A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  A pang of guilt attacked him as he led Miss Butler onto the floor for the next dance. Although he was eager to discover the whereabouts of Damaris, he did not want to cause gossip. He could bear it but she could not.

  Luckily, they had taken the floor for a country dance, so they did not retain the same partners throughout the set. Logan was certain Miss Butler was a perfectly sweet young lady, but she could do nothing other than peep over her fan and giggle at him. At the end of the interminable dance, Logan handed Miss Butler to Grant. “Two dukes in a row,” he murmured to her before he left her. “You’re a triumph, Miss Butler!”

  That meant he did not have to go back to where Lady Elizabeth lay in wait. He did not even glance over to where she must be standing, with their hostess. Instead, he paused to speak to one of the two people in this room he could trust. “Have you seen her?”

  Powdered, perfumed and primped to the utmost, Adam was still essentially male. Logan knew his games. He would have his coat cut a smidgen too tight, so his muscles bulged through, or leave his neckcloth a tiny bit open at the top, displaying his larynx and a flash of bare skin. He loved to play with expectations, did Adam. Logan preferred a more straightforward approach, but he admired his friend’s finesse.

  But right this moment, he was in no mood for games.

  Adam leaned closer, and flicked his fan out, laying it over their faces. The gesture looked like intimacy, but Logan knew better. He’d done it to frustrate the lip-readers in the room. “She went to a private room with Sir Peter Brady. I do not know which one, but I know they left by the supper room.”

  Logan clasped his friend’s shoulder. “I’m obliged to you.”

  Havering over. He knew his own mind and he would act on it. Unless he was too late, and forced to accept her decision to marry Sir Peter.

  Whirling around, his coat striking any number of bystanders, he strode off to the supper room. He could almost hear Adam’s sigh of exasperation. A grim smile traced his lips. He was finished with subtle and polite. Every tiny hair on his body tingled. If he did not get to wherever she was in time, he might be too late. And nothing else mattered. He was aware of the stir he caused as he walked through the supper room. The chamber was as yet thinly populated, but people not interested in dancing, or playing in the card room gathered. Heads moved closer as whispers began, and silk susurrated as the gossips moved closer. He opened a door that led on to a small room holding several pietra dura chests with small drawers. A treasure room, no doubt filled with collectables and curiosities. But no people.

  He tried another and discovered a music room. The public rooms in this house were set in a circle, rather than the enfilade, the straight line that would have meant he could have seen from the first room to the last, if all the doors were open.

  Frustrated, he tried another door, and this time he was lucky.

  Damaris sat on a sofa, her skirts spread around her like a waterfall, and at her feet knelt Sir Peter Brady. When he turned, Logan had the strong urge to knock the smug smile off his face. He held Damaris’ hand in his, as if he had the right. He probably did have the right.

  Logan’s heart sank. He was too late. Logan’s hand went to his hip, but in deference to their hostess, he had left his sword at home.

  Several people had followed him into the room, and a few more stood by the door.

  “Lady Damaris has done me the greatest pleasure of accepting my hand in marriage,” Sir Peter said.

  Damaris heaved a sigh, her bosom swelling enticingly. “You were only just asking me.” Her attention went to Logan and, as always, their gazes locked. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

  He had a choice, then. He could make a fool of himself, or he could congratulate them and walk away.

  Logan growled in the back of his throat. He’d been an idiot before, so he might as well compound his errors now. Without further hesitation, he went down on one knee, and took her other hand, her right. Her fingers fluttered in his, then were still.

  Logan’s doubts coalesced into a ball and floated away as if they weighed nothing. Certainty filled him.

  Damaris’ calm expression gave him no clues. He should probably call that expression frozen. Although he’d acted on impulse, this had to be right. He could not see her marry Sir Peter, or anyone else, come to that. He wanted her so badly, he wouldn’t rest until he had her, and since the price for that was marriage, he would pay it.

  Lust. That was all.

  “Lady Damaris, would you do me the greatest honor ever bestowed on a man and give me your hand in marriage?”

  He hardened his heart to any other consideration, although the connection between them had not abated in any way. Rather, it had increased. That was why he was certain she was here tonight. He walked through the door and knew he was sharing the same house with her, breathing the same air.

  All that passed through his mind while he knelt before her, and Damaris breathed, sucking in great gulps of air. “Why would you both want this?”

  “You are lovely, and accomplished,” Sir Peter said, his tones mellifluous. Several ladies sighed.

  Logan didn’t bother to turn, to discover how many had followed them into the room. He did not care. The more witnesses he had, the better. “I want this because you are you,” he said simply, which was both an affirmation and explanation. “I want you…” he left the space of a breath, “to be my wife.”

  The sigh he collected was bigger, which was some consolation, if he lost this duel. For duel it was, just as much as if he’d had his sword in his hand.

  He lifted his head and met her eyes. When she tried to pull her hand away, he tightened his hold. Sir Peter had the advantage. He’d had her to himself for at least ten minutes. If he had not won her over, then he should have a chance. He would keep the little hand trembling in his. And the rest of her if he had anything to do with it.

