“There you are, Daughter,” Lady Farnsworth stared at her. “Is aught amiss? You are quite pale.”
“The air was not as refreshing as I’d hoped.” She hated telling falsehoods but would do everything in her power to protect the duke’s honor. He was working so hard to restore his family’s name and should not have to pay for a moment’s kindness dancing with the veriest of bluestockings, soon to be shunned by all in her sphere.
“Shall we go to the ladies’ retiring room or have a drink of punch?”
“Punch, I think,” she answered. “Thank you, Mamma.”
Lady Farnsworth slipped her arm through her daughter’s and led the way to the refreshments.
“Isn’t that the duke?” her mother asked, nodding toward a group of men standing just outside the refreshment room.
“Er…yes, I believe it is.”
Before she could tug on her mother’s arm to get her moving faster, the duke’s eyes met hers and he excused himself, making his way to where she stood beside her mother. When he reached their side, he bowed. “I had begun to wonder if you and your mother were otherwise detained.”
“Not at all. There were quite a number of carriages ahead of ours,” her mother told him before adding, “lovely to see you, Your Grace.”
Persephone could not speak, so great was the worry she’d say something that would lead her mother to suspect she’d not been alone on the terrace. The duke’s blue eyes settled on her once again, and she noted candlelight added a bit of sparkle to them, highlighting their color and intensity. Much like moonlight had on the terrace where they’d waltzed.
She shivered.
“Are you chilled, Lady Persephone?” he asked. “Shall I call for your wrap?”
The concern in his tone had her wondering if it was affected, as so many of those around her sought to do. Was it genuine? She knew not.
“Only for a moment.” She would not tell him it was the blue of his eyes and pointed gaze that had her shivering, remembering the way he’d danced with her, holding her close beneath the light of the moon.
“May I have the next dance?”
She hadn’t been prepared to dance at all…well, other than with an imaginary partner on the terrace—let alone with the Duke of Wyndmere. Fortunately, the first dance on the terrace had not been noted—at least that she knew of. Time would tell. But to dance in front of those assembled in the ballroom? Despite the fact he’d offered his escort to quell the horrid rumors floating about the ton, she could not help but wonder if that be wise of him? Should he not worry his reputation could be tainted just by speaking with she-who-was-about-to-be-ostracized from their society?
The duke had been the sole concentration of those in society for the last fortnight. How is it he seemed so at ease among those who sought to sift through his life, extracting bits and pieces of it to spread about—whether those bits and pieces were truth or folly?
“I am certain my daughter would love to,” her mother answered for her, snapping Persephone out of her reverie.
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace. I would be honored.”
There was a brief pause while the music stopped, and gentlemen went in search of their promised partners. The duke held out his hand to Persephone, a solemn look on his handsome face. Vowing not to appear as the veriest antidote, she tried to think of something to say as he led her to the dance floor.
The music swelled and he placed his hand at her waist, sweeping her into their second waltz of the evening. She stumbled slightly and, just as before, the duke’s arm tightened about her as they whirled around the room. He bent his head close to hers. “Do not think about the steps,” he reminded her. “Look at me, else you may grow lightheaded.”
She did as he bid, and looked into the deep blue of his eyes, wondering if he knew what she was thinking. “I confess to practicing, hoping to be asked to waltz. But I cannot seem to help stumbling at least once or twice.”
“Ah, with the same partner I had to cut in on just now in the moonlight?” A small smile lifted the corner of his mouth, easing the arrogant look she’d grown accustomed to seeing.
“Er…yes,” she replied. “It wouldn’t do to embarrass whomever asked me to dance.”
“Hence your practicing earlier on the terrace?”
She stiffened and the duke drew her closer. “Lady Persephone, you could never embarrass anyone.”
She wondered what he would think if she confessed to her many disguises. Would he have a disgust of her? The words flew out of her head as the duke spun her around effortlessly. His strength was evident in the hand at her back as he guided her through the steps of the dance in perfect syncopation to the three-quarter time.
His arrogantly perfect posture had not been evident when they danced on the terrace. But under the glow of the hundreds of candles in the chandeliers, his posture did not speak of indifference, it seemed part and parcel of the man himself. Very ducal, she thought, not unkindly.
At last, the notes ended. He held her hand correctly in his, guiding her back to her mother’s side. He bowed and released her hand and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth…his touch. “A pleasure, Lady Persephone.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she answered a bit breathlessly.
“Would you care for refreshment, Lady Persephone? Lady Farnsworth?”
“I believe we would,” her mother answered. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“Allow me to escort you.” The duke slipped his arm through Lady Farnsworth’s on his left and Persephone’s on his right.
The firm muscles of his forearm tensed as she misstepped. “Are you all right, Lady Persephone?”
His piercing blue eyes searched her face while she could have kicked herself for acting the veriest fool, not paying attention to her steps because of the handsome distraction leading her and her mother to the refreshment table. The man who’d waltzed with her, not once, but twice in the same evening.
“I confess, the waltz is far more dizzying than I’d thought it to be.”
His eyes gleamed. “Even after all of your practice?”
