The Third Duke's the Charm (5 page)

Perhaps it was a mistake to not have acted sooner, but then again, fate had intervened finally.

She settled into the seat without further comment, though her face held a small frown.

When he climbed in and took the ribbons she merely caught the strap as they pulled onto the street.

It wasn’t until they were several blocks away that she murmured, “There
is
a delicious freedom in being engaged.”

She had no idea. At least of
his
idea of delicious, but that would have to come later. He directed the team of horses onto a public path. “As a married woman, you will have even more latitude.” Almost as soon as he spoke he thought of all the promiscuous wives he knew that had understandings with their husbands over infidelities. “To a certain extent, of course,” he added.

She must have caught the slight edge to his tone for she glanced over at him with a hint of confusion.

“I expect a faithful wife.” He urged the horses to faster pace.

“And what should
I
expect?”

As the horses moved briskly along the avenue, tendrils of unruly sable hair escaped her chignon and teased the slender column of her neck, which was a little distracting. Lucien lifted his brows as he easily guided the matched team. “A fair question.”

“I think so.”

She wasn’t meek. Quiet, yes. Reserved, but not meek. He guided the curricle around a group of riders with an expert hand as they gained the path in the park. “I think you have every right to expect of me what I expect of you.”

“I am happy to hear you say that, my lord.”

Interpreting her tone was impossible, which itself was a revelation because he was well versed in the subtle nuances of the female voice, from sultry to petulant to pleading, and hers held a singular note he didn’t recognize.

She was being reasonable, he realized in a moment of wry amusement. No wonder he didn’t distinguish the inflection. He was far more used to spoiled society ladies who pouted and teased. “I don’t know what your perceptions are, but at the least, you can expect honesty from me.”

“Charles has always said you tell the truth, even if it is painful. When your father wouldn’t discuss your mother’s death, he went to you and you told him what I am going to assume was a kinder version of exactly what happened, but you did not evade him despite his young age. He’s always admired you for that.”

Startled, Lucien accidentally drew back a bit on the ribbons and the horses slowed. “He told you about that conversation?”

“Of course.”

There was no
of course
about it. He clearly remembered Charles, so distraught, finally coming to him and asking questions that were not particularly easy to answer, but he’d handled it as best he could—between them. That he’d gone off and discussed it with Vivian was probably natural since they’d been children at the time.

“You look surprised.” Vivian’s words were soft, her eyes shimmered that glorious, almost verdant green. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t.” He took a moment and reassessed the situation, striving for a cool, calm approach. “I suppose I am just starting to doubt if I have ever understood the depth of your involvement with my brother.”

“Involvement? I think you chose the wrong word. Charles and I are lifelong friends.”

“Enough so you encouraged him to whisk away the vicar’s daughter and leave you to deal with the ramifications?”

After a moment, she nodded. “Enough for that, yes.”

Loyalty was a commodity he valued in his friends, but hers to Charles was impressive and he felt another one of those unwanted twinges of jealousy that he was going to have to overcome. Changing the subject seemed a good start. “The wedding will be in three weeks unless you have an objection. Forgive the presumption, but I assumed from your general reticence at social affairs you would not wish for a grand event. However, if you do—”

“I don’t want a production,” she interrupted with a shudder. “Small and quiet will suit me fine. But my mother has other plans and I’m afraid and she is difficult to dissuade.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched into a smile as he recalled the scandalized look on her mother’s face after his declaration that he doubted he’d wait all those months to bed her daughter if she scheduled the wedding so far away. “I think,” he said serenely, “I may have persuaded her to consider our point of view.”

***

Vivian returned home in a ridiculous state of confusion that included, unfortunately, some euphoria.

Very impractical.

All that had happened was that the Marquess of Stockton had taken her for a spin around the park in his fashionable vehicle, driving the high-spirited horses himself, his long bronzed fingers effortlessly controlling the team, the breeze ruffling that delicious dark hair, his faint smile both enigmatic and fascinating.

Everyone had seen them, but that really did not matter all that much to her. Circumstances had dictated she ignore how society regarded her a long time ago or she would have simply been wounded time and again. And it wasn’t worth it for her to bleed over the opinions of small-minded people.

It wasn’t worth it either, she thought as she unfastened her gown and pulled the pins from her long hair, to have unrealistic expectations for this upcoming marriage. Lucien could be very charming; she knew that—half of England knew that. What was foolish was to succumb to that facile charisma like a naïve schoolgirl and therefore render herself vulnerable to disappointment.

