Drenched With a Duke

  Luke’s eyes were wide. “You truly think that you care for this woman.”

  “And she me,” Alexander said fiercely. “You know, I truly think that Teresa and I – ”

  “Teresa!” All the colour had drained from Luke’s face, and he stared at his friend in horror. “Do not tell me: Teresa Metcalfe.”

  It was as though the world had stopped spinning, and only he had noticed it. Alexander stared at his friend in horror. This could only mean one thing, surely. What had Teresa said?

  “Dukes, earls, lords of all descriptions. If they have a title, they generally come to me, not one of the street riff raff.”

  “I have not known her like that,” Luke said hurriedly, actually raising his hands in mock surrender as he beheld the look on his friend’s face. “I swear it, Caershire, I have not been with her. But – well, she is not unknown to me. I met her through a mutual acquaintance, and I have . . . well, I recommended my brother to her but two days ago.”

  “Two days ago?” Alexander tried to breathe, but there seemed to be something wrong with his lungs. “She said – Teresa said that she had to meet Lord George Northmere – that was – ”

  “But they never did meet,” Luke said quietly, putting down his knife and fork and leaning back in his chair. “He never found her. He assumed that she had found another client – more profitable. ‘Tis the strangest story, actually: the woman he ended up meeting – ”

  “But then, do you not see?” Alexander said excitedly. “Teresa did not meet your brother because she was with me. We lost track of time, I suppose, and once we had cast caution to the winds – oh, Dewsbury, I wish that you could have met her, I do not know a soul more perfectly created for me than she!”

  “You think so?”

  Alexander nodded. “I would stake my life on it. I-I honestly think that I could marry her – marry her and be happy, and that is more than most of our station can claim.”

  For a long minute, Alexander did not know what his friend was thinking. Luke was giving him a scrutinising gaze unlike any other that he had ever seen, but he did not interrupt. This felt important.

  Finally, Luke sighed. “Caershire, you know that I dare not attempt to dissuade you. You know your own mind, you are a grown man. But I ask you this: have you told Teresa this? When you went back to see her, yesterday, what did you promise her?”

  Alexander shuffled in his seat uncomfortably. “I did not go back to see her yesterday?”

  Luke froze. “You did not? Why in heaven’s name not?”

  His mouth opened, but Alexander could not think of an answer. Why had he not? It seemed a simple enough task for the day: go and see Teresa, and tell her that you love her. Tell her that you want her to marry you. Tell her that your life would be incomplete without her. What was holding him back – this fear of losing his reputation, a reputation he barely had?

  “You are an idiot for leaving a woman like that,” Luke said firmly. “If she is truly all you say she is, then she is more than you could have ever hoped to gain before you lost that precious reputation of yours.”

  Alexander swallowed. Suddenly his throat felt very dry. “But that is exactly it, do you not see? I have spent the last twelvemonth attempting to repair my reputation, to restore it to something approximating what it was before – before Mark’s indiscretion. If I were to wed Teresa – ”

  “Restore it? Restore it?”

  Luke’s raised voice was starting to attract attention, and Alexander smiled nervously and nodded at the faces which had turned towards them.

  But Luke showed no sign of quietening. “By God, you are dreaming, Caershire, if you think you can turn back the clock. Your reputation before your brother’s request was nothing! You were the younger son of a Duke, with no real title of your own, and you were to be a lawyer. You really think that it is worth your effort returning to that?”

  “No, of course not,” Alexander said stiffly, “but – ”

  “Ye gods, man, you are worried about your reputation?” Luke stared at him, and laughed. “Caershire, you do not have a reputation to lose! That disappeared, months ago – and now do you not see what wonderful position that leaves you in?”

  Alexander felt hot, a searing irritation growing from his stomach and spreading through his limbs. How could Luke say such things?

  “No,” he said stiffly.

  Luke smiled, and shook his head. “Why, you are free. Free of all society’s constraints. What are they going to do? How could they possibly punish you any further?”

  Alexander stared at him. “What?”

  Luke leaned forward, and lowered his voice. “Say you propose marriage to this courtesan – to Teresa. Say that she says yes, and you marry, and the news of her . . . previous profession gets out. What then?”

  Alexander blinked. “Well, then I am ruined!”

  “You are already ruined!” Luke hissed, still smiling. “So, you will lose your voucher for Almacks: you will be married, what does it signify? So, you will lose your invitation to court: you hate it there anyway! Your true friends will stand beside you, no matter what.”

  “The few that I have,” said Alexander bitterly.

  Luke reached out and gripped his friend’s shoulder. “They are all you need.”

  In an instant, Alexander’s heart softened as he saw the loyalty and friendship in his companion. Even after admitting that he wished to marry a courtesan, a woman far accustomed to other men than himself, Luke was still on his side.

  “Now then, the real question is: what are you still doing here?” Luke smiled as he leaned back into his chair.

  Alexander shrugged. “I left about fifty pounds for her, to send to her family – I think they will be fine for a few more days while I get things ready at Loxwich – ”

  For the second time in that meal, Luke spat out his claret. “You – you told me that no money changed hands!”

