and with infinite care she placed her fingers on his arm. Beneath the fine material he was tense, hard as iron, and as he led her to the dance floor she could feel the anger emanating from him. It was like a physical wave, trying to wash her off balance. She put up her chin. Why should he feel aggrieved, when she was the one who had been betrayed? They took their places in the set, facing one another more like opponents than partners.

‘It has been a long time,’ he said. ‘Four years.’

She smiled politely. During those years she had practised hiding her true feelings and now that training came to her aid.

‘Is it really so long? I had forgotten.’

A lie. She had counted every one of the days since they had parted, but she did not cry over the past. At least, only in her sleep, and no one could help their dreams. They moved forward and back. They circled, changed partners and back again. His next words, little more than a fierce whisper as they passed, caused her to miss her step.

‘I thought you were in France.’

She corrected quickly and hissed at him as they circled, ‘That was the intention.’

‘But you came here.’

‘I had to live somewhere.’

‘But not with me.’

She kept smiling, but inside a sharp blade sliced deep into her heart. ‘No, never with you.’

They separated. Only her familiarity with the dance kept Ellen moving. Only pride and strength of will kept her smiling, while her mind wandered back to those heady days in the Egyptian desert. The stuffy warmth of the ballroom disappeared, replaced by a dry heat and the scouring sand carried by the Simoon, the wind that could blow up ferociously and without warning. The chatter of guests became the shouts and menacing cries of the Mamelukes as they thundered up on their horses and surrounded the camel train, bristling with weapons and clearly hostile.

Ellen heard again Mrs Ackroyd’s impatient tut. The little Englishwoman had been Ellen’s schoolteacher and was now her friend and mentor, and her indomitable spirit was in no way cowed by a threatening tribe of desert horsemen. Or perhaps it was being perched high on a camel that enhanced her sense of superiority.

‘For heaven’s sake,’ she admonished their trembling guide, ‘tell them I am a personal friend of Bernardino Drovetti, the French Consul General. Tell them he has arranged safe passage for us with the Governor of Egypt.’ She drew out a paper and waved it at the nearest rider. ‘Look, we have permission to visit the antiquities at Giza and our permit is signed by Muhammed Ali himself!’

At the name of Egypt’s current ruler, the horsemen muttered and growled and looked even more threatening. One rider, taller and broader than the rest, pushed his way through the throng and approached them. He was dressed as the others in loose white trousers, a blue waistcoat over the billowing white shirt and a turban with a scrap of cloth over his face to protect him from the windborne sand, but Ellen noticed that his skin was paler than his companions, and there was a glint in his emerald-green eyes that was strangely compelling.

‘Perhaps I can help?’ His voice was deep and well-modulated. She remembered feeling no surprise to hear the aristocratic English accent in this foreign land. ‘No doubt you paid good money for that pass, but I’m afraid your dependence upon the Pasha’s protection is misplaced. Outside the walls of Cairo his power is limited.’ The green eyes narrowed and gleamed, as if he was laughing at them. ‘Let me see what I can do.’

The memory of that mocking glance had haunted Ellen’s dreams for four years. Now, as the dance brought them back together, she could perceive no laughter in his eyes, just an ice-cold fury that chilled her blood. If only she had known he would be here, if only she had enquired who was in town before venturing out this evening, but she had thought herself safe enough in Harrogate. The Duke had no properties and no family this far north. Her mind, normally so sharp and clear, refused to work. She could not think what she should do, save continue to dance and smile.

When the music ended she ignored the Duke’s hand as they walked off the floor.

She said coldly, ‘Pray do not feel obliged to accompany me, Your Grace. If you think I am honoured by your attentions, you are mistaken.’

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘We have nothing to say to one another.’

He put his hand on her arm, obliging her to stop and face him. There was barely contained anger in every line of him, but before he could speak they were interrupted by General Dingwall.

‘Well, now, Your Grace, you have had your dance and it is time to give up your fair partner!’ The old soldier gave a fat chuckle. ‘Oh, yes, you may look daggers at me, young man, but when you get to my age you will find that a title is not nearly so intimidating. Besides, I know you for a military man, sir. A major, so I outrank you!’

