The Duke I’m Going to Marry (Farthingale Series Book 2) (15 page)

Then again, nothing untoward had happened between her and Ian. She had nothing to be worried about in that regard. In truth, she wished that she did have something to be worried about, because having Ian’s arms around her and his lips planted on hers, probing the depths of her mouth, would have been great fun.

But nothing had happened. Not a blessed thing. Ian hadn’t felt the slightest urge to conquer or plunder her.

No, he’d been a perfect gentleman.

Drat.

“Seems Charles and his recently widowed cousin—”

“Lady Mary Abbott?”

“Precisely.” Her mother cleared her throat. “Seems they are rather
close
cousins.”

Julia leaned forward. “Tell her just how close.”

“Oh, Dillie! My sweet, innocent child. They were caught in one of the Wakeford bedchambers in a most embarrassing position.”

“Lord Ealing’s clothes were off and thrown wet on the floor,” Julia intoned.

Dillie felt her cheeks grow hot. “Poor man,” she said, feeling not a whit of remorse. She dared say no more, for her mind was as scrambled as the eggs she usually ate in the morning. Not this morning. Her stomach was in full revolt. “Wet, you say? He might have fallen into... oh, who knows? Perhaps the Wakeford fountain. He imbibed quite heartily last night. Accidents happen.” She tittered.

Ugh!
She never tittered.

“Perhaps so,” her mother said with a slow nod, “but that doesn’t explain why Lady Mary was caught naked beside him.”

“Or why her clothes were lying beside his, bone dry,” Julia added.

***

The gossip was repeated later that afternoon in front of their visitors, among them two attractive eligible bachelors, Lord Randall Whistlethwaite and the honorable Geoffrey Harding. Neither was anywhere near as handsome as Ian, but Dillie was pleased to see them nonetheless. Ian had predicted that other suitors would come forward now that Charles was no longer in the hunt, so to speak.

Still, she was suspicious of these new characters. Neither young lord had shown her the slightest interest before today.

They told her she looked lovely. They expressed their horror at what Charles had done, confirming that he was a base ogre and she was fortunate to be rid of him.

She smiled prettily. She was very good at smiling prettily, having perfected the art after a mere dozen years of training. She could also walk across a room balancing a book on her head, something Lily had never mastered. That book would be in Lily’s hands and she’d be reading it before she was halfway across a room.

Dillie glided to the door in her fashionable tea gown of palest rose velvet to greet more callers. She wore velvet because it was a chill, damp day. A simple wool or muslin gown would have been too plain for the occasion, and silk would have made her look overdressed. “Good afternoon, Gabriel,” she said, greeting Daisy’s husband with genuine warmth. She adored Gabriel. He wasn’t quite as good-looking as Ian—was any man?—but he came close.

“I just saw Lady Withnall’s coach draw up in front of the house,” he said in a whispered warning, leaning close to buss her cheek. “She was gazing out of it, her beady eyes as bright as hot, red embers. Someone’s about to get burned this afternoon.”

Dillie’s heart sank. “Oh, no.”

Gabriel eyed her curiously. “The blood just drained out of your head. Calm yourself, Dillie. It isn’t you.” He arched an eyebrow. “Right? You’ve been on your best behavior, haven’t you?”

She nodded.

He let out a breath. “Good, otherwise I’d have to kill the man who led you astray.”

“I haven’t been led anywhere,” she assured him, rolling her eyes. “My days are as dull as ever.”

“Poor child.” He patted her head. “Eloise and Ian will be joining us. Stay close to Eloise. She’ll protect you from that tiny harridan.”

Within moments, Pruitt strode in to announce Lady Withnall’s arrival. All conversation ceased, and guests who had been smiling only moments earlier began to exchange worried looks. Dillie scanned the crowd. If she wasn’t to be Lady Withnall’s next victim, then who among them was?

Whistlethwaite and Harding made hasty apologies and took themselves off. “Strike them off the list,” Dillie muttered under her breath.

“I wonder what she’s doing here,” Julia said in a reverent whisper as the
thuck, thuck, thuck
of Lady Withnall’s walking cane struck the polished wood floor.

Her mother shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.” She stepped forward to embrace Lady Withnall. “How nice of you to drop by. Do join us. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Lovely,” the old harridan said, taking a seat beside Dillie, who had just dropped onto the settee that her supposed suitors had vacated. “Was that Whistlethwaite and Harding I saw dashing off?”

