Realm 06 - A Touch of Love (9 page)

“Matthew Warren and I were mates in the early years at university. We reunited in Portugal for several months, but then Pennington snatched me away from Wellington’s army to join Worthing and Wellston. Soon the rest of our group followed. It was the last I saw Mrs. Warren until I met her by chance at a museum gala during Eleanor’s Season.” The duke’s finger returned to the
decorative threads on the chair arm, and Carter wondered what Thornhill dreaded to speak.

“Have you renewed your acquaintance with the lady?” Carter asked cautiously. He prayed Brantley Fowler was not considering making Mrs. Warren his mistress. Such a decision would mean the duke had acted impulsively in choosing his cousin as his duchess, but, more importantly, Carter thought the lady deserved a better means in life.

Thornhill must have recognized the question in Carter’s response for he said, “It is not as you assume. The duchess holds my heart firmly in her grasp.” The duke’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “Mrs. Warren made an unexpected call upon me last week at Briar Hall. The lady sought my assistance with a most delicate situation.”

Carter encouraged, “Go on.” For the next quarter hour, Thornhill apprised Carter of Mrs. Warren’s dilemma. “And the lady knows nothing to the child’s family?” Carter could not understand how any man could purposely misuse a woman of Mrs. Warren’s caliber.

“I believe the lady fears asking too many questions in dread of someone taking notice of her predicament and remove her only source of income.”

Carter understood perfectly. Although they stood as strong as did their late husbands, many war widows suffered deprivations. “What do you expect of me? You have as many contacts as do I.”

Thornhill smiled sheepishly. “As beautiful as is the duchess, I fear Velvet still doubts her charms. My lady would be most disconcerted by my spending time with Mrs. Warren, and as the duchess carries my child, I would not wish to cause her undue distress.”

Carter thought his friend made too much fuss when it came to Velvet Fowler, but, in truth, he had no knowledge of such devotion, unless he considered Ernest Hutton’s, the Earl of McLauren, attachment to Carter’s sister Louisa or his brother’s commitment to Lady Hellsman. In his life, Carter had never experienced an obsession of the heart. Other than his work and his compulsion to rise in the governmental ranks, he had never acted foolishly. “I insist you accompany me when I call upon the lady. Mrs. Warren will be more forthcoming if she recognizes your support.”

The duke paused before saying, “I suppose it is best, but I would prefer the others knew nothing of this request. If either Eleanor or Lady Yardley
becomes aware of my intervention, the duchess will discover of my actions, and I will have hell to pay.”

Carter kept his disapproval from his countenance. “Send word to the lady, I require more details before I can act.”

“A
re you certain of the lady’s directions?” Carter asked as they looked up at the sandstone building.

Thornhill frowned dramatically. “I held no idea Mrs. Warren had slipped into such distress. The lady is the niece of the Earl of Charleton,” he said incredulously.

Two street urchins rushed forward to take their reins as they climbed down. Carter fished a coin from his pocket. “Walk them to keep them fresh,” he ordered. “There is another coin for the one who protects my mount.”

“Aye, Sir,” the oldest of the two replied.

Thornhill slipped another coin in the child’s tight fist. “We mean to call in at number twelve. Come for us if there is any sign of trouble.”

“We understand,” the smaller of the two declared. “They be fine animals, and we be knowin’ our duty.”

Carter followed Thornhill to the door and waited for his friend to release the knocker. “I have seen worse streets in London,” Carter said softly, “But I do not like the idea of Mrs. Warren taking sanctuary among these people.”

Thornhill’s gaze followed Carter’s. “I feel guilty for not keeping in contact with Mrs. Warren. I used her shamelessly at my sister’s Come Out to make Velvet jealous.”

Carter murmured, “If I recall, the duchess and Godown held similar ideas to entice you to act impulsively.”

The duke chuckled. “We were once the destructive ones.”

Before Carter could respond, the door swung wide to reveal a matronly woman of a sizeable girth. She eyed Thornhill with awe. “May I be of service, Sir?” she asked with a wobbly curtsy.

Thornhill shot Carter a wry glance. “The Duke of Thornhill and Sir Carter for Mrs. Warren.” His friend did not bother to present his card. They were obviously not of the neighborhood.

“Yes, Your Grace.” The woman bobbed another curtsy. “Mrs. Warren informed me of your call. The lady awaits you in the parlor.” She motioned them to follow her along a shadowed hallway. Carter noted a small boy lurking at the bend of the stairs. He involuntarily wondered if the child was the boy in question. If so, the child possessed the features of one who had only of late called England home.

“The Duke of Thornhill and Sir Carter,” the woman announced as she opened a door inward on what appeared to be a sitting room and study combined.

Over the duke’s shoulder, Carter caught sight of the woman he had spent the previous three days attempting to define beyond the image he held of that long ago evening. Carter had thought he knew what to expect, but his heart slamming into his ribcage announced the error of his earlier musings. Although she was conservatively dressed in a well-worn day dress, his mind and body took exquisite pleasure in gazing upon one of the most handsome women of his acquaintance.