Easier said than done.

Clad only in her chemise, she lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Charles had once told her that Lucien was deeper than his devil-may-care public persona and she didn’t doubt that was true, but then again, it was very difficult to get a sense of the real man.

He was, she took note lying there, undeniably handsome. Almost too much so, and he was aware of it, but he could hardly be
unaware
of it with women tossing themselves in his path on a constant basis.

He would someday be the third Duke of Sanford. That would mean she would be his duchess.

She closed her eyes, the mattress soft at her back, the evening breeze cool now and bringing in a hint of chimney smoke through her open window. People in the park had noted them driving together, many lifting their hand to wave at her fiancé, though their avid gazes were on her.

This was exactly the type of attention she’d never wanted in her life.

Then again, she’d enjoyed their afternoon, though she was reluctant to discover what he’d said to her mother.

It was better than another season, she thought, rolling to her stomach.

It was . . . an adventure.

Chapte
r Five

The Dowager Duchess of Eddington was announced at exactly half past nine in the morning and Lucien had to admit he wasn’t sure what caused him more trepidation over the unfashionably early call: the hour or that she specifically asked for him.

Proper old harridans did not usually seek him out, much less at his townhouse. He glanced at the elegantly engraved card in bemusement, told his butler to show Her Grace into the formal salon, and rang for his valet so he could don a cravat because he usually worked in comfort in his study at least, especially at this hour.

What the devil does she want?

The minute he walked into the room and gave a formal bow, his visitor, upright and rigid on a brocade settee, said without any greeting whatsoever, “Is it true?”

The all-encompassing question was hardly enlightening. “I suppose,” he said coolly, “that I should ask to what you are referring right after I offer you some refreshment, Your Grace. Would you like anything? Tea, coffee—”

“Stop being so insufferably polite, Stockton. Look at the clock. I just breakfasted. I wish to know if you are truly going to marry Vivian Lacrosse.”

That hadn’t taken long. Then again, servants knew everything and there had been their public ride in the park. He wasn’t surprised word had leaked out, but he was damned curious over the dowager’s arrival. “I have offered for her and she has accepted.”

“Hmm.” Her iron-gray hair curled in uncompromising ringlets, her mouth pursed, Eugenia Francis studied him as if he were an unusual exhibit, perhaps a two-headed pig at a country fair. Then she nodded grudgingly. “A good choice on your part. Your father must be pleased.”

This visit grew more interesting by the passing moment. “I’m glad you approve.” He decided sitting across from her was a little uncomfortable and chose to stand. Was it too early for a brandy? He eyed the decanter on the sideboard and decided with an inner sigh, it was. He had a busy day.

“She isn’t flighty.”

“Thank God.”

“Nor does she giggle. I despise those that do.” The duchess made a moue of distaste.

More mystified than ever but with an edge of amusement, Lucien agreed. “It is not what I look for in a female either, Your Grace. How do you know Vivian so well, if I may ask?”

“Not
so
well,” the older woman admitted. “But a few of her friends have benefited from my patronage, and before this engagement, I admit I’d rather thought to perhaps take her in hand. However, I cannot do better for her than a marquess and ducal heir.”

“I’m flattered,” he said ironically.

“She is actually very attractive despite all the grubbing in the dirt.”

“I have noticed that as well.” He decided to not take exception to the way his unexpected visitor described Vivian’s hobby because he didn’t sense any malice in it.

“Your father has always liked it as well. I have known him for years.”

“He has mentioned you more than once.”

“Plants.” She sniffed. “I don’t see the allure, but there is no harm in it, I suppose.”

“Good in it, actually,” he remarked. “Where would we be without plants?”

“You.” The dowager pointed at him with an emphatic finger and didn’t address that assertion. “Still need me. Or she does.”

Not having been aware he needed her in the first place, Lucien debated a diplomatic reply. “Perhaps you should elaborate, Your Grace.”

“I am sure you’ve noticed how her mother dresses her in those hideous gowns that would be better suited to a grandmother than a beautiful young woman. I can solve that problem with one visit to the modiste. Then let us discuss how your intended frequents corners and hallways at formal events and refuses to dance. If she is going to be a marchioness, and one day a duchess, she needs some assistance in overcoming those foibles.
I
can make her a success in society.”