Her mother spoke up, obviously not wanting Persephone to answer. “Thank you for your escort, Your Grace. It was quite a crush in the ballroom.”
“Champagne?”
“Lovely, Your Grace.”
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace.” Persephone watched him make his way to the large silver bowl but was distracted by the fountain of champagne and rather loud laughter of those surrounding the fountain, obviously having partaken of a bit too much already.
“The duke is a man of his word,” her mother whispered behind her fan. “I do believe he will succeed.”
“Succeed in what?”
“Later,” her mother continued in hushed tones. “After we thank the duke for his attentions this evening, we shall make our bow to Lord and Lady Andrews.”
Dread filled Persephone at the thought of facing someone who would no doubt have heard of the Chellenham indiscretion. But did they credit the tale? Would they give her the cut direct? They hadn’t yet, as her mother had timed their arrival perfectly after the receiving line dispersed.
“Ladies.” The duke handed each of them a cut crystal cup of champagne.
“Are you not having any?” Lady Farnsworth asked.
“The duke cannot abide the stuff,” Persephone said without thinking.
Before she could apologize or her mother chastise her, the duke chuckled softly. “’Tis the truth, as I believe we discussed at the Darnleys’.”
“I would apologize for my outburst, Your Grace.”
He shook his head at her. “Your honesty is refreshing.”
The fluttering in Persephone’s stomach increased each time his gaze turned to capture hers during their conversation. Her mother would have something to say about the familiar way she had spoken to the duke, but he hadn’t seemed to mind at all. If he had, she would apologize again.
While he discussed preferring the Lake District to town with her mo
ther, she had the opportunity to study him more closely. The way his frockcoat fit the breadth of his shoulders had her wondering if there was a bit of padding sewn into them. Phyllida’s older brother had been mortified when she and Phyllida had teased him, saying he added such to his frockcoat and had not been satisfied until they’d checked for themselves. In the end, they admitted they had been wrong…much to her brother’s ire at having been accused of such in the first place.
Her fingers itched to smooth along that perfectly fitted line to feel for herself. As soon as the thought popped into her head, her face warmed. She snuck a peek at the duke and her mother, but they were deep in their conversation and hadn’t noticed.
Having avoided being caught staring at the duke’s broad shoulders, she risked a glance at the intricate way his cravat was tied at his strong throat. The stark white contrast against his sun-bronzed skin made the blue of his eyes stand out all the more. Another quick glance assured her he was not taking notice of her inspection. She vowed to take just one more look and let her eyes drink in his sculpted lips. She’d noticed them earlier when he’d taken tea with them but hadn’t been able to sneak another look without being detected.
She did so now. Would they be warm if she pressed the tips of her fingers against them? If he lifted her gloved hand to his lips, would she feel the heat of his kiss down to her bones?
“Persephone,” her mother’s voice had an irritated edge to it.
Oh, good Lord, her mother’s face was red with embarrassment. She knew then she had been caught staring. Knowing it would be the right thing to do, she lifted her gaze to meet the duke’s.
“I apologize, Your Grace. Your conversation was so descriptive, I was transported from the ballroom.”
His devastatingly distracting lips curved. “Indeed.”
Drat the man for seeing through her ruse. “While Father was alive, we had occasion to visit the Lake District…Darbyshire. It was lovely. The vast green expanse of the rolling hills, the quiet blue of the lakes.”
His gaze held hers for long moments, as if he were trying to read into her words, seeking the truth of them. She hated dishonesty in any form. Had they been elsewhere, she would have confessed, but not in the middle of the Andrews’ ballroom with her mother and half the ton listening to their conversation.
“Wyndmere Hall is not far from Darbyshire. I would be happy to show you my home and the surrounding area should your mother accept my open invitation to do so.”
Persephone studied the duke’s face to see if he was serious, or as many of her acquaintance were wont to be…flippant. Offering a verbal invitation without ever following through with a written one.
Lady Farnsworth accepted, saying they would be delighted to at some future time. “Thank you for a lovely evening, Your Grace,” her mother added.
“The pleasure has been all mine,” the duke replied.
“Persephone?” her mother prodded.
“Oh, thank you…er, Your Grace. I enjoyed the waltz.”
His eyes met hers and she would later swear something a good bit darker than admiration lurked in the depths of his gaze. Something that called to her, tempting her to discover just what it might be.
“As did I, Lady Persephone.” He bowed low over her hand and then her mother’s before taking his leave.
Lady Farnsworth led the way over to Lord and Lady Andrews, thanking them for their gracious invitation. Lord Andrews beamed at her and then Persephone, while his wife looked on as if she’d eaten a handful of sour grapes.
Once they collected their wraps, they stood outside waiting for their carriage. One moment Persephone was smiling, listening to her mother speak of the duke, the next a deep voice called to watch out a moment before she was jostled from behind.
The deep voice ordered someone to halt. The man who had bumped into her had run across the street, darting in and out of the dearth of carriages in front of the Andrews’ town house before disappearing from sight.
“Are you ladies unhurt?”
