She shook her head, but he disregarded it.

"I will take my leave now," he told her. "But I promise you that I will be back. I will not quit until I have the answer I want."

Then he turned and strode out of the room. Priscilla stood silently, listening to his footsteps in the hall outside. When the front door closed behind him, she collapsed onto the chair behind her and gave way to a torrent of tears.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

THE DUKE OF RANLEIGH STRODE into the dining room. "Ah, good morning," he said politely to the two other occupants of the room, the d.u.c.h.ess and her son, Alec.

"Good morning, Your Grace." Alec jumped to his feet to greet him. He had been impressed by the other man's stature and demeanor last night at the party. He looked the part of a duke, Alec thought, and, frankly, he was relieved not to have the burden of the t.i.tle. He was now only a younger brother, third in line for the t.i.tle, and once John-no, Bryan-got married and had a son, he would be even farther away. Alec could see all the advantages of the freedom that offered. His mother would no longer be able to bind him with the responsibilities of being a duke, and he would be off to the army, somehow, some way.

"Good morning, Alec," Damon responded. "I am glad you decided to join me."

"Did we have any choice?" the d.u.c.h.ess asked sourly. She was not used to arising so early, and she would still have been sound asleep if her personal maid had not told her that the Duke had requested that she join him at breakfast. It was a polite way of saying the Duke demanded it, she knew.

"Mmm... I suppose one always has a choice," Damon replied, sitting down at the head of the table. The footman standing by the silver-laden sideboard immediately stepped forward to fill his cup with coffee.

"What may I get Your Grace?" he asked, but Damon impatiently waved him away.

"I shall get it myself," he told the man. "You may go back to the kitchen. We will manage by ourselves, I think."

Bianca arched an eyebrow. Personally, she did not like to get anything for herself. However, she did not have the nerve to say so. She and Alec watched as the new Duke filled his plate from the sideboard and finally sat down again. He took a sip of the coffee.

"Not the best," he commented. "I shall have to change that." He glanced around the table casually. "Well, I see that we have one less houseguest this morning."

Bianca compressed her lips. Benjamin had taken off last night, shortly after Damon arrived. When she had been supported back to her room last night to recover from the shock of Damon's return, she had found the coward packing. He had heard, he told her, that the two men he had hired were in the custody of the town constable. It did not surprise her that the rat was leaving the sinking ship. He would know that, now that Alec would no longer be the Duke, she would no longer have any real power or money. She would be almost entirely dependent on the new Duke for her support, except for the pittance that was her dower. And she would probably not be able to save him if his cohorts decided to reveal his part in their crime. Well, at least she had been clever enough to have him deal with the crooks; they would not be able to trace the scheme back to her.

Alec, across the table from her, did not attempt to hide his glee. "Yes. The scoundrel took off. Thank G.o.d."

"I hope the d.u.c.h.ess will not miss him too much."

Bianca shrugged and took a casual sip of her coffee. "He was nothing to me," she replied brittlely.

"Good." The Duke turned his attention to his food for the next few minutes. Bianca toyed with her toast, and Alec merely waited, watching the Duke.

"Ah..." Damon said at last, pushing aside his plate and taking another drink of his coffee. "Nothing like an English breakfast." He paused, his gaze going from Bianca to Alec and back. The tension rose in the room with every pa.s.sing tick of the clock.

"Well, Alec," he said at last, "I am looking forward to getting to know you. I must say, it is a trifle odd to find out one has a brother after thirty years. Especially one who is more the age of my son than me. I suppose it must be as peculiar an experience for you."

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Oh, please, none of that between us. We are brothers. Call me Damon."

"Thank you...Damon."

"Good. My son tells me that you are eager to join the army."

Predictably, Alec's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes! It's what I'd like more than anything!"

"I see no reason why you should not. The military's always been an excellent career for a younger son. I have no problem with that."

"No!" Bianca cried out. "He cannot! I refuse to allow it."

Damon turned his eyes on her, the pale blue orbs devoid of emotion. "I believe I am head of the family now, Bianca."

