Reforming the Duke Page 4

  She procured a lemon ice in the small store, then stepped outside and found an empty bench. Heaving a sigh, she sat down. Maybe this was what she needed. She loved ices, after all. Perhaps the cold delicacy would calm her. Every crisp, citrus-laden bite melted slowly against her tongue, relieving her anxiety. She savored each taste, remembering all the occasions her father had brought her here for a treat when she was a little girl. Smiling, she closed her eyes and savored the memories of kinder days.

  Feeling a sudden change around her, she opened her eyes and jumped in surprise. Towering over her, blocking the sun, stood the Duke of Brentwood. She gazed up at his imposing presence, from the top of his tall, dark head down to his impeccably dressed body. Then, realizing what she was doing, she blushed at her boldness and dropped her eyes.

  “Lady Downey, may I join you?” he inquired with a rather husky voice.

  “Of course, Your Grace.” She smiled politely at him, secretly wondering what interest he could possibly have in her. She was beneath his station, every person in the ton would say so. Besides, it was her husband who’d run off with his wife, so she wouldn’t be surprised if he remained cold and aloof.

  Perhaps he wished to ask her questions about her husband.

  He sat down, searching the area with his eyes before directing his attention at her. “Are things slow for you, Lady Downey? My sister did not give you enough business?”

  “Oh no, Your Grace. Business is very good. I just stepped out for a short break. I have many things to do. You are correct, I should go back and work on your sister’s and your mother’s gowns.” She gathered her reticule and stood.

  The duke bounded from the bench. “Please stay.” He reached for her, but pulled his hand back at the last minute. “My mother’s? You have gowns to make for my mother?” he asked with raised eyebrows.

  “Why, yes. Your mother stopped in yesterday and ordered some day dresses. Is that a problem?”

  ***

  Philip smirked. Wasn’t that typical of his mother? If she had wanted a gown, she certainly could have ordered it earlier in the week when they had been there with Emma. He wondered what her ulterior motive had been. How he wished he could have been privy to their conversation. His mother had apparently decided to take a personal interest in Lady Downey. She’d never been fond of his wife, but for some reason this woman in front of him, whom the ton was casting aside, had become her newest venture.

  Were Lady Downey not still legally married to her cad of a husband, he would have suspected his mother of matchmaking. But even his mother heeded to the most basic tenets of propriety, although the moments she took leave of it gave him great delight.

  “Is something amusing, Your Grace?” Sara’s chin jutted out another inch.

  She’s a feisty one. He controlled his grin. “No, forgive me. I was thinking about how lovely you are today. Is your gown your own design?” His gaze perused her from head to toe.

  Sara blushed, but her eyes blazed. She’d set her things down, but she stood before him undaunted. “There is no need to flatter me. No one can hear you, and I am certainly not in the market to be anyone’s mistress, so there is no reason for false compliments.”

  “False compliments?” He stared at her in disbelief. “I assure you, I am not known for dispensing empty flattery. And I am not in the market for a mistress, as you so crudely stated.”

  “Well, my husband reminded me every day how homely I am and how lucky I was to have his attention, so I am not a young one of the ton to be easily taken in by your sweet words. I know full well what my attributes are…and what they are not.” He noticed her hands trembled as she spoke.

  Philip had no notion of what to say. How could he respond to such a remark?

  Homely?

  What the devil was her husband’s game? The woman was a sheer beauty, gorgeous to his eyes.

  “Good day, Your Grace.” She whirled around and headed back toward her shop.

  He watched the sway of her hips, the arch of her back as she left. Her chin was held high. Society was not going to ruin Sara Downey. She obviously had much more character than the ton could stomp out of her.

  He knew one thing for certain: her sexuality would flourish with the right man. Apparently, her husband had not been the right man. Philip’s loins told him he was.

  Chapter Eight

  Sundays in spring were glorious. Daffodils and tulips blossomed, adding splashes of bright color to the greenery, and it was an ideal time to fish.

  Philip had only one purpose in mind when he returned home from church. He took the stairs two at a time, changed his clothes, and returned to the morning room in record time with a smile on his face. He was on a mission.

  His mother looked at him with sparkling eyes.

  “Where are you going in such a rush, Philip?”

  “Ah, Mother, ’tis a fine spring day and I think it is time to find my pole again. I am headed to the lake, unless you need something from me.” He actually smiled at the thought of fishing again. “In fact, if Graham is bored, send him along to join me.” Graham was only a year younger than Philip, and the two had gone on many jaunts together as boys, often with their father. Their other brothers, Adam, four years younger than Philip, and Ben, six years younger, had spent more time together in their childhood. The two were nearly inseparable.

  “Why, what a splendid idea! You will, of course, be around to dine with us later this afternoon?” She gave him a smile in return. “I have informed your brothers they all need to be here as well.”

  “Of course, I would not dream of missing our family meal. I will return with plenty of time to dress for dinner, Mother.”

  The duchess tipped her head as she eyed her eldest. “Well, then, enjoy your time. But please remember to wash those fishy-smelling hands when you return. Fiddlesticks, your father’s reeked to the heavens after a long day fishing.”

