Chapter Twenty-Seven

J ess frowned out the carriage window at the gray day, puzzled, as the hackney stopped in front of Westminster Palace. “Why are we stopping here?”

Henry Graham sat opposite Jess and Aunt Matilda, with the same serious expression on his face that he’d worn since he arrived to collect them that afternoon. Last evening, just before supper, he had sent them a message to request their help in creating a special wedding surprise. Something that had to be kept secret. Something that absolutely could not be done without Jess and Matilda.

We need to make Henry feel welcome in our family , Auntie had said when Amanda called Jess down to the drawing room last night to deliver the message. She’d been up in her bedroom, no longer crying her eyes out simply because she no longer had any more tears left to shed, and had come downstairs only because the two women absolutely refused to leave her alone until she did. So she had agreed to come along today, if only to make them happy.

When the afternoon arrived, cold and dark and bleak as a winter’s day, Jess wanted to change her mind and stay in bed with the covers pulled up over her head.

I can stay and take care of Amanda , she’d offered as a feeble excuse.

But Amanda was more than willing to let them go without her, so as to not ruin whatever surprise her fiancé was planning and so she could rest, although Jess suspected her sister would spend more time eating than napping, given the strange cravings she’d been experiencing. Matilda had been happier and more excited about the wedding surprise than she’d been in weeks—and oddly happier than Amanda about it.

Oh, you must simply come along to help Henry , Auntie ordered as she practically shoved Jess into her coat and bonnet, then pushed her toward the front door and the hackney waiting in the drizzling damp.

That wasn’t at all the carriage Jess had longed to see.

Yesterday in Lucien’s coach had been the most wanton, most wonderful experience of her life. She had never thought about how much a woman could want a man until then, when need for him simply consumed her.

But when it was over, nothing had changed. A mountain of secrets still stood between them and always would.

Now, she’d been swept up into the misery of helping to plan her sister’s wedding instead of her own. Oh, she was happy for Amanda, she truly was. Henry was a good man who deeply loved her and wanted to provide a happy life for their child and all the others to come. But Jess couldn’t help being envious, or wanting to burst into tears of utter anguish when she should have been shedding tears of happiness for them instead.

Even at that moment, she resisted the urge to swipe the back of her gloved hand over her eyes.

“I thought we were helping with a wedding surprise.” She forced a smile for Henry. “I would think the gentlemen in Parliament had collectively ended more marriages than they’d helped to create.”

“An important meeting has been called,” Henry answered enigmatically. “You’ve been asked to attend, and I’ve been asked to escort you.”

“Me?” she squeaked. Asked? More like kidnapped. “Why would—”

Before she could finish her question, he opened the door and jumped to the ground, then reached back to help both women from the carriage. He paused only to retrieve the leather portfolio he’d been carrying with him before paying the driver and sending the carriage on its way.

“Oh, this is going to be such a lovely day!” Matilda beamed and patted Jess’s arm. Overhead, from a thick layer of low clouds, a low rumble of thunder disagreed. So did the fat drops of cold rain that began to fall.

Lovely? The day was perfectly miserable, just as cold and bleak as her future. How could Matilda not realize that? Jess slid her aunt a sideways look and saw a barely concealed excitement radiating from her.

Perhaps Auntie had finally gone completely mad after all.

“This way.” Henry took Jess’s arm and led her toward the palace with Aunt Matilda scurrying along behind. Jess would have sworn she heard the old woman chuckling with glee. “We’re expected at four o’clock sharp.”

“Expected for what?” Jess gaped in confusion as he led them past the entrance guards with a quiet word and a nod. The men stepped back and waved them into the maze of medieval rooms that piled into one another like Russian nesting dolls. “There’s obviously been a mistake. Women aren’t allowed in parliamentary proceedings.”

She expected the King’s Guard to come rushing forward and arrest them for treason at any moment. Or more likely, toss them out into the rain on their petticoats.

She muttered beneath her breath, “I don’t think we’re allowed in this building at all.”

