by Stacy Reid
Present was also William, the Duke of Wycliffe, another of his friends who had been frequently mentioned in the scandal sheets a couple of weeks’ past. One week the newspapers announced he was engaged to Lady Miranda who now sat before the pianoforte playing a lively tune with her husband, Dr. Simon Astor. The following week the scandal sheets could only talk about the duke having been jilted by Lady Miranda and informing the world he was busy chasing one Sophia Knightly publicly away from a ball, and yet now that lady was his duchess.
All three ladies were astounding beauties, and their unions were celebrated love matches. The last of his friends who was present was the only other unmarried person—Mr. Percy Taylor, a shrewd businessman who had been making waves with his housing ventures. The man believed in creating affordable homes for the lower classes, ones with sufficient space and hygienic sewage disposal. Michael had invested heavily with Percy and had no cause to regret it. There was a dark rumor going about that he was having an affair with a young countess who was still married to her seventy-year-old husband, but Michael had not pried into the man’s private life, it was none of his business.
What a tangled web of scandal his closest friends had woven within society and Michael was one of the few who had never admonished them for their boldness. Of course, he himself stood on the brink of society’s acceptance for his disreputable behavior.
“I heard the grounds have been broken on that new hospital you are building in your town,” he said to Simon.
“It has. The building will commence next week, and Miranda is planning a charity fundraising ball for next month.”
“I shall certainly be there with a sizeable contribution.”
Simon smiled and lifted his glass of brandy in a toast.
“And how is business at the club,” Maschelly asked, joining the conversation. “There is a great call for reform of gambling dens. I daresay it might affect your business endeavors in the future.”
“Talking about business or politics must not happen tonight,” the duchess cried from where she reposed in the chaise longue by the fire. “We need music and dancing. I daresay we should have hired a musician for our little gathering. I have the most pressing urge to dance with my duke.” Then she winked.
Suddenly he was inspired, enough to say, “I do have the most talented player staying here.”
That got all of his friends’ attention.
“You have a musician under your roof? Why was the man not at dinner?” Percy asked with an arch of his brow.
“Miss Ashbrook…works for me.”
“A servant who plays the pianoforte,” Percy asked all astonished.
“She is a governess,” he said cautiously.
“A governess!” Verity, Sophia, and Miranda chorused. “There is a child here?”
He stood, went over to the table with decanters of liquor, and poured himself a drink. “A baby of almost five months. Her name is Elizabeth…but we call her Lizzie. She is beautiful,” he said. “Very even-tempered.”
The silence was most profound. He glanced up to find Wycliffe staring at him. “You have a child?”
He felt a strange catch in his heart, and it befuddled Michael that it almost felt like regret. “No…she is not mine. When I am able to, I will share the circumstances of Lizzie’s birth,” he said gruffly.
Though several pairs of eyes glowed with curiosity, none pressed for more information. And he appreciated that about his friends.
“Miss Ashbrook is the most talented player of the pianoforte. I could ask her to play for us.”
“Oh do,” Lady Miranda cried and clapped. “We would all like that.”
Michael summoned a maid who went to fetch Miss Ashbrook. A few minutes later, she knocked on the drawing-room door and entered. She faltered to see so many people staring at her, but lifted her chin, dipped into a most elegant curtsy. Though dressed in a simple dark gray serviceable gown, and her hair caught in a loose chignon with midnight black tendrils kissing her cheeks, Miss Ashbrook glowed with a radiant loveliness. Her green eyes stood out in a startling contrast against her pale skin.
“By Jove, she is most beautiful,” Percy said, after a sharp intake of breath.
An oddly protective urge stirred inside Michael. “She is…and very much under my protection so direct your interest elsewhere.”
The man sent him a probing glance. “Is she your mistress—”
“No,” he said with more sharpness than he intended. “Simply an employee.”
