The Light in the Duke's Shadow: A Historical Regency Romance Book Read online

  This was all there was, and Jules resigned himself to it. Jules drew in a breath he could not feel. He looked up at the sky where no stars shone. The forest had him and would never let go.

  ***

  The sun was entirely too bright. That was the only thought that entered Jules’ brain as he blinked and put up his hand to ward off the vile light that sought to slice right through his head with the pain it caused. He groaned and grumbled at the sunlight, but it did not falter.

  Feeling that the sun was not going to give an inch, Jules attempted to roll over and sit up to get away from the rays of light. He made it so far as the rolling over was concerned, then lay against the pillows and bit down on the pain that seared through his right side as if hot coals were under his skin. The pain subsided little by little until it was almost bearable. Jules lay still fearing to even breathe too deeply.

  There was tightness around his head, and Jules gingerly reached up with his left hand to touch his head. Under his hands, he felt gauze. He groaned and pushed himself up to a sitting position. Light burst behind his eyes, and it felt as if someone had taken the bellows to the coals under his skin as the heat erupted in his side.

  Jules cursed and willed himself to be still. The pain nearly caused him to topple over, but he remained sitting by sheer will alone. Jules noted more bandages around his waist. So last night had not just been a horrible nightmare.

  A frown settled on Jules’ face. Where was he? This was not his home, nor was it a room he recognised. He looked around for a bell or something that he could use to call a servant. Perhaps they could tell him where he was.

  Seeing nothing, Jules sighed. There was nothing for it; he would have to try to make his way out of the room. Jules looked around again, this time trying to spy the rest of his clothing but saw nothing. “Where have they taken my clothes?”

  Jules sucked in a breath and held it as he pushed himself up to stand. The pain was better now that he expected it; he forced himself to move through the burning pain and looked around the room as best as he could. The room was clearly a guest room and not one that saw much use by the sparseness of it.

  His coat was nowhere to be found. The burning pain at least kept the chill of the morning away whole Jules falteringly made his way around the room in only the bandages and his trousers. Jules sighed. There was blood on his trousers, and he feared for the state of the rest of his clothing. It was all replaceable, but Jules was loathed to lose his coat.

  Snippets of the night before came to Jules as he looked around for anything that might be used to store clothing. He had been pursuing Lord Portland but had lost the man. Or had he? Jules pressed his lips together as he thought about the person who had attacked him in the alley. He had felt sure that it had been someone of a low station, but it would not have been hard for Lord Portland to have disguised himself, especially in the dark alley.

  Jules pulled open a cabinet and saw a shirt lying within it as if it had been placed there as an afterthought. It was not his shirt, but it looked close enough to his size. He grasped the shirt and eyed it distrustfully. There were no coat or pants to go with it, but it would do if he could find his boots.

  “Disguise or not, I let myself get into that situation, and I lost him,” Jules whispered. “What a fool,” Jules chided himself. Jules’ hand clenched around the white shirt. “He will not get away from me again. If I see him, I will get my answers.”

  As Jules looked at the shirt, he heard footsteps that seemed to be getting closer to his door. He slipped the shirt on as quickly as he could. He did not quite manage to button it all the way up before the door opened without even so much as a knock.

  A young woman and a servant carrying a tray came into the room and stopped as if they were as surprised to see him as he was to see them. The young woman’s mouth fell open and then quickly snapped shut. Jules clasped his shirt together as best he could as he swayed slightly from his exertions.

  “I did not know you were awake,” the young lady said. Her speech, despite her obvious surprise, was eloquent and soothing. Jules decided the young lady must be a daughter of some noble to have such a good bearing about her. Her face looked familiar, but Jules could not quite place it.

  Jules said, “Yes, so I see.”

  The servant looked altogether uncomfortable at the situation, but the young lady carried on as if this was perfectly normal. “Gretchen, set the Duke’s food down there on the side table. Thank you.”

  The servant did as she was asked and then straightened. “Miss, you really ought not to be in here when His Grace is so undressed,” the older woman said gently to the young lady.

  “He is our guest,” the young lady reminded the servant who looked at the younger woman as if she was like this often.

  Jules looked at the young lady then. He had seen her somewhere before, at the party perhaps. Yes, she had been there last night. The young woman’s beauty caught him, and he marvelled as she lifted her hand to place a strand of hair behind her ear. Her hair looked like spun gold, and Jules remembered then that he had seen the young woman with her mother.

  The young lady’s eyes came up suddenly, and Jules was caught in his admiration. The colour of her cheeks and the dipping of her gaze spoke of a fetching shyness about the young lady that her boldness had not wholly prepared Jules for. He looked away to let her maintain her modesty. He was not a rake after all.

