Blame It on the Duke (The Disgraceful Dukes #3)

by Lenora Bell

  This changed everything. Granted him a dangerous power over her. She couldn’t guarantee she’d be able to protect her heart anymore.

  A clock chimed from somewhere deep within the house.

  Noon. She’d promised the duke she would come for a tour of his orchid conservatory.

  Still worrying over her new, precarious situation, she grabbed a cloak and bonnet from their hooks in the hall closet and left the house, following the winding pathway that led to the domed glass and wood conservatory.

  The air was humid and fragrant inside the structure, and vines and plants twined over all available surfaces.

  Berthold met her at the door and bowed, his pockmarked face lit by a smile. “Thank you, milady. His Grace will be happy you came.”

  Alice stared with delight at the lush, green bursting of life, her heart lifting.

  “Do I hear a beautiful lady?” The duke’s unruly white head appeared over a row of glossy green leaves.

  “It’s Lady Hatherly, Your Grace,” Berthold called, humor sparking in his eyes. “Your son’s wife.”

  The duke cleared his throat. “Oh yes, ahem . . . well, she’s welcome. Come here, my dear, come and see my newest treasure.”

  Alice approached, crossing the wooden bridge spanning a small pool of water. Hearing the sound of flapping wings, she glanced toward the ceiling. A brilliant flash of blue and red caught her eye. A popinjay flew from one branch to the next, calling a warning.

  She’d better not let Kali explore the duke’s conservatory. She might come home with red and blue feathers stuck in her whiskers.

  “Smell those white blooms, my dear,” called the duke.

  “These?” Alice trailed her fingers along the frilly petals of a cluster of white blooms like stars in a dark green sky.

  “Yes, the oncidiums.”

  Alice bent forward and the delicate aroma of spiced vanilla rose to meet her.

  “Aren’t they delicious?” the duke asked. “You may break off a stalk from time to time if you would like to scent your chambers. I’ve plenty to go around. Though you must only pluck those, not any others. I have some very rare blooms here.”

  He seemed so much more lively today and less confused. Almost sane, in fact.

  Perhaps it was as Dr. Forster had said: tending orchids was an effective treatment for the duke’s lunacy, even if he did continue to believe the flowers spoke to him.

  She joined him where he stood clipping at some brown stalks shooting from a tangled mass of moss and roots.

  “He was with me, you know. On my last voyage,” the duke said suddenly.

  “Who was with you?”

  “Nicolas. My son. Perhaps you’ve met him?”

  “She’s married to him,” Berthold interjected.

  The duke blinked. “Are you, my dear?”

  She was. For better or for worse.

  Alice nodded.

  “Then perhaps he’s told you that he was with me on that fateful voyage, when my orchids began speaking to me, revealing all the secrets of life.”

  Nick had spoken of his father’s last voyage in the portrait gallery. But Alice didn’t remember him mentioning that he’d been with his father on board the ship. How difficult the journey must have been for Nick. How helpless he must have felt, watching the madness overcome the duke.

  “Bend down, my dear.” The duke gestured for her to lower her head. “Bend down and listen. Tell me what you hear.”

  Alice placed her ear above a pink-tinged orchid bloom with four delicately pointed petals.

  She heard water dripping.

  The duke breathing.

  She heard her own thoughts, tangled like tree roots.

  You’ve made a mistake.

  You should run away . . . before it’s too late.

  “What do you hear, my dear?” the duke asked eagerly. “Are they chattering away? Have they revealed their secrets?”

  “I think perhaps they are sleeping.”

  “Oh.” The duke’s gray eyes saddened. “I thought they might confide in you.”

  There was a commotion at the door, and Alice rose to her feet.

  “Mama?” To Alice’s surprise, her mother stood in the doorway, flanked by a surly Mr. March.

  “Found this female skulking about the shrubbery, I did,” March announced to Berthold “Highly suspicious behavior.”

  “This is my mother, Mr. March,” Alice scolded, walking swiftly back over the bridge.

  “So you say. So you say. Why was she lurking about, then? Answer me that.”

  “Lurking?” Mama declared incredulously. “You impudent fellow. I knocked upon the front door.” She drew her arm from his grasp and shook out her skirts.