  “Yes,” she said, but he wasn’t sure who she was saying it to. This was worse. His stomach tightened. With a few words she could go from him altogether. “I’ll be your wife, if that is what you wish.”

  She was looking at him.

  With a surge of energy, he rose to his feet, pulling her with him, so she was as close as she could be to his chest. There was something to be said for the flat-fronted hooped skirt. He could enclose her in his arms, but perhaps he would wait until later for that delicious treat.

  Sir Peter, his face as still as stone, stood and bowed. “I appreciate you listening to me, ma’am. I congratulate you on snaring a duke.” Turning, he left the room.

  A short silence fell, then the strangest sound. The pattering of hands in a gentle clap. Multiple hands. He turned, holding her hand, slow joy burning through him like a slow match. He tried to quell it but he couldn’t. Nothing would still that delight.

  His mother stood to one side of the small crowd, her face completely frozen. He would have trouble there. On the other hand, his sister appeared delighted, smiling and clapping with the rest.

  Logan let the crowd have its moment. Congratulations poured over them, some sincere, some disappointed. Lady Elizabeth was nowhere in sight, so Logan could thank heaven for small mercies. No doubt he would hear from her another time. Tonight, he cared little.

  They gossiped, and he turned, smiling down at her. To be honest, he could not wipe that smile away and he did not want to. “I’m glad you made the right choice,” he said.

  Her dazed look dissipated a little, as he deliberately dropped the words that would help to bring her to her senses. The sparkle returned. “So am I. Although I am far from certain…”

  “I am positive,” he said, interrupting her. Lifting their joined hands, he kissed her knuckles, letting his tongue flick out to taste the dimple between them, loving her responding shiver.

  Feet shuffled as people began to leave. He turned her, and laid her hand tenderly on his arm, as if to lead her from the room. Courteously, he waited for the others to leave, and nodded to Adam, who was one of the last to file out. Then he
gently closed the door and put his back against it. He drew her into his arms. “Are you content, my lady?”

  Tears glimmered in her eyes but she did not let them fall. “I thought you had left London.”

  “Who told you that?”

  “Sir Peter. I did not expect to see you again.”

  He touched his lips to her forehead. “Ah, but you shall. Every morning and night. I do not intend to be a stranger to your bed.”

  Her lips curved. “Then you are laying down the law from the start?”

  “Of course. Is that not a man’s right?”

  When she tried to bat her hand at him, he caught it, and trapped it between them. The movement made her breasts swell enticingly. Soon, he would not have to be the gentleman and resist. He looked forward to that.

  His laughter rang around the room. “If I tried, I do not think my life would be very pleasant, would it?”

  Reluctantly, she conceded the hit. “But I am to be a duchess.”

  “My duchess. That makes all the difference.”

  With a swift movement, she lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. At first he was too busy rubbing his smooth jaw against it, but then he took in her words. “I think you should take the telescope back. It must have cost a great deal.”

  He caught her fingers and pressed a kiss against them. “That is of no concern, and you will absolutely not return it. In fact, I’ll buy the larger one for you as well.”

  “But you have compromised Lady Elizabeth Askew. You cannot abandon her now.”

  Logan froze. He fixed his gaze on her. “Who told you that?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Damaris had never seen such banked anger before. From the fire in his eyes to the frown on his forehead and the way all his muscles tensed as he cinched her close, anger seeped from every part of him. When she tried to break free, he held her tightly. “I repeat, madam. Was this another of Sir Peter’s stories?”

  “N-no. It is what I heard tonight.”

  “Take me through your reasoning.”

  She had done that before, but only to explain her theory about the transit of Venus and the vital few degrees of difference she was working on. This was different. Concentrating, she visualized the snippet in the journal. “Lady Elizabeth arrived festooned in your hothouse flowers, and bearing a smile as big as the Thames.” She faltered, fighting her tears. She was annoyingly emotional tonight. That would never do. A crying woman won arguments in the most despicable way and she despised displaying her weakness. “Tonight, she was boasting that you were on the brink of proposing. She said you’d sent her roses and sweet peas, and she gave me a note you had sent her. It was your writing.”

  “What did it say?” His prompt was softer. Touching her chin, he made her look up again.

  “That you could not wait to see her, and to make her yours. You were burning with passion for her.”

  “For once, sweetheart, you are wrong. I did not write that note. My mother did. One copperplate hand is very much like another.”

  “I–I thought it was yours. Your name was at the bottom. And when she saw me, she gloated. I pretended not to care, but I wanted to die.”

  She made to pull away, but he drew her firmly back. Her palm spread over the diamond buttons on his waistcoat.

  “She is entirely wrong. I hate to disappoint a lady, but I have no intention of marrying anyone but you.”

  The words fell into her ears like honey on her tongue. This close, she read sincerity in his soft gaze, in the way his mouth tilted in a slight smile, and the beat of his heart against her palm, steady but faster than normal.

  Everything she had presumed was in the dust. “How could I have been so wrong?”

  “Did you want to believe it?”

  His soft question hit the target. She had not wanted to believe that someone like Logan would be interested in her, other than a flirtation. She had assumed that their night together in the observatory would never be repeated, and she’d held the memory close to her heart. Lady Elizabeth’s words tonight, meant for Damaris to overhear she realized now, had struck her like daggers, pierced her to the bone. “Not wanted. But I still can’t believe it.”

