After The Storm (12 page)

“Father
was
pleased when I wrote to tell him I planned to ask Sally for her hand. But that is it. He never pressured me.”

“Really?” Gerard asked mildly. He sipped and lowered his glass to swirl its contents before continuing in the same relaxed air. “Seems to me, whenever the subject arose, he was quick to throw Sally’s name into the mix. I also seem to recall one instance, when you were sweet on Ellen…” His brow furrowed and he snapped his fingers. “What the deuce was her name again?”

“Malory.”

“Malory!” Gerard jabbed his forefinger at him. “We all thought
she
was going to be the next Duchess of Thorpeton. What happened with her?”

“I left for America, if you’ll recall.” Hugh tried to ignore the flare of annoyance at his brother’s persistence. Gerard had a gift for prodding at each and every sore spot. He took great delight in provoking Hugh’s temper. “Have you been taking lessons from Elyse?”

“Come now, you needn’t get snippy, Hugh old man. I’m merely curious.” Gerard fell silent, breaking it only minutes later with, “Tell me, though, if you are so set on Sally, why did I almost happen upon you kissing Miss MacDonough?”

Hugh couldn’t decide if he was irritated with Gerard’s persistence, or with his own carelessness in coming so close to getting caught. “As I said, you happened upon nothing more than her and I discussing Walter Scott and Washington Irving.”

Gerard let out a booming laugh. “If
that
is the story you choose to tell, fine by me.
I’ll
not spill. Though, I think it only fair to confess, I am more than a bit envious.”

“Envious? Of what? A discussion of novels?” Hugh shook his head and smirked. “If you’re so enthralled with her, why don’t
you
ask to court her?”

What the devil possessed him to propose such a thing? He wanted to wince, but managed to grit his teeth and set his jaw to keep from showing his distaste for the
idea. Especially when Gerard’s smile went from needling to thoughtful.

“An interesting idea,” Gerard mused, leaning forward to set his now-empty glass on the table. “And one I may consider. Unless
you
wish to throw your name into the mix as well. Tell me, old man, does Sally know you’ve been holding another female oh-so-close?”

Hugh scowled at Gerard’s sarcastic tone. “Of course she does, fool. She knows I’ve been helping Elyse. Dancing is not exactly scandalous, you know.”

“Ah, but I know you. I have to admit, I’m impressed you haven’t sent her screaming back to Scotland already.”

Hugh shifted as the aches worsened. “Why should she do such a thing?”

Gerard shot him a look that suggested he might be going mad. “You do tend to run toward the gruff and frightening at times.”

“I think that might be a bit of an exaggeration.” Hugh stared as Gerard grinned again. “I am hardly the ogre you like to describe me as.”

“I beg to differ. You glower and scowl far more often than most. Why, I’ve heard several of the maids are terrified at the thought of approaching you for the smallest thing.”

“Absolute nonsense. I am no monster. I have responsibilities and I take those responsibilities seriously, as I should.”

“And no one doubts this.” Gerard slapped his palms against his thighs. “But don’t you think you tend to take them a bit
too
seriously?”

“Questioning my ability, are you?”

He kept his voice mild, but his meaning was not lost as Gerard’s grin faded. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s simply that, at times, we all fondly recall a man not quite so somber.” Hugh frowned and Gerard jabbed a forefinger in his direction. “This is one of those times. You seem to have left your sense of humor in America, old man.”

Hugh shifted again. It was bloody difficult to sit comfortably, which did nothing to ease his growing irritation. “One of many things I left in that bloody country.”

“Yes, well, I understand. More so than anyone else in this house. So, shall we change the subject?”

“I believe I’ve had enough discussion.” He swiped up his cane, pulled himself from the sofa, and thudded across the room to the doorway. “If anyone needs me, I will be in my chambers.”

“Of course,” Gerard called out as Hugh stomped out of the room and down the hallway. No sooner had he finished climbing the stairs, when Benjamin, one of the manservants, appeared. “May I assist you, Your Grace?”

“Actually, yes. I’d like my bath drawn. A bit of a chill has settled into my bones from this cold.”

