Redemption of the Duke (13 page)

He couldn’t ask her to dance, let alone touch her in any way.

He didn’t trust himself—and someone was watching.

“Oh, the heat is quite overpowering, isn’t it?” Emmeline asked, fluttering her lashes.
“Perhaps I need a breath of fresh air.”

The terrace loomed almost forbiddingly past the open French doors. If he were alone,
it would have seemed private, refreshing, and peaceful.

“Why don’t you sit, and I’ll fetch you some lemonade.”

“Lemonade?” she said blankly. “I am not a child, Your Grace.”

“Do forgive me. Here is a chair. I’ll be back in but a moment.”

He did return, too, and though she might have been foiled, she accepted the champagne
with a graceful smile. He was soon able to disengage and find the men’s card room,
where the smoke nearly overwhelmed him.

He spotted Shenstone almost immediately, throwing down his cards in disgust as his
opponents laughed. Adam beckoned him with a jerk of his head, and Shenstone arrived
bearing two glasses of brandy.

Adam sipped his gratefully. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

“You want to know the newest gaming hell?”

“No.”

“Too bad.” Shenstone eyed him. “You look . . . irritated.”

“I am. You know Sophia’s friend, Lady Emmeline?”

For a moment, he thought Shenstone looked wary, but Adam told himself he was mistaken.

“She is far too interested in me to be making sound decisions tonight. And she didn’t
want lemonade, but champagne. I need to get just a moment of fresh air before the
heat and the odor do me in. If you see her trying to follow me, could you stop her?
A bottle of my best port will be waiting at your town house if you do.”

Shenstone didn’t even hesitate, only said smoothly: “I’ll do it—for the bottle of
port.”

“I thought you’d see it my way.”

“Are you heading there now?”

“I am.”

“Then, after you.”

Adam frowned at his friend, hearing a faint coolness beneath his words, but Shenstone
just smiled at him and gestured toward the corridor.

Chapter 12

F
aith sat in her safe corner, listening peacefully as Lady Duncan and her friends chatted
away about grandchildren, charities, and the foibles of whomever happened to dance
past them.

She was finally relaxing, telling herself that nothing would go wrong. Earlier, the
Chamberlin ladies had expressed various reactions to Sophia’s old gown, in which Faith
felt positively bare. But Sophia had laughed and told her to forget her fears, for
she looked very respectable next to some young ladies.

“Miss Cooper, would you care to dance?”

She stiffened, recognizing the voice immediately. Timothy Gilpin stood above her,
his pale complexion damp in the heat of the crowded drawing room. Though he attempted
to look pleasant, he only managed uneasy.

Lady Duncan elbowed her. “Go!” she whispered excitedly.

As if she’d been waiting for Faith to be so blessed.

Faith rose to her feet and put her hand in his. “Thank you, Mr. Gilpin.”

The country dance allowed brief conversations here and there, and when they came together,
she said, “You didn’t even want to be seen with me last time we met. And now we’re
dancing?”

“My wife is in attendance,” he said between smiling lips, “and this makes me look
like I care about the poor wallflowers. Although in that gown, I’m not sure you’ll
remain with the wallflowers long.”

Faith felt heat rise in her face, and she wished she could tug on the top of the bodice.
“Glad I could help you do a good deed in her eyes,” she said dryly.

They separated in the dance, and she turned to find herself bowing to the duke. Her
eyes widened—she’d been so focused on the man from her past, she hadn’t even seen
the man in her present.

“Your Grace,” she murmured, not meeting his eyes.

“Miss Cooper.”

Soon enough the dance took her back to Timothy. “So why is it so important to look
good to your wife?”

He hesitated. “We never kept secrets from each other, did we?”

“I didn’t. But apparently you’ve kept our acquaintance a secret from your wife.”

He frowned, then forced another smile. “Marriage is not . . . what I imagined. But
you seem to have done well for yourself, living in a duke’s home. That is recent,
is it not?”

Warily, she said, “I just began to work for his aunt. Having to support myself—that
is ‘doing well’ for myself?”

His gaze dropped to the gown again. “This makes me think you’re doing well. And I’ve
been watching you tonight—you look happy.”

“Lady Duncan is a thoughtful, gracious woman, easy to be near. The family is generous
with their cast-off garments,” she added pointedly. “I am content.”

“I’m glad someone is,” he said sarcastically.

