Never Desire a Duke

river became passable.”

Her well-being. She would never be well again. What she had told Claxton last night was true. The past four days had been the most uncommon of her life. Now forever, they would be shadowed in darkness. She grieved their loss and Claxton’s loss like a death.

“Sophia.” He extended a handkerchief, which she gratefully clutched to her eyes. “You must tell me what happened.”

“I can’t,” she rasped. “It’s all too terrible.”

He pulled aside the window curtain, an action that provided a direct view of Camellia House high upon the hill over Lacenfleet. Even from this distance, Sophia clearly saw the gaping hole and the cloud of soot that smudged the lovely facade. She moaned and buried her head in her hands.

It was then that Fox’s composure fractured.

“Why is he not with you?” he demanded ferociously. “Why have you left in this fashion, unescorted, with only the clothes on your back? As if in secrecy. As if in escape?”

She shook her head, unable to respond for a sudden eruption of tears. He lunged across the carriage, taking her in his arms. Sobs racked her body.

“Tell me, Sophia, what did he do to you? If Vinson were here, he would demand to know. Since he is not, then I will.”

Just then the door of the carriage flew open. Claxton’s face appeared in the door opening, his eyes cruel and his skin and clothing blackened by soot. He breathed heavily and his features were strained, as if he’d run all the way on foot. His boot slammed onto the step and he gripped the handle, for all appearances prepared to hurl himself inside.

“You would leave me now?” He uttered the words hoarsely, his gaze only briefly veering to Havering before returning to her. His body shuddered with some emotion, his expression grew hard, and he fell back to simply stand and stare. “I was a coward for abandoning you before, for not fighting harder for us. But make no mistake. It’s you, Sophia, who are the coward today.”

Nostrils flaring with rage, he slammed the door.

“Oh, Fox,” she cried. “It’s not what he did to me, but what I did to him. He will never forgive me.”

* * *

Two days later, upon returning to town, Vane took residence in his London house instead of his club. He had no fear of crossing paths with Sophia because from what he could surmise, she had not spent one moment in their marital home, but had flown straight into her family’s waiting arms. He expected it was just a matter of time before Wolverton summoned him to discuss their separation.

“It’s officially ‘eve,’” Haden said, looking at his timepiece. “Christmas Eve, that is, which means it’s almost time for me to depart.”

Vane didn’t bite. Haden had been dangling some supposed invitation in front of his nose all evening. As if Vane had ever cared about society or parties before, and he most especially did not now.

“Where will you go tonight, Claxton?” asked Rabe, who also made ready to depart, donning his hat and gloves.

“To bed, I suppose.” Vane had given the servants two days’ leave in honor of the holiday. He wanted to be alone. He had not slept in two days, not since the fire. Not since Sophia had left Lacenfleet in the company of Lord Havering. If he could just force himself to fall asleep, he might stay there forever.

“To bed? But it’s Christmas Eve.” His cousin frowned.

“And?” Vane answered stolidly.

From outside came the sound of waits singing on the pavement outside his window, a song of hope and goodwill toward one’s common man, two sentiments he could not summon within himself.

“Come with me to Mother’s,” Rabe insisted.

“Thank you,” Vane answered. “But no.”

Haden jumped in. “I, for one, have accepted an invitation to participate in one generous family’s traditional holiday festivities.”

Vane spread the morning’s newspaper on the table and pretended to read. It wouldn’t do to murder his only remaining immediate relation on Christmas Eve. Perhaps, though, tomorrow.

“Well?” demanded Haden.

“Well, what?” Vane responded darkly.

“Aren’t you going to ask who invited me to spend Christmas Eve with them?”

“No,” Vane growled, his head feeling as if it might just explode.

“The two of you are imbeciles.” Rabe rolled his eyes. “Tell us, who invited you, Haden?”

Haden puffed his chest out and smiled. “The Duchess of Claxton.”

Rabe whistled through his teeth.

Vane glared at his brother, his hands seizing the paper. “No, she didn’t.”

Haden’s eyebrows jumped with mischief. “Yes, she did. That morning after the duel. I can only assume the invitation still stands.” Turning to gaze into the gilt-framed wall mirror, he whistled cheerfully and pinned a sprig of holly to his lapel.

“If I were you, I would assume,” Vane seethed, “that the invitation has been rescinded.”

“Last I checked I was still her brother by marriage. You might do well to—”

“Don’t say it,” Vane warned.

Haden’s good humor dimmed. “Suit yourself. But you can’t stay here forever being miserable. I think if you would only talk to her—”

“I hope you choke on mistletoe,” Claxton growled.

He wasn’t trying to be funny. Mistletoe’s knobby thin branches would be exquisitely painful if thrust down one’s throat, and as an added benefit in his brother’s case, poisonous.

“Hmm. Mistletoe,” Haden mused. “Her Grace has two lovely sisters.”

“I’ll visit tomorrow, Claxton,” said Rabe.

“Don’t bother. I plan to be asleep.” Or drunk.

Haden and Rabe exchanged looks of exasperation. A moment later the door closed behind them. At last. Silence.

Damn, and the memory of Sophia’s beautiful face. He curled his fists and pressed them against his forehead, aching for her with such a sudden miserable intensity he—

A sudden rapping came on the door.

Damn it, Haden. He waited for his footman to answer, but then remembered…he had no servants. The rapping continued unabated, driving a nail straight through his skull.

Unlocking the door, he bellowed, “Next time remember your key—”

A different face waited there. Vane snarled, for there on his doorstep stood Lord Havering, his eyes ablaze, as if prepared for battle.

“You and I are going to have a talk,” he said.

But puzzlingly…behind him stood Haden and Rabe.

They all, in a rush of tall hats, shoulders, and winter scarves, pushed past him into the vestibule. He considered walking straight out the door into the night without his coat or hat. He’d just keep walking until he could walk no more and spend the night, or maybe a month, at some anonymous inn.

But this was his house, and he wasn’t leaving. He firmly shut the door on the cold and proceeded to return from whence he had come. They all waited for him beneath the arched threshold of his study, doffing their hats, with expressions of grim-faced determination. He could only assume that Havering had been sent as Wolverton’s representative to present the terms for a separation and that his own blood relations had been recruited to bear witness and to intercede, as necessary, if Claxton did not take the proposed provisos well. No doubt Havering would talk talk talk and expect him to listen.

“Listen here, Claxton,” declared Havering, proving his point. “This nonsense between you and her Grace is going to stop right here, tonight.”

“It’s Lord Claxton to you,” Vane said, striding past. “And I don’t see that ‘this nonsense’ is any of your business.”

Of course Havering followed, practically riding on his back. “As the duchess’s friend, I’m making it my