Whatever he’d expected of his day when he woke this morning, it was not this. He was fairly sure he was staring at his guest in open consternation.

Maybe it
wasn’t
too early for a stiff drink.

“I am not convinced it matters to her to be a success.” The response was carefully phrased and slowly spoken.

“It should.” The duchess leveled a chilly glare his direction. “Not because of your future consequence, and not because of your father, and not because of a thousand other small things, but because the girl has been made miserable for the past four years. There is absolutely no reason that with the right guidance she can’t have what she should have had all along and is embraced by the
ton
, instead of shunned by it. You’ve opened the door by offering your name, so let me do the rest. I intended to help her make a brilliant marriage, but that is now taken care of, so allow me to make her a fashionable marchioness instead.”

“Why?” He had to admit he was mystified.

“Why not?” she challenged. “She should have been a phenomenal triumph her first season. I intend to rectify that immediately. Perhaps you’ve heard how I helped Lillian Bourne recently. If I do say so myself, she is quite happily married.”

Lucien refrained from pointing out he paid very little attention to gossip. “My congratulations, if you are responsible, but—”

“A little hobby of mine. Now then, about your fiancée?”

Not only was he unsure of how Vivian might react, but her mother was a consideration. “Lady Lacrosse is hardly going to let you step in.”

“Let me worry over that.”

“Your Grace, while I appreciate—”

“Don’t be stubborn, Stockton.”

He’d dealt in his lifetime with any number of determined females and recognized defeat when he saw it. Perhaps Vivian would thank him, though he wasn’t sure of that in the least, but at the moment, the easiest course seemed capitulation. Besides, since the dowager was a friend of his father, refusing the offer was difficult.

And the dowager was right. Vivian deserved a stylish gown for her wedding day. Not that he cared so much what she wore, but he’d noticed already that whenever possible, she chose the plainest gown possible. “I think it is a capital idea,” he said finally. “But give me your word you will listen to her. Her mother never has, and that is a great deal of the problem. Vivian is bright as well as beautiful. If you will not disregard her desires, I think it would be quite an advantageous partnership.”

“As long as it isn’t a feather-brained idea, she can have a say in her wardrobe. I will naturally have the bills sent to you.”

It was magnanimous enough that he had to stifle a laugh. “I take it I need to warn my steward in advance so he doesn’t collapse in shock.”

“One needn’t be extravagant to be tasteful. I would never allow a bunch of fripperies anyway, so you are safe enough, my lord.” The duchess rose regally, her pale eyes direct. “I have carte blanche then?”

A frightening phrase if he’d ever heard one, but before he could reply, she swept out of the room. Unable to decide if he was amused or
bemused
, he headed back toward his study and barely had he discarded his cravat and sat down, before there was another knock on the door. Somewhat exasperated, he said, “Come in.”

“Another visitor to see you, milord.” His butler, a young Irishman whom he’d hired because of his absolute lack of resemblance to any of the stuffy servants he remembered from his youth, was grinning. “’Tis a busy morning.”

“Apparently so. Tell me it isn’t another pushy duchess.”

“No, sir. I’m thinkin’ a bit worse.”

“How the devil could it be worse?”

“Lady Vickers.”

That
was
worse. Lucien stifled a groan. “What have I done to deserve this?” he muttered, but nodded. “Show her in here. It isn’t like she and I stand on formality.”

Catherine entered the room a few moments later with her usual aplomb, her day dress emphasizing her gorgeous curves and at least giving him some measure of conviction that maybe the duchess’s visit had been fortuitous. While his former lover’s opulent beauty was nothing like Vivian’s understated femininity, she did know how to dress to emphasize her considerable charms. Her décolletage was a bit much for this hour, but then again, it usually was for any hour. If the duchess could enhance Vivian’s figure, maybe his fiancée would get the attention she should have had all along.

As long as everyone understood she was
his
now.

“Was that the Duchess of Eddington?” Catherine asked without preamble, taking a seat. “What on earth was that old hag doing here?”

“The more pertinent question is what are you doing here? I remember quite well you don’t normally rise before noon and it is”—he theatrically pulled out his watch—“only ten o’clock. I feel faint from shock.”

“Something has certainly addled your brain.” Catherine leaned back, her arms on the sides of the chair, and gave him a level look. “I admit I rose early because I couldn’t wait to ask you if it is really true. Are you truly going to marry that awkward creature?’