"He is my son!" Bianca retorted. "I will not let him do it."

"He will be twenty-one in a few weeks, and I am afraid that you will no longer have any control over him. Of course, if he would rather stay with you, he is certainly welcome to. However, I would think a young man would find life at the Dower House rather dull. Yorkshire is somewhat isolated. Fine for a widow, of course, but-"

"The Dower House!" Bianca exclaimed, her eyes opening wide and her nostrils flaring. Her concern over her son's departure for the military was quickly replaced by this daunting vision of her own future.

"Why, yes, I believe it is customarily where the Duke's widow retires after her husband's death." He paused, then added, "It makes sense, too. I might marry again, and if I don't, I understand that my son has intentions of doing so."

"Priscilla?" Alec asked eagerly. "Are he and Priscilla going to get married?"

"Oh, Alec, do shut up!" Bianca snapped. "What does it matter whether he marries that stupid Hamilton girl? This man is kicking me out of our home! Why don't you do something about it?"

Alec shifted uncomfortably. "Well, ah, Mother, I-I don't know what I can do. It is his house."

"Don't plague your son. He is quite right. There is nothing he can do. Nor is there anything you can do. There are other reasons, very good reasons, why you should live there. After all, it is a much smaller house and will more suit your income."

Bianca's jaw dropped. She had not expected him to cut off all her funds. "You expect me to live on that...that pittance?"

"It is your inheritance."

"It is nothing. All the real money is tied up with the t.i.tle!"

"I am afraid there is not really all that much of it anymore, particularly at the rate you have been spending it the past few years. The solicitors showed me the accounts. At any rate, your inheritance is quite adequate, I believe, to maintain the dower house and even have a few weeks in Bath, say, every year."

"Bath!" she spat out with loathing. "With all the old ladies? I think not!"

"You might be able to rent a house in London for a couple of weeks a year."

"I won't go!" Bianca returned shrilly.

"You cannot stay here." There was steel in his voice.

Bianca and Alec simply stared at him in amazement for a long moment. Though the Dower House was traditionally the home to which the ducal widow retired, it had not been used as such for the past two generations. The dowager d.u.c.h.esses had preferred to remain at Ranleigh Court, and their sons, the new dukes, had not wanted to force them out.

"I shall tell everyone what you have done!" Bianca was seething. "You may have the power to throw me out of here, but everyone in the country will know what a cruel, heartless b.a.s.t.a.r.d you are!"

Damon regarded her coldly for a long moment. "I would suggest that you think long and hard before you do such a thing. It is sometimes better for all concerned to keep silent on a subject."

Bianca blinked. "I-I don't know what you mean!"

"Don't you? Then let me spell it out for you-though I had hoped to spare your son learning this about his mother. For the good of the family, I had decided to keep silent about what you have done to my son and tried to do to me. I wanted to spare your son the embarra.s.sment, as Bryan a.s.sured me that Alec had no part in your schemes."

"What schemes?" Alec asked, his voice rising. "Mama, what is he talking about?"

"You are bluffing!" his mother told Damon boldly, ignoring Alec.

"Am I? You think I don't know all about it? You think I won't let it out? Believe me, I will, if you even once spread gossip about me or my family. Tell your friends, if you want, how I refused to let you stay at Ranleigh Court, and I will tell them how you hired killers to get rid of me. How you had my son kidnapped and beaten up."

"Mother!" Alec sat back in his chair, aghast, staring at her.

"You cannot prove it!" Bianca jumped to her feet. "They never dealt with me! They do not even know my name!"

"Perhaps not, but your lover knows. You think he cannot be tracked down? You think he wouldn't be glad to tell us all about how he acted on your command when he hired those two ruffians-when he is facing long years in jail? Think well, madam, before you open your mouth. You could go to jail for this, not simply be banished to the Dower House in Yorkshire. At the least, you will never be received in any decent house in this country again."

