The Devil Duke and Miss. Granger

Chapter VI- The Mazurka

Draco was brooding, what a disaster the evening had turned into.

He had never thought... never imagined...

He remembered her scornful words all too vividly, not everyone dreams of marriage and children.

His arrogance had cost him, he had assumed that she had so little that she would accept anything he deigned to give her. Maybe not consciously but he did think he was doing her a favour by marrying her. Removing the stigma of spinsterhood. Giving her a chance to experience a traditional happy ending.

As it turned out, Hermione didn't mind the stigma all that much and she had different ideas about how her happy ending turned out.

So, what then? It wasn't like he lacked prospects of marriage, every eager mama with a daughter of suitable age would sell her soul to have her married off to a Duke. He could marry well; a woman who brought power to their union, or money or political connections.

But why did the thought of that turn his stomach? He had always done what was best for his family but now that he had seen how it could be; messy, infuriating yet full of joy and passion with the right person. He baulked at marrying for anything other than love.

He had also never questioned his instincts before. Holding Hermione in his arms that very first night had felt so right... like he was holding his woman, the woman who was meant to be his; to protect and love, to raise bairns with. A strong woman who would be steadfastly loyal and for Draco that loyalty was more precious than any dowry she could bring to their union.

But that loyalty depended on him being able to coax her into marrying him and now he realised he had no desire to force her, he wished for her to come to him herself, of her own accord. For her to want to marry him.

'Twas hardly like he had any good examples of marriages made of convenience from his family. Or any marriage in his family for that matter. Even after marrying wealthy heiresses, they couldn't keep the money in the title.

Every Malfoy before Draco had survived and kept the title only by the skin of his teeth. His ancestry was riddled with spendthrifts, wastrels, womanisers and crackpots. The men, in particular, were infamous for their lack of interest in keeping their lands. 'Twas due only to a handful of well thought out alliances with the English kings during the Stewart rebellion that had managed to save the Duchy.

But there had never been much money in the title that was until Draco came along of course. Born a serious and studious child in a home where instability was the norm, Draco had done well at Eton and later at Oxford. The last of the Malfoy family jewels, judiciously hidden away by his mother, had funded his schooling.

Draco's mother who had come from a fabulously wealthy aristocratic family was down to her last diamond necklace by time Draco had turned 17. Her dowry had been used to fund Draco's father's love for the gaming hells and horseflesh. Once he was out of school, she sold her last diamond necklace to buy him his commission.

After fighting the war Draco worked tirelessly to replenish his family's diminished fortunes, investing the income of his more illicit wartime activities into trading routes out of the West Indies, India and the South China Sea. The first thing he had done then, was go out and try and find his mother's diamond necklace. Of course, by that time years had passed and the necklace had been broken down and reworked, having passed through several hands. But Draco had not returned empty-handed, now he had the money to buy his mother whatever diamond necklace she desired.

Spying as it turned out was a very lucrative business and his government was willing to pay for his skills. He took any assignment, no matter how dangerous.

What Draco learned was that Britain and her allies were all woefully underprepared for the military and espionage skill of Napoléon. Draco worked with the War Office to break cyphers and carried secret War Office correspondence in his knapsack as his Rifle's unit moved from place to place.

After fighting two wars and then working tirelessly to restore the Duchy to its former glory, Hermione Granger... was his single indulgence. She was like fine French champagne... golden and effervescent, the kind that made everything seem a little sweeter, a little mellower and Lord knew he wished to sip from her.

She was beautiful and bold and so entirely independent, that she attracted him like no other. Draco had always been drawn to bright things, mayhap a foil for his own rather staid nature. He coveted all that banked fire he saw hidden in eyes as mysterious as a Sphinx's.

She has never smiled at me, he thought gripping his brandy glass tighter. Well besides that one night and that was only because she had her mask still on.

Tell me your secrets! He wanted to demand, yet knowing that that demand would get him nowhere.

He had never, never in his life succumbed to an impulse as mad as to chase a woman he had only met briefly. But after a lifetime of rational thinking and sacrifices, Draco had finally found something he couldn't give up.

"Your Grace?" his butler Goyle cautiously entered. He knew Draco didn't like to be disturbed during the evening in the library.

"What is it?" he said curtly.

"Sir Mayhew is here, from the War Office."

Draco sat up. Mayhew wouldn't be here unless it was important, temporarily Draco had to put Hermione Granger out of his mind.

Mayhew knew Draco preferred to tend to his investments and fields these days rather than running around doing the War Secretary's bidding and in Draco's opinion, he had served his country plenty.

"Send him up." Draco nodded, getting up from in front of his chair by the fire and walking back to his desk.

