by Jenna Jaxon
“I suspect many of them do.” Unable to help himself, Hal stared at the charming girl. Fortunately, the dancers held her interest so she missed this lapse of manners.
Entranced, she peered over the rail, her gaze darting from one couple to another, her hand beating time on the rail. Then she frowned and shook her head. “Non, non. C’est impossible.”
“What is impossible, mademoiselle?” She was obviously looking for someone. But who?
“It is nothing. I…I was told there would be a duke here tonight. He is a very powerful man, an English duke, non? I thought I might recognize him from his clothing. He must be magnifique.” She looked closer at the dancing figures.
“Oh, but they do not appear in their ducal robes unless they’re in Parliament or there is a coronation.” He bit back a laugh. Damned strange if they all had to wear them every day. “At a ball or dinner party, they look just like anyone else.”
Her face fell, and she nibbled on her bottom lip as she continued to stare into the ballroom. Abruptly, she turned eyes that blazed green fire on him, and his heart lurched. “Do you know which one is the duke?”
“Yes, yes, I do.” Hal gulped and motioned to the couples milling on the floor, between sets. “Actually, there are two dukes here this evening.” He drew closer to her, and the faint but delightful flowery fragrance of hyacinth wafted over him. “You see that gentleman there,” he said, pointing to the Duke of Carlisle, “the one with the very wide side whiskers?”
“Qu’est-ce que c’est?”
“Whiskers.” Hal stroked his smooth cheeks, side whiskers being one of fashion’s affectations he particularly disliked.
“Ah, c’est lui.” She nodded then peered at the duke and frowned. “He is very old, n’est-il pas?”
Hal laughed softly. “Dukes have a habit of doing that.” His own father was still hearty at fifty-five. “Some are much younger.” He scanned the crowd. “There, the man in the black coat and white breeches?”
“Which one?” She stared at the groups, searching. “There are so many.”
Damn. How to describe a man dressed like every other one? “He’s wearing quite a large jeweled pin in his cravat. A diamond. It’s sparkling.”
“The very handsome one, next to the lady in the dark pink stripes?”
“Exactly.” Hal stepped back, still unwilling to be seen. “Well, he is also a duke. The Duke of Rother.”
“Oh!” Gabriella clutched the railing and leaned over. “That is he? He is très beau.”
“Whoa.” Hal grabbed her about the waist and pulled her back. “You don’t want them to see you, do you?”
“Non.” She gazed longingly at the duke then stepped back from the railing. “Le duc de Rother.” When she finally turned to Hal, her eyes sparkled as brightly as the duke’s jewel. “Merci, merci beaucoup, monsieur…my pardon, what is your name?”
Chapter 2
The young man flushed, and Gabriella smiled to herself. He was likely a servant she had caught taking his ease from his duties. It meant nothing to her, of course. She was doing the same thing, although la comtesse, who she had seen dancing below, would not need her for some time, if she were lucky. The English, however, always seemed embarrassed about taking time to rest. Ah, well, she would feel no such thing. Such a difficult race, l’Anglais.
“Can you tell me your name, monsieur? I would like to thank you properly.” She batted her eyelashes at the handsome man. Flirting always broke the ice.
“H…Horace, mademoiselle. Horace Carpenter. I am valet to the Marquess of Halford.” He glanced down at his feet.
Ah, as she’d suspected. Of course, the man should not be here any more than she. That could be the cause for his shyness. “Then merci beaucoup, Monsieur Carpenter. You have been most kind to me.” She smiled, sincerely this time. Such a very attractive man. And she was grateful for his help. If she were lucky, he could further aid her in her quest. The assistance of someone in society would be necessary to carry out her plan, and this man worked for a powerful man, a marquess, no less.
Like a gift from a beneficent God sent to her.
She laid a hand on his arm, drawing him back to the railing. “You have shown me the Duke of Rother, so you or your master must know him, non?”