Dillie nodded.

“Good. Dullards, the both of them. You ought to thank me for my visit. I hope I sent them packing for good. Very dull gentlemen, indeed. Can’t think of a nice thing to say about either of them. They’re quite unremarkable. Not suitable for you, Dillie. Neither one will make you happy.”

Dillie was about to toss back a noncommittal response, but Lady Withnall wasn’t finished yet. “They’re lazy and reckless. But now that they’ve gone, let’s speak of more interesting subjects. Tell me what happened to you at the Wakeford ball.”

Once again, Dillie’s instinct was to panic. She was saved by the timely arrival of Eloise and Ian. More greetings, a slight shuffling of the seating arrangements, meaning Dillie had shot out of her seat and offered it to Eloise in the hope that her neighbor would keep the tiny demon beside her under control.

Ian greeted her mother and Julia, acknowledged their other guests, and turned to her last. His lips were slightly curled upward as he bowed over her hand. “Your eyes are wide as saucers and your cheeks are a bright scarlet,” he said quietly.

She let out a soft moan. “Lady Withnall went straight for me.”

“Why? You haven’t done anything wrong. Stay calm. Don’t you dare
eep
,” he warned, casting her a gentle glance that made her bones melt.

“Can I fake an attack of sneezing?”

He laughed softly. “No.”

“I don’t know why she’s so interested in me, unless she saw me and Charles by the fountain last night. Maybe she saw you toss him in.”

“So?”

Or saw Ian comforting her. Then again, nothing untoward had happened between her and Ian. He was right. She had nothing to be worried about.

Why hadn’t Ian kissed her last night? Come to think of it, she ought to have been insulted that he hadn’t tried. He was a rakehell, after all. He had a sordid reputation to uphold, yet his behavior had been above reproach. He’d been valiant and noble. That was quite rude of him. Didn’t he like her? Did he find her so unappealing?

She frowned.

His lips broadened into a smile. He re-melted her bones. Was that even a word? Could bones melt more than once?

He gave her hand a light squeeze. “Just answer truthfully. You have nothing to fear from her.”

Oh, he was so wrong! “What if I stumble?”

He suddenly turned serious. “I’ll catch you. Always,” he said in that husky, crumble-a-woman’s-resistance voice of his.

Holy crumpets! With sugar on top!
Good Ian had put in an appearance again and was playing havoc with her heart. “And I’ll do the same for you,” she assured, though he didn’t seem to need her help. He handled all manner of adversity with a confident ease. Had her family spoken of her the way his family had spoken of him, she would have been in tears for days.

He went about his day as though nothing had happened.

Did nothing affect him?

Ian cleared his throat and turned away.

Lady Withnall picked up exactly where she had left off before Ian and Eloise arrived. She cast Dillie a beady-eyed glance and smiled. “As I was saying, what happened to you at the Wakeford ball, my dear?”

Dillie’s tongue seemed to swell within her mouth. Her throat began to close up tight. She didn’t know why this woman struck such fear in her heart. She hadn’t done a blessed thing worthy of eternal damnation. Were mere thoughts sufficient? She often dreamed of doing sinful things to Ian’s body. But thoughts didn’t count. How could they? She didn’t even know how to be sinful. She merely
wished
to be sinful with Ian.

He would have to show her how.

Lady Withnall reached across the tea table with her cane and nudged Dillie to regain her attention. “Answer me, gel. It’s a simple question. Or do you have something to hide?”

The remaining guests tipped their heads toward her, eagerly awaiting her response. They were all settled in the Farthingale parlor, a light and airy room decorated in pale blue silk. The drapes, the settee, and chairs were in compatible patterns of blue silk fabric. The carpet was a lovely, hand-woven floral on a background of pale blue wool. In contrast, Dillie’s gown was a pale rose with a simple white lace fichu at her bosom.

She looked quite elegant, she didn’t mind saying so. “I danced and took a walk on the terrace to cool down afterward.”

Lady Withnall eyed her shrewdly. “Twice, I believe.”

“Perhaps. I wasn’t paying close attention. I had a full dance card. The ballroom was quite crowded.” Dillie began to breathe heavily.

Ian sighed.

Dillie’s mother shot her a worried glance. “You didn’t eat sardines today, did you?”

“No.” She was now panting as rapidly as a dog on a hot summer’s day.

