The Duke's Secret Heir. Sarah Mallory

some hapless footman over its loss. Little matter. He would hand it back to the hotel manager tomorrow and he could return it.

      ‘Do you expect me to fall into your arms?’ Ellen’s voice was scathing. ‘I am surprised you dare to approach me.’

      ‘Oh, I dare, madam.’

      ‘Then you are shameless.’

      ‘Hah, that’s rich indeed, coming from you. You were the one who put yourself under the protection of the French Consul. I suppose he was more to your taste than a poor major.’

      ‘How dare you? Monsieur Drovetti arranged safe passage for us out of Egypt—that is all.’

      ‘And why should he do that if you were not lovers?’

      ‘I told you at the time that he and Mrs Ackroyd had been in correspondence long before our visit to Egypt. They share an interest in antiquities.’

      His lip curled. ‘Do you really expect me to believe that?’ Max scowled. ‘When I reached Alexandria I learned Drovetti had sent you off on a ship to France. I have always been intrigued to know why you did not go back to him, when everything settled down. Or did you play him false, too?’

      She flushed, but ignored this taunt.

      ‘We never went to France. It was just...easier to let the world think it. I wanted to make a new life for myself.’ Her hands fluttered in her lap. ‘In the confusion of the British invading Alexandria it was not difficult. Monsieur Drovetti arranged passage for us on a French ship and from there we were smuggled back to England.’

      ‘Where you hid yourself away. I suppose you thought I would come after you.’

      ‘Why should you?’ she said bitterly. ‘You had had your pleasure.’

      ‘Had my pleasure? Confound it, woman, I married you!’

      ‘That was nothing but a trick. You had one of your friends impersonate a chaplain and I am ashamed I fell for it.’

      ‘Impersonate! Why the deuce should I do that?’

      ‘To trick me into your bed.’

      He bared his teeth. ‘Unnecessary. You would have come there very willingly without marrying me. Admit it.’

      Ellen would never admit such a thing, although she knew it to be the truth. She had been so in love she would have died for him. But not now. The carriage slowed and she looked out of the window. She said coldly, ‘I am home. My coachman will take you back to the Granby.’

      ‘Oh, no,’ he said, following her out of the carriage. ‘We have not yet finished our business.’

      She gasped in outrage as he dismissed her coachman.

      ‘How dare you! I do not want you in my house.’

      ‘I think you will find, madam, that it is my house. As my wife, any property you own is mine.’

      ‘We were never married.’

      ‘Oh, yes, we were,’ he said grimly. ‘And I have the papers to prove it.’ He caught Ellen’s arm, marching her up the steps and past the astonished butler who was holding open the door. ‘Which way?’ he growled. ‘Or do you want to discuss this in the hall?’

      For a long moment Ellen glared at him in silence before leading the way into the drawing room. Only two candles were burning and the butler followed them into the room to light the others. Ellen walked over to the mirror that was fixed above the mantelshelf. She pretended to give her attention to tucking a stray curl back into place, but all the time she noted what was going on behind her. While Snow made his stately progress around the room lighting the candles, Max took off his cloak and tossed it on to a chair before inspecting the decanters arranged on a side table. She pressed her lips together. If he thought she would be offering him refreshment, he was very much mistaken!

      ‘Will that be all, madam?’ The butler’s tone was perfectly polite, but she knew he was reluctant to leave her alone. Her servants were all very loyal and protective, but even if she asked them, they could hardly manhandle a duke from the house. She turned, hiding her anxiety behind a cool smile.

      ‘Yes, thank you, Snow. You may go. I shall ring when I need you.’ As soon as the butler had withdrawn she said coldly, ‘I will spare you five minutes, no more. It is late and I am very tired.’

      ‘You surprise me. I was informed the golden widow could dance until dawn.’

      ‘We are not dancing.’

      ‘Very true. Shall we sit down? But first, brandy, I think.’ She curbed her indignation as he turned away from her and pulled the stopper from one of the decanters. ‘Will you take a glass with me, or there is Madeira. I remember you saying you liked it, although we never drank it during our time together. The best I could offer you then was strong coffee and rose syrup. Or mint tea. I remember you liked that.’

      Ellen sank on to a chair, trying not to shiver. She did not wish to remember those heady days, nor the nights they had spent together.

      ‘I want nothing,’ she told him. ‘Only for you to leave.’

      ‘I am sure you do,’ he said, taking a chair opposite her. He crossed one long leg over the other, very much at his ease, which irritated her immensely.

      She stared at the fireplace, determined not to begin any conversation.

      ‘I was surprised when you did not write to me upon my brother’s death,’ he said at last. ‘I thought if anything might bring you back to me, it would be the knowledge that you were a duchess.’

      ‘I—’ She stopped and after a heartbeat’s pause she said icily, ‘You forget, I know we are not married.’

      Max sipped his brandy, pretending to savour it although in truth he was too intent on controlling his anger to taste anything. Seeing Ellen again had shaken him to the core. He had thought he was over her, but to hear her laugh, as if she had not a care in the world, when for the past four years he had known nothing but grief and guilt and emptiness, had brought back all the bitterness of her betrayal. It took all his iron will to remain outwardly calm.

      ‘It certainly did not take you long to forget me,’ he remarked, swirling the brandy around in the glass. ‘By the by, what happened to your new husband? If he had been alive I should have had to tell him you had committed bigamy.’

      She gave a bitter laugh. ‘You need not pretend any more that we were ever married. Do you think I did not make enquiries as soon as I returned to England? I had my lawyers inspect the regimental registers and they confirmed what Missett had told me, that there were no British soldiers south of Cairo at that time. Unless they were deserters.’

      ‘I explained it to you, my unit was on special duties that even the Consul knew nothing about.’

      ‘But why could I find no evidence? The men you were with, the chaplain—’

      ‘Dr Angus went to South America after we left Egypt. The others—’ pain twisted like a knife in his gut ‘—they are all dead. Killed in action either in Egypt or the Peninsula.’

      All except me.

      Max felt the bitter taste of his guilt welling up in his throat again. He had cared so little for life after Ellen had left him, yet he was the one who had been spared, time and again, however fearful the odds. He had seen his men, his friends and colleagues slaughtered in the field of battle, yet he had survived.

      ‘Why should I believe you?’ Ellen threw at him now. ‘When Major Missett told me only deserters could be south of Cairo I assumed you had taken a false name, too. Now it is clear that your desertion was concealed. After all, your family would not want their good name disgraced, would they? Any more than they would want you to marry a tradesman’s chit.’ There was something in her tone, something more than bitterness and it made him frown at her, but she waved one hand dismissively and continued. ‘But whatever your own situation, the marriage was