June Calvin (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-two

“
O
h, no you don’t.” Pelham was almost purple with fury as he bounded across the room. “Davida is promised to me.”

Sir Charles quickly moved between the two men. “Please, Lord Pelham. Control yourself. No call for violence.”

“None at all,” the duke drawled urbanely. “Let us all sit and discuss this in a civilized manner.” Harwood did not look the least discomposed by Pelham’s outburst.

“I think we will all be much more able to deal intelligently with matters after we have broken our fast.” He gestured for the others to seat themselves while he rang for breakfast.

Thoughts in turmoil, Davida had the oddest fancy as they sat stiffly waiting until they could be served and be private again. She thought that they were like one of those quartets in the opera, each member singing of his or her own emotions. The idea of the four of them suddenly bursting into song amused her and somehow had a calming effect on her. She dared a glance at Pelham, who was still glaring furiously at the duke.

What would he sing of, she wondered. Why had he come? Why was he still insisting on their engagement? No one would possibly blame him for crying off after her unchaperoned flight. She felt a faint flicker of hope, which she once again sternly repressed, being determined to face facts.

Pelham’s thoughts were very uncomfortable.
The man is too old for Davida, can’t she see that? A distinguished-looking man, though.
Somehow he made Pelham feel like a callow youth. He glanced at Sir Charles and was alarmed but not surprised that Davida’s father was looking quite pleased, his gaze moving from Davida to the duke and back again.

Damn all. The man had spent a good deal of the time on their harrowing ride in pursuit of Davida lamenting his unfortunate obsession with a title for her. “Many a fine young buck would have courted her, but no, I had to run them off. Only a title or a fortune or both would do for
my
girl. She don’t care. She’s always wanted to please me, but not at all ambitious for herself.” There had been a great deal more in this vein.

Sir Charles had sworn that if he got his daughter back safe and sound he’d let her choose her own husband and never raise a single objection.

Now his eyes were wide, his expression was bemused, and Pelham could just hear him thinking,
My daughter, Duchess of Harwood.

Pelham turned toward Davida. She had a lost, confused look on her face. She looked tiny and young and terribly innocent next to the tall, sophisticated Duke of Harwood. Pelham felt something move fiercely through his whole being.
I love her
, he realized.
I can’t bear to let any other man have her, and especially an old man she doesn’t love!
Hands clenched, he began to think frantically. How was he to prevent losing the woman he loved to this handsome, urbane, and outstandingly eligible duke?

After their tray was carried in, Davida, hands shaking a little, poured tea and coffee, and the four helped themselves to sweet biscuits and croissants.

“Now then,” drawled the duke after these formalities were completed, “as I see it, the problem is that Davida has one too many fiancés. Yet she gave me to understand that she had terminated her engagement to you, Lord Pelham.”

“She has a mistaken notion that I want to marry another woman. I don’t! I want to marry her.” He spoke calmly now, but with conviction.

“Oh, Monty, stop.” Davida held out her hands in a supplicating gesture. “Don’t you see, now you can marry Elspeth. You love her, I know you do. Papa wouldn’t let me cry off before, but now he will, won’t you, Papa.”

Sir Charles looked somewhat embarrassed. “Never meant to force you to wed Pelham, my girl. Just thought it would work out. The boy seems genuinely fond of you, you know.”

“He’s fond of me, and I . . . am fond of him, too. We can be friends, can’t we, Monty?” She looked at him appealingly.

Before Pelham could find the exact words to convince Davida that it was her love, not her friendship he wanted, her father broke in. “Sly puss. Never let me know Harwood had offered for you,” he chuckled.

“I thought he was just teasing. I’m still not sure he wasn’t then, but he’s being very kind to . . .”

“Kind!” Pelham exploded. “He’d be deucedly lucky to have you for a wife and he knows it.” He jumped from his chair and strode toward Davida. “But I won’t let you marry this old lecher, Davida. You promised to marry me, and I mean to hold you to it.”

“Old lecher! Oh, Monty, how unfair.” She stood facing him defiantly, small fists clenched. “His Grace is not in the least like that. In fact, he wants a companion, someone to keep him from being alone when Sarah marries.” She tossed her head and glared at her erstwhile fiancé.