“Not normally, no.” Henry guided them past Westminster Hall and down a corridor from which various rooms splintered off like branches on a tree. “But today is rather special.”

Jess blinked to clear the stinging from her eyes. Nothing was special about today. It was simply another day in a long line of lonely days in which she wouldn’t be with Lucien.

They stopped in front of a set of heavily carved double doors. One of the doors stood open, and through it, Jess could see a room filled with a large table, several leather chairs, great paintings and tapestries covering the walls, and through the lead-glazed Tudor windows, a view of the old Abbey and its churchyard. A dozen men waited inside, helping themselves to the trays of drinks and refreshments on the table as they loudly gossiped about women and traded advice on hounds and horses.

Confused, she turned toward Henry and demanded answers. “I don’t understand. Why am I here? What does any of this have to do with your wedding?”

“Everything.”

Before Jess could think of a reply to that, he led her inside.

Every pair of eyes inside swung to them, staring blatantly, and then dismissed them as unimportant. The men turned back to their conversation as if Jess and Matilda didn’t exist.

“Sit here.” Henry guided them to two chairs in the corner. His gaze darted to the large clock over the fireplace mantel, and he nodded, pleased that they’d arrived on time. “We’re about to begin.”

She slid onto the chair with Auntie beside her. “Begin what , exactly? Why are we here?”

He hurried away before he could answer. He untied his leather portfolio and removed a sheaf of papers, then took a position against the wall in the middle of the room and waited. Apparently, he wanted to fade into the wallpaper as much as the women were expected to, for none of the men in the room gave him a second glance as they continued to debate the weighty merits of brood mares, bitches, and wives. Jess didn’t recognize any of the men, yet already she despised them. If these men were the cream of London society, no wonder Lucien wanted nothing to do with any of them.

The clock struck four. Before the last chime sounded, both doors were flung open wide.

Jess caught her breath. Lucien.

He paused in the doorway for a moment to let the attention of everyone in the room swing to him. Their conversations abruptly stopped.

“My lords,” he called out in the resulting silence.

His dark eyes flicked sideways to Jess, then back to the men without a change in his inscrutable expression. But that brief acknowledgement of her presence made her quiver.

So did the way he walked forward, ignoring her.

A knot of emotion tightened in her throat. His dismissal pained her. But what else did she expect him to do? She had ended things between them, in a most definite way, by swearing to never marry him.

“Auntie,” she whispered as she latched on to Matilda’s elbow and demanded, “what on earth is going on?”

“A happily ever after for my niece,” her aunt returned in the same low whisper. Then her brow furrowed with instant worry. “I hope.”

Jess noticed the sharp nod of recognition Lucien gave to Henry Graham. So that was what this meeting was about and why the two women needed to be present. Lucien was helping Henry with his position in the East India Company and needed some kind of oversight decision from Parliament, just as he needed the two women to stand as witnesses to Henry’s character and future prospects on behalf of Amanda. That was all.

Her heart panged painfully in her hollow chest like a hammer striking a bell. Lucien wasn’t here to see her.

He stopped directly in front of the long table and nodded at the men in greeting. “Thank you for meeting with me today on such short notice.”

A paunchy peer in a bright red waistcoat and green jacket who resembled a strawberry snickered as he sank into one of the chairs lining the table. The rest of the men followed. “Don’t think agreeing to meet was out of respect for you, Crewe,” he said. “We’re only here from sheer curiosity to find out what you could possibly want from the Committee for Privileges.”

Jess’s heart skipped. The Committee for Privileges oversaw all rights and conduct for the House of Lords, from inheritance of titles to acts of criminality, and every behavior in between. They could make binding decisions themselves; for more serious issues, they could call for Parliament to take up an act. She swallowed hard. They could also recommend to the sovereign to go so far as to attaint a title, if circumstances warranted it. Of all the committees in Parliament, the Committee for Privileges held the most power over every lord in the land. Including Lucien.

She silently echoed the same sentiments as the strawberry lord. If anyone should have kept as far away from this committee as possible, it would have been the Duke of Deceit.