Michael stepped forward and made swift introductions. “May I present Miss Marianne Ashbrook,” he said to no-one in particular. “Miss Ashbrook, my friends, the duke, and duchess of Wycliffe, the earl, and countess of Maschelly, Dr. Simon Astor and his wife, Lady Miranda, and Mr. Percy Taylor.”
She dipped into another deep and graceful curtsey, while smoothing nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. A flash of uncertainty crossed her features, which he was sure he only caught because of how keen he’d observed her every day since their first meeting. “I am very pleased to make your acquaintances.”
“Lord Worsley has complimented your wonderful skills at the pianoforte. We do hope you could play some music for us to dance,” the countess said with a wide, welcoming smile.
Miss Ashbrook sent him a surprised glance, and he faced her, blocking his friends’ view of their interaction.
“I do hope I did not overstep,” he murmured, noting her unexpected shyness.
“I have never played for such a grand audience before!”
He had taken her hand in his, and he could feel how wildly her pulse was fluttering. At her scandalized stare, he lowered her hand, hoping his friends had not seen his lapse in conduct. But from their very assessing and interested stares, they had noticed, and he acknowledged the fault. Shifting his regard back to Miss Ashbrook, it amused him to see she was biting her pretty lips and her cheeks were flushed.
“Do you feel unequal to the task?” he asked with some amusement.
She caught his eye and threw him a look so saucy and full of challenges that he nearly laughed out loud.
“Very well then,” he said, stepping back.
She made her way over to the bench and sat, running her hand over the keys in a quick flourish of melody. Everyone hurriedly moved the table from the center of the room and pushed back a few of the sofas and the chaise longue for enough space to spin in the lively reel.
Miss Ashbrook did not disappoint, and soon Simon partnered his wife, and Verity was in James’s arms dancing and laughing with each other.
Miss Ashbrook glanced toward the excited couples, and she too laughed, as if it was her on the makeshift dance floor. She had the most sensuous mouth he’d ever seen on a woman. Another glance at her sensual lips caused his cock to jump and harden. He glanced away quickly from that smiling mouth into the amused gaze of Wycliffe.
“I’ve never seen a lady captivate you so, you, my dear friend, you cannot stop staring. And I daresay from the quick glances Miss Ashbrook shoots your way she is equally transfixed,” the duke said, taking a drink of his brandy.
Michael scowled. His preoccupation with Miss Ashbrook was becoming too noticeable.
“There is no enthrallment,” he said a bit icily.
“Then why is there a rumor that for the last few months, you have been kicking out all the beauties sneaking into your private apartments at the club, without bedding them. And the last few society balls you attended you danced with no-one. People are taking notice that one of the ton’s wickedest rakes is very distracted.” The duke sent an assessing stare to Miss Ashbrook. “I believe I have discovered your distraction.”
Michael knocked back his drink, the brandy burning a fiery trail to settle in his stomach. “Nonsense,” he clipped. “I have been bored with it all long before I met Miss Ashbrook.”
“But something about her does lighten the loneliness, doesn’t it?” Wycliffe said, staring at his duchess.
Michael made no reply and shifted his regard
to Percy, who was no better in his avid watching of Miss Ashbrook with an air of rakish contemplation. Biting back the savage curse building inside, Michael decided to visit the club, needing the distraction from thinking about Miss Ashbrook’s charms.
It was all damned ridiculous how many mornings he had lain abed with thoughts of taking her as his lover haunting his sleep and keeping him awake. He would not suffer it tonight. He would go to his gambling den and exhaust himself in the fighting pits.
And maybe then, he would sleep deeply at last without thoughts of her muddling his thoughts and the tenuous hold he had still left on his honor.
* * *
Almost two hours after the viscount had summoned her to the drawing-room to meet his friends, they readied to depart. Marianne had never thought she would feel such ease of comfort in the presence of a duke and duchess. But the viscount’s friends were charming and made every effort to welcome her. There had been no pretentious airs or displayed arrogance, and they had charmed her with their open welcome.