Mayhew was a humourless man, skeletal and cadaverous; he reminded one of a grim reaper, but he was scrupulously honest, brutally practical and exceedingly fair in his treatment of all his men. Draco had enjoyed serving under him, if one succeeded in getting a few glasses of port inside the man they were rewarded with the most abjectly horrifying yet wildly fascinating stories of the years Mayhew had spent in the colonies, gathering information on rebellions.

The man in question walked into Draco library with an air of purpose; like he had come here to get something and wasn't about to leave without it.

"Sir," said Draco formally, giving the older gentleman his hand to shake.

"Malfoy, you have no idea how it lightens my soul to see how well you have done for yourself, but I bring grave and serious news." Mayhew smiled briefly, his hollow cheeks pulling up in a parody of emotion.

"Sit, please." Draco pointed to the richly upholstered chairs in front of his desk.

"I'll not beat around the bush, my lad." said Mayhew with a grimace as he sat down, "There have been some unfortunate chatter in the circles."

"These," he said, opening his coat and pulling out a set of diagrams stamped with a red War Office seal. "Were found on a dead French spy, his body was found in Wapping and by the time someone got around to checking his clothing the Thames had already washed everything away."

Draco cautiously took the folded and water warped documents from Mayhew's gnarled hand and cracked the seal to spread them out on his desk.

Inside was a detailed diagram of a multi-shot, revolving pistol. If the diagram was right, this information was priceless. The revolver would provide a soldier with the ability to fire more than two shot's without having to reload his gun and the prototype showed that it was small enough to be carried and concealed.

"It's a Colt. A First Model Dragoon, it was given to us by some American... friend's... shall we say." Mayhew said, clearing his throat at Draco's intense scrutiny, "It'll protect our men much better." He defended.

"And make Colt and every bastard shareholder millions. Why are you showing me this Mayhew, you know I don't care for war. I simply did what I had to."

"Because Malfoy, there are only a handful of people in Parliament who have access to this particular intelligence and even less who have seen the prototype of the gun. To find this on the body of a known French spy, a Napoleon sympathiser. It could spell disaster for this tenuous peace we have now established. And we don't know if these are the only plans circulating about."

Draco swore under his breath, "I told you after Blaise died that I could see no more death and here you are now wanting me to find out who has given a copy of your precious death machine to our enemies to replicate. That reeks of contradiction doesn't it?"

"Draco..."

"What does it matter?!" Draco said bitterly, "We all know you'll manufacture these guns en masse and so will the French but it's not politicians and officers who die on the battlefield, Mayhew. It is commoners, young men... bright men, with futures and their whole lives before them. I have no interest in playing more war games."

"Then help me stop another war, Malfoy," said the older man, his eyes feverish. "You know if Napoleon ever gets his hands on these prototypes, this continent will never know peace."

Draco sighed in hopeless frustration, rubbing his temples with his fingertips.

"What do you know so far?" he asked quietly, getting up and pouring himself a snifter of brandy.

"The only thing we have deduced so far is that whoever they are, they move among the highest of society. There is no other way they could have gotten their hands on these plans. The prototypes are under strict lock and key at the Home Office. The most logical beginning would be to take a look at those who knew about these plans and work backwards from there. And thankfully it is a fairly shortlist."

"Are these the only documents found on his body? What about his passport? Or a ticket? Anything to identify him and who he was."

"Whatever was on him was washed away by the river, the only reason these survived was that they were in an oilskin hidden in a secret pocket on the inside of his breeches and he was identified by a fellow emigree. However I doubt he gave her his real name. "

"So, the War Office has nothing, is what you're telling me."

"Essentially."

"And how exactly do you propose I start gathering any information?" he asked sarcastically.

"For god's sake Malfoy, you're a Duke! You mingle among the highest society, surely you can think of a way!"

Draco was just about to decline Mayhew's request when another, much more Machiavellian part of his brain stayed his hand. He knew a certain hoyden, who adored Horrid Novels, and would most certainly enjoy play-acting the fine lady to aid him in an espionage assignment. That gave him added time to woo her, to show her what she would get by marrying him. If her Uncle agreed to allow her to work for Luna and he presented this very tempting offer of a partnership to her, she would spend a great deal of time with him.

Time he could use to convince her of the perfection of their match. Of course there was a danger to such a scheme and if they were caught by either the traitor who sold the secrets and likely to kill them, or by the Ton, where there was a very real chance Hermione could be cast out. He would be willing to marry her no doubt, but he knew that she would never agree to a marriage that she felt came from a place of responsibility and not love.

"Mayhew, I should like to consider your offer for a few days before I come up with a final answer to your request for help."

