The Dastardly Duke (10 page)

Chapter
Nine

“Y
es, Higgins. What is it?”

Though Julian’s tone was curt, he welcomed the interruption, even from his aunt’s minion. Hoping to find some meaningful clue he might have overlooked, he had begun to examine Aunt Eleanor’s sermons that had been inserted into the family Bible. But he had no heart for the tedious task; his mind was mulling last night’s troubling dream.

“Lady Huffington is not coming down today, Your Grace. She has a headache.” Higgins’s pursed mouth strongly hinted of reproach. Julian knew the man blamed him for Aunt Eleanor’s megrims over the set-to with Miss Gregory.

Because Aunt Eleanor preferred the peace of Yorkshire to the noisy discomforts of London, Julian had never spent much time in her burdensome presence. Thus, he had only lately discovered the degree to which she was prepared to go in her bullying. If her truculent temper did not succeed in getting her way, she was wont to develop some dreadful
illn
ess that had the household catering to her every whim. Her current stay had pushed the limits of his temper.

Julian held out little hope for the success of Miss Gregory’s apology. His aunt would either reduce her to tears or, more likely, reignite Miss Gregory’s own considerable temper and spark another tiff. Aunt Eleanor would doubtless then go into a decline that would make her unavailable as a chaperon—and render Miss Gregory’s come-out impossible.

Somehow he had to gain his aunt’s cooperation, but he had no idea how to overcome her entrenched contentiousness. In the time he had known her, his bitter, snappish aunt had disdained a pleasant word when a sharp one would do.

Julian studied Higgins thoughtfully. If personal experience was any guide, people who thrived on making others miserable invariably were miserable themselves. He did not know why Aunt Eleanor was miserable, but if anyone knew how to get around her, it was this man—her household servant, secretary, and business adviser. Higgins had been in her employ for ages.

“Tell me, Higgins,” he said, making a tent of his hands, “how long have you worked for my aunt?”

Was it his imagination, or did the man suddenly stand a little taller? “Fifteen years, Your Grace. Since before Lord Huffington’s unfortunate demise a decade ago.”

Julian had never known Lord Huffington, but if it was his death that had soured Aunt Eleanor’s disposition, surely she had had time to adjust to his loss. On the other hand, if their marriage had been a miserable one, she had long ago put in a respectable period of mourning and should be enjoying her freedom. Either way, widowhood did not appear to explain her misery.

“You would be accounted something of an expert on Lady Huffington, would you not?” Julian prodded.

This time it was not his imagination—Higgins blushed beet-red, rather incongruous in a man of his years. “I would never presume to claim such a thing—”

“But you know her rather well,” Julian persisted. “You serve her in a number of capacities—do you not?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Higgins replied in a clipped voice. Julian stifled his impatience. Higgins would not willingly divulge any of his aunt’s secrets. He was as prickly as his aunt and as faithful to her as any lapdog.

Perhaps that was the key.

“For all my aunt’s ... idiosyncrasies, you have stayed with her all these years,” Julian offered pleasantly.

Higgins stiffened. “Lady Huffington is an excellent and generous employer.”

No one who prized truth would describe his aunt as generous, yet Higgins gave no sign of realizing that he had uttered a bold-faced lie.

“Then perhaps,” Julian continued in a silky tone, “you can help bring out this ‘generous’ nature.”

Stunned, Higgins dropped his jaw. Then, disciplining himself, he recovered and regarded Julian warily.

Julian rose and walked slowly around him, like a panther circling his prey. “Since you are acquainted with my aunt’s better nature, I can think of no one more equipped to encourage her to help the unfortunate Miss Gregory.”

“Help
that
woman?” Higgins looked appalled.

“ ‘
That woman’ is a guest in my house.” Julian’s gaze narrowed. “A relative of my dearest friend.”

Higgins colored. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“She is also afflicted with an infirmity that none of us would wish to have. Surely some allowances must be made?”

“It is not my position to say.”

“But it is your position to advise my aunt,” Julian pointed out coolly. “I imagine you wish to avoid having her party to another scene that might damage her health.”

Higgins frowned, trying in vain to discern the message Julian was sending his way. Like his employer, Higgins appeared to have no talent for subtlety.

“Let me be plain.” Julian’s tone held a note of warning. “Miss Gregory is not leaving us, so you may disabuse my aunt of that hope. If an accommodation is not reached between Miss Gregory and Aunt Eleanor, I will not answer for the consequences to my aunt’s health.”

Higgins paled. “You are threatening your own aunt?” he asked in amazement.

“Not at all. Merely pointing out that as Miss Gregory’s disposition appears every bit as difficult as my aunt’s, future fireworks must be expected, and they will surely wreak havoc on Aunt Eleanor’s delicate constitution.”

Higgins could not conceal his outrage. “You would sacrifice Lady Huffington’s health to mollify one insolent young female who has no sense of her proper place?”

Julian hid a smile of satisfaction. He had guessed right. Strange as it seemed, his aunt had somehow endeared herself to Higgins, for beneath the man’s stiff, unbending exterior beat a loyal and protective nature. It was time for the coup de g
rac
e.

“My aunt and I have never made any pretense of great affection for each other. Indeed, I believe she holds you in higher regard than me. Her health is in your hands, Higgins, not mine.”

Higgins went very still.

“You will use your influence to bring my aunt around to an amicable view of Miss Gregory,” Julian commanded.

“That—that is quite impossible,” Higgins stammered.

“Not at all,” Julian returned. “I have a great deal of faith in you, Higgins.”

“I do not see how I can—”

“You have not lasted all this time in her employ without
l
earn
in
g how to give Lady Huffington what she needs,” Julian said bluntly.

