The Duke Meets His Match (The Infamous Somertons #3)(32)

He could have hurt her last night during the fireworks. He could have hurt her when she caught him unawares today and woke him. It would have been easy to break the delicate bones in her wrist, or heaven forbid, to snap her neck. His jaw clamped tight. Thank goodness he’d recognized her before his battle-hardened instincts had kicked in.

She’d ended up beneath him instead. Soft, sweet, and oh so tempting.

He couldn’t marry anyone, not when he was suffering this war sickness. Not when anything could trigger his slow descent to insanity, whether it be a former French tyrant’s carriage in a museum or fireworks at Vauxhall Gardens.

Humiliation and anger raged within him, and he clenched his jaw until it ached. He was damaged. A broken man. He refused to subject a wife and children to his darkest demons. But he believed, more than ever before, that Henry was no match for Chloe. After what they shared in his bed, she must know this as well.

She had to know.

But there would be other men. Could he do it? Could he let Chloe go and watch her marry another?





Chapter Thirteen


Chloe was careful to return through the servants’ entrance of Huntingdon’s town house. Muscles she hadn’t known existed were sore and she moved slowly. She’d always been impetuous, but she didn’t regret a moment of the afternoon. As long as she lived, the memory of the pleasure she’d found in Michael’s arms would remain vivid in her mind. She knew she’d always compare other men to him and they’d fall short.

Michael had been right. She’d known what would happen between them as soon as she’d dared step foot inside his bedchamber. From the beginning, the attraction between them had simmered and grown until neither of them could resist the pull. She recognized it now. Deep down, she’d desired him as much as he’d wanted her.

There could be serious consequences if the truth became known. Eliza and Huntingdon would demand the Duke of Cameron propose marriage. And for that reason, Chloe would take the secret to her grave.

She didn’t want to marry a man who had to be forced to the altar. She wanted to marry, yes, but she wanted a man who wanted her. The duke had made his intentions clear—whether it was because he thought himself ill or he truly didn’t want a wife—the result was the same.

Chloe would be no man’s mistress.

She breathed a sigh of relief as she made her way through the kitchen and connecting hallways unnoticed. She desperately wanted a bath and planned to ring for her maid, Alice, as soon as she reached her bedchamber. Her footsteps were silent on the carpet runner as she walked to the main part of the house and the stairs leading up to the second floor. Her slipper touched the first step when she heard her name.

“Miss Chloe?”

Chloe whirled, her hand clutching the ornate banister. “Alice? You scared me half to death.”

“Sorry, my lady. Let me see to you upstairs.”

As soon as Chloe’s bedchamber door closed, Alice asked, “What happened last night at Vauxhall Gardens? I overheard Lady Huntingdon say the duke had to leave early.” It had been Alice’s evening off, and Chloe hadn’t been able to explain.

“He did. But not for the reason I told everyone.”

“You were with him, weren’t you?”

“I was.”

Alice shot a brown upward. “And Lord Sefton?”

“Was watching Madame Saqui’s performance with the rest of the group.”

Her maid shot her a speculative look. “You had a secret rendezvous with the duke last night, didn’t you?”

Chloe shook her head. “No. It wasn’t like that last night. I helped him then, but I saw him again this afternoon.”

Alice looked at her knowingly, then nodded. Thankfully, her maid never judged her. “I never thought Lord Sefton was a good match for you. You are too intelligent and strong-willed for him.”

“Neither is the Duke of Cameron. He had a seizure of sorts when the fireworks went off. I believe it took him back to the war and the horrors of cannon fire.”

Alice was silent for several seconds. “I’ve heard of soldiers returning from battle with illnesses of the mind. My cousin’s husband suffered ill effects after Waterloo.”

“What happened to him?”

“He went to an asylum. Everyone thought him mad. Last I heard he hung himself.”

Oh God. Chloe tired to swallow the lump that rose in her throat. Could that happen to Michael? How bad was his condition? She’d witnessed two events—both deeply unsettling. What if there were many others, even more debilitating? His servants had said he’d go for days without leaving the house. What if he was a danger to himself?

She refused to believe it.

“Our own cook’s husband also experienced something similar since the war. Not long ago, he woke up screaming from nightmares. Shook the servants’ quarters and scared me something fierce,” Alice said.

A question formed on Chloe’s lips when a knock sounded on the door. Alice opened it to find the butler in the doorway. “There is a gentleman caller here to see you, miss,” he said.

For a heart-stopping moment, Chloe thought Michael had followed her home. Did he feel honor bound to do the right thing after all? Her mind spun as she clutched the bedpost for support. Good grief, was he here to speak with Huntingdon?

“Who is it?” she said in a raw voice.