As children they’d meant so much to each other, she thought sadly. She hated to see
him almost despondent. “Do you have children, Timothy?”

“No.”

“I hope you are soon blessed, because surely, they will brighten your life and your
marriage. I would give anything to have what you . . .” She let that thought fade
away. Obviously, she still spoke too freely around Timothy.

As the dance took her away from him, he was staring at her intently, and it was almost
a relief to turn away—until she saw Rothford, and this time they had to link hands.
His skin was warm and firm, calluses on the palms and fingertips representing the
hard physical work he’d done in the army. He glanced past her, and she knew he was
evaluating Timothy. When he didn’t question her, she was tiredly grateful.

When the dance was over, Timothy escorted her back to the wallflower row, and she
watched him walk away and approach his wife. She remembered the woman as being newly
settled near their village, but once Timothy had shown interest, Faith herself had
backed away from any awkward friendship. And her own circumstances soon changed so
drastically she hadn’t been fit for proper socializing.

Sophia sank down beside her, breathless after her own dance. “I saw you with that
gentleman—how wonderful!”

“It was kind of him, yes. And you were dancing with Lord Shenstone.”

Sophia leaned closer. “All subterfuge, I promise. I saw Mr. Percy watching us, and
I could swear that whenever I began to turn away, his smile died.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t think Lord Shenstone has the proper . . . reputation for you.”

“Hopefully, he will soon realize that
no one
is proper for me but him.”

“Are you certain of that?” Faith asked cautiously.

“I am.” Sophia’s smile was replaced by a look of earnestness. “Last summer we spent
many happy hours walking in the country together, attending the same parties, and
in general exchanging long conversations. I thought . . . I thought he was ready to
ask for my hand. And when he didn’t, I was quite distraught, even angry. And he knew
it. I even subtly asked him what he wanted, and he was very earnest when he explained
how little he had to offer a young lady, especially the daughter of a duke. He’s made
the decision, and apparently, I have no say.”

“He sounds like a proper, thoughtful man.”

“Too proper. What care I that he has little money or influence? I have enough for
several lifetimes over.”

“Perhaps he is too proud for that.”

“He would rather us both be miserable, as long as he has his pride?” Sophia asked
bitterly. Then she cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Enough of that. I will
get what I want in the end. Did you see Shenstone and Emmeline dancing the last dance?”

“I did.”

“Did you see how it happened?” When Faith gave her a bemused look, Sophia went on.
“I saw my brother head for the terrace alone, pulling a cheroot out of his pocket.
And then I saw Emmeline bearing down on him as if she’d follow, little realizing what
might happen if people saw them. My brother would not be happy to cause a scandal
with her. Much as I love her dearly, he only thinks of her as a sister, or so he told
me tonight. I watched in mounting worry as Emmeline was about to follow him out the
door, when suddenly Lord Shenstone was there, asking her to dance. I thought she might
have hesitated, but he obviously didn’t allow her to refuse, for soon they were waltzing.”

“Very handy for your brother to have Lord Shenstone around,” Faith mused.

Sophia sighed. “I do wish he’d find a young lady and settle down. It would have been
lovely were it my dearest friend. Mama is growing preoccupied with this, convinced
whatever malaise has Adam in its grip will fade if he’s happily married.”

Malaise?

Faith could only nod, having nothing to say. It wasn’t her place.

Sophia was asked to dance again, and Faith felt restless, watching all the dancing.
She offered to fetch Lady Duncan a drink, then set off around the edges of the drawing
room. People watched her casually, but it wasn’t the same as that prickly, self-aware
feeling she’d had when she was shopping with Sophia. She entered the refreshments
room and there was a huge table overflowing with treats, and a side table with a punch
bowl and glasses of champagne.

She filled two glasses with punch, then turned and almost collided with Rothford,
who’d come in behind her.

“Oh!” She caught her glasses in time, but several drops landed on his satin tailcoat.
“Oh, dear, here is a napkin.”

Smiling, he took it from her hands and dabbed his forearm. “It is nothing. I’m wearing
black.”

Someone moved past them to take a plate along the buffet table, and Faith awkwardly
topped off her two glasses.

“Are you enjoying your evening?” he asked politely.

She stared up at him, and for a moment, she imagined how she’d really feel being swept
about in a waltz in his strong arms. She forced a smile. “I am, thank you.”