Benjamin nodded and bent slightly at the waist. “As you wish. Water shall be heated and brought up directly.”

“Thank you, Benjamin.”

The man took himself off and Hugh continued to his chambers. After lighting the lamp on the dressing table, he moved to the bow windows to draw the heavy royal blue draperies aside. Snow fell in earnest now and already covered the grounds. If the weather didn’t break, the hunt planned for the last afternoon before the grand ball may not proceed. A pity, as he was quite looking forward to it.

He frowned, reaching to unwrap his cravat. “If I were to be completely honest with myself, it isn’t the hunt I anticipate. Rather, it’s the image of Miss MacDonough tracking the wayward fox, looking adorable in her breeches.”

The image made him smile and warmed his blood at the same time. The very thought of her backside rising cheekily from a saddle, her face flushed from the cold, was enough to make him groan.

Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he stripped off his clothes, wrinkled and creased from his travels, and dropped them into the basket. When his bath was ready, he sent Benjamin on his way, and sank down into the tub with a heavy sigh. The hot water seeped into his aching knee joint, soothed the aches in his back, and brought on the comforting serenity soaking always offered. Closing his eyes, he rested his head against the side, and let his thoughts wander where they might. Thoughts of his upcoming betrothal, of his bride, and of the much anticipated wedding night swirled through his tired brain, but oddly enough, his bride was no longer a fragile blonde who barely came up to his chest. Rather, she was a willowy brunette with eyes hovering between brown and green, with an adorable, heart-shaped derriere whose cheeks fit perfectly in his hands. And whose legs wrapped snugly about his hips when he made love to her as she cried out his name in a sensual, throaty Scottish burr.

Chapter Ten

It was nearly dusk when the Hayworth coaches bounced and rocked their way up the rutted drive leading to Thorpeton Hall, and Sally fumed in silence as she peered out the window to see other coaches blocking the remainder of the drive. “I told you this would happen if we left later than daybreak. Now we are late.”

Eleanor Hevingford waved off her daughter’s complaint, her fat fingers rummaging through a half-eaten box of chocolates. “Don’t work yourself into a snit, Sally. You did not wish to be the first here, did you? This way, you might make a grand entrance.”

That mollified her somewhat as she did so enjoy making a grand entrance. “I hadn’t thought of that. I wonder if Miss MacDonough has made herself quite at home by now.”

“I think it safe to suggest she has. Poor girl simply wouldn’t know any better. I imagine Sarah is about ready to tear out her hair for want of getting that
creature out of her home. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Arabella were equally anxious. Somehow, I don’t think any suitor of hers would be too keen on inheriting an unmarried ward as well. Especially one as much of a disaster as she.”

“Oh, Mother. She isn’t so bad, really.” Sally lifted her silver fox muff to rub her nose against the silky fur, savoring its softness against her skin. Lowering it, she added, “In fact, Eloisa and I are going to offer Elyse a bit of help in landing Miss MacDonough a proper suitor.”

Eleanor’s eyes went round with horror as she plucked out another chocolate and popped it into her mouth. She chewed and then mumbled, “Why the...I mean, you don’t say?”

“Stop looking as though you are trying to catch flies, Mother, and please, do close your mouth when you chew.” Sally shuddered as her mother wiped at her mouth with a chubby forefinger. Ignoring Eleanor’s chomping, she added, “What is so terrible about that? We both know she will never land a beau on her own. Why, I’ll wager both Lady Marchand
and
Miranda thank us when this house party is over.”

Her lips still pursed, Eleanor shook her head, but there was no time left to debate the matter, as the coach creaked to a stop and a footman pulled open the door. Sally climbed down and smiled up at the blazing lights warming Thorpeton Hall. One day the grand house would be
hers.
She’d already decided what changes she’d make. True, the Dowager Duchess was in perfect health, and quite likely to live many more years, but nothing in life was certain. The sudden demise of the Duke of Thorpeton was proof of that.

And she was sorry for what happened to the duke, but it was nearly a year ago, and life went on, didn’t it? Hugh was quite broken up about it, and she was most adept at nodding and making sympathetic, cooing noises at the proper intervals, but whenever he spoke of his father, her mind had a tendency to wander. Truly, it was a most boring subject, and she did her best to avoid bringing it into conversation.