“Dear Miss Ashbrook,” the duchess said with a wide smile. “How wonderful is your playing! Why, I’ve never heard anything equal to it. Thank you for obliging us in stealing your evening away.”
Marianne smiled warmly at the beautiful and vivacious duchess. “Thank you, Your Grace. This was infinitely more enjoyable than the book I was reading.” Though only slightly!
“Pish! Please call me, Sophia. I daresay we shall be close friends.”
“I would like that, Sophia,” Marianne replied, the familiarity feeling more natural than she’d expected.
The countess rounded Sophia and enfolded Marianne in a hug. “It was wonderful meeting you, Marianne, I do hope we meet again.”
She murmured something noncommittal, not certain when she would ever get the chance to socialize with these people again.
Lady Miranda, a stunning beauty, clasped her hands. “Thank you for your lively music! I’ve not danced or laughed so much in a very long time.”
“Oh, I have the very thing!” Sophia cried. “My very first ball as the Duchess of Wycliffe is next week. I would be so very pleased, Marianne, if you would attend.”
Shock stole her breath for several minutes. Her at a duchess’s ball? “I…forgive me, Sophia, but I couldn’t!”
Her eyes sought out the viscount to see that he was staring at her, even though he conversed with the gentlemen. Shameless! With a flush, she looked away and noticed the speculative looks of the ladies as their gazes volleyed between them. She was mortified! No doubt they believed something improper was happening between the viscount and his governess.
“I know you might be worried about a suitable ball gown,” Verity said, understanding gleaming in her eyes. “Since I do hope we might be dear friends; would you allow me to send around a gown that can no longer fit me?” Then she settled a hand on the gentle swell of her stomach as by way of explanation of why it no longer fitted her.
Embarrassment heated Marianne’s cheek. She was not of their world, nor did she want their charity. She did note there was no pity in their expressions, and they genuinely seemed to like her.
“I will provide whatever gown Miss Ashbrook requires,” a low voice drawled from behind her.
Marianne’s eyes widened in horror at his lack of delicacy. She whirled to face him. “You will do no such thing,” she said in scandalized dismay. Surely his assurances just now would imply she was his mistress.
An indecipherable emotion passed over his face. “I am your employer; it is my duty to take care of your needs. And I do believe I recall you mentioning you had not danced in ages.”
Despite the thrum of excitement sliding through her veins, Marianne dismissed his words and faced the countess. “I do thank you, Lady Maschelly, for the kind offer. I…I will think about it and send word to your address of my decision.”
Very conscious of how red her face and the tips of her ears must be, she dipped into a curtsy and bid everyone a good night, before fleeing the drawing room. Once in the hallway, she leaned against the oak-paneled wall. That wretched man! Surely, he knew what his possessive airs had implied. And why did her heart raced in such a manner to realize that he still wanted her? She drew a deep breath, trying to calm the wild pounding of her heart.
“She is so very lovely,” the duchess said. “Is she your mistress?”
Marianne jerked from the wall, a hand fluttering to her mouth at that very blunt and intrusive question.
“Sophia,” Lady Miranda admonished. “I can tell that Marianne is a lady of quality and sound judgment. She would not yield to his wicked wiles.”
“How it heartens me to know my friends believe I could seduce an employee in my own household,” came the viscount’s dry and sarcastic reply.
“We have seen the look in your eyes, Michael,” the duke said, apparently joining their improper conversation.
“That does not mean I would act on those blasted desires,” he retorted. “Now let’s discuss something else. I am off to the club, let me know if you will join me.”
“Oh, I have always wanted to visit your club,” breathed Lady Miranda. “Oh, do say we might attend, Simon!”
Marianne walked away and missed her husband’s reply.
The viscount wanted her…his friends knew it…and the reason he had not been wicked with her was that she was a dependent in his household. At the top of the stairs, she paused and peered down in the darkened hallway. He was there, standing in the pocket of darkness, staring at her. Heat darted through her body, and her heart quickened. She could feel his stare, way down inside of her heart, and mystifyingly a deep ache unfurled through her. He had honor, and he might never kiss her in the way she often dreamed of.