  Philip chuckled and turned to leave the house. “I think I am old enough to remember to do that.” The door banged shut behind him.

  Whistling as he walked, he thought of the wonders of spring, how a mere change in the air could motivate people to put down the work and take to nature. He stopped at the stables to pick up his fishing gear in the storage room. While he was there, he reached up to his hidden cupboard and opened it.

  He stared at the carved toy sailboat inside for a second, grateful it was still there, then tossed it into his pocket and walked toward the lake. As he walked, he glanced up to check for rain clouds. The sky was clear, a perfect accompaniment to the brilliant thatches of flowers covering the meadow.

  When he reached the tranquil setting, he paused to take it all in. He hadn’t been here in a long time. His last visit was probably right after he had married Caroline. She hadn’t liked swimming or boating, so the visits to the lake had ended.

  The dock was in sad need of repair; parts of it creaked under his weight. He stepped carefully and set down his gear. He stared at the lake, visions of his childhood reflecting in the glassy pool. This lake had been one of his favorite spots. He’d come here often with his father and Graham. As his younger brothers grew, the four of them had tried to fish together, but the fish had always seemed to know when they were coming. Adam was quiet, but baby Benjamin had been a chatterbox, as his father had oft called him.

  The brothers had enjoyed swimming together, too, and they’d compete to see who could make the biggest splash jumping off the dock.

  Sighing, Philip threw his line out and waited. It struck him as sad that there were no children out here to enjoy the lake anymore. He should be reclining on a towel in the grass next to his wife, watching their little ones splash in the shallow water. That wouldn’t be happening anytime soon, would it?

  Well, he could still enjoy his heritage. He made a mental note to encourage his brothers to join him in a fishing competition soon, something they hadn’t done in years.

  He fingered the wooden sailboat in his pocket. Pulling it out, he rubbed his thumb across
the well-used toy. His father had given each of his children their own boat to play with in the water—his attempt to cease the squabbling between the boisterous brothers. But it hadn’t worked out as planned. For some reason, the younger St. James brothers had all thought Philip’s boat was best, so they’d often try to steal it. It had become a joke amongst the four boys. But Philip knew the truth—it wasn’t better than the others, he was just more careful with it. Even now, it was in pristine condition. Time had dulled but not broken it.

  Philip tucked the worn toy into his pocket. He was glad he had saved this piece of his father. It was a treasure to him, one he had saved to give to his own son.

  If he had a son.

  Philip could no longer imagine having a wife, a family. He was the duke. It was his responsibility to fill the nursery, but he doubted he could ever trust another woman after the way Caroline had betrayed him. In dark moments, he wondered if he was even capable of siring a child. Caroline had never carried, a peculiarity given the number of times they’d tried over their two-year marriage.

  And yet, as he stood before the lake, staring out at the vivid blue water, a pair of gold-flecked emerald eyes forced their way into his mind. He thought of Sara’s soft, swaying hips, her strength of resolve. Of her fierce self-possession. How unusual that she ran a business alone and was doing a fine job of it, apparently. Why couldn’t he have met someone like Sara Downey long ago?

  Could he love a woman like that?

  No, lust was all he was capable of anymore.

  Reaching into his pocket, he stroked his fingers across the tiny wooden boat one more time for luck as he used to do. He set it down in the water, his hands steadying the wooden toy, and a part of him hoped it would still float. He grinned as soon as it did, but then it tipped over, and he grabbed it to keep it from going under.

  ***

  Sara rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she noticed the brightness of the day. Unable to fall asleep, she had climbed down the stairs in the middle of the night to work on her sketches. Drawing used to calm her, especially when she created wedding gowns. But it had not worked last night. Visions of Stinky had hidden in every shadow, haunting her.

  How she wished she did not live alone.

  When she headed down to the shop on Sunday morning, she spent over an hour straightening her work area. The occasional glimpses of her reflection in the mirrors made her cringe—her eyes were red, underscored by circles. Once she finished, she partook in a simple breakfast of dry toast and tea. The day still loomed before her, so she decided to work on Emma’s gowns. With the shop closed, she had little else to occupy her time, and she didn’t wish to sit around waiting for Stinky to assault her.

  You could take the duchess up on her invitation, a little voice reminded her. Although the thought was threaded with longing, she steeled herself against it. Encroaching on their family dinner would be inappropriate. Her mind returned to her visit with the duke at Gunter’s shop. Did he think her lovely? In truth, she had no idea what people thought of her appearance. She did the best with what she had, though her hips were too narrow and her lips too plump in her mind. Other men in the ton had given her compliments, but she assumed that was customary. She hadn’t been courted by anyone other than Duncan, and after their wedding, he’d made it quite clear how he felt about her appearance.

  But if the Duke of Brentwood thought her lovely, she’d savor the thought, especially because he was probably one of the handsomest men she’d ever met. If only his personality were a little less abrasive.

  She might as well continue to cherish her daydreams, she supposed. They would never amount to anything.

  Her eyes became heavy as she worked. Although she fought sleep, she didn’t fight it too hard—all the doors were locked. She had been especially careful about checking the shop’s security since Stinky’s interruption last week. Her last thought was that perhaps he wouldn’t come after all.