  “No, it did not,” said Alexander reassuringly. “It was nothing like that; it was a gift, I left it there for her to send to her family. Her sister, Helena – ”

  “You honestly think that she is going to understand that?” Luke stared at him as though he were a madman. “What do you think Teresa thought when she found that money? You gone, money left on the side . . .”

  A look of horror crept over Alexander’s face as he realised just what he had done.

  “I have to go,” he said, and without saying another word, he threw back the chair he was sitting on so that it toppled over on the floor, and ran out of the club.

  Luke poured himself another glass of claret. “What a fool,” he murmured. “I just hope to God he will end up a married fool.”

  Teresa had never noticed how small and empty her rooms were, until she sat there, in the growing darkness, thinking about Alexander.

  She shook herself, and tried to busy her fingers by lighting a fire, but despite his relatively short visit but two days before, there did not seem to be anything that she could do to remove him from her mind.

  This fire was where she had dried his clothes, after he had dived into the Thames to rescue her. This armchair which she brushed past was where he had sat, looking at her with such an intensity that she had felt naked long before she had removed her clothes. This screen had hidden her – just about – when she had changed, hidden her from his seeking eyes.

  Perhaps she should have allowed him to see even more than she had done. Perhaps if she had done that, he would be here, instead of lost to her forever. A small tear rolled down her cheeks.

  Teresa folded her arms, and sank onto the bed in the corner of the room: her bed, the bed where she slept. Her only refuge.

  This idiocy could not continue: was she the sort of woman to sit and pine for a man that evidently had no concern for her? Was she to waste away over a gentleman whom she had known for what; twelve hours?

  But what did time matter, a small part of her heart cried out. They had connected, she had been sure of it; they had been vulnerable together,
shared their secrets, shared their bodies. Was there much more to love than that?

  She could feel the pain washing through her body. It was just as physical as emotional, and it was cutting into her soul. Now that the tears had started, it felt almost impossible to stop them. Slowly but steadily, they coursed down her cheeks as salty reminders of the service that he had done her – and the loss of him that she would never recover from.

  A loud rap on the door broke the silence, and broke the painful thread of her thoughts.

  Teresa rose, smoothing down her silken skirts, and strode over to the door. She had had a peephole made, after a favour to a local carpenter, and when she peered out to see just who her visitor was, she blanched.

  It was Harold. Was throwing her into the Thames not enough for him?

  Her heart was beating faster, and her hands shook slightly as she brought them together. What should she do? Pretend that she was not there? He would only return, and later at night. Ask him to go away? What would she do if he refused?

  The slow smile that she knew so well crawled over his face. “Miss Teresa? Miss Teresa, I am here for our weekly . . . appointment.”

  Even his voice sullied her through the door, Teresa thought. My, but he is a disgusting man.

  “I am afraid that I am unwell,” she said with a heavy cough, a flash of inspiration striking her. “I will need to rearrange our . . . appointment.”

  Picking up a shawl and drawing it around her, Teresa coughed again. “My dear Harold, I would not wish for you to suffer from this terrible cold, I beg that you leave me to recover – and I shall contact you when I am ready for you.”

  It was fortunate, Teresa thought wryly, that she had just been crying over Alexander; the stuffed nose and scratchy throat was more than enough to convince Harold, even without seeing her.

  “Very well,” he said, and she could see that he took a step back from the door with his nose curled. “I shall return when you send for me, you know my address.”

  She watched him all the way down the street, to ensure that he was really gone, and then the tension in her shoulders lessened. Well, she could not expect that excuse to last long. She would have to start thinking of a new way to get rid of him.

  Teresa pushed back a curl of hair, and felt something missing: her earbobs. No, one earbob; the left one was there, but the other had fallen out.

  Another pang hit her heart. Those earbobs had been given to her by her mother; to lose them now, when she felt so lost and alone, it was too much to bear. How could she have lost it?

  She glanced round the room, but she could not see it. The fire in the grate had grown now, but it threw no light through sparkling diamonds. There was not a glint to be seen anywhere on the floor, the bed, or the armchair.

  Teresa tried to slow her breathing. Had she even placed both earbobs through her ears that morning?

  She closed her eyes and tried to remember. No; no, she could only remember putting one earbob on. Perhaps the other was where she had left it; by Alexander’s money on the side table.

  Her heart clenched to allow her mind to wander back to him, but she pushed him firmly out of her thoughts, and strode through the curtain to the side table.

  There lay the Duke of Caershire’s money, but no diamond earbob.

  Teresa tried not stem the disappointment. Perhaps it had fallen; perhaps it had slipped between the table and the wall. Reaching down, she pulled it out gently and saw a sparkle of light.

  8

  Alexander’s lungs hurt, but he was trying to ignore them. He had lost his top hat about five streets ago, but that could be replaced. His boots were muddy and one had stepped into something a little too odorous for his liking.

  But he did not slow down.

  Teresa. He had to reach Teresa, had to explain to her just what the money had meant – the note was too short, he cursed under his breath, he should have taken the time to write a proper note!

  Men and women casually strolling along the streets stared at this madman who was pelting through their midst, but none paid too much attention.

