A Duke of Her Own (11 page)

“I should think being ignored is much worse.” He shook his sack and held it toward her. “Have a brandy ball.”

She gave him an impish smile. “Are you certain it won’t make me drunk?”

“I’m positively certain.”

She reached into the bag, removed a dark ball, and plopped it into her mouth. It was surprisingly good.

“Would you like a toffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you. I would like to know what sort of sweets Miss Rose might like.”

“You are single-minded in your purpose.”

“I’m not sure why you find fault in that habit. It is the sign of a man destined to achieve greatness.”

“By marrying well,” she said.

“It is the only recourse I have.”

“As I mentioned during the opera, Mr. Rose believes that the aristocracy must begin working if they are to survive.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t speak such blasphemous words.”

“Before you indicated that you agreed with his assessment.”

“I did not wish to get into a debate.”

“Would it be so awful? I’m not talking labor, but I’m talking positions that require agile minds.”

She suddenly became very uncomfortable under his scrutiny, as though she’d said something terribly improper, rude, possibly even vulgar.

“Are you implying that I have an agile mind?” he finally asked.

“I’m implying that there is more to life than gambling, womanizing, and drinking. There is pride, a sense of accomplishment.”

“If I can manage to get my estates back into working order, I shall have accomplished something of value.”

“Why do you suppose it is that those within our circle frown so on working?”

“Because our ancestors worked so damned hard to become powerful enough that they didn’t have to work.” He leaned over slightly. “How are you enjoying the brandy ball?”

She wondered if he was attempting to turn the topic away from what he was being forced to do: marry for money rather than love.

“It’s quite good.”

“Have you ever taken a sip of brandy?”

She shook her head.

“You should do that sometime, now that you’re a woman of independent means.”

“I rather like it, you know,” she heard herself
say before she’d thought about what she was going to reveal.

“The taste of the brandy ball?”

“Having this independence.” She twisted slightly to face him. “I can do anything I want, whenever I want. I’m not observed. I’m not guarded. I fancy this new life.”

Very gently he tucked some stray strands of her hair behind her ear, his gloved fingers lingering near her cheek. She tried to squelch the shiver of anticipation that went through her, but it seemed to have a mind of its own, determined to elicit heat and yearning. It was an awful thing to desire what one could never have: the love of a gentleman.

“You were very courageous to do what you did,” he said quietly, his gaze holding hers.

“I was very desperate.” And suddenly very breathless. What power did he have over women that he could steal their breath with little more than a touch?

“But you took steps to right matters. There are ladies who would have simply…withdrawn.”

And if she were wise, she would do exactly that right this moment. Withdraw from his touch, his nearness. She swallowed hard.

“We English are a strong lot, and sometimes I think we forget.” She rose to her feet. “I really should get home. I have social engagements to arrange.”

He stood. “I promised you a ride in my carriage, and while I may not be a man you trust to
do right by your wards, I’m a man who keeps his promises.”

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to do right by Jenny or Kate. It was quite simply that she didn’t trust him. He’d been too pleasant by half.

She wasn’t fooled for a moment. He had told her that he understood the way to the heiresses was through her, and he was coming very close to luring her into believing that he was not as awful as she’d originally surmised. And yet she knew his history. She couldn’t look past it.

Refused
to look past it, because she feared if she did not hold his past against him, she might decide that he was very worthy indeed. Not for the Rose sisters. But for her. And that was most frightening of all. To suddenly find herself wanting
him.

Louisa returned home to find Jenny sitting in the solarium, still in her nightclothes, her feet curled beneath her, the sun coming in through the windows making her hair appear to have been laced with strips of red.

“Are you ill?” Louisa asked.

Jenny glanced over her shoulder, her hand clasping her wrapper close to her throat. She smiled softly. “No.”

Louisa sat in a bright yellow-and-orange chair. Everything in this house was so garishly bright. She found it all rather hideous. She supposed good taste was something that could not be purchased. “Is everything all right then?”