  “Thank you for the food,” Jules said. He just made it over to the bed before he collapsed down onto the mattress with a heaving sigh.

  The young lady frowned at him. “Are you in much pain?”

  Jules laughed and winced at the pain of it. “Just a little,” Jules said as he tried to keep his voice light.

  For his effort, Jules was rewarded with a smile from the young lady. It was worth the burning in his ribs, Jules decided. The servant cleared her throat as Jules pulled the covers up over himself. “We should leave His Grace to eat,” the servant suggested ever so patiently.

  To Jules’ amusement, the young lady seemed to completely ignore the servant. “Do you know where you are or how you got here?”

  “No and no,” Jules said. He also noted then that the servant referred to him properly, the young lady did not. That too amused Jules. She simply spoke to him, no pretence or titles. “You look familiar. Did you come to my aid last night?”

  The young lady dipped her head and said, “My mother and I were there when you stumbled out of the alley and collapsed. We brought you here and called the doctor to tend you.”

  “And where is here, exactly,” Jules asked as he reached for the tray that held his breakfast. Jules winced, and the young lady was swiftly over to sit the tray closer to him on the bed. Once he could breathe through the pain again, he said, “Thank you.”

  The young lady gave him a small smile while the servant stood awkwardly to one side watching her mistress with a frown. “Forgive me for not saying so sooner, but I am Lady Withersfield, daughter of the Marquis of Winchester, and you are in our Season home.”

  Jules regarded the girl curiously. That was probably why she looked familiar to him. He vaguely knew the Lord and Lady Winchester, but he was almost certain that he had never met their daughter. When she saw that Jules was not going to speak, Lady Withersfield spoke again, “The doctor treated your wounds and bandaged them. Although you lost a good bit of blood, he seemed confident that your wounds would not kill you.”

  “I do appear not to be dead yet,” Jules agreed with humour.

  Lady Withersfield cleared her throat and smiled. “So, I am curious.”

  “About?” Jules asked as he carefully lifted the teacup and drank a sip. The liquid felt heavenly on his throat.

  Lady Withersfield continued, “Mostly about why you were attacked and what you were doing in the alley, to begin with?”

  Jules eyed the young woman. As innocent and sweet as she appeared, the girl had a quick and curious mind. Unfortunately, that was a thing that could get her hurt around a m
an like Jules. He frowned. “That is none of your business,” Jules said in as harsh a tone as he could muster to use against the angelic young woman.

  While Jules could admit that he found the young woman attractive, he most certainly did not need to become affection-ridden for her. Jules had questions to answer that might very well make enemies, and that would put anyone close to him at odds. Her voice though sounded so familiar like he had heard it before. Perhaps she had spoken to him while they rescued him.

  Jules recalled the female voice that spoke to him of being cold. He eyed the woman and looked at her. Could that have been her? The look on her face did not leave room for that conversation right at this moment.

  She raised her chin, and he had no doubt that she would have continued interrogating him had the door not opened at that moment. Lord Winchester strode into the room. Jules watched the man take in the situation and waited for his reaction.

  Lord Winchester’s face screwed up with such indignation that Jules thought he might just toss him out onto the street at that very moment, injuries or not. Jules would not mind that so much, but he saw the man’s eyes go to Lady Withersfield. The man’s gaze caused the servant to cower, but Lady Withersfield stared back at her father unaffected by the man’s glare.

  “What are you doing in here with this man half-dressed?” Lord Winchester demanded of his daughter.

  Lady Withersfield said, “He is injured. I would hardly expect him to be wearing a coat and hat, Father.”

  “You know very well what I mean, Penelope,” Lord Winchester said in a low voice.

  Lady Withersfield waved at the female servant behind her. “I am not in here alone. This is perfectly chaste. Besides, we came to bring him breakfast and did not know he would be awake.”

  Lord Winchester seemed to give up trying to talk sense into his daughter as he turned towards Jules. “Forgive me, Your Grace, I was so taken aback by my daughter’s presence that I forgot my business here for a moment.” Jules raised his eyebrows curiously at the odd man. Yes, he remembered Lord Winchester now. Lord Winchester continued, “I just wanted to thank you for coming to my wife and daughter’s aid last night. If you had not been there protecting them from that rogue, I fear to think what might have transpired.”

  Jules frowned slightly, and his eyes went over to Lady Withersfield who gave him a smile. “There is no need for thanks,” Jules said with perfect honesty.

  “Your Grace, you are too generous,” Lord Winchester said. “Please, let us offer you dinner and a place to sleep while you recuperate. You will need your strength.”