For a moment Ellen feared the Duke would ignore General Dingwall and actually drag her away with him, but at last he released his iron grip. He held her eyes, his own full of chilling ferocity, but his voice when he spoke was politeness itself.

‘Your superior strategy carries the day, General,’ he said. ‘I relinquish my prize. For the present.’

He bowed, but the look he gave Ellen as he walked away told her it was only a temporary reprieve.

* * *

Ellen’s elderly admirer led her back to the dance floor for a lively gavotte and when it ended she was approached by several other gentlemen, all hopeful of a dance, but she announced her intention of sitting out for the rest of the evening. She could not see Max, but she knew he was somewhere in the crowded room, watching her. She could feel his presence, menacing and dangerous. She considered leaving early, but was afraid he might follow her home and that was the last thing she wanted.

When supper was announced Ellen decided there was safety in numbers and headed for the large table that ran down the centre of the room. With relief she saw an empty chair beside Georgie Arncliffe and she hurried towards it.

The Arncliffes had come to Harrogate two years ago, when Frederick’s doctors had advised him to try the spa waters, and Ellen and Georgie had immediately struck up an acquaintance. The fact that they both had young children had drawn them together, but their lively minds were very much in harmony and the acquaintance soon blossomed into a firm friendship. Now, Georgie’s smile of welcome was balm to Ellen’s battered emotions.

‘I did not know you had returned, Ellen. Welcome back, my dear.’

‘Thank you.’ Ellen took the outstretched hand and squeezed it gratefully as she sank down on to the chair. ‘I am so pleased to see you and Frederick tonight.’

‘As if you did not know almost everyone here.’ Georgie laughed. ‘And I had been hoping to impress you by introducing Frederick’s good friend, but alas Lady Bilbrough has stolen my thunder.’

Georgie turned to smile across the table and Ellen’s heart sank when she saw the Duke of Rossenhall lowering himself into the vacant seat opposite. He gave her a look that was nothing short of predatory.

‘So,’ he said. ‘We meet again, Mrs Furnell.’

Frederick Arncliffe looked up. ‘You two are acquainted?’

Ellen kept her eyes on Max, wondering if he would tell them the truth; that they had met in Egypt four years ago, when he and his men, a mixture of English deserters and Mameluke warriors, had come upon two Englishwomen with their woefully few guards and had offered them protection. But it was Georgie who laughingly replied.

‘Why, yes, they are, my love,’ she said. ‘His Grace requested an introduction from Lady Bilbrough.’

‘What man would not?’ Max murmured with a smile that did not reach his eyes.

‘Indeed, Mrs Furnell is one of the diamonds of our society,’ put in Mr Rudby, sitting close by.

‘So I am informed,’ replied Max. ‘The golden widow.’

Ellen’s cheeks flamed. He made it sound like an insult, although no one else appeared to notice. True, Georgie gave a little tut of disapproval, but Frederick merely laughed and shook his head at her.

‘Pho, my dear, Mrs Furnell is not offended. She knows it is a compliment to her radiant beauty.’

‘Yes,’ the Duke agreed quietly. ‘I have been unable to think of anyone else all evening.’

‘Indeed?’ Ellen’s brows rose. She turned to Fred and said coolly, ‘I fear your friend is a breaker of hearts, Mr Arncliffe.’

Sitting a few seats along from the Duke, General Dingwall gave a bark of laughter. ‘How could he not be? Handsome young dog, with a title and a fortune, ’tis no wonder that all the ladies are hot for him.’

‘But I was not always titled, or rich. A few years ago I was merely Major Colnebrooke of a Regiment of Foot.’ He leaned back, his long, lean fingers, playing with the stem of his wineglass. ‘Then ladies were more inclined to run away.’

There was uproar at this, hoots of laughter from the gentlemen while from the ladies came disclaimers that their sex would be so fickle. Only the Duke and Ellen appeared unmoved. She felt his eyes upon her as she concentrated on her supper, cutting the meat into precise little portions. Each mouthful tasted of ashes, but pride forced her to continue. How dared he chastise her? What had he expected her to do, once his deceit was discovered?

And your own deception?