Sally stepped up to the door imagining herself as the lady of the manor...
if Hugh would simply ask her!
She was tired of waiting. Waiting to be his wife, waiting for her new title, and honestly, she was tired of waiting to share his bed, the part she most feared and anticipated. The Duke of Thorpeton garnered quite the reputation in his youth and she was rather curious. Perhaps she’d not have to wait before putting those rumors to the test. After all, they’d be in close quarters, and they were all but affianced anyhow. What was the harm?

Her belly flopped, part curiosity, to be sure, but part fear. And not of the act itself. Hugh had been in the Royal Navy during the North American War and he’d been grievously wounded. He most likely bore scars, and she didn’t know the true extent of his mutilation. Despite her belief his cane was more for show, more an affectation than a necessity, she still wondered what he looked like unclothed. How horrible were his scars? How disfigured was he?

The footman thrust open the door and she swept past him to step into the welcomed warmth and brightness. Voices carried from down the hallway, and she tapped her foot impatiently as she waited for her mother, the footman, and the handful of lady’s maids brought along to fuss over her and make her the most beautiful female in the room.

“Good evening, Lady Sally, Lady Hevingford.” Gerard Montgomery’s blue-green eyes gleamed like polished aquamarines as he came down the stairs to greet them. “Lady Sally, you look quite lovely this evening.”

She smiled up at him, lowering her lashes to peer at him through the thick fringe. It was a gesture she often relied upon, for it seldom failed to reduce grown men to babbling boys, ready to do her every bidding. He might not be a duke, but Gerard was still a man and an attractive one at that. “A good evening to you, sir.”

“Take our valises up to our chambers and do be quick about it,” Eleanor barked at the manservant, pulling her kid gloves from her hands to stuff into her reticule. “Marie, you will go up and lay out Lady Sally’s pale pink silk for this evening. I want
every
last wrinkle pressed smooth, is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Marie bobbed her head and hurried after the footman.

Eleanor stared hard at Diana and Felicity, the two remaining maids. “Up you get. I want the beds turned down and fires stoked. Those rooms had best be toasty when we retire for the evening.”

Felicity nodded, her cheeks flushed pink. “Yes, Madam.”

As the two maids headed above, Sally rolled her eyes at Gerard. “Mother and I are quite exhausted from the travel. I forget how far it is from London.”

Gerard offered up a sympathetic smile. “Yes, it is a bit trying. If you will come with me, then, I will show you to the drawing room. The others are partaking in a bit of refreshment.”

“Well, I must look a fright,” Sally laughed and patted a curl gently. “Do tell me, is the duke in attendance?”

“Hugh? No. Well, I mean, he is, but he’s not yet been formally announced. I do believe he is above, in his chambers. But he will be down shortly.” Gerard patted her hand, and then offered his arm to her mother. “May I, Eleanor?”

Eleanor’s small brown eyes almost disappeared in the puffy rolls of her round face as she smiled. “That would be lovely, Lord Bridgeton. I thank you.”

****

Fully recovered from her close call earlier, Miranda hummed as she started down the long hallway to go below. It took longer than she’d expected to style her hair, given how Christine seemed to be all thumbs that evening. How was she to know the maid was going to need almost an hour to braid and twist her hair up? Still, the effect was quite striking. Christine truly outshone herself.

The smooth, lemony yellow silk gown floated about her delicate silk slippers. It was one of her favorite gowns, with the wide band of white velvet ribbon beneath her breasts and matching ribbons at the hems of the little puffed sleeves. Christine also wound another length of ribbon through her coiffure. A lovely, subtle touch, indeed.

A slice of light slit through the shadows and colorful oaths flew out from behind the door she passed. She recognized Hugh’s baritone immediately, but what set him off? Did she dare peek around the door which was ajar? Risky, perhaps, especially if he was undressed. He may not be at all pleased about the interruption. And her aunt certainly wouldn’t either. Should she be caught in Hugh’s chambers the best she could hope for was a scolding and the worst...she shuddered at the thought.