Pelham made a derisive noise. “And pigs can fly,” he snarled.

Harwood interrupted. “Children, children. No shouting, please. Charles, I think if we left these two alone for a few minutes they might be able to sort things out.”

“What? Oh, yes.” Sir Charles rose somewhat reluctantly.

“But before I go, Davida, it is only fair to clear up one important point. May we be private a moment?” He glanced at the other two, not really waiting for permission, and then took Davida’s elbow and led her across the room, to stand by the large bow window that looked out over the rose garden.

“Thank you for defending me from the charge of lechery,” he began, the curve of his mouth and his tone lacing his words with their usual irony. “I agree that Lord Pelham does not do me justice in giving me that name. But you may be expecting, and in fact hoping for, a very convenient sort of marriage, a marriage in name only, in fact. Is that true?”

Not knowing how to answer him, Davida stood with her head bowed, listening, feeling her cheeks grow progressively pinker with each word.

“I know, Davie, that I seem old to you. But I am only thirty-nine, by no means in my dotage. I am able to be a husband to you in every way, and so I mean to be, if you decide to have me. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Deeply embarrassed, as much by her näiveté as by the import of the duke’s words, Davida could only nod mutely, wide blue eyes barely meeting Harwood’s before she lowered them to study the pattern in the thick Aubusson carpet at her feet. Surely she had never blushed as she blushed now.

“Well, then, you must listen carefully to what your young man has to say. If you would accept a bit of friendly advice?”

“Yes, of course.”

“It may very well be that Lord Pelham is deeply attracted to Lady Elspeth but rationally knows she is the wrong sort of wife for him. If that be the case, and he freely chooses to marry you, it is unlikely that he would resent you or hate you, as you seem to fear.”

“Do you think not?” Hope flickered again in her heart.

“No, I don’t. Nor do I think he merely intends to marry you out of a misguided sense of honor. I get the strong impression he cares for you. But if you still feel uncomfortable with the idea of marrying him after this interview, I will be honored to make you my wife.”

He kissed her hands one after the other, bowed low, and strolled over to Sir Charles. “Come, old friend. I have a magnificent new stallion to show you. Arabian blood, fine lineage.”

Alone in the drawing room, Davida and Pelham let the silence settle around them. The soft crunch of his boots on the fine carpet warned Davida that he was approaching her at the window, where she stood staring out at the formal garden, not really seeing it.

“Davie?”

She turned and lifted troubled eyes to meet his.

“Davie, you can’t marry that old lecher.”

“He isn’t old and he isn’t a lecher.”

“It is clear enough he desires you. I have eyes, Davida.”

“And it is clear enough that Elspeth desires you and you desire her. Why are you here? Why aren’t you with her now, planning your wedding?”

“Because I don’t want to marry her. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“In the Raleighs’ gardens, I saw you take her into your arms and kiss her.”

“You saw her pull me off balance so that I had to grasp her to keep from falling. And it was she who kissed me.”

“Do give over, Monty.” Davida stamped her foot with frustration. “I heard what you said to one another, too.”

“What you heard was what Elspeth wanted you to hear.”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t true. You did say it would be shabby not to marry me now, didn’t you, Monty? And you did kiss her on the very day you told me you didn’t love her anymore, the very day you kissed me in—oh! such a way—that evening in the Malcolms’ garden.” Davida’s cheeks burned with remembered desire and present embarrassment.

“It’s true, all of it. But it isn’t what you think. Hear me out, please! She threw herself at me that afternoon. She came to my home, veiled, and lay in wait for me. I did kiss her, but it was really that kiss that set the seal on the end of our relationship. I was even more sure then that it was you I wanted. And what little feeling I had for her, you may be sure she killed forever with that perfidious performance in the Raleighs’ garden.”

“How can I believe you? I didn’t hear you contradict her when she said that you loved her, but felt honorbound to marry me.”

“I was taken unawares. She spoke to me quite calmly, held her hand out and said she wanted to be friends. When she asked for a last kiss, all I could think of was how to get rid of her. She saw you coming up behind me and made sure what you saw and heard confirmed your fears.”