To his surprise, deep unhappiness swept Higgins’s features.

“I have not handed you a difficult task,” Julian reassured
him
“You need only help Lady Huffington understand that it is unworthy of her to play the shrew. Appeal to that generosity in her about which you so gallantly speak.”

“I would not know how to begin,” Higgins said softly.

“Nonsense,” Julian declared. “Any man who can handle Aunt Eleanor for fifteen years has a considerable bag of tricks at his disposal.” Or was short a sheet himself, he mentally added.

Blushing like a new bride, Higgins barely managed his customary bow before he turned and walked silently from the room. Julian grinned. Who would have guessed that Higgins had a soft spot for the old biddy? Perhaps he would bring Aunt Eleanor around after all.

Alone once more, Julian tried to return to the papers at hand. But he could not concentrate, for images of last night’s dream intruded.

In the dream, Hannah Gregory had come to him, speaking in that softly modulated tone she used. She wore that prim bonnet and the plain blue walking dress he had bought her. He had looked into those somber gray eyes and seen a message there: Uncertainty. Hope.
With the practiced words and pretty phrases of a skilled seducer, he had soothed away her doubts. Then he had untied the strings of her bonnet and removed it. As her hair tumbled
down around her shoulders, he let it fall through his fingers, reveling in its velvety feel against his skin.

Even as he lay her down into the feather softness of his bed, he knew he was taking advantage of her weakness. But that realization had not stopped him from taking his pleasure with her, for shoring his masculine confidence with her conquest.

If you show your enemy your weak spot, he will make the most of it.

Julian was well acquainted with his own flaws. Bastard or no, he possessed a driving need to validate himself. Her flaw was more interesting: deafness had apparently left her unable to believe in her own desirability. Why else would she hide under those ugly mobcaps and shapeless dresses? It was odd that a woman used to bartering her flesh would have such a weakness. Yet she had accused him of making her feel like a child one moment and a fool the next—two images that belied the self-confidence with which she pretended to face the world.

In the dream, he had soothed her with pretty words and seductive phrases. When he had awakened this morning, he was as aroused as a raw youth. It had taken him some
minutes
to steady his breathing and all morning to shake the feeling that he had done something reprehensible.

Julian could not remember when his conscience had stricken him over a woman, much less over a harmless dream.

Was
the dream harmless? Or had it shown him the way to win the war of wills with his
protégé
e? Julian considered the possibilities.

Risking his sister’s chastity and his aunt’s health for a secret wager was shameful enough, though presumably no real harm would be done because he would win the bet. Playing to Miss Gregory’s weak spot by seducing her as balm for his wounded manhood would be truly dastardly.

Julian’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Could a man truly seduce such a jaded creature as a whore, a woman accustomed to being a man’s plaything?

Now
that
would be quite a victory.

The last place Julian wished to be was at the mantua
maker’s overseeing the commissioning of ball gowns. But with Aunt
Eleanor stubbornly refusing to leave her room, someone had to escort Miss Gregory and Lucy and prevent his sister from running amok in her enthusiasm.

True to his calculations, Lucy had taken Miss Gregory under her wing. Only the best gowns would do for her new friend and they must be had right away. Lucy had not stopped chattering all morning, although judging from Miss Gregory’s baffled expression, she missed a great many of the words Lucy flung her way.

As the seamstress brought out yet another pattern book, Julian frowned. “I see no need to fill the whole of Claridge House with Miss Gregory’s gowns.”

His sister paused in the act of fingering a bolt of cloth. “Since the season is nearly half over she will not need so much, perhaps,” she conceded. “But Hannah looks so lovely in these colors, I want to have something from each of them made up for her.”

“And I would like to get home before nuncheon,” was Julian’s clipped reply.

To her credit, Miss Gregory looked exceedingly uncomfortable. “There is no need for all of this, Lucy. I have some perfectly fine gowns that will do very well.”

“You have one evening gown, a morning dress, and two rather ordinary walking dresses,” Lucy retorted. “That is nothing for a young lady making her debut.”

Miss Gregory caught his eyes, and the silent appeal in her
gaze
surprised him. Most women of her stripe would have relished the receipt of such a stylish wardrobe as his sister was happily commissioning.

“Oh, look, Julian!” Lucy exclaimed. “Does not pink become her? It goes so nicely with her eyes.”

Reluctantly, Julian studied the swath of pink silk the seamstress had draped over Miss Gregory’s shoulder. It brought out the unusual gray of Miss Gregory’s eyes to rather appealing effect.

When he made no reply, the seamstress quickly substituted another bolt, this one a deep shade of violet that gave Miss Gregory’s complexion an intriguing glow. Or perhaps it was his scrutiny that brought the flush to her cheeks, for abruptly she stepped down from the little platform on which she had been standing.

“Can we stop for today?” she said. “I am rather fatigued.” She did not meet his gaze.

“Oh, do forgive me, Hannah,” Lucy trilled. “How selfish of me to keep you standing up there like a trussed goose. I must confess I cannot decide between the last two colors, so I will have Madame Celeste make up something in both of them, if that is acceptable?” She cocked her head, waiting for her friend’s objection. When none was given, she smiled and said, “Good.”

But Miss Gregory had not been looking at Lucy and did not know her permission had been sought. Julian suspected his sister knew very well what she had done; his suspicions were confirmed when she gave the order to the modiste and guided Miss Gregory out the door before the confused young woman detected what had transpired.

Julian shook his head. “Imp,” he said, unable to suppress a smile.

“Not at all,” Lucy protested. “Surely you do not begrudge the money, brother dear? I am certain you have spent far more setting up some light-o-love.”