“Uh, oui, uh, yes. My master, the marquess, knows him very well. That is how I knew him…to point him out to you.” Monsieur Carpenter started and struggled, as if he did not quite know how to speak English himself.
Had her flirting affected him so badly? She had not meant to fluster the man so much that he could not speak. Still, Maman had always told her she would make the men mad with passion. Ah, well, she would cease her little dalliance, and hope he would still be of help to her.
“I wonder, monsieur, since you know very well the ways of the English aristocracy, if there is a way for me to meet this duke?”
His arm beneath her hand stiffened. “Why would you want to meet a duke?”
“Oh, it would be très excitant, to meet so powerful a man, ne serait-il?” She squeezed his arm and gave a little laugh. If he could help her, she would truly be grateful, however, she did not want him to displease his master.
“Perhaps, although he may prove more tedious than you think.” He furrowed his brows almost comically. “Wouldn’t a marquess be just as exciting? I am sure I could arrange a meeting between you and my master.”
Gabriella sighed. She had a specific reason for wanting to meet this particular duke, which she could not divulge to this stranger, no matter how nice he seemed. But how to put that delicately?
“I am certain your marquess is a man redoutable, monsieur. Mais, I have set my heart on meeting a duke.” She smiled up at him again, and clasped his arm tighter. “You will think it is just the silly whim of a young, foolish girl.”
“Tell me.” His eyes searched her face, and she met their gaze without hesitation. What she could tell him was the truth.
“From the time I was a very small girl, I have had one particular dream. To meet a duke. An English duke, in fact. My mother met such a man once. She told me all about it, how it changed her life. Ever since then, I have hoped and prayed for this to happen.” She glanced at the man again, now laughing with a lady in blue. “I am so close to attaining this happiness. Can you not help me?”
“A duke.” Monsieur Carpenter put a hand to his head, rubbing his temple as though struck with a pain. “Can it be any duke?”
Gabriella held her breath. The young valet obviously wanted to help her. A nudge in the correct place, and he might be tempted enough. “I have heard my mistress speak of this Duke of Rother.” She pointed to the handsome man, who quite took her breath away. Never had she dreamed he would be so dashing. “She says he is the most distinguished and commanding of men. Now I see him for myself, I know she did not lie. Il est très beau, non? And since I have seen this duke, this is the one I wish to meet.” She stared at him, daring him to dispute her words. “Is there any other English duke so attractive? So splendid? So noble?”
“I grant you, the duke is a fine specimen of an English nobleman.” Monsieur Carpenter’s face had paled. “However, this may prove more difficult than I first believed.”
“Will you help me, monsieur?” Artifice had gone. Gabriella spoke from her heart.
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I will speak to my master about it. If anyone can arrange it, he can.” A long pause, and the valet opened his deep brown eyes and sighed.
“Oh, monsieur. Merci, merci.” She flung her arms around him. At last she would meet the Duke of Rother.
Monsieur Carpenter, instead of letting her go, pulled her closer.
She tried to push back, but he enfolded her in his arms, drew her toward his warm body. Then his mouth met hers. His soft, insistent lips sent a thrill through her she’d not experienced before. Relaxing against him, she gave herself over to pure pleasure as their mouths dissolved into one another. A delightful heat sizzled in her veins. She should not have been enjoying
this, yet the tingles he caused to skitter up and down her spine could not be denied.
At last, he broke the kiss and stepped back. “That was the loveliest thank you I have ever received.”
Gabriella came slowly back to the balcony, the music, and thanked God for the dimness of the candles, half burned out in their sconces on the wall. Heat seared her cheeks, and she danced back from this stranger. “I beg your pardon, Monsieur Carpenter. You made me forget myself.”
“You can forget yourself with me any time you like, Mademoiselle d’Aventure.” He grinned and lifted her chin so she had no choice but to look him in the face. “How may I contact you?”