“Just thinking about the parade of men who will come through the parlor this afternoon. Father took us on a tour of a factory once, and when I’m sitting in the parlor with gentlemen arriving, I feel rather like a cog on the assembly line watching as the unfinished product passes by.”

And here Louisa would have given almost anything to have gentlemen passing through her parlor.

“If you’re weary of gentlemen callers, I could let it be known that this isn’t your day at home.”

Jenny twisted around in the chair until her back was pressed against one arm and her legs were draped over the other. “I’m not weary of the gentlemen. I’m weary of the parlor. Father is taking mother to Brighton for a few days of sun and sea air. I was thinking while they’re away, we should have an afternoon tea party.”

“We can arrange that easily enough,” Louisa said warily, suspecting there was a bit more to this tea than Jenny had revealed because she had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m certain if we sent out the invitations this afternoon, posthaste, that ladies would be available.”

Jenny sat up. “It’s not the ladies I’m interested in. It’s the gentlemen.”

“Afternoon tea is usually reserved for the ladies.”

“We shall have a ‘gentlemen’s tea with sport.’ A bit of lawn tennis, croquet, flirtation while the sun shines. A string quartet to provide music. Perhaps a little dancing across the grass. It should be fun.
We shall keep it small, intimate. Invite a duke or two, a marquess, and a couple of earls.”

“Your mother doesn’t favor earls.”

Jenny winked at her. “Mother shan’t be here.”

Two days later, Louisa couldn’t deny that the afternoon tea party appeared to be a resounding success. Even Kate was lively and animated, apparently enjoying herself as much as Jenny. Louisa had been quite surprised when Kate had embraced the idea with enthusiasm. Now Kate and Jenny were taking a turn on the tennis lawn, facing Falconridge and the Duke of Stonehaven.

Louisa sat on an iron bench beneath a tree, sketch pad in hand so she wasn’t too obtrusive, periodically counting heads to ensure no one was getting into idle mischief, although truthfully the only two she truly needed to worry over were Jenny and Kate. Five young ladies and fifteen gentlemen, including her brother, were in attendance, and Louisa was feeling quite ancient. Most of the ladies had only recently had their coming out—hence the reason they were still unmarried and available for flirtation. Some had the silliest of laughs, and the conversations she’d overheard held no substance.

Had she been that…young…when she was younger?

A shadow crossed over her face, and she looked over to see that Hawkhurst had approached, quietly, across the lawn. He tilted his head slightly toward the bench. “Do you mind?”

“No, of course not.” She flattened her skirt against her hip to give him a bit more room.

“Why aren’t you playing?” he asked.

“Because I’m the chaperone,” she answered tartly. “I fail to understand why you seem unable to comprehend that fact and continually question my actions.”

“I simply wonder at the difficulty of watching others play while you must, for all intents and purposes, work.”

“I’m quite content, thank you.”

“I admire your determination not to be bothered by the unfairness of your situation.”

“My situation was brought on by my choice. There is nothing unfair when your path is dictated by your choices, and as I explained during our time in the park, it is quite liberating to be able to do as I please.”

“Except now, if you pleased, you could not play tennis.”

“Then it is rather fortunate I do not wish to play tennis.”

He chuckled, low, a sound that seemed to dance along her skin.

“I’m not certain I’ve ever known a woman who accepts the limits of her life as easily. I wonder if Jenny will be as accepting should Stonehaven ask for her hand.”

She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. She did not want to see those dark, enigmatic eyes. It was difficult enough simply having his masculine scent competing with that
of the flowers. “I suppose he, too, is a man who knows naught of passion.”

“On the contrary, he may be a bit too familiar with it.”

She swung her head around. “I’m not going to play a game of trying to decipher your cryptic statements. Either be clear or be gone.”

Smiling warmly, he twisted slightly, placing his elbow on the back of the bench so that his fingers were dangerously close to touching her bared neck. He leaned near, and whispered, “He suffers from the French disease.”

Staring at him, she shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that illness.”