She would not think of that. She had done what was necessary to survive.

The scrape of fiddles heralded the start of another dance and the supper party began to disperse. The Duke pushed back his chair.

‘May I escort you back to the ballroom, Mrs Furnell?’

‘Thank you, Your Grace, but that will not be necessary.’

‘What, madam, are you afraid of me?’

Slowly she came to her feet, saying with a laugh, ‘Of course not, Your Grace.’

But the look in his eyes told her she should be. Very afraid.

Chapter Two

Ellen stood, waiting, while the Duke made his way around the table to join her. His step was firm, assured, and he had the lithe grace of a big cat. When they had first met she had likened him to a lion, with his shaggy mane of thick, wavy fair hair. It was shorter now, and darker than she remembered, but four years ago his locks had been bleached by the Egyptian sun. Now it had golden highlights that glinted in the candlelight.

All that glitters...

Mrs Ackroyd had called them a golden couple, but Ellen had quickly discovered that Max was not gold but dross. Foolishly she had allowed herself to be taken in by his charm, so blinded by love that she had ignored her friend’s advice to wait, and had entered into a hasty marriage, only to discover within weeks that it was all a pretence.

Now the man who had broken her heart and ruined her life was towering over her.

‘Well, madam, shall we go?’

With a smile she took his arm. She had vowed that no one would ever know how foolish she had been, how much she had suffered. Least of all Max Colnebrooke.

* * *

Max kept his pace slow, measured, as he escorted Ellen back to the ballroom. The shock of seeing her again after all these years had abated. Upon his return to England, four years ago, he had searched for her, hoping against all the evidence that she had come back to him and not forsaken him for the French Consul, but it had been in vain. She had left Egypt under her new lover’s protection, leaving him no word of explanation. Not even goodbye. His temper was under control now and it must stay that way. His anger against the woman beside him had cooled long ago, he would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that her betrayal had almost destroyed him. But there were questions he wanted to ask, things he needed to know.

‘We must talk,’ he said.

‘No, we must dance.’ She was smiling, but not at him. She lifted her hand to acknowledge those already on the dance floor who were inviting them to join in.

He could refuse, he could drag her away to some secluded spot, but how would that look? Everyone would say he was besotted with the golden widow and he had no intention of adding to her consequence in that way. Max took his place in the line. It was a country dance and would go on for some time, perhaps as much as an hour. He almost ground his teeth in frustration, but there was nothing he could do now. Talking would have to wait.

The fellow standing beside him, a Mr Rudby, Max recalled, looked at Ellen in surprise.

‘Dash it, I thought you was not going to dance again tonight, ma’am.’ He laughed and threw a sly glance at Max. ‘I am glad you persuaded her, Your Grace, for now I can reserve the next for myself. And I’ll take no denials, madam, it would be dashed uncivil of you to refuse!’

Max saw the look of distaste in Ellen’s eyes at this forthright speech. She could not reject Rudby without giving serious offence and Max knew he could not stand up with her again. He silently cursed these rigid ballroom conventions; he would be obliged to invite other ladies to join him on the dance floor if he wanted to avoid speculation, even though there was only one woman he wanted to dance with.

There had only ever been one woman and that annoyed him more than all the rest.

* * *

Unbidden, the picture of Ellen in the desert came into his mind. She had been untrammelled by convention then. When he had first seen her she was dressed like a man in a fine silk shirt, scarlet waistcoat and long, loose trousers tucked into her riding boots. Very practical attire for riding a camel, he had thought, and with the scarlet khafiya covering her luxuriant golden hair she might have passed as a boy, although Max had never had any doubts about her sex, even though at first all he could see of her were those laughing eyes, blue as sapphire.

She had wanted to visit Giza and he had escorted her there, despite the risks of being discovered so close to Cairo by soldiers loyal to Muhammed Ali. It was night by the time they reached the pyramids, but the full moon provided light enough, although the shadows were black and sharp. The night air was balmy, the warm breeze a refreshing change from the oven-like heat of the day. Ellen had laughed and exclaimed at how ragged the pyramids appeared when one was close, and Max had challenged her to climb with him. She had not hesitated. He remembered how nimbly she had scrambled over the large stone blocks, how they had rested together in companionable silence on their high perch. How he had stolen a kiss.