Creature
was hardly a flattering term. He said coolly, “If you mean Miss Lacrosse, then yes, indeed, she has agreed to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea, except I will own it took some persuasion.”

Deliciously blond and voluptuous, Catherine gave an inelegant snort. “That isn’t what I meant.
You
had to persuade
her
? I don’t believe that for a moment. Your father is behind this.”

“Actually, it was entirely my choice.”

“Her?”

He decided right then to go ahead and have that drink. The morning was shaping up to merit it. Reaching for the brandy decanter, he murmured, “Why not? She is lovely, from a good family, and accomplished in her own way.”

“She likes . . . plants.”

“So does my father, and her father, so there, you see, it runs in the family, so to speak. I’m quite used to people around me dabbling in botany.”

“But it isn’t something women
do
.”

“Some women don’t do it. That’s different. What would be better, if she liked fashionable gowns instead?”

“It is obvious she doesn’t.” Catherine lifted one brow in a sardonic arch. “And you aren’t interested in women like her. Or at least your cock isn’t. Tell me, how are you going to fuck your little bluestocking bride? Will you discuss the spring crops beforehand?”

He experienced a flicker of irritation over the crudity, but then again, Catherine enjoyed shocking people and she was notoriously spoiled. Their brief affair had been a mistake and he’d ended it once he realized that the idea of one day being a duchess had prompted the invitation into her bed. They had stayed friends to a certain extent, and he always wondered if she hadn’t quite given up hope that he might change his mind and be coaxed into proposing one day.

Not a chance in hell. He’d found her amusing for her unabashed shallowness and ambition, not to mention her blatant sexuality, but he had no doubt that she made a much better mistress than she ever would a wife. “Maybe,” he said softly, “you just never got to know more of me than my cock, but that doesn’t surprise either of us, does it?”

It was clear she wasn’t sure whether or not to be insulted, but in the end, she chose to just laugh. “And a glorious cock it is, darling.”

“The compliment humbles me.”

“Pfft. As if you are ever humble. Why is it I had the impression your brother was going to marry the Lacrosse girl?”

First she was a
creature
and then a
girl
. Considering Vivian was neither, he was hard-pressed to not say something scathing in return, but then again, Catherine had never been all that versed in subtlety in the first place, so it might just confuse her and prolong the visit. “Why exactly are you here?”

“Darling . . . people are talking.”

That translated to her rising at what she considered to be an obscene hour and coming to see him in person to gather information so she could talk more than everyone else. “They always are.”

“About you? Not usually. But then again, you keep your private affairs . . . well, private. Even when we were involved, you insisted we be discreet.”

Lucien leaned back in his chair. “I tried, anyway. If I recall all the rumors, you didn’t cooperate like a lady should, my dear Cat. Who is the one who has no sense of propriety?”

She waved a careless hand, her voluptuous body languid in the chair. “I’ve never cared about that.”

It was true. She was the daughter of a merchant banker who owned about half of London, and the widow of an elderly viscount she had shamelessly married for his social position.

“Some of us do care,” he informed her, thinking of his father’s disapproval of Charles’s sometimes dissolute lifestyle. In truth, his brother was probably not as promiscuous as all the gossip suggested, he just didn’t worry about discretion. Lucien, on the other hand, had learned at a very young age that his position made him vulnerable to scandal, and he had no interest in having half of England discussing his personal life.

Case in point: his affair with Catherine. He unfortunately understood the parameters of her good behavior thanks to previous experience. First and foremost she took care of herself and it was clear she was pouting over his engagement. “I think that since I am engaged, you should no doubt limit your visits to afternoon tea, should there ever be any offered here, and since I abhor the ritual, that isn’t often.”

“You aren’t very subtle, Lucien.”

His smile was bland. “But then again, I wasn’t trying to be.”

“I gathered that.” For all her opulent allure and overt sensuality, Catherine wasn’t a fool, and her eyes narrowed a fraction. She negligently adjusted her skirt. “I’ve never known you to be protective before.”

He could have pretended to misunderstand, but he didn’t. They’d known each other long enough it wasn’t necessary. “I’m understandably concerned about the feelings of my bride.”

“Why
are
you marrying her anyway?”

“Because I wish to.”

“Oh, please.”

Her derision made him slightly tighten his hands around his glass. Was this what Vivian had endured for four years? he wondered.