He touched his finger to the back of her neck, where no cloth covered her skin. She wanted to move away, should move away, but she was certain he’d touched her only in an effort to unsettle her. She refused to be unsettled.

“If a gentleman is not particular about the beds he visits, he can find himself suffering from some nasty symptoms that are rather unattractive,” he said.

“Are you perhaps referring to syphilis?”

“Sadly, I am indeed.”

“Dare I presume you are familiar with the symptoms because you have suffered through them?”

“No, I’m quite particular about the beds I visit.”

The undercurrent of experience and desire vibrated through his voice. She did not want to contemplate the beds he might have visited.

“You have leveled quite an unflattering accusation against him.”

While she had pinned most of her hair up, she’d left tendrils curling along her neck. He tugged on several, absently wrapping the strands around his finger.

“I’m simply pointing out that it would be unfortunate should she marry him.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose you wish me to warn her?”

“It is your duty as her chaperone is it not?”

“And I suppose you will tell me that the Earl of Langley is also diseased.”

He shook his head. “No, but his mother…quite in her dotage. He needs someone who can watch her, feed her, bathe her, make her final months upon this earth less miserable.”

“Hah! I saw his mother not more than two weeks ago, and she was fit as a fiddle.”

“It is a deceptive illness.”

“I know she is not ill, and I suspect Stonehaven isn’t either.”

“But he could be.”

“But you don’t know that he is.”

“I would not presume to ask. And the earl’s mother…you must admit, she is up in years. At any moment she could require constant care.”

The ease with which lies rolled off his tongue was irritating to say the least. Impatiently, she reached back and slapped his wrist. “Release your hold on me, sir.”

Surprise flitted across his face, and she wasn’t
certain if it was because she’d slapped him or because he hadn’t realized that he was toying with her hair.

“Lady Louisa! Hawkhurst!” Jenny neared, breathless, her cheeks pink. “I believe you two are the only ones yet to play. Come, you must have a turn at lawn tennis.”

Louisa shook her head. “I’m not one of your guests; I’m your chaperone.”

“Nonsense. This is an informal, private party. The rules are as we choose them to be. Are you up to the challenge, Your Grace?”

Hawkhurst came to his feet, a dare in his eyes as he looked at Louisa. “I believe I am.”

Jenny reached down and tugged on Louisa’s hand. “Come on, then. For the sake of women everywhere, you must give him a sound beating. The gentlemen have yet to win a single game.”

“I’m really not certain—”

Jenny bent down until they were eye level. “Why not? You’re too young not to have any fun at all. And Mother isn’t here to spoil things. Please?”

She wasn’t certain why Jenny was so insistent, but where was the harm in it? From the court she could keep an eye on everyone.

“Oh, very well,” she finally said, with little enthusiasm.

“Splendid!”

It felt good to have the wooden racket biting into his fingers, good to have it erasing the memory of the silken texture of her hair touching his
skin. He’d not even realized what he was doing. He’d been concentrating on weaving fanciful lies, and instead she’d somehow managed to weave a web of interest around him.

She took her position as chaperone so incredibly seriously: her brow furrowed, her attention intense, and when she’d caught him in a lie…her triumphant smile…

Dear God, but he’d never been so mesmerized. He should borrow the paste that Caroline used for her scrap album and use it to adhere himself to Jenny Rose. She was the one whose hair he should be twisting around his finger, the one from whom he should be eliciting smiles and laughter. The one who should have his attention and his stories.

Louisa came with nothing, absolutely nothing, not a penny to her name. Not entirely true. She had all of five pounds, while he required thousands. Continuing to flirt with her, to give her any attention at all could spell disaster for them all.

Now she hit the ball, and he watched as it soared over the net. He smashed it, returning it to her. She screeched and ducked.

“Have a care!” Stonehaven called out. “You’re playing against a lady.”

A lady who irritated him, pricked his anger, and of late had begun to stir his desire.

“My apologies,” Hawk said. “I don’t seem to know my own strength.”