* * *

Ellen smiled and skipped her way through the dance and when the music stopped she accepted Mr Rudby’s hand to join the next set. She had never felt less like dancing, but it was almost obligatory and besides, the alternative was a tête-à-tête with Max, which she wanted to avoid at all costs. With mixed feelings she watched the Duke lead out Mr Rudby’s previous partner. She would much rather he had taken himself off, but she could not help feeling a little grateful that he had taken pity on poor Miss Glossop. His attentions would go a long way to make up for the offence Mr Rudby had offered the poor girl in discarding her so quickly for the golden widow.

* * *

Ellen was exhausted. Her face ached with the effort of smiling and she felt sure her dance shoes were worn through. She had danced continuously since supper, putting off the evil moment when she would have to face Max alone. It would come, she knew it, and it must be this evening. There was no help for it. Even as she skipped and laughed and twirled she was planning how quickly she could remove her household from Harrogate.

When the last dance ended Ellen looked about for the Duke, steeling herself for a confrontation. She was a little surprised that she could not see him, because she had expected him to be standing at the side of the room, ready to pounce. She was even more surprised when Lady Bilbrough told her that the Duke had already left.

‘Although he has the advantage of us,’ said the lady, with a regal smile. ‘He is staying here at the Granby, so he does not have to wait for his carriage.’

Ellen was relieved, but that relief was tinged with anger. He had ruined her evening and now she had lost the chance to give him the verbal flaying he deserved. However, her natural common sense reasserted itself as she went off to collect her cloak and change her shoes. If he had grown tired of taunting her so much the better. She really did not want to relive all those painful memories.

But it was already too late. As she sat down to replace her worn slippers with more serviceable footwear, recollections of their last night together were already crowding in. She was once again in the luxurious and gaily painted cabin of the dahabiya, rocking gently at anchor on the Nile. She could feel the soft cotton bed quilt on her naked skin as she lay in Max’s arms, sleepy and replete from their lovemaking.

‘There is trouble coming, my love,’ he told her between kisses. ‘I cannot tell you more, but believe me when I say it would be dangerous for you to remain in Egypt. You must leave the country with all speed. I would escort you to Alexandria myself, if I could, but that is not possible, so tomorrow I will arrange an escort to take you there. Seek out the British Resident, Major Missett. He will arrange a passage for you back to England. Go to Portsmouth and wait for me there.’ She felt again the soft touch of his lips on her neck, heard his smooth voice in her ear. ‘Forgive me, love, but it will be safer if you travel as Miss Tatham. If the enemy learns you are my wife, it would put you in much greater danger.’

A tear dropped on to her shoe and Ellen quickly blinked the rest of them away. Honeyed words. Honeyed lies, all of it. Yet she had thought it perfectly sensible at the time, and then he had made love to her again and she had ceased to think anything at all.

What a besotted fool she had been! Angrily Ellen threw her cloak about her shoulders and went downstairs. In the entrance hall she met the Arncliffes and as they said their goodbyes she noticed the dark shadows beneath Frederick’s eyes.

‘You must be fatigued, Mr Arncliffe,’ she said quickly, her own concerns forgotten for the moment. ‘Look, my carriage is at the door, I could take you up, if you wish...’

He acknowledged and declined her offer in one wave of his hand.

‘That’s kind of you, m’dear, but the Duke has put his own chaise at our disposal. We are waiting upon it now. It will not be long behind yours, I am sure.’

He ended with a wheezing cough and Ellen noted how anxiously Georgie urged him to sit down. When he demurred Ellen took his arm and gently pushed him down on to the bench.

‘Yes, sir, rest yourself,’ she said. ‘Do not think I shall be offended. Quite the reverse; we are such old friends I shall be hurt if you do not sit down. It has been a long evening for you.’

‘Nonsense, I would not have missed it for the world. It does my heart good to see everyone enjoying themselves. And to see you dancing with my old friend Rossenhall was a high treat, I assure you, ma’am. And very good you looked together, too, although I warn you not to lose your heart to His Grace, for he is as good as promised to m’sister. Ain’t that so, Georgie?’