  Alexander stopped suddenly. He had gone too far; this part of the street looked completely unfamiliar. Surely he had not reached the alley yet – or perhaps he had passed it? He spun around, heart racing, thudding instead his chest like a clock, ticking away the seconds that he was not with her.

  There: there was the alleyway, he had run straight past it. Alexander’s lungs were crying out for more of a rest, but he did not heed them. He had to find Teresa.

  Now that he had spotted the alleyway, he knew that he could not be far. After three minutes of hurtling down the alleyway, Alexander skidded to a halt outside a door with no real lock, and a small iron bolt.

  Hands clutching at his chest, Alexander stood motionless outside the door. He was here. He was really here, and hopefully, Teresa was just the other side of this door.

  A terrible thought crowded his mind, one that he had tried to ignore with every step from the club, but one that he could not push aside now.

  What if she was in there . . . but with another man?

  Bile rose in his throat that had nothing to do with the mile he had just run. The idea of Teresa with another man; it had been difficult enough to accept that her profession had led her to such liaisons, but to think that she may have continued since they had made love . . .

  Alexander swallowed. There was no way to know by standing outside. He had to take his courage into his own hands, and go in.

  He knocked. It was a rather hesitant knock, all things considered, but there was no knowing what to expect.

  What he did not expect was: nothing. No response. No opening of the door, no calling out, no sound whatsoever.

  Alexander’s breathing was starting to slow now, but there was still a tightness around his lungs, and his patience began to wear thin. She was surely in there, and yet she was not answering the door?

  He did not think. He just moved. Throwing the door open in a fit of passion, he strode forward and saw Teresa, bandage around her ankle, hobbling to the door with a pelisse and hat already on.

  “Caershire!” She breathed, staring at him with wide eyes. “Alexander, I – ”

  “Teresa, I must speak with you,” Alexander said in a rush, slamming the door behind him and moving towards her at such a pace that she took a stumbling step back. “Teresa, you must know that I only left the money as a sign of my devotion to you – to you and your family, to give them respite. You must not think that – ”

  “Caershire,” Teresa repeated, and there was a fiery look in her eye that made him all the more convinced that he need to get his complete explanation out before she was able to interrupt.

  “No, listen Teresa,” he said firmly, and taking her hands said, “I had not realised just what was missing in my life, I do not think, despite all of my fine words to you two days ago. I knew that love mattered, of course, that I wanted to find someone to share my life with, but it was more as one seeks a contract. Now I know far better.”

  But Teresa did not want to listen to him; pulling her hands away she said, “Alexander, just hear me and – ”

  “One night with you,” said Alexander simply. “That was all it took. Just one night with you, and I – ”

  Teresa’s face had fallen, and he stopped.

  “I suppose it was too much to hope,” she said bitterly, her eyes downcast, “that you had thought of me beyond my body.”

  Alexander smiled, and took her hands carefully back in his own. “One night of conversation with you,” he said quietly. “One evening that made me realise that there was another in this world who thought like I did, felt like I did, saw the world as I see it. That I was not alone. That I did not have to go through life alone.”

  “This is ridiculous,” she spat at him. “You cannot just walk in here whenever you choose, whenever you decide that you are lonely and expect me to just accept you!”

  He stared at her. “What do you mean? I expect no such th
ing – hope, perhaps, but – ”

  “Well I am not for sale,” Teresa said angrily. “Leaving money by my bedside! Do you really think that I took you into my bed because I wanted money, because I was expecting payment?”

  Alexander could not understand what had gone wrong. “Teresa, my love, what are you talking about? Did you not read my note?”

  She froze, and stared at him, looking him in the face properly for the first time since he had stepped once more into her life. “Note?”

  He nodded. “I-I left you a note. With the money, a note for you to read when you woke up.”

  Teresa narrowed her gaze at him. “I found no note. There was no note, you did not leave one!”

  Despite the fact he knew he was in the right, Alexander could not help but feel the frustration rise up in him. “Damn it, Teresa, on the bedside table! With the money! Perhaps it fell down the back, perhaps under the bed! But I swear on my honour, I left you a note!”

  Teresa’s eyes had grown wide at his words, and her lips had slightly parted in surprise.

  And then her eyebrows furrowed. “A note.”

  Alexander shook his head in irritation. “Go and have a look, if you do not believe me. By the bedside table. Go on.”

  “I can see nothing,” she spat, bitterly. She had truly raised her hopes up – or he had – and there was nothing. Nothing except –

  A small piece of paper. Not a banknote; just a note, with curled writing on it and a name at the end – a name that looked unmistakably like Caershire.

  Heart beating, lungs constricting, Teresa bent down and rescued the paper. It could be from anyone, she reminded herself as she gently lowered herself onto the bed. Plenty of names look like Caershire, and besides, it was probably nothing.

  “Open it.”

  “I will read it when I am ready,” Teresa snapped. She turned the paper over in her fingers.

  It was definitely from him. There was no seal, he would not have had the means to do it, but there was an impression in the paper; as though someone had pressed a signet ring deep into the paper, in the hope that it would leave a mark.