Curiosity nearly overwhelmed her as Hugh let fly with another brightly woven tapestry of expletives. He was quite creative with his oaths and she smothered a giggle with one gloved hand.

He swore even louder. Before long, he’d be heard down below. She sighed. It was probably best to see what sent him into such a temper before he embarrassed his sister to the point where he might jeopardize her reputation amongst the
ton
, who made up the majority of the guest list.

Her white silk, elbow-length glove gleamed in the slice of buttery light shining about the door. With only her fingertips pressed against the sleek wood, she inched the door open, and her heart melted at the sight of Hugh struggling with his cravat.

“Your Grace?” Her voice was no more than a whisper, but he jumped as if she’d startled him.

He jerked about, his face creased in a scowl. It faded, but only slightly, as he tore the cloth from about his neck. It hung limply in his hand, as if slaughtered by his glare. “I beg you, Miss MacDonough, know you how to tie one of these? My fingers refuse to behave this eve.”

She froze at his unexpected request. It was risky enough in the doorway of his chambers. She’d have to be mad
to consider going
inside
. If she should be caught…

She shuddered again, but held up one hand as she twisted to peer down the corridor, first in one direction, then the other. Empty. But for how long, and was it worth the risk?

A glance back at Hugh and she made her decision. She stepped over the threshold. A chill rushed through her at her daring. She pushed the door until it clicked shut softly behind her, and a deep breath quelled the sudden tremble rippling through her.

“As a matter of fact, I
do
know how to tie one.” She approached him with little hesitation, pausing only to set her lemon yellow reticule on the bed before she closed the distance between them. “Sorry to disappoint, but I am not quite the savage you Londoners seem to take me for. I’ve even been known to dress for an occasion, you know. Why, my father used to wear breeches at least on Sundays. Sometimes it was the
only
day, but there you have it.”

Hugh offered up a lopsided grin and held out the tired, creased white linen. “And I apologize for any misguided notions you think I have. I was not implying a thing, but speaking out of frustration. I beg your pardon and ask that you help me.”

A smile teased her lips as she took the worried cloth from him. “This will never work, I’m afraid.” She passed it through her fingers. “It is thoroughly limp.”

“Bloody hell…” He snatched it from her to hurl it atop another in a small basket alongside his armoire. She smiled as he limped over to the drawers and withdrew the top one.

“Where is your cane?” she asked softly, then added, “If you do not mind my asking?”

He turned, another length of linen in his hand. “It is by the door. I can do a small amount of walking without it.” He limped back to her and held out the fresh cravat. “If you’d be so kind.”

She accepted it, smoothing it out on the bed before she lifted it to tie about his neck. “You’ll need to sit, Your Grace. I can’t reach up to wind this about your neck. I am not so great a giant.”

He smiled. “Again, I apologize.” He moved around her to the bed, where he sank onto the edge, his left leg straight out, his heavy black boots gleaming in the soft light.

She stepped over his leg to stand before him. As he gazed up at her with those sensual green eyes, her heart skipped a beat. When it resumed, it was at three times its normal pace leaving her lightheaded. She swallowed hard as she draped the cloth about his neck and his hair brushed the backs of her fingers. Raven black and soft as a duckling’s down, it caressed her like silk, and she had the wildest urge to comb her fingers through it, to brush it back, away from his face.

“It is fortunate for me, you came along, Miranda.” His gaze held hers as she carefully wound the linen once about his throat.

“Randi,” she corrected. Then, she sighed, “Yes, you are rather fortunate, aren’t you? I am quite certain the vultures down below would rip you to shreds for looking less than the impeccably dressed gentleman. Although, I think you look rather dashing without it,” she replied, her fingers grazing the warm skin of his throat. A crackling jolt screamed through her with such force she wondered if he felt it as well.

“Do you, now?” His voice was a low rumble, very close to being a purr, and it tickled along her spine.

She made a second pass, smiling at the humor in those three words. Nodding, she said, “I do, and you know it to be true. I’d wager you’ve always been one to turn a lady’s head. Even as a boy you probably worked magic.”