She jerked her chin away. “Oh, non, monsieur.” Gabriella retreated until her back hit the wall behind her. Wax flew, and the candle flame sputtered. She must put an immediate end to any romantic notions this valet had about her. Nothing must come between her and her goal. “You have been very kind, but do not think that because of that one kiss—”
“I will need to contact you, Mademoiselle d’Adventure, to inform you of my master’s progress with your request to meet the duke.” The insufferable man’s face twitched with laughter. He at least had the good manners not to laugh in her face. “Where may I send you word?” His brown eyes glinted with amusement still.
Gabriella sniffed. So what if he thought her a fool? The one thing that mattered was arranging the meeting with the duke. “Ah, oui.” She raised her head as though nothing had occurred. “La comtesse is staying here with Lady Hamilton, a connection of her late husband, the Earl of Chalgrave. You may send a note to her servants’ quarters, and I shall get it.” She would alert the housekeeper that she was expecting a letter. The woman was stern, but had been civil to her so far.
“Do you know if your mistress will attend Lady Atherton’s musical evening, day after tomorrow?” His tone and eyes were eager.
“I believe that she has accepted that invitation. Why?”
“Can you manage to accompany her there?”
Gabriella frowned. “Yes, but there is nothing to arrange. Lady Chalgrove insists I attend all functions with her, in case there is an emergency with her toilette.” She shook her head, laughing. “Once, she told me, she attended a ball without her maid and during the first dance her partner tore her gown. The lady’s maid of the household could not repair the tear and la comtesse was forced to leave the ball early. Since that day, she insists on her maid accompanying her to every entertainment. I grew up in a modiste’s shop, so I can repair anything.” She arched her neck. Monsieur need not look down on her skills. She’d wager herself more proficient in personal care than he.
“Excellent. I will see you there and bring word of my progress in gaining an audience with Rother.”
Something in his request didn’t ring true. Gabriella cocked her head. “Why ask for my lodging if you plan to meet me elsewhere?”
The valet grinned, all trace of shyness gone. “Because I realized if we meet, I’ll be able to see you again.”
“You also accompany your master to parties and balls?” She accepted that the countess required her services almost constantly, but hadn’t thought this usual. “I did not think English gentlemen so fussy in their costumes that they must have constant attention.”
Monsieur Carpenter cleared his throat. “The marquess styles himself a follower of Beau Brummell. He too requires me always at hand to see to his appearance.” He made a sharp gesture toward the balcony. “That is why I am cooling my heels here. I can keep an eye on his lordship through the railing. If he leaves the ballroom, I can hurry downstairs to see if he requires anything.”
Gabriella had heard of Monsieur Brummell’s fastidious fashion and the men who tried to emulate him. She sighed. “The English can be quite excentrique, ne peuvent-ils?” Excentricité also explained Monsieur Carpenter’s very informal dress. Never had she seen a valet without a proper jacket.
He grinned and nodded. “Indeed they can, mademoiselle.” The warm look in his big brown eyes sent a warning signal.
“I must return to la comtesse’s chamber. If she should return, and I am not there…” She threw up her hands. “She will have many unkind words for me.” The woman had been furious the last time that had happened. Gabriella had feared she would strike her.
“I don’t see how anyone could be harsh with you, Mademoiselle d’Aventure.” The valet raised his hand toward her face, and she skipped away from him.
What a shame Monsieur Carpenter was such an attractive man. The sable brown hair and piercing dark eyes sent shivers all through her. The memory of his strong arms and warm kiss promised exceptional delights, but she could not let herself be distracted from her quest to meet the Duke of Rother.
Gabriella curtsied and, picking up her skirts, hurried from the room. She raced past the staircase, the uncanny feeling that she was being pursued pushing her to greater speed than was safe. No time for dalliance with a valet when the duke was so close at hand.
* * * *
Hal stared at the doorway, his head spinning with that whirlwind conversation. What a web of lies he’d just constructed, as glibly as any charlatan on the street corner. The flow of false words that seemed to come out of his mouth of their own accord amazed him. He’d been so delighted with the beautiful mademoiselle he would have said almost anything to help her. What the devil he was to do now, he had no idea. He could simply introduce her to Rother, whom he knew quite well, although only as the Marquess of Halford. Unfortunately, that bit of information he would rather keep to himself for now.