  Jules could hardly stand the thought of riding at the moment, so he nodded. “That is most kind of you,” Jules said.

  “Members of society have to look out for one another,” Lord Winchester said humbly. “I would not make the same offer, mind you, for just anyone.”

  Lady Withersfield’s eyes seemed to be trying to roll back into her head, and Jules bit down on a smile. “Of course,” Jules said as he cleared his throat.

  “Come, Penelope, let us go and leave His Grace to rest,” Lord Winchester said as he held his hand out to his daughter.

  Lady Withersfield ignored her father’s outstretched hand and said, “Father, I have not yet thanked His Grace properly for saving me. Gretchen can stay here with me to assure that decorum is maintained.”

  Jules looked between the father and daughter. Lord Winchester seemed to be considering his options before the man relented. “Do not tarry long.”

  “Of course not,” Lady Withersfield said as if scandalised by the very notion.

  Lord Winchester shook his head and made his way out of the room as if befuddled by his daughter. Jules could definitely understand the man’s expression, even having just met the young lady. Lady Withersfield certainly seemed determined not to stand for any foolishness from the men around her.

  As soon as the door closed behind the Marquis of Winchester, Jules asked, “Why did you lie?”

  Chapter 5

  The Duke’s question was a fair one, but it was one that Penelope could not answer in their present company. Gretchen was a good enough maid, but the woman was absolutely terrified of Penelope’s father. As it were she could not be trusted with anything that needed to the guarded closely.

  “Gretchen, can you give the Duke and me just a moment. You can wait just the other side of the door. I assure you that you will hear me scream, and my father will never hear of this,” Penelope said reasonably to the older woman who eyed Penelope with the sort of dread that Penelope thought more fitting for torture. “I promise a portion of my allowance to aid in finding your mother the best doctor in London. You told Gina that she was ailing lately, and if you do this small thing for me, then I will gladly help you in the future.”

  As so often was the case with people, Penelope saw Gretchen soften to the idea of Penelope’s tiny favour at the promise of something to be gained. Gretchen nodded, even if a bit reluctantly. “That would be most kind of you, Miss. I shall be right outside the door. Just one peep, and I shall be right back.”

  “Of course,” Penelope said. She watched the woman hesitate before she turned and went to the door. Gretchen gave Penelope one last glance before she slipped out the door. Penelope sighed and turned back to the Duke of Richmond.

  The Duke’s eyes watched her curiously. Penelope spoke quietly to the man. “We had to lie or my father would never have allowed you to stay, Your Grace. To be fair, I lied, and my mother just merely held her peace. She is not as bold as I am.”

  “I dare say that there are not many as bold as you, Lady Withersfield,” the Duke said with that amused smile that made Penelope’s heart forget itself for a few scattered beats.

  The man was entirely unlike the men she knew. He was clever and not afraid to show his wit, but not in a way that beat down on those around him. No, the Duke of Richmond seemed a very singular and enigmatic man. His dark eyes seemed to be searching her face, and Penelope realised that she had just been staring at him for some minutes. She felt her cheeks colour as she looked down at her hands which she clasped together as a shield in front of her.

  “Odd that you would want to help a murderer enough to lie for him,” the Duke said as he shifted back against his pillows.

  Penelope rushed forward to offer the man aid, only to remember how inappropriate that would be about the time she grasped the man’s barely clad shoulder. She whipped her hand away and took a few steps back, rubbing her hand as if it had been burned. She could still feel the warmth of his skin on her palm. Penelope had never come so close to touching a man’s bare skin as that.

  Penelope said quickly, “I do not believe you a murderer.”

  “But you have heard the rumours, have you not?” the Duke asked, his eyes intense and staring Penelope down.

  Penelope had to look away from the intensity of the man’s gaze. There was something altogether unsettling about the Duke, but it was not the sort of thing that made a lady run in fright. No, Penelope wagered that the Duke’s intensity was just the sort of thing that got ladies into scandals and ruined reputations. Oh, how dangerous this Duke could be, her mind whispered.

  Penelope nodded slowly. “My mother told me some of the rumour, yes. With a face like yours, there can be nothing so vile as murder in your soul.”

  “My face?” the Duke asked. He chuckled. “What does my face have to do with having the temperament of a killer?”

  Without thinking, Penelope said, “My time painting has made me a good judge of people. It is easy to see the harshness in people. They wear it like a badge of honour creased into their skin. But your face is soft and kind.”

  They both stared at each other for a moment. The Duke cleared his throat. “I do not know if I would picture myself as kind. Perhaps I am just too young for the creases to show yet.” The man folded his arms across the covers in front of him and asked curiously, “So you saved me because you did not think I had the face of a murderer?”