Persephone turned to see who had come to their aid and was at once intrigued by the black patch covering one of the man’s eyes and the rugged lines of the man’s handsome face. He wore his hair tied in a queue, secured at the back of his neck, a style from her father’s time—or those serving in the Royal Armed Services.
“Yes,” she managed. “Just surprised. Thank you for your assistance, Lord…”
“Coventry,” he said. “At your service.”
When he bowed, Persephone noted one of his arms was in a sling, but it hadn’t hampered the man’s movement.
Her mother cleared her throat and asked, “Did you get a good look at the man? We did not see him approach.”
“Do you know that man?” Coventry asked.
“I’m afraid we do not, Lord Coventry,” her mother said. “Nor did we see him approach.”
He nodded, then said, “Captain, retired.”
“We are in your debt, Captain Coventry.”
Just then, their carriage pulled to a stop and their footman opened the door, waiting to assist them into the coach. Before Persephone could ask where the mysterious captain had come from, her mother urged her toward their carriage.
He stood watching them until their coachman signaled with the reins, putting the team of horses in motion.
Persephone had a feeling there was something more to Captain Coventry than he let on. Had he been watching them? Had he been following the man who’d jostled against her?
She would have to wait until they arrived home to question her mother.
Chapter Fifteen
Viscount Hollingford glared at his pocket watch. “He’s late.”
A few moments later, a man wearing a brown great coat stepped from the shadows into the light from the streetlamp.
“Did you take care of the problem, Quincy?”
“A bloke called out a warning before I could push the lady into the street.”
“And?”
“She fell; but was unharmed.”
“I repeat. And?”
“A man with an eye patch and sling shouted and rushed toward me. I turned and ran between the carriages.”
“Did it occur to you to stand your ground?” the viscount wanted to know. “I will not pay for your failure.”
“But you agreed—” Quincy began.
“To pay you for causing an accident involving the Duke of Wyndmere’s rumored love interest.”
Quincy shifted from foot to foot, stepping back into the shadows.
“Where are you going?” the viscount demanded.
“To finish the job.”
“It’s too late for that,” Hollingford stated. “Concentrate on Wyndmere. Catch him off guard and finish it.”
“But, he’s a duke!” Quincy hastened to remind him. “I could hang—”
“I’ve saved you from that fate more than once,” the viscount reminded him. “Fail me again, and it will give me great pleasure to watch you hang.”
*
The Duke of Wyndmere positioned himself strategically at White’s and waited. The table in the back corner assured no one would enter behind him and afforded an unobstructed view of the street from a side window.
While he waited, his thoughts drifted back to the mercurial woman he’d held in his arms. The moonlit terrace…whisper of magic swirling in time with their waltz. The candlelight illuminating the curve of her cheek, fullness of her lips.
She had not worn a bilious-colored gown—he had not noticed or even given it a thought until he was sitting amidst those who’d come to White’s to be amongst their peers. Rose, he thought, lifting his glass to sip from it. A deep rose that complemented her black-as-night hair, warm brown eyes, and cream-colored complexion.
He nearly choked on the whiskey he sipped, tripped up by his traitorous thoughts. He’d never spent more than a brief time thinking of any particular woman in his life. To be enamored of a young woman, even though she be of good ton, was not an occurrence that happene
d often. He didn’t quite know how to separate thoughts of her full, tempting lips and the sincerity in her gaze from the duty he had to concentrate on. He would not fail in his mission to right the wrongs the fifth duke had done to his family and the dukedom.
Brooding into his glass, he continued to wait, wondering where in the bloody hell Coventry was. Half an hour later, his trusted friend and man-of-affairs arrived and was immediately shown to the duke’s table in the back.
He ordered a whiskey for his friend and asked, “What news?”
“As Lady Farnsworth and Lady Persephone were standing outside the Andrews’ town house waiting for their coach to arrive, Lady Persephone was jostled from behind by a man of medium height, wearing a brown great coat, which undoubtedly concealed a weapon.”
The duke’s fingers clenched into a fist. He consciously relaxed his fingers, telling himself if anyone could ferret out who the brute was, Coventry would.
“Lady Persephone was unharmed?”
“Aye and her mother as well. They had been standing on the sidewalk in front of the Andrews’ residence waiting with a number of other attendees.”
“Any other details you noted?” The duke hated feeling helpless, having to obey the strictures of society and not get embroiled in any public brawling—or, God forbid, duel with foil or pistol—especially after the incident at Gentleman Jackson’s. He could not and would not willingly embroil himself and the family name in another scandal.
“I was waiting by the side alley gate,” Coventry advised, “where the tradesman and necessary workers enter. I had a clear view of the street in front of the town house.”
“You didn’t notice the man skulking about prior to their arrival?”
“No. I saw a movement off to the side, and then the man I described dashing toward Ladies Persephone and Farnsworth.”
“Were you able to follow him?”
Coventry shook his head. “He ran into the street, dodging horses and carriages. By the time I had ascertained the ladies were unharmed, he’d disappeared. I chose to stay with the ladies until their carriage arrived. Then came straight here.”
Mending the Duke’s Pride Page 12