"That is all I can ask for Malfoy." The tall man said gravely, getting up and shaking Draco's hand.

Draco walked him out of the library and watched Goyle hand Mayhew his walking stick, great-coat and hat. The older man then departed in one of the many anonymous War Office carriages, leaving Draco with a small sense of renewed hope.

Draco didn't really know who he was outside of his title and his responsibilities. One of his great fears, being that Hermione seemed to have no use for either of those two things. Then maybe beyond that, Hermione would find no reason to stay with him.

...

Hermione was furious, it had been hours since she had been stopped by that damned Duke and she had been unable to stop pacing up and down since then.

How had he known?!

Hermione knew little about Malfoy, a lot of her assumptions about him came from what the scandal sheets that loved to write about him.

Of course they adored him since the Ton loved nothing more than a man who didn't care one whit for Polite Society.

By all standards, Draco was a recluse, one who had dedicated himself to the running of his estates and family ever since he had sold his commission and returned to civilian life.

A gentleman and a soldier by all accounts but Hermione felt like Draco wasn't just tending to his responsibilities since the war, he was also hiding.

The sort of bleak, almost faraway look she had noticed maybe once or twice during their fleeting acquaintance, the sort where if one wasn't looking, one couldn't see it cross his face worried her. She knew many men who came back from war with a sense of hopelessness and with problems like nightmares. She wondered if Draco suffered from them as well.

In her opinion, the Duke seemed to need some laughter in his life.

But more importantly, she knew that his sudden appearance everywhere that she was couldn't be a coincidence.

'Twas clear he wanted something from her, she wasn't a lackwit or a young chit to be fooled. She saw the fire in his eyes when they kissed, he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but it wasn't that simple.

The truth was harsh, but she knew she had to face it, in their society there existed two sets of rules.

One for men and another for women, of course since the men had made all the rules including the ones for women, the women were the ones always getting short-changed.

And a set of rules for the rich and another set of rules for everyone else. There were just certain things that weren't acceptable for a woman of her class. If she carried out an affair with the Duke and was caught, nobody in Polite Society would expect Draco to marry her. Even before she became a companion, her parents were only what could be classified as lower gentry.

And alas, he was a Duke. He was expected to make a fine match, a woman who could bring a king's ransom in her dowry or the kind of connections that would make Draco an even more powerful man.

She had to be careful when his kisses were like honey, sweetly addictive. Every time he touched her, Hermione felt all these logical arguments as to why being even remotely involved with someone like him would only cause her pain begin to float away under the sea of sensation he sent through her body.

When they touched, there was only Draco. No past, no present, no future... no thoughts about what the repercussions of getting involved with him would be just the sensation of his hands on her skin, his mouth on her own... owning, possessing her, slowly stripping away the defences she had built around herself.

He was the first person she felt like she could open up to in a while and she knew how dangerous feeling that way was. He was putting thoughts in her head, thoughts no self-respecting spinster was supposed to have.

If nothing else she needed to find out what kind of game, he was playing with her.

A knock on the door stopped her restless pacing.

"Who is it?" Hermione asked, wrapping a shawl around her bare shoulders. She had long since changed from her men's clothing into her nightgown and while it was chilly in the nights, it was still the middle of summer and so she had chosen to wear this rather immodest nightgown, hence the need for a shawl.

"It be Hannah, Miss."

Hermione opened the door and looked out at the plump blonde maid, "Yes, what is it?"

"This arrived for ye, the footman asked me to take it to ye," said the maid, handing over a letter curiously.

Hermione took the letter from Hannah, absently thanking her before shutting the door. She studied the unfamiliar paper and seal.

How curious?

She hardly got any letters.

She hoped Hannah wouldn't go and gossip in the servants quarters tonight, but she knew that was a hopeless prayer.

The message was simple and one that sent an unbelievable thrill through her despite her dark thoughts earlier.

Meet me in the garden at midnight tomorrow. I have something to ask of you.

DM x

Hermione ran her finger over the bold strokes across the page, she knew this handwriting. 'Twas a note like this that had led her into his arms in the first place, she thought with a rueful smile.

However, she also knew that she would beg off sick for tomorrow's route with Astoria, there wasn't a power in heaven or hell that could stop her from going to see him. Unwise as it was.

Feeling light-hearted, she tucked the precious note into her journal, her earlier annoyance transforming into anticipation.

TBC


Beta-TheImperfectionista as always, thank you for your hard work!

A/N- I have nothing much to say on here today besides how overwhelmed I am by the interest in this story and to thank so many of you for your kind comments /reviews/kudos etc I hope you enjoy the chapter and as always review!