  Suddenly, a grimy hand grabbed her from behind and yanked her out of her chair, slamming her against his body. She gasped for air, gagging at the odors that immediately attacked her senses.

  “Where’s the money, Lady Downey? I’m here for my payment.” He rubbed his arousal against her backside. “Of course, I am hoping you don’t have it and I can take payment in other ways.”

  Retching from his stench, Sara vomited. She tried to stop it from happening, but she couldn’t help it.

  “You filthy bitch!” He shoved her away from him. Her arms swung wildly in an attempt to keep her balance, but she lost the battle and sprawled onto the floor. Wiping her face with a nearby cloth, Sara tried to catch her breath, pinching her nose closed to keep the fetid air from assaulting her senses. Stinky was upon her in a moment, towering over her and kicking at her bottom. She tried to curl into a ball, but he kicked her again.

  This is it, he is going to kill me. Her breath came in pants as her eyes darted across her workroom, searching for a weapon, anything within her reach, but there was nothing. All of her scissors were stored elsewhere. She darted a quick glance at him, long enough for her to see the madness in his eyes. What could she do to stop him?

  “Please,” she cried. “The coins, I have enough, I think.”

  He grabbed her by the hair and jerked her back up so she stood in front of him.

  “You better have the bits, Lady Downey, or you will regret it.”

  The foul air surrounding him reached her nostrils again. She shut her eyes because she couldn’t bear to look at him and hugged her belly for protection. Fighting another wave of nausea, she thought of her father, anything but her attacker. On impulse, she hid her fingers.

  He took a handful of her hair and wrenched it until she screamed.

  “Get it!” He shoved her. “Show me the tanners.”

  Sara wiped her mouth as she stumbled to the front room, tears blurring her vision. Finding the small bag of coins she’d hidden in her front cupboard, she handed it to him, not wanting to count the pennies and thruppences. It would be too painful to watch the shillings and half crowns go to this fool.

  He snatched the bag out of her hand and emptied it over a nearby table. He spread the coins out as he counted.

  “This is it?” he snarled. “Where is the rest?”

  “That is all I have. I am not wealthy. You never told me how much.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, showing his black teeth. Rough stubble covered his face, bits of dried food caught in the whiskers. Sara shuddered.

  “Your husband owed us three times this sum. And now that he is dead, you have to pay his debts.” Spittle flew as he barked.

  Shock dizzied her. Duncan was dead? She was a widow? She reached for the side of the table. “Dead? He’s dead? How?” she asked through numb lips. “Do you know what happened to him?”

  “He is dead because my boss wanted him dead. He was still gambling, ignoring his payments. So he is dead. Did I neglect to tell you that I killed him? He died a slow, painful death. Is that what you want?” He grinned at her. “I can arrange it if you would like.”

  Her knees buckled and she gripped the table, leaning over it because she feared she would faint, the reality of the situation coming at her from so many directions she was quite ill. Her husband was dead. They—Stinky’s group—had killed him because he couldn’t pay his gambling debt.

  Her eyes came back up to her attacker, the true understanding of her predicament finally dawning on her.

  If she didn’t pay, this awful man would kill her, just like he’d killed her husband.

  And no one would know…

  Her attacker grabbed her hair again and tugged her forward. Sara’s vision blurred. Her will faltered. She knew she would never, ever be able to earn that kind of coin.

  No, Sara, no! Fight, daughter. You have much to live for. Fight! For your children, fight!

  Sara’s eyes snapped open. Where had her father’s voice come from? Her eyes searched the room, but they only found Stinky.

  “Two we
eks, do you hear me?” He kicked her side. “What is wrong with you, girl? Listen to me! You have two weeks to get me the money. Three times that amount. And if you tell anyone, remember, I will find you in your bed and enjoy you all night long.”

  Stinky collected the coins and dropped them into his pocket. He walked toward the back door then stopped and turned, an evil smile on his face.

  “Oh, how could I forget?” he said as he strolled back to Sara, his gaze on her fingers.

  Chapter Nine

  Philip whistled as he made his way back to the house. He’d already left his fishing pole and toy sailboat back in the cupboards. All he had to do was dress for dinner and wash his fish hands, as his mother had called them. He thrust his hands in his pockets and walked back toward the side entrance to his estate, but something caught his eye.

  A woman stumbled up the front walk, headed for the main entrance. Stopping at the end of the staircase, she glanced up but didn’t move. She was so clumsy that he doubted her ability to walk up the stairs.

  She looked familiar.

  Sara? Was that Lady Downey trying to make her way up his front steps?

  “Sara!” he bellowed, running toward her. He had no idea what had happened to her, but if he didn’t reach her in time, she’d collapse and probably knock herself unconscious.

  When he was nearly upon her, he caught the confusion in her gaze, and something else.

  Fear and pain.

  “Sara?”

  Sara collapsed into the arms of Philip St. James. He tore up the steps, bellowing for his butler. The door swung open and he barked orders at the help as he continued down the hallway.

  Philip raced through the door and into the sitting room. He placed Lady Downey on the divan and turned to the butler.