But Lucien shrugged as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Jess knew better, simply from looking at him. He wore his exquisite day clothes like a uniform, dressed spotlessly in a black coat over a dark blue waistcoat and tan trousers, boots so highly polished that she could see his reflection in them, and a diamond pin in his intricately knotted cravat. He looked formal and impressive, every inch a duke…except for when he tugged off his gloves and tossed them casually onto the table, followed by his beaver hat. His broad back was toward her so she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew well the impertinent gleam she would have seen there.

“Well, then, Lord Trenmear, I’ll begin,” Lucien said. “But first, let me reacquaint you with my friends, the Dukes of Dartmoor and Greysmere, who are here to lend their support in my request to the committee.”

He turned toward the door as two tall, broad-shouldered men strode into the room, each dressed as finely as Lucien and each man just as tall, broad, and solid. A hush fell over the lords at the table, their eyes widening in surprise. All their amusement vanished as if the air had been sucked from the room.

The two men stopped directly behind Lucien and crossed their arms in unison as they gazed back inscrutably at the startled committee. Together, they formed a wall of muscle, fortune, and status—No, they formed an impenetrable force, one to be reckoned with.

The committee knew it, too, from the way low whispers went up around the table. It was one thing for them to be dismissive and condescending to Lucien; it was something entirely different when faced with two other dukes who were among the most powerful peers in the realm.

Trenmear’s expression turned hard. “What is it you want, Crewe?”

“I have a request for the committee to consider regarding the Dukedom of Crewe. I’ve been caught up in a situation beyond my control that affects the dukedom, one I will admit I should have brought to the committee’s attention years ago. For that I take full responsibility, as I was only doing what I thought was best to protect the dukedom and my family.”

“For that, we’re here to support him in every way,” the Duke of Dartmoor interjected.

“Including vouching for his good will and character,” the Duke of Greysmere added.

Not one of the lords dared laugh at Greysmere’s mention of Lucien’s good will.

“My request concerns my family. I have a brother named Phillip,” Lucien announced, his spine impossibly straight. He paused for emphasis. “An older brother.”

Jess’s heart stopped, and when it finally lurched back to life, the resulting pounding was so brutal that she winced as she pressed her fist against her chest to keep it from exploding. Oh, she’d been so wrong! This meeting wasn’t about Henry—it was about Lucien and his attempt to purify his reputation. He was bringing all his secrets into the light, revealing the ghosts, and risking everything. A sickening knot tied itself in her belly, and she couldn’t have said on her life if it were relief, anguish, or apprehension, because she knew why he was doing this…

Because of her.

“Breathe, dear,” Auntie whispered and squeezed her hand. “It will do him no good whatsoever if you faint.”

No, it wouldn’t. But sitting there silently did him no good either because none of the men around the table seemed at all pleased at what he was attempting to tell them. Or what he truly meant by it. She could read the truth in their expressions that they weren’t convinced Lucien wasn’t pulling some kind of joke.

“We know that,” a gray-haired man who showed his age by wearing a coat twenty years out of fashion spoke up. “I remember when it happened. The duchess was devastated because her baby died shortly after birth.”

“No, he didn’t.”

The entire room seemed to catch its shocked breath, including Jess. She stared at Lucien’s back, wishing she could see his face, wishing she could make eye contact with him…wishing she could help him however she could. But he was too far away.

When she began to rise from her chair to go to him, Aunt Matilda placed her hand on her shoulder and firmly pushed her back down. “No.”

“I need to be at his side,” she pleaded, her worry making it impossible to speak louder than a breath.

“Your time will come. Right now, he needs to fight this battle alone.”

Matilda was right. Jess knew it, even if she didn’t like it. So she sat on the edge of the chair, her fingers gripping the wooden seat beneath her so tightly she was certain they’d turned white, and bit her bottom lip between her teeth.