  “We’ll have to remedy that. But I have something else to accustom you to first.”

  Lowering his head, he joined their lips.

  She lost herself in him. His kisses were addictive. The events she had tried so hard to suppress in her mind, the memories of their night together in Greenwich, returned in force. She had no need of suppression any longer. That had changed ten minutes ago, when she’d accepted his offer.

  The memories of that night bubbled up, ready to take over in intoxicating detail. Trying to ease the prickling of her skin, she rubbed herself against him, not realizing she was doing it until he dragged her closer, and groaned into her mouth. He licked her, and she responded, tentatively at first, touching his tongue in return. The intimate caress made her shiver, tingles spreading through her. Even the fine lace at her elbows scratched her suddenly sensitive flesh.

  He traced the back of her neck, his fingertips softly teasing, and deepened the kiss. Damaris clung, the world well lost.

  Until someone tapped gently on the door and a voice came softly from the other side. “You might want to make an appearance, dear hearts. People are counting the minutes.”

  Logan lifted his head and gasped as if coming up for air after a long swim. Glancing down at her, he placed a finger on her lips. “In a moment,” he said loudly. “My betrothed and I have much to discuss.”

  He eased her away from him and examined her critically, a frown creasing his forehead. Swiftly, he twitched the lace at her neck, and tucked a strand of powdered hair back into place. “Shake out your skirts and you’ll be fine,” he said, crossing the room to the mirror so he could reorder his neckcloth.

  Damaris swallowed. She felt a lot more disordered than she must look. First her dejection when she believed he was not here, then her elation when he arrived. Not only that, but proposed. “Did you mean it, or were you merely wishing to cross Sir Peter?”

  He glanced at her reflection in the mirror. “My mother will give me hell but, yes, I meant it. In fact, I mean us to marry very soon.”

  “Why?” The notion swept her away, sent a bolt of shock through her.

  “Because I want you and I will not be happy until you’re in my bed.”

  His words sent a fresh wave of desire through her. He watched her closely, and she realized why. “You will not distract me by words of beddings. Do you think I am completely innocent? What is the other reason? Or is there more than one?”

  His lips curved into a smile, but it looked like a smile carefully placed there rather than a real one. “I will tell you one more. My mother will do her best to change my mind. She is not minded to make attraction the heart of a marriage. She wanted Lady Elizabeth for me. Unless I take steps to marry you quickly, she will continue to push the lady at me.”

  Satisfied with his appearance, he refastened the waistcoat buttons she had not been aware of unfastening and came back to her, offering his arm courteously. “My lady.” He smiled, the warmth in his eyes reflecting his expression. “Soon to be your grace.”

  Now it was Damaris’ turn to paste a smile on her lips.

  A duchess? Her?

  Before they could leave the room, the door burst open and a red-faced Lady Elizabeth Askew plummeted through.

  Logan glared at Adam, who gave a wide-armed shrug. “Better now than later, dear boy.”

  Yes, probably so. With a reassuring glance at his betrothed, he led her to the door. “Go with Adam, my dear. I’ll join you directly.”

  She looked back at the fulminating lady, but Adam clasped her hand and drew her out of the room, giving her little choice but to go with him.

  Lady Elizabeth hardly waited for the door to close before she hurled her nosegay at him. “What were these? A parting gift?”

  He knew the insults would fly, that was why he was keen for Dama
ris not to witness the scene. He had done nothing wrong, except with her, and he had committed his life to making up for that.

  But Lady Elizabeth was furious. She had finally lost that icy reserve she was famous for, and he was glad of it. This confrontation had been coming for a long time.

  Damaris’ brother had acted with reserve, but he was a newcomer to society and had to tread carefully. Logan was neither of those things, and he could stamp his feet wherever he wanted to. And society would take it.

  “Anger becomes you, Elizabeth,” he said coolly. “You should try it more often.”

  “You brought me here to make a laughingstock out of me! You wrote me a letter implying you were about to propose to me!”

  She did have a point, and he had to deal with it. He waited until she had stormed around the room, tearing every flower she came into contact with into tiny pieces.

  “I did not send that letter, Elizabeth. I did not write it.”

  “Oh, really? Then who did, pray tell?” Tears stained her voice, but at least she stopped her rampage and glared at him. Her eyes were bright, her lips reddened, her cheeks pink. He’d rarely seen her so lovely.

  “My mother. She has meddled in my affairs all her life, and she saw no reason to hold back now.”

  He folded his arms, concerned that she might, even at this stage, try to compromise him. “I am truly sorry she interfered in this way. Her actions were cruel and completely unknown by me until Damaris told me just now.”

  Elizabeth’s upper lip turned in a sneer. “I might have known she would say something. That minx has been after you since the first time she set eyes on you.”

  But not the second. Recalling Damaris’ cold fury when she discovered he was on the committee of the Royal Society, he was hard put not to smile. She had changed her mind since then. “She is not so conniving. Indeed, our mutual interest in astronomy was what brought us together.”