He’d not declared himself the marquess for fear she would run away from him. To have found a nobleman in shirtsleeves would have been enough to send any respectable woman scurrying away, scandalized. Celinda had been right about that. And the moment he’d seen Miss d’Aventure, he’d decided he must meet the lovely creature, have one conversation without the ton dictating his behavior. Have her meet the man, rather than the blasted title so many women sought. He hadn’t imagined he’d want to continue the acquaintance, yet now he could not countenance the idea of not seeing her again. Unfortunately, neither could he reveal himself without making her angry about his deception. She’d find out eventually, of course. No one who knew him would ever mistake him for his valet, the real Horace Carpenter. Still, he wanted to give them time to know each other as equals.
He liked Mademoiselle d’Aventure on a level much deeper than he’d have thought possible in the fifteen minutes they’d been together. Smart, funny, beautiful. Stubborn. That he liked most of all. He’d wager his inheritance she could hold her own in any drawing room in London. That she could be his marchioness had crossed his mind more than once. Their kiss and her lovely figure pressed close to him had incited a riot in every part of his body.
If only she were not a lady’s maid.
Of course, men took all manner of women to wife, from prostitutes to princesses. The ton was full of such tales. It loved nothing more. His father, on the other hand, detested scandal. Hal’s scrapes in the past had been enough of a disgrace to elicit the threat of being cut off without a farthing. Not a pleasant prospect when his father had the constitution of a horse. The man might live another twenty years or more.
So like it or not, Gabriella d’Aventure was not for him. God, even her name set his pulse to pounding. Let him at least find a way to grant her wish to meet Rother. He swung around and strode to the railing, staring out at the dancing figures. Who could help him?
Below, Celinda stood beside a young lady in blue. Ah, that must be Miss Katherine Locke. Their heads drew together in deep conversation, most likely about the newly come Lord Finley. Hal had yet to meet the man, but if level-headed Lady Celinda Graham was taken with him, he’d better take his measure and quickly. Of course, her father would…
The flicker of a memory, a connection to the Grahams surfaced in his giddy mind. He needed to go to Celinda now, before she left or did something rash, like compromise herself with his lordship. Hal grabbed his j
acket from behind a potted palm and slung it on. At the very least she’d have another partner out on the dance floor if he didn’t move quickly. The black superfine material settled uncomfortably over his shoulders—it always felt too confining, no matter what his tailor did to it. He settled it as best he could and rushed out the door and down the stairs.
His height proved a boon, as usual. He spied Lady Celinda and Miss Locke in conversation on the other side of the ballroom. He skirted the dance floor as swiftly as he dared without being rude to the guests who stopped him, wishing to chat or introduce him to their daughters. The very reason he hated these affairs.
He made each conversation as quick as he could, but by the time he finally reached Celinda, she was deeply engaged with a man he didn’t recognize—obviously the excellent Lord Finley. She would not be pleased with him for interrupting, but, still, he was not inclined to wait.
“Lady Celinda, Miss Locke. How do you do? So lovely to see you this evening.” He bowed to them then raised his eyebrows while staring pointedly at the well-dressed gentleman beside them.
“Good evening, Lord Halford.” Miss Locke dropped a curtsy.
“Good evening, my lord.” Celinda pursed her lips and curtsied as well. Her eyes shot daggers at him, but she smiled and nodded to the man on her right. “May I present Lord Finley? He is just returned to London from America.”
“My lord.” Hal bowed, taking the man’s measure at a glance. Tall, with a rugged build and sharply defined face, the man was surely a gentleman, although with an indefinable edginess to him. Hal scented danger, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on what gave him that impression. He would make inquiries. Not that Celinda’s father wouldn’t do the same; Lord Ivor was no fool where his daughter was concerned. Still, Hal liked her enough that even had they not been related, he would have been loath to see her hurt.