Bianca stood still, staring at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to say something that would overcome his argument. Alec, his face as white as paper, had also risen to his feet and now stood facing her across the table.

"Mother?" he asked, his voice strained. "Is this true? Did you try to harm Damon and Bryan? Mother, answer me!"

She turned on him then, her eyes narrowed to slits, her frustration and rage at the Duke slipping out against her son. "What do you think? I couldn't just sit by and let them come in and seize your inheritance, not when I had worked so hard to get it! Do you think it was easy living with that old man for twenty years? I thought he would die within two or three years after I married him, but he lived on forever! Do you think it was something I enjoyed, enduring his wrinkled old hands on me? His kisses, his- Ohhh!" She let out an inarticulate cry of anger. "I did it for you! All of it was for you! So that you could have your rightful inheritance. So that you could have the t.i.tle, the land, the money. It should all have been yours. I could not let them spoil that!"

"Alec..." Damon made a move toward the boy, whose face was so white and shocked it almost frightened Damon.

"No." Alec held up a hand. "I am all right." He stared straight at his mother. "Did you ever think to ask me if I wanted it? You did not do any of that for me. It was for yourself. I was not even born when you married 'that old man.' You didn't endure that for my sake, but from your own desire for wealth and power. I didn't even want to be the Duke of Ranleigh. I just wanted to join the army with Gid, you know that. Yet you kept forcing me into the mold of the Duke, making me feel guilty for wanting to leave you, telling me that I would not be meeting my responsibility-even when you knew that I was not going to inherit the t.i.tle! That old man you hated so much was my father. The men you tried to kill are my brother and nephew. How could you say you were doing it for me? I don't want any part of it." He drew a deep breath. "I don't want any part of you."

Bianca let out a noise like a hiss and swung around, running out of the room. Alec looked after her, his face a study of pain. Damon walked around to him and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

"I am sorry you had to learn this way."

Alec turned to look at him with confused blue eyes. "How could she have done that? I- She's my mother...."

"I know. Nothing will ever change that. Maybe, after a time, you can reconcile what she did with who she is to you."

"No! I can't even bear to think of it! It was bad enough when she was living with that-" his lip lifted in a sneer "-that cur, Oliver. There were times when I hated her almost as much as him. But this is ten times worse. To find out that she is capable of killing someone, much less a member of my own family!"

"She saw only a threat to her child and herself. You have to remember that. Have you ever seen a lioness protecting her cub?"

"She wasn't protecting me," Alec told him bitterly. "If she had been interested in protecting me, she would never have taken up with Oliver. No, she was interested in protecting her own income, her own status. You were perfectly right about that. It is just...that it is so hard to accept what she's really like."

Damon patted his shoulder again, wishing he knew the right words to say. It was too bad Delia was not here. Women always seemed to be so much better at these things than he was.

"Look," he offered, "I was about to go for a ride, look over the countryside now that I'm back. Why don't you come with me?"

Alec gave him a brief smile. "Thank you. That is very kind of you. But I think right now I'd rather be by myself." He forced another smile and walked out of the room.

DAMON HAD FELT SORRY FOR ALEC, but he was glad that the boy had turned down his offer to go riding. He had planned to call on Anne Chalcomb this morning; it had been on his mind ever since he had arrived last night and not found her at the ball. Indeed, if the truth be known, it had been on his mind long before that, before he'd ever set foot on board the ship to England.

As he rode along the familiar path, memories flooded in on him. So little had changed in thirty years-a large tree that had been cut down here, a hedge of bushes that had sprung up there, a new fence in another place-that he felt almost as if he were eighteen again and riding to meet the woman he loved. He remembered well the antic.i.p.ation growing in his chest, the strumming of his nerves, taut with eagerness and danger, the desire pushing him onward.

