No Duke Will Do - Eva Devon Page 0,42

Mary would probably have liked to have had her mother, her family, there. But they had both acknowledged the fact that this was for them and for no one else, and so, they both had agreed, no friends, no family, just themselves.

At this particular point, they knew they needed to cherish what they had and not invite anyone else in, because if they did, they would be asking for criticism and difficulty. But now, as he stood outside Number 79, the club which his friends had formed, he felt his first wave of reticence and guilt.

Had he made a terrible mistake in this secret?

The dukes had been, dare he say, kind to him, inviting him into their mix. It wasn’t usual for men of power from the aristocracy to allow someone like him into their fold, and they had done so with open arms, and now, he was repaying them with subterfuge and deceit.

He strode up to the door and was admitted easily. Madame de Cocqueville eyed him up and down.

“Mon cher Monsieur Heath, you look as if you have had the weight of the world taken off your shoulders,” the beautiful French woman who guarded the door of Number 79 said. “What ever could be lightening your step?”

Madame de Cocqueville was a woman he respected greatly. She’d survived the French Revolution and came to London. She’d become a recognized playwright and author here, and she was a woman who knew people, which was dangerous.

She was going to assess him, and he was terrified she might be able to read his mind.

So he merely arched a brow. “Ah. Merely enjoying the world,” he said.”

“I do not believe you for a second, mon cher,” she said. “You have found love.”

“You French people,” he tsked. “You always assume that if one is well in the world, they have found love.”

“Because it is true,” she returned playfully. “The only thing that induces such a look as yours is l’amour. You have found a woman, Heath. I hope she is treating you very well.”

Heath ground his teeth together.

He could admit it, or he could continue to try to deny it.

In his experience, a little bit of truth was better than a bald-faced lie, and so, he said, “She is making me very happy.”

“Good,” Madame de Cocqueville announced, clapping her hands together, her rings winking. “I am glad to hear it. You deserve happiness.”

“Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m glad that I meet with your approval.”

“You always have,” she said. “You are a true revolutionary at heart.”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing,” he sallied. “I don’t wish to see the streets wild and full of anarchy.”

“No,” she said. “You wish them to be reordered so that there is justice in the world, which is exactly what I wanted. And if things had gone differently in my beloved France, I would still be there.”

But they had not gone differently.

It was the nature of humans to muck up revolutions, to muck up any betterment of society.

He knew it, which was another reason not to reveal his marriage to Mary any time soon. He doubted there would be a great deal of tolerance for it. After all, a marriage from him to someone like Lady Mary was a restructuring of society.

Something that aristocrats were not eager for, no matter how tolerant they might seem.

“The dukes are upstairs,” Madame de Cocqueville said. “No doubt, they shall be glad to see you.”

He gave a nod.

He was here on business, really. He often did things to help them, for they did good work.

He strode through the small but beautifully appointed townhouse, climbed the stairs, and found the secret door. He pulled the book, which allowed the door to slide open, and headed into the corridor. He heard the sound of laughter and men laughing, of the Duke of Drake at the piano, playing a merry tune.

He came into the comforting atmosphere of men sprawled about on leather chairs, drinking brandy before the fire, as a cry of huzzah went up from them.

“Heath,” the Duke of Blackstone proclaimed. “Get in here, man.”

Heath swallowed.

Mary’s brother was a good man and a kind fellow. He went out of his way to include others, and he’d included Heath, and Heath had repaid him by taking his sister’s innocence.

No, that wasn’t true.

He hadn’t taken anything from Mary. Mary had given it freely. He gave a nod.

“I can’t tell if you’re in a good humor or a bad humor,” the Duke of