The pang of disappointment was acute, yet such tenderness stirred in her heart. “Goodnight, your lordship,” she said, staring in the darkness.
A few seconds passed, and then his low murmur floated to her.
“A pleasant rest to you, Miss Ashbrook.”
Chapter 9
The sky hung dark overhead, the clouds a deep blue gray that threatened rain. Thunder rumbled ominously, and a fork of lightning cut across the sky, jerking Michael’s gaze to the windows in his study. He slowly closed the ledgers the steward managing his ancestral seat in Derbyshire had sent over. The new farming equipment had improved the lives of his tenants significantly, and the repairs to the eastern section of the park wall surrounding Whittlestone Park had been fully completed. He hadn’t been home in many years, choosing to stay in town even when the season had ended. It would be good to take Lizzie to the country, where he was certain Miss Ashbrook would enjoy taking long walks and picnics with her. Perhaps he could even join them on a few outings. It would also be good to remove them from the speculation he could already feel brewing in the ton.
Last night, another good friend of his, Sebastian, Viscount Shaw had mentioned that he heard Michael had stationed a mistress in his home. Michael had corrected him but hadn’t liked the idea that people were indeed speculating about Miss Ashbrook’s place in his life. No doubt there would soon be whispers as to the identity of the child she pushed daily in the perambulator.
A soft misting rain began to fall, and he glanced at the clock on the mantle. It was a little after ten in the morning. It was early yet, and sometimes Miss Ashbrook would still be out with Lizzie on a walk. With a curse, he hurried from the room and bounded up the stairs to the nursery. He opened the door to find Doris sitting by the windows with a softly cooing Lizzie snuggled in her arms.
The nursemaid paused in her storytelling and glanced up with a smile. “If you are looking for Miss Ashbrook, she has not yet returned from her walk, your lordship.”
Michael nodded his thanks and returned downstairs where he called for the carriage. On impulse, he also collected a large umbrella, and a few minutes later, he was seated in the carriage, peering out the curtains. He had also informed the coachman to be on the lookout for her. Several minutes later, he spied her walki
ng down the street, at times lifting her face to the rain. She was wet, her hat sat askew on her head, but there was a smile on her face. A cursory inspection showed the streets to be empty. He rapped on the roof of the carriage, and they slowed. Without waiting for the steps to be knocked down, he jumped from the equipage. She noticed him, and faltered, her lips forming a radiant smile.
He made his way over to her, opening the large umbrella as he drew closer. She moved closer to him so that she was sheltered.
“Oh, thank you, this is very unexpected but welcomed! I feared I would be a drowned rat by the time I arrived home.”
Home. He truly liked that word coming from her and that she would think to call his townhouse home. “Would you like to take the carriage…or would you prefer to keep walking?”
Michael wasn’t sure what madness had just seized him, but he was glad it had, for she dealt him a most radiant smile.
“I would like to continue walking.”
The sky chose that moment to dump torrents of rain on the streets. Peering at the sleeting rain, her expression became crestfallen. With a sigh, she stepped toward the parked carriage, and he halted her. She became aware of the clasp on her wrist and tried to draw her hand away.
He moved slightly back, breaking the contact. “If you would place your hand on my arm, Miss Ashbrook, we will continue with our stroll.”
Thick lashes framed her extraordinary green eyes, which glowed with bold curiosity as she peered up at him. “We will?”
“Most certainly.”
“In the rain? It is at least a twenty minutes’ walk.”
“Why not be whimsical?”
“I quite like the sound of that,” she said with a light laugh and delight in her gaze.
And they walked side by side, the umbrella a small protection from the slanted rain. The coachman who would no doubt be exceedingly puzzled drove the carriage at a snail’s pace behind them.