“Your Grace...” Lady Withnall said, her attention now trained on Ian, her eyes small and narrow as though she were aiming down the barrel of a musket.

Dillie cringed, waiting for her to mention the lies Ian’s mother had spread last night. Her hands curled into fists.
It isn’t fair. He hasn’t done anything wrong.
He’d been wonderful to her last night.

“Your Grace,” the old harridan repeated. “I hear that—”

Dillie shot out of her seat, knocking over the tea tray and spilling cups, teapot, and cakes onto the very expensive carpet. “Mother, I’m so sorry!” She cast a scowl at Lady Withnall, who returned the glare with an innocent gaze of her own. Too bad there were only dull butter knives at hand. She would have neatly dispatched the old troublemaker had she a real knife at her disposal.

“Dillie!” her mother cried in a fluster. “Summon Pruitt! Be quick about it. Goodness, what’s wrong with you today? I’ve never seen you so out of sorts.”

Dillie dashed into the entry hall in search of their ever reliable butler. He must have heard the crash of silver and china, for he was already armed with a dustpan and had two maids in tow. “Pruitt, it’s all my fault. I’ve destroyed the carpet and overset the tea table.”

His expression was achingly gentle as he said, “We’ll set it back in order, never you worry.” Then his gaze moved beyond her. “Your Grace, oh dear.”

Dillie turned to look behind her. Ian had followed her out. The sleeve of his elegant gray jacket was soaked with tea. She grabbed his hand. “Come into the kitchen with me. We need to get those stains out fast.”

She had led him as far as the dining room before realizing that all she needed was his jacket. “Oh.” She stopped and tried to release his hand, but he held fast. She liked the enveloping warmth of his fingers entwined in hers.

“I’ll let go in a moment,” he needlessly assured, for she was in no hurry to separate from him. “I’d like you to calm down and tell me what has you so overset. Did something else happen to you last night? Anyone hurt you?”

“No.”

He let go of her hand—
drat
—and then gazed searchingly into her eyes.
Crumpets! Eyes like his ought to be outlawed.
“Then why are you as jumpy as a frog? Lady Withnall was merely making polite conversation.”

“She was not! Did you see the way she was looking at me? Then she looked at you in that same beady manner.” She squinted her eyes to show him, but he merely chuckled. “It isn’t funny. Didn’t you notice? I’m certain she saw us together last night.”

He sighed. “So? We were merely speaking to each other.”

“In the garden. Under the moonlight. I rested my head against your shoulder. You warmed my hands.”

He was still reveling in his amusement, his mouth curved in a delicious grin. “Sounds rather romantic.”

It was. You should have taken me into your arms and kissed me. Have you no pride? Why didn’t you uphold your rakehell reputation?
“Give me your jacket, Ian. I only need it, not you.”

He shrugged out of it. Dillie leaned against one of the dining chairs, certain her legs were about to give way. His shoulders ought to be outlawed as well. And his broad chest. Banished from the kingdom! “Oh, the tea soaked into your shirt sleeve.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you asking me to take my shirt off as well?”

“No, you idiot.” Her heart would stop if he did. Perhaps it would explode. Shirtless Ian would do serious damage to her bodily organs. Not to mention her eyeballs. They might never settle back into their sockets. “I suppose I’ll have to take you with me after all.”

She turned and walked ahead to the kitchen, doing her best not to think of him or look back as he followed her. Mrs. Mayhew and her scullery maids looked up from their preparations and smiled, mildly surprised when she walked in, and then began to buzz and flit like bees about a hive when Ian strode in behind her.

“Your Grace!” Mrs. Mayhew bobbed a curtsy as did the scullery maids, who wouldn’t stop bobbing until Ian urged them to ignore him and apologized for the intrusion.

Dillie handed his jacket to Mrs. Mayhew. “It was all my fault. I knocked over the entire tea service and made a mess of His Grace’s garments.”

“Not to worry, lamb. I have two pies baking in the oven. They’re almost done. I’ll have them sent to the parlor as soon as they’ve cooled.” Mrs. Mayhew ordered one of her girls to put on more water for tea, took Ian’s jacket, and lumbered to the pantry to begin cleaning the stains out of it.

Dillie ordered Ian to sit on a stool beside the kitchen’s window ledge where the pies would have been set to cool if it weren’t raining. The rain was still coming down hard, but the window had been left open a crack to allow in the draft. Fortunately, the wind was blowing the rain away from them so that the droplets fell outside instead of pattering in.