School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (2 page)

As Lady Trusbut frantically repaired her hair, Simon told Louisa, “Let me have him.” The rascal was sure to head straight for Lady Trusbut’s peacock once he had downed the punch. But when Louisa held Raji out, the monkey grabbed her bodice and wailed.

“Apparently, he doesn’t want to go to you,” she said, arching one raven eyebrow as she cradled Raji against her breasts.

“Of course not,” Simon muttered. His lucky devil of a pet drained the cup, then shot Simon a smug look. Little traitor. “Half the men in this garden would give their eyeteeth to be where that imp is right now.”

A blush spread from Louisa’s cheeks down her neck to the very breasts that pillowed Raji’s head, making Simon’s pulse thunder like an elephant run amok. But the calm gaze that met his was as remote as if they’d never met. “If you don’t like where your pet is at present, perhaps you shouldn’t take him to parties.”

“Dear Lord!” Lady Trusbut, who was repairing her coiffure, held up a hand smeared with blood. “That beast has wounded me!” Then she promptly fainted.

As Simon cursed, Louisa ordered, “Get my smelling salts.”

“Where are they?” Simon asked.

“In my reticule.” Louisa tried to juggle Raji and the empty punch cup. “Oh, never mind. Here, take your monkey.” She thrust Raji into Simon’s arms.

Raji dropped the cup, but when he eyed the prone Lady Trusbut and her peacock longingly, Simon manacled his wrist. “No, you don’t, you rascal.”

Louisa was already wafting smelling salts under Lady Trusbut’s nose as other females crowded ’round on the graveled path to help. Simon felt like an intruder. Again. “Excuse me, ladies, but I had best remove Raji to his cage.”

No one paid him any mind, except Louisa, who glanced up at him. “Yes, Your Grace, you may run along now. We have this under control.”

Run along now? A hot retort leapt to his lips, but Raji struggled to get free, and Simon could not stay to argue. “Please make my apologies to Lady Trusbut.” He strode off through the crowd. Ignoring the whispers around him, he hurried up the steps, then back inside, his temper swelling. “You would think the chit and I were complete strangers,” he growled as he stalked toward Draker’s enormous library, where he had left Raji’s cage. “You may run along now, Your Grace—how dare she dismiss me as if I were some bloody servant?”

Simon glared at Raji. “And you had to make it worse, didn’t you? Had to make me look like a fool in front of her. Countless Indian balls without an incident, and you choose my first English fete to make a spectacle of us both.”

With Raji loudly protesting his master’s firm hold, Simon entered the library. “Next time I whittle anything for you, scamp, it will be a pair of shackles.” It was an idle threat; Simon rarely even caged Raji. Which was probably why the rascal shrieked in outrage as Simon carried him toward his prison.

“I had forgotten that you whittled,” said a painfully familiar voice behind Simon. “Used to make such a mess in my drawing room.”

Simon groaned. Bloody hell. First Louisa, now this.

Slowly he faced the king, who had just entered the library. “Your Majesty.” As Simon bowed, Raji in hand, he steeled himself for an awkward confrontation.

“Sprightly chap, isn’t he?” The king nodded to where Raji still protested his impending retreat from good society.

“He is generally better behaved.” Simon thrust Raji into the cage, but only when he handed his pet the gaily painted bird that was his favorite toy did Raji settle down, stroking the carved creature with paternal affection.

George sidled nearer to peer into the cage. “Did you whittle that toy of his?”

“Whittling helps me think.”

“Scheme and plot, you mean.”

Simon eyed him warily. “A skill you made good use of, as I recall.”

“True enough.” The king swept his gaze down Simon. “You look well.”

“So do you.” Actually, George looked like a bloated whale. A lifetime of debauchery showed in his puffy features and pallid skin.

“You never used to lie to me, you insolent scoundrel, so don’t start now.”

Simon choked back a laugh. He used to lie to the king with painful regularity—it was how he had advanced his career. But no more. “Fine. You look like hell. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

George winced. “No, but it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“Truth depends on your perspective.” Simon closed Raji’s cage, wondering what the king was up to. “As my aide-de-camp used to say, ‘It is better to be blind than to see things from only one point of view.’”