Her hair–golden blond, mixed with darker strands–was pulled back in a tight knot at her nape, but Carter recognized the natural wave as a ring of curls had escaped to frame her face. A long dormant tingle shot through his veins as he raised his eyes to meet her gaze. Large hazel eyes–the type, which would live with a man forever–returned his notice before the lady dropped her gaze and curtsied. “Thank you for the honor you have bestowed upon me, Your Grace,” she said sweetly before imparting a brilliant smile upon Thornhill. Immediately, Carter knew real regret. No one, other than his family, had ever looked upon him with such welcome.

Mrs. Warren extended her hands to Thornhill, and the duke readily accepted them before bringing one to his lips. “I am pleased to find you well, my Dear.” He motioned toward Carter. “You recall Sir Carter?”

The lady’s eyes brightened with an anticipated tease. “I recall a Mr. Lowery, but Sir Carter came into his own several months after our previous meeting.”

Carter enjoyed the soft floral fragrance, which wafted over him.
Roses
, he thought. He bowed from long-inbred training as a gentleman, but he would just
as soon catch up the woman and keep her by his side. “I will answer to either, Mrs. Warren,” he said with an easy smile.

“May I bring tea?” the matron asked from behind them.

Thornhill frowned. “I am content with your company, Mrs. Warren.”

Carter noted his friend’s sharp glare and followed the duke’s lead. “As am I.”

Mrs. Warren nodded to the older woman. “Thank you, Mrs. Peterman. I shall come to you if His Grace and Sir Carter change their minds.”

The woman, obviously, understood Thornhill’s repugnance for alternated tea, often found in poorer homes, but she held her tongue. “Simon shall be with me in the kitchen,” she announced before closing the door upon her exit.

Mrs. Warren did a poor job of suppressing her sigh. “Please have a seat.” The lady motioned to three chairs gathered closely together.

He and Thornhill waited for the lady to assume her seat before they settled in. They placed their hats and gloves on a nearby table, as the landlady had not thought to accept them on their entrance.

Without preamble, Thornhill declared, “Lucinda, I will not have you spend another day in these conditions.” Carter recognized the duke’s need to protect “fair damsels,” but a woman, such as Mrs. Warren, would not welcome Thornhill’s assumption. Perhaps time had dulled Carter’s memory of the lady’s brilliance, but not of the woman’s frank means of speaking.

“Your Grace, I appreciate your concern,” she said through tight lips, “but I mean to see to my own future.” The lady forced a smile on Thornhill, but Carter suspected it was one firmly planted in agitation.

Carter realized Thornhill would not surrender so quickly, but the duke said, “Then I am pleased I have asked Sir Carter to join us. The baronet and Baron Swenton are the only two of my former mates who have maintained close ties with the government. Nothing moves in England of which Sir Carter is not aware.”

Lucinda watched the baronet carefully as the duke praised the man’s political ambitions. He was exactly as she remembered him.
Like a Greek god
, she had thought when she had laid eyes upon him.
A God sent protector
. Of course, the
baronet would hold no memory of that eventful day on the Continent. He had placed himself between her and danger, and Lucinda had thought him the most magnificent man she had ever seen. She had never felt so safe. Not with her father, who had spent his time with his military maneuverings, much to her neglect, even when she tended the colonel in his tent. And certainly not with her husband, who had treated her as he would the younger sister of a dear friend. No, it was Sir Carter Lowery, who had stirred that foreign need to succumb to a man’s protection.

She had met him again purely by accident at Lady Eleanor Fowler’s Come Out ball. Lucinda had sat beside Lowery throughout the supper hour, but she had purposely not reminded him of the kindness he had once shown her. She had not been at her best on their previous acquaintance, which could only be described as brief.

Despite the casual slant of his shoulders, Lucinda had no doubt Sir Carter was a man of action. Tall and lean. Muscular. Vivid dark brown eyes. A determined chin. Splendidly thick hair. Dark brown also, with shades of mahogany throughout. A straight, classical nose. Lucinda experienced an unfamiliar flush of heat rush to the core of her femininity.

“Perhaps you might relate the events leading up to the child’s appearance on your doorstep, Mrs. Warren,” Sir Carter encouraged.

Startled from her reverie, Lucinda flinched in embarrassment. The baronet’s eyebrow had risen in wry amusement. Quickly, she diverted her gaze before a blush crept up her neck and cheeks. She swallowed away trepidation and prayed her expression did not betray her irritation with her foolish musings. Lucinda risked a quick glance at the baronet, and his expression spoke of true concern and interest in her dilemma so she shored up her courage and began her tale.

Carter listened to the details the woman provided, but his mind was more agreeably engaged. His strong attraction to Mrs. Warren was so uncharacteristic of him, especially when he was attempting to solve a mystery. Carter had always compartmentalized his life: his objectives were lofty, and he always assumed romantic entanglements would interfere with those
aspirations. So he had kept his lust under as much control as he had done his thoughts of advancement.

Yet, a pang of sadness rushed forward. Had he missed out on life? Carter had chastised his older brother for permitting their father to define Lawrence’s existence. Ironically, Carter had always thought himself free and independent of his brother’s responsibilities, but perhaps he had created his own cage. “And you have discovered nothing of the boy’s mother?” he asked instinctively, although his mind had been engaged with the idea of pulling the woman into his embrace, if for no other reason than to observe whether the heat simmering in his groin would spring to life.