Ellen’s hand crept to her throat. Promised? Could Max be in love with another woman?

‘You would like it to be so, at all events, my love.’ Georgiana laughed, rolling her eyes.

Ellen tried to smile, wondering how much more her beleaguered spirit could take. She allowed Georgie to enfold her in a warm, scented embrace, promised to visit her very soon and at last she could leave. Torches flared on each side of the doorway, lighting up the hotel entrance and her footman, who scrambled down from the chaise to open the door for her. She climbed in and as the carriage jolted into motion she sank back with a sigh against the thickly padded squabs.

‘We are alone at last. Mrs Furnell.’

Ellen sat up with a gasp and peered into the velvety blackness of the far corner. There was no mistaking that deep voice and as her eyes grew more accustomed to the dark, she could make out his cloaked figure, although it was little more than a deeper black shadow against the gloom.

‘How did you get in here?’ she demanded angrily.

‘Once I had ascertained which was your coach, it was easy to slip inside.’

Max sat up, pushing away the black cloak. He wondered if its owner was even now berating some hapless footman over its loss. Little matter. He would hand it back to the hotel manager tomorrow and he could return it.

‘Do you expect me to fall into your arms?’ Ellen’s voice was scathing. ‘I am surprised you dare to approach me.’

‘Oh, I dare, madam.’

‘Then you are shameless.’

‘Hah, that’s rich indeed, coming from you. You were the one who put yourself under the protection of the French Consul. I suppose he was more to your taste than a poor major.’

‘How dare you? Monsieur Drovetti arranged safe passage for us out of Egypt—that is all.’

‘And why should he do that if you were not lovers?’

‘I told you at the time that he and Mrs Ackroyd had been in correspondence long before our visit to Egypt. They share an interest in antiquities.’

His lip curled. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’ Max scowled. ‘When I reached Alexandria I learned Drovetti had sent you off on a ship to France. I have always been intrigued to know why you did not go back to him, when everything settled down. Or did you play him false, too?’

She flushed, but ignored this taunt.

‘We never went to France. It was just...easier to let the world think it. I wanted to make a new life for myself.’ Her hands fluttered in her lap. ‘In the confusion of the British invading Alexandria it was not difficult. Monsieur Drovetti arranged passage for us on a French ship and from there we were smuggled back to England.’

‘Where you hid yourself away. I suppose you thought I would come after you.’

‘Why should you?’ she said bitterly. ‘You had had your pleasure.’

‘Had my pleasure? Confound it, woman, I married you!’

‘That was nothing but a trick. You had one of your friends impersonate a chaplain and I am ashamed I fell for it.’

‘Impersonate! Why the deuce should I do that?’

‘To trick me into your bed.’

He bared his teeth. ‘Unnecessary. You would have come there very willingly without marrying me. Admit it.’

Ellen would never admit such a thing, although she knew it to be the truth. She had been so in love she would have died for him. But not now. The carriage slowed and she looked out of the window. She said coldly, ‘I am home. My coachman will take you back to the Granby.’

‘Oh, no,’ he said, following her out of the carriage. ‘We have not yet finished our business.’

She gasped in outrage as he dismissed her coachman.

‘How dare you! I do not want you in my house.’

‘I think you will find, madam, that it is my house. As my wife, any property you own is mine.’

‘We were never married.’

‘Oh, yes, we were,’ he said grimly. ‘And I have the papers to prove it.’ He caught Ellen’s arm, marching her up the steps and past the astonished butler who was holding open the door. ‘Which way?’ he growled. ‘Or do you want to discuss this in the hall?’

For a long moment Ellen glared at him in silence before leading the way into the drawing room. Only two candles were burning and the butler followed them into the room to light the others. Ellen walked over to the mirror that was fixed above the mantelshelf. She pretended to give her attention to tucking a stray curl back into place, but all the time she noted what was going on behind her. While Snow made his stately progress around the room lighting the candles, Max took off his cloak and tossed it on to a chair before inspecting the decanters arranged on a side table. She pressed her lips together. If he thought she would be offering him refreshment, he was very much mistaken!