“My brother Phillip suffers from a condition that makes it impossible for him to carry out the duties required of a peer of the realm,” Lucien explained. “My father, the late Duke of Crewe, wanted to protect the dukedom, so he sent Phillip away when he was a baby, to be raised away from our family, without anyone knowing he was alive. When I came along a few years later, the dukedom finally had an heir who could eventually oversee it.” His spine remained ramrod straight, and not a trace of guilt was audible in his voice. “So we all went along as if Phillip never existed. But that situation can no longer continue.”

Lucien nodded at Henry, who stepped forward to quickly hand out sheets of papers to the men gathered around the table.

“The papers Mr. Graham is handing you contain my request to your committee,” Lucien explained. “I want to petition the Crown for a special remainder to be created to the writ and letters patent for the dukedom regarding the inheritance of the title. Because of the delicacy of the situation, I need to start with you, my lords. Your support of the petition will allow it to proceed out of your committee and become an appeal for an Act of Parliament that supports such a change. Hopefully then, the Prince Regent will grant my petition.”

Quiet rumblings and mumblings rose up from around the table as the lords scanned the papers in disbelief.

“Those papers also contain a list of precedents involving competency and inheritance which you might find helpful.” Lucien paused, then murmured, “And God save King George during his own illness and time of struggle…and the prince regent who so skillfully guides us in His Majesty’s place.”

Jess’s stunned mouth slammed shut at that wholly blatant reminder that the mad king had been effectively removed from power, if not from the throne. After all, if Parliament could appoint a prince regent to rule in place of a king, then they could certainly do the same for a duke and not have to attaint the title. Her gaze scoured the men’s faces to judge from their expressions if they were at all sympathetic to Lucien’s situation…or if he’d just condemned himself by trusting them.

Lord Trenmear placed the papers down on the table in front of him, pointed at Jess and Matilda in the rear corner, then swept a hand in the air as if to swat them away from clear across the room. The two women had been ignored but never forgotten. “This is a topic for a closed meeting.” He added in a mutter beneath his breath, “If ever there was one.”

“I would like them to stay,” Lucien argued. “Miss Davidson and Miss St Claire are both aware of my situation.”

He looked over his shoulder, and his gaze met Jess’s. In that all-to-brief moment, she couldn’t read his thoughts, his eyes dark and his expression impenetrable. But she knew one thing for certain—despite his determination, he wasn’t at all happy to be doing this.

He turned back to the committee. “I am hoping that we can move with expediency to resolve the situation and push forward the petition. After all, the dukedom needs an heir—a legitimate one—which requires a wife, and I know how much all of you would love to permanently keep me away from your wives while shackling me to one of your daughters.”

The men laughed stiltedly, letting the joke break the tension permeating the room.

But Jess didn’t find that at all funny. This time when she rose to her feet, Matilda didn’t stop her.

“I’m sorry, my lords,” Jess interrupted as she stepped past the row of dukes and up to Lucien’s side. “But His Grace will not be marrying any of your daughters.” She wove her fingers through his and tightly held his hand. She swallowed, hard, and prayed she was right when she added hoarsely, “Because he’s marrying me.”

Lucien stared down at her but didn’t say anything. Didn’t agree. Didn’t correct her assumption. Didn’t laugh. At least that last was a hopeful sign. She didn’t dare look away from him, even as she heard the men shift with irritation around her.

“I don’t care if they take the dukedom away from you,” she whispered, so softly only Lucien could hear. “We will find a way to care for Phillip and the family we’ll have, and we will be happy because we will be together.” She squeezed his hand. “Without fear of our pasts.”

Lucien’s expression didn’t change as he continued to stare down at her. “Mr. Graham!”

“Yes, Your Grace?” Henry came to attention at the side of the room.

His eyes never left hers. “You are to act as my legal representative going forward with the committee. You have a proxy for me to sign stating such?”

“Right here, sir.” He placed a piece of paper onto the table and handed him a quill set.

Finally turning away from her, Lucien let go of Jess’s hand to scrawl out his signature. Then he dropped the quill to the table. “Dartmoor and Greysmere will assist you as needed.”

Behind them, the two dukes seemed to grow impossibly larger and even more unmovable. Good heavens.