At last he topped a rise and looked down on Chalcomb Manor. The yards around it seemed to have shrunk, the fields encroaching upon them. To his right lay the road and the driveway leading to the front. To his left was the small pond and the gazebo where they had usually met. Damon gave in to impulse and turned his horse's head in the direction of the gazebo. As he drew near it, he could see that the little wooden building, with its gingerbread trim, had not been painted in a long time; the pristine white had faded to a dirty gray. Up close, he could see, too, that several of the boards had broken. Even the pond beyond seemed sc.u.mmy and stagnant.

He turned away, feeling faintly troubled. He admitted to himself that one of the main reasons he had come back after all these years was to see Anne. Now he was beginning to wonder if the love affair he remembered would have grown shabby with time, as the surroundings had. Would he find Anne nothing like the girl he had loved? Would he see that what he had thought was grand pa.s.sion had been only fleeting l.u.s.t?

For a moment he was tempted to turn back, but he urged his horse forward, skirting the edge of the manor's yards and coming out on the cobblestoned drive. He felt odd as he dismounted. He had almost never come in this way, except once or twice before he had fallen in love with Lady Chalcomb. Somehow, he still felt a little furtive as he looked around.

No groom came running to take his horse, so he tied it to a post and went up the front steps. He knocked at the door and waited, and after a few moments it was opened by Anne herself. Damon had expected a maid or a footman to open it, so he was caught off guard when Anne appeared. He stood for a moment, staring, unable to say a thing.

She had aged, but gracefully. Her red-gold hair, arranged neatly on her head, was streaked with strands of white, and her skin had softened with time. Tiny lines from smiling fanned out from the corners of her eyes and mouth. But her form was slender and graceful, and the girl she had been still shone out of her clear amber eyes.

Damon swallowed, finding himself too choked with emotion to say anything. It was Anne who was the calmer one, who said quietly, "Damon. I wondered if I would see you again." She stepped back, adding, "Would you like to come in?"

He nodded, wordlessly following her through the high, old-fashioned entryway and into a sitting room a good distance back from the door.

"I'm sorry," Anne told him with a polite smile. "I am afraid I haven't kept the front drawing rooms open since Henry died. I so rarely get formal company these days."

"I would not have thought I was formal company," he said, his throat freed at last from its paralysis.

She smiled faintly, sitting down and motioning him toward another chair. Anne hoped he would not realize that she had rehea.r.s.ed this little scene throughout last night, all the while telling herself that there would be no opportunity, that he would not come. Yet here he was. As tall and handsome as ever.

Her eyes ran over him as she tried to look as if she had not been inspecting him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the shape of his face, the sharpness of his pale blue eyes. There was little of her slender, lithe boy in him; this was a man who had lived and worked hard. Yet here, too, was all the promise that the nineteen-year-old boy had held: the power and strength, the a.s.surance, intelligence and maturity. Was there kindness there, as well? She was not sure. She wondered, too, what he saw when he looked at her, whether he saw a weathered, dried-out old woman in place of the girl he had loved.

"Well," she told him in reply to his comment, "it has been thirty years. People change in that time."

"You think I have?"

"Of course. I am not sure exactly how. One thing has changed, certainly. You are a duke now."

He shrugged. "I am less of a n.o.bleman than when I was a marquess, I a.s.sure you. Thirty years in the United States tends to knock a little sn.o.bbery out of one."

"You were never a sn.o.b."

"No? I think I was often arrogant."

She remembered his arrogance well-in the tilt of his head, the way he carried his shoulders, the smile that flashed across his face. "You were merely aware of your position in life."

"Too certain of it, I think. I've learned how little it matters when one is struggling to survive."

"Was it...very hard after you left here? I mean, living in the United States, working and...all that."

"The work was the least of it. I got used to hard physical labor rather quickly. I found it was something even a lord could easily do, if he was young and strong enough. The brains took a little more oiling to run smoothly, but eventually I managed."

There was a small silence. Anne looked down at her hands. "I see you have a family. I met your son."

"Yes, Bryan is a good lad. Not a lad, anymore, though. He's twenty-eight now."

"He reminded me a little of you when I met him. But I thought I was imagining things."

"I have a daughter, also. Delia. She is in New York. She has a husband and two children."