“Lord Pelham.” Davida drew herself up and looked at him sternly. “There is no more need to continue this charade. I have a much better offer now. You no longer have any responsibility to marry me. In fact . . .” She tensed and cleared her throat. “In fact, you’d be doing me a favor to release me.”

“No! You don’t mean that! I won’t believe that of you.” Pelham grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. “Davida, I realized something a few minutes ago. Hold still, look at me.”

She was struggling in his arms, turning her head away from his mesmerizing eyes, his tempting lips. She wouldn’t let desire master her, not this time.

Emotion charged Pelham’s voice as he sought to convince her. “I haven’t lied to you, not once. I made up my mind not to marry Elspeth after the picnic. My proposal was precipitated by her engagement announcement, I admit, but I’d already decided to commence courting you.”

“Pooh! When was this resolution taken?” Davida leaned back as far away from him as he would allow her, blue eyes flashing.

“The night before, when I learned you’d turned Curzon down. But that’s not important now. That decision was entirely a practical one. You seemed a good sort of girl. I thought we’d suit. My feelings weren’t engaged.”

“Not by me, at any rate.”

He gave her a slight shake. “Not by any one. But now . . . a few minutes ago, when I saw how pleased your father was at the duke’s announcement, I realized I might lose you. That’s when I suddenly knew. Oh, Davie, please believe me, darling. I love you. Sometime in these last few weeks I’ve gone from feeling you were an excellent choice for a wife, to feeling I can’t live without you. Do you hear me? I love you!”

“No, you don’t,” Davida gasped, her eyes meeting and being held by his cobalt gaze. “You’re just saying it because you feel honorbound to marry me.”

“I love you with all my heart. I don’t want anyone else, and I won’t let anyone else have you. Look, I’ll prove it.” He bent his head and kissed her, a gentle but searing kiss that went straight to her heart. Feeling her näive but eager response, he whispered against her lips, “And I think you love me, too.”

“Oh, Monty, that’s not fair.”

He drew his head back, still holding her snugly in his arms. “Why not, my love?”

“Because I can’t think straight when you kiss me like that.”

In response, he kissed her again, more insistently, his lips moving restlessly, demandingly over hers.

Davida felt her knees go weak. It seemed her bones were turning to liquid. She swayed against Pelham and opened her lips to his teasing tongue. With gentle expertise he stroked and tantalized her until she felt that she had been set afire.

Pelham broke off with a groan. They were both breathing heavily. “Your fudsy old duke can’t make you feel like this, Davida. And Elspeth never could make me feel the way I do when I kiss you.”

“That . . . that’s not love, though, is it? It’s lust. Oh, please don’t.” Davida moaned, trying to pull away. He held her close, dropping kisses along her cheek, down her jawline, along her slender neck. Unable to resist him any longer, Davida turned her head to give him access to her lips, pressing against him wantonly.

“I love you, Davie. I love you and I want you, and in three days’ time I’m going to have you.”

She groaned softly and lifted her face for another kiss. “Ah, yes, Monty. Yes!”

For a long time they stood thus, letting their love for each other take them to dizzying heights of excitement. At last Pelham had to call a halt. “Sweetheart, we’ve got to stop, or we’ll scandalize the elegant Duke of Harwood by consummating our marriage right here on his carpet.”

A little unsteadily, Davida stepped back and looked at her beloved’s face. His eyes were almost black with desire. She shook her head to clear it and walked away a few steps. Then suddenly she thought,
I’ve let him do it again, I’ve let him get around me with kisses.
She turned back and launched herself at him, pummeling him angrily.

“You! You are the lecher. Kissing me, then Elspeth, then me! You had better not still be wearing the willow for her after kissing me like that! You know I love you, so you think you can get around me by seducing me!”

He dodged her blows, laughing, as he tried to catch her hands. “Only you, sweetheart. I want only you, love only you.”

“That had better be the truth, after all the trouble I’ve gone to, jilting you and proposing to a duke, no less, so you could have a free choice. You’d better choose me because you really want me instead of her, or I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” She jerked free and flailed at him again.

“You’ll beat me to a bloody pulp, it seems. And I would deserve it.” He captured her hands and twisted them behind her. “Have you been taking lessons from Gentleman Jackson, my jealous little termagant?”