“Don’t give me any nonsense you got from that half-caste Indian,” George snapped. “You’re not a nabob eager to hold lectures about his travels and entertain the frivolous with his pet. You and I both know you have a greater destiny.”

As Simon’s fingers stilled on the lock of Raji’s cage, he kept his tone carefully even. “You sound rather sure of that.”

“This is no time for games. I know you went to Parliament yesterday. You’re taking stock, aren’t you?”

Simon did not deny it. Or reveal that a mere hour with his old cronies had illuminated how much his time in India had altered his ideas about politics. Ruling with paternalistic indulgence had worked fine for men of his grandfather’s day, but the French Revolution and American defection had changed people’s expectations.

Unfortunately, the old guard had responded by digging in their heels and instituting draconian policies that only stirred up more trouble. They needed to listen to the discontented voices. And that meant overhauling the House of Commons so that it represented more than just the wealthiest landowners. Not that Simon intended to let his old allies know of his new ideas. He must tread lightly at first. The old guard did not respond well to suggestions of reform—he would have to reassure them that his measures would not mean an overthrow of the government. Slow, moderate change was the only thing they could embrace.

Simon turned to find the king eyeing him uncertainly. “You do still mean to pursue your lifelong ambition, don’t you?” His Majesty searched his face. “Everyone expects you to follow Monteith’s fine example.”

Then everyone could go to hell. Because although Simon’s ambition was as healthy as ever, he did not mean to pursue it by following his grandfather’s fine example, living a life of hypocrisy and secret moral corruption.

Or by falling right back in with the king and his machinations. His Majesty was unpredictable at best and dangerous at worst. “I haven’t yet decided—”

“Of course you have.” He cast Simon a sly glance. “Or you wouldn’t have served your full term as Governor-General. You’d have returned to England once you tired of the heat and snakes and troubles with the natives. But you stuck it out when a lesser man would’ve said, ‘I have wealth and rank. Who needs politics?’”

Simon bristled. “I stuck it out because I pledged to do so.”

“And because I said you would have no political future unless you did.”

Clearly His Majesty meant to press the issue. “Yes. But I served my term faithfully, and now you owe me your unqualified support in my bid for prime minister. Just as we agreed.”

With a cunning smile, the king circled Simon. “Ah, but that isn’t exactly what we agreed to, is it? I said if you went to India, I would not oppose your reentry into politics upon your return. There was no mention of support.”

A sharp burst of anger seared Simon’s gut. Though he was not surprised that His Bloody Majesty was splitting hairs, it hampered his plans for England. Much as he hated it, permanent change would require the king’s complicity.

But he’d be damned before he’d beg. “Then I am on my own. Thank you for clarifying that detail.” He turned for the door. “Now if you will excuse me…”

“Wait, damn you. I only meant that if you do want my unqualified support—”

“I will have to do as you say.” Simon paused as he reached the door. “The last time you dangled your ‘

unqualified support’ in front of me, I ended up banished.” Thanks to one reckless kiss and a handful of false promises. “Forgive me if I have lost my taste for currying your favor.”

“Don’t be impertinent, Foxmoor. You know damned well that what happened with Louisa was your fault. I told you not to make her believe you would marry her. Was I supposed to look the other way when you defied me?”

Apparently they were going to have this discussion, regardless of Simon’s wishes. Shutting the library door, he faced the king. “You gave me an impossible task. Court her, but not court her. Coax her to go off alone with me so you could meet with her, but not tell her why.” He took a steadying breath. “I could not accomplish your aims by remaining aloof.”

“I thought you would behave like an honorable gentleman.”

With Louisa, whose voluptuous mouth had haunted his dreams even then? “Even I have limits.”

George eyed Simon assessingly. “She’s much altered from the young woman you knew then, don’t you think?”

The abrupt change of subject put him further on his guard. This way lay quicksand. “I could not say. We barely had time to speak.”

“She’s more comfortable in society, more confident.” He scowled. “Too confident, if you ask me.”

“Trouble in paradise, Your Majesty?” Simon said dryly.

George glowered at him. “Your sister has told you about it, I suppose.”

“Regina and I do not discuss Louisa.”