“Now wait one moment, Crewe,” Trenmear grumbled as he rose to his feet. “This isn’t at all normal. We need to—”

“My sincerest apologies, Trenmear, but an important matter needs my urgent attention.” He turned toward Henry. “Mr. Graham, did your fiancée pack a bag for Miss St Claire as requested?”

Henry gave a firm nod. “It’s waiting in your carriage.”

Jess frowned with confusion. “ My bag? What are you two talking about?”

Without warning, Lucien scooped Jess into his arms. A crooked grin broke across his face as he carried her toward the door, not caring about the confusion he was leaving in his wake. Jess clung to him, one arm looped around his neck, her other hand clasping his jacket lapel.

“Miss Davidson,” he called out to Matilda over his shoulder, “I’m eloping with your niece. I’ll return her to London within the fortnight, just in time for her sister’s wedding.”

Jess’s mouth fell open. “Lucien…”

“Enjoy Scotland!” Matilda answered, waving goodbye.

Jess swung her head to gape at Matilda. “Auntie!”

But her aunt wasn’t at all chastised. In fact, Matilda looked happier than Jess could ever remember, beaming with joy and on the verge of breaking out in a jig.

Henry Graham ran after them to open the door so Lucien could carry her away.

“You were in on this all along,” Jess scolded Henry as Lucien turned sideways to carry her through the door and gave her one last look back into the committee room. “You said you needed help with a wedding surprise for Amanda.”

“I said I needed help for a wedding surprise,” Henry explained a bit sheepishly. “I never said it was for my wedding.”

Then he closed the door after them so the committee could proceed with their business, muting the sound of laughter from the lords and sobs of happiness from Auntie. The last glimpse Jess had was of a befuddled Duke of Dartmoor patting Auntie consolingly on her back as the plump woman threw herself into his arms and cried with unabashed joy.

“Lucien, put me down,” Jess ordered.

“No.” His long strides didn’t slow as he carried her toward the main entrance, earning surprised looks and amused laughter from the men they passed in the hallways.

“Let me go.”

“ Never .”

Her chest warmed at the conviction of that single word and at the hungry glance he gave her as he carried her outside. Her insides turned molten, and she stopped caring about the scene they were making.

A carriage waited in front of the main entrance. The red and gold Crewe coat of arms was emblazoned proudly on the ebony door, and two travel trunks were tied to the top and rear of the carriage—she recognized the brown one as hers.

She caught her breath. Good Lord , he was serious! He planned on eloping with her to Gretna Green.

Her heart pounded a fierce tattoo as he carried her to the carriage where a uniformed tiger stood holding open the door. She knew she should stop him, tell him he was mad for thinking of doing this, tell him to release her—he would do it this time, she knew, now that they were away from the lords and Auntie, now that he’d made their grand exit and found a way to maintain a veneer of scandal even in the midst of proving himself good.

But she found not one bit of resolve inside her to utter a single word to stop him. Instead, she nuzzled her cheek against his shoulder and drew a smile from him.

He gently placed her inside on the bench seat, then climbed in after her.

“Sir, the paper you requested,” the tiger said and handed a folded copy of a newspaper to Lucien.

“Wonderful.” He settled back against the squabs opposite her and ordered, “Let’s go.”

“Yes, sir!” The tiger closed the door, and after only a moment’s pause to give the young man time to take his seat up top, the carriage moved forward into Westminster traffic.

Not knowing what else to say, still fearing that he would announce that this was nothing but a stunt for the committee, Jess gestured at the paper and teased, “A bit of reading for you for the Great North Road?”

“No.” A grin tugged at his lips. “For you.”

He unfolded the paper and held it up so she could read the headlines.

Jess’s eyes widened. They were all about him.