“I saw you dancing and was glad for it. I do believe this is the second event I saw
you talking with that man. Do you know him?”

Was he jealous? No, surely he was only curious. For a moment, she wanted to hide everything
to do with her past, but it was too easy to discover this particular truth.

“He is Timothy Gilpin, heir to a barony near my village. We grew up together.”

He arched a brow. “How interesting. Was he a friend of your brother’s?”

“He was a friend of mine, too,” she answered truthfully.

She glanced at the doorway to the drawing room. Were they standing here too long?
But no one seemed to be taking notice of them.

“A friend?” he echoed.

She smiled, but was not going to explain everything. “We did childish things together—rowed
on the pond, collected rocks, chased geese.”

“You had no feminine companionship?”

“I did, but the girls were mostly content with their sewing and painting. I liked
the outdoors and running about.”

His smile deepened. “I can see you doing that, running free and happy under the sun.”

They stared into each other’s eyes a bit too long, until she forced herself to look
back at the two glasses in her hands.

“Was this before or after your father died?” he asked.

“Before. He died when I was sixteen, and it was then that I learned our lands were
not earning enough to support us. We weren’t able to socialize with neighbors much
after that. Mathias was determined not to sell off our land, so he joined the army
to help support us.”

His expression grave, he said, “I’m sorry to bring up such a painful past. I wanted
to know about you. There was no young man who wished to marry you?” He glanced out
the drawing room door, as if he could see Timothy.

“Your Grace, I am without dowry, without beauty. Those things matter, and you cannot
deny it.”

He seemed about to say something, but stopped himself. But she couldn’t help wondering
if he’d meant to deny her assessment of her features. No, surely she was foolish thinking
that.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “I’m certain you would prefer to be married with children.”

“Certainly, but not married to a man I couldn’t love.”

“And that was Mr. Gilpin?”

She glanced away, trying not to blush with guilt. “No, we never loved each other.”

“But this supposed good friend of yours could not find a way to help you when your
brother died?”

“It was not his place, sir, surely you see how improper that would have been. And
he was betrothed by that point.”

“And that was when you took the position with the Warburtons.”

“No, not for another year and a half. We managed to get by by selling some of our
personal items.” It was getting harder and harder to meet his focused gaze. That sale
had only lasted them six months, and then she’d been forced to try something drastic.

“Well hello!” said the overly bright voice of Lady Emmeline.

Her eyes glittered upon the two of them, and Faith thought they lingered on her a
bit too long.

“Good evening, my lady.” Faith turned to the duke, trying for a reasonable excuse.
“I’m so sorry I spilled my drink upon your sleeve, Your Grace.”

“It was nothing, Miss Cooper.”

“Your Grace,” Lady Emmeline said, her back to Faith, “perhaps you could hold my plate
and help me choose the best things to eat.”

Faith left them to the serious deliberations and returned to Lady Duncan. The elderly
woman didn’t even know she’d been gone long, just took the drink and went back to
explaining how she’d survived a storm at sea on one of her trips to Egypt.

But Faith found herself watching through the double doors, where she could just see
the duke and Lady Emmeline standing together talking. It felt a little strange that
although she’d felt alone when talking with him, anyone who looked had an easy view.

In fact, she could see Lord Shenstone watching Rothford and Lady Emmeline, his face
impassive.

T
wo days later, Wednesday morning, as Adam’s valet was helping him dress, he thought
back to his conversation with Faith at the dinner party. He hadn’t been able to get
it out of his mind. Every time he saw her hurrying through the corridors, barely making
eye contact and giving him a polite smile, he’d gone back to that conversation again.
Though she’d been open about the problems of her adolescent years, something had seemed
. . . off. She’d been vague and uneasy when conversing about the time between Cooper’s
death and taking a position with the Warburtons. Of course, her personal life was
her own, but . . . was she embarrassed about something?

Or was he simply so curious, he’d stopped pretending he could ever treat Faith with
the right detachment?

Just as he was tucking his shirt into his trousers, someone knocked on the door with
an urgent beat. The valet, a quiet man who seemed intimidated about serving a duke,
opened it and stepped back.

Seabrook was there, breathing deeply.

“Seabrook?” Adam said, going to the old man. “Are you well?”

“You received another letter at the servants’ entrance, Your Grace. Cook tried to
stop the boy—and it was a different boy, by the way—but he failed.” Seabrook actually
put a hand on the wall to steady himself.