The king began to pace. “The willful chit is driving me insane. She refuses every suitor, says she’s never going to marry. At first I didn’t believe her, but she’s twenty-six and still hasn’t let a man near her.”

He shot Simon a dour glance. “Then there’s her activities. I didn’t squawk when she was over at that blasted Widow Harris’s school, giving the girls advice on how to behave at court. I figured it would keep her busy, since Louisa took my daughter Charlotte’s death very hard, as did we all. But now she’s got herself mixed up with reformers, and she’s hieing herself off to Newgate—”

“The prison?” he said, curious in spite of himself.

“Exactly. She and her London Ladies Society go with those Quakers from the Association for the Improvement of Female Prisoners in Newgate to bring aid.”

That surprised him. Louisa had never struck him as the sort to pursue reform, much less the unsavory kind of reform. “And her brother allows it?”

“Draker approves, damn him. Even lets Regina go off with her. The fool thinks it’s good for them to do something ‘useful’ and ‘worthy’ with their time.”

Simon shrugged. “Charity work is a time-honored pastime for ladies.”

“Unmarried ones? Who should not have their tender minds besmirched by the debaucheries they might witness there?”

Remembering his one visit to Newgate years ago, Simon shuddered. The man did have a point. The inmates he had seen had acted little better than animals. And to think of Louisa there…

But it was none of his affair.

“And when Louisa isn’t trotting off to Newgate, she and her London Ladies Society raise funds for the Association.”

“That’s why she was speaking to Lady Trusbut.”

“Oh, she wants more from Lady Trusbut than money. She wants the silly featherhead to join the London Ladies Society so that—” George stopped abruptly.

Simon’s eyes narrowed. “So that what? What is wrong with Lady Trusbut joining Louisa’s charitable group?”

The king glanced away. “Nothing. Except that they’re trotting about the prisons, of course.”

That clearly was not what worried the king. Not that it mattered. “Why would your daughter’s new pastime possibly concern me?”

His Majesty’s gaze swung back to him. “Do you still fancy Louisa?” When Simon tensed, George added hastily, “What if I were to say you could have her?”

A thrill coursed down Simon’s spine that he ruthlessly squelched. This was a trap. “I am sure Louisa would have a strong opinion about that.”

“Perhaps if she knew. But I intend this arrangement to stay between us.”

Simon dragged in a sharp breath. “If you think I will once more play—”

“I’m not suggesting anything underhanded; this time I mean marriage. She needs a husband to keep her safe. And you’re the logical choice.”

“Me!” The suggestion staggered Simon. “You cannot possibly be serious. What happened to your assertion years ago that she should marry for love? That I was incapable of it?” Which just happened to be true, unfortunately.

“I thought she’d find someone. But she hasn’t, and I fear she never will.”

“Unless I marry her?”

“Exactly. Wed her and bed her and get her with child. Do whatever’s necessary to keep her safely at home.”

Simon burst into laughter. This was not the conversation he had expected to have with His Majesty. “

Surely you see the irony. Me and Louisa…married…”

“You found her attractive enough once.” His face clouded over. “Or did her request that you be sent off turn your tender feelings to hatred?”

His amusement vanished. “I have no feelings for her one way or the other.”

Liar. He had tried to hate her. His anger, twisted with a healthy dose of frustrated lust, had consumed him during those early days in Calcutta. He had spent his nights in lurid fantasies, imagining her at his mercy, reduced to begging his forgiveness and offering all manner of erotic favors. But hard work and the challenge of being Governor-General had eventually burned off his anger. He’d thought he had subdued his lust, as well—until today. Not that it mattered. He would not allow Louisa, with her seductive mouth and refreshing boldness, to distract him from his ambition this time. He had learned his lesson.

Besides, George was clearly hiding his real reasons for wanting Simon to marry her, and that made involvement with her dangerous indeed.

“I do not hate Louisa,” Simon said, “but under the circumstances, marrying her would be unwise. Even if I wanted to, she would balk. She has clearly lost any interest she once had in me.” Galling but true, judging from her reaction upon first seeing him.

“Yet she’s still unmarried. And blushes whenever your name is mentioned.”

He ignored the sudden leap in his pulse. “Does she?”

“Why do you think I’m approaching you with this proposition? Because I think she secretly still has feelings for you.”