Her hands shook as she reached to take the paper and read it. Every column was about the dukedom and Phillip, how his father had lied to the world about his oldest born son and heir, how Lucien was raised to believe he was an only child. There were inches and inches of newsprint, too, dedicated to all the good deeds Lucien had done since he returned to London…so many charitable acts, donations, scholarships, endowments, and sponsorships that Jess’s head simply spun. Most of all, there was the article about his service in the war. It didn’t paint him as a heartless mercenary but as a patriot who had no other way of fighting on behalf of Britain except by joining the Prussians. All of it worked to earn the compassion and understanding of the reader, which meant the lords on the Committee for Privileges would see it—more importantly, so would their wives and mothers, who would find a soft spot for a man who had been so misused by his own family and country, who had only lied to the world in order to protect his brother.

The Times was trying to rewrite his past even as he was attempting to write his future. The timing of it could not have been a coincidence.

“Oh, you clever man,” she murmured as the realization of all he’d done struck her. “The committee, the two dukes, now the paper… You’ve manipulated the situation to your advantage in every way.”

“Well, you know what they say… If it’s printed in the Times , it must be true.” He folded his arms smugly over his chest and kicked his boots up onto the seat beside her, to stretch his long legs catty-corner across the compartment. “It appears I’m a good-hearted gentleman after all.”

“Yes, you are,” she choked out, unable to find her voice.

He warned grimly, “But it might not work. The Crown might refuse my petition, and the committee might vote against me. They might take the dukedom after all. God knows I’ve accumulated enough grudges against me over the years. This is all a long way from over.”

“Then we will face it together, come what may.”

His eyes softened. “Then marry me, Jess.” His voice cracked as he admitted, “The truth is that I can’t get through this without you.”

His quiet words broke her heart.

“Help me survive this new life of goodness I seemed destined for.” His words were so soft and low that they were nearly lost beneath the rumble of the carriage wheels, but her heart heard every word. “Be my duchess and my true partner, until death do us part.”

Her eyes blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay as she rasped, “Yes.”

“To which part?” His eyes gleamed mischievously as he teased, “To becoming my duchess or my death?”

“Frustrating man!” She reached down to playfully swat his boot and somehow managed to say without her voice breaking from emotion, “To becoming your wife .”

For a long moment, they held each other’s gazes, neither moving, neither speaking a word or daring to glance away. Her hand rested on his calf, and her fingers couldn’t resist curling into the soft material of his trousers and the hard muscle beneath. The small gesture was possessive, and she didn’t care if it was. He belonged to her now, just as she belonged to him. No secrets kept them apart any longer.

“You did it in the wrong order, you know,” she told him. “You’re supposed to gain the woman’s consent for marriage before you abscond with her.”

“And miss the opportunity to spread rumors that I’ve kidnapped you and ravished you at every mile marker from here to Scotland?” He tsked his tongue dismissingly. “After all, I wouldn’t want to give up my bad reputation all at once.”

“You are incorrigible,” she scolded. Then she added with a sigh, finally admitting the truth to herself, “And I love you for it.”

With a raffish grin, he dropped his left boot from the seat and temptingly brushed it against her calf. Prickles of excitement raced up her leg. She prayed to God that she never grew used to the feeling of his touch, even one so incidental.

“You know…” He teased the tip of his boot beneath her skirt and caressed the inside of her leg. “It’s a very long ride to Gretna Green. Days and days.” His eyes gleamed wickedly. “We might have to find something to do to pass the time.”

Unable to resist, she pushed herself off the seat and crossed the compartment to sit on his lap. She wrapped her arm around his neck, then leaned in to whisper seductively into his ear, “I might have a few ideas.”

“Why, Miss St Claire!” His feigned offense was simply laughable as he made quick work of unbuttoning her bodice. “Are you attempting to seduce me?”

“Well,” she panted out as his hands wandered over her body and beneath her skirt, “I would hate for you to turn completely respectable.” She sucked in a sharp breath that faded into a sigh as his hand moved deliciously along her thigh. “I think…I might like keeping…a bit of a rake in you.” When his hand caressed between her legs, she shuddered and let escape a low moan of pleasure. “Oh, my goodness…”

“Trust me, my love.” With a grin, he reached over and pulled closed the curtains. “ Goodness has nothing to do with it.”