  “It was a lurking sort of knock.” March jabbed a finger at Mama. “Who hired you, eh? Same one as hired Stubbs? I know there’s something shady going on around here. Someone what wants to harm ’Is Lordship.”

  “Alice,” appealed Mama. “Please do something about your footman.”

  “March must have thought you were someone else,” Alice said. “Isn’t that right, March?”

  March trained his gaze on Alice. “You’re still ’ere, are you? Thought he would ’ave got rid of you by now. Like the others.”

  “You’d better leave now, March,” said Alice. She’d have to speak with Nick about the footman. Truly, his incivility was becoming a nuisance.

  March made his grumbling exit.

  Mama shook out her skirts. “I do hope all of your new servants are not so ill-behaved.”

  Alice smiled at Berthold. “Not all of them.”

  “Do I hear a beautiful lady?” The duke’s head appeared again above his plants.

  Alice’s mother startled. “Oh, is that you, Your Grace?”

  “Yes, ’tis I, my angelic Agatha.” He hastened across the bridge, his footsteps sprightly and sure. “I knew you would come,” he declared. He caught Mama’s hand and pressed fervent kisses along her gloves.

  Alice thought her mother would snatch her hand away, but she only batted her eyelashes and giggled. “Your Grace. You mustn’t.”

  “Oh, but I must.”

  Alice watched in disbelief as her mother and the old gallant flirted. Berthold caught her eye and grinned.

  “Come with me, fair Agatha, and I will show you things you’ve only dared to dream of before now.” The duke tucked her mother’s hand into his arm.

  “Mama,” Alice interrupted. “Why have you come?”

  Her mother glanced from the duke back to Alice. “I came to take you shopping, Alice.”

  “But you will return, won’t you, divine Agatha?” the duke asked. “Come back to see your Barrington?”

  “Of course, my duke, I will return.”

  “Adieu.” He waved a handkerchief he plucked from somewhere. “Adieu, fair Agatha.”

  “Mother,” Alice remonstrated, tugging on her hand to pull her out of the conservatory.

  Her mother giggled like a schoolgirl as they made their way outside.

  “I do like the duke, Alice. If his son possesses half his charm, my goodness, you’re in trouble. You know your father never looks at me that way anymore.” She said this wistfully, glancing back at the conservatory door.

  Alice realized it was true. She never saw her father speak tenderly with her mother, or pay her any compliments. It must hurt her.

  Alice looked at her mother in a new way. Was she . . . lonely? Feeling unattractive?

  “Where is Lord Hatherly?” her mother asked.

  “Asleep.” Alice sighed as they walked down the path. “I think I’ve made a dreadful error, Mama. I may have married in too much haste.”

  “Oh, my darling.” Her mother stopped walking and clutched Alice’s arm. “Did he . . . last night . . . did he hurt you?”

  Alice shook her head. “No, he didn’t hurt me. Didn’t have a chance to. He never even came home last night.”

  Mama’s squeezed Alice’s arm almost painfully. “Never came home? On his wedding
night? Oh, this won’t do. This won’t do at all.” Her mother shook Alice by the shoulders. “We must do something, Alice. But what’s to be done? Oh, what’s to be done? This is a disaster!”

  “Calm yourself, Mama.” Alice loosened her mother’s grip on her shoulders. “I only need some time to think things over. I could come home with you for the day.”

  Run away, her heart urged. Before it’s too late.

  “Oh no, dear, you couldn’t do that. Why, I have plans to convert your room into a nursery, for when Fred brings his bride to see us with the babe. Your father is still blustering and posturing, but he’ll come round. I know he will.”

  Alice had longed to escape her parents’ house for so long, but she didn’t know how she felt about her chamber being put to use so swiftly.

  “You’re only upset, Alice; you’ll think differently tomorrow. You can’t back out now; you can’t give up. A marriage is not something to throw away lightly. I know this wasn’t a love match but perhaps . . . with time, you’ll learn to care for one another.”

  Exactly what she could never do. Care for Nick. But speaking with her mother wasn’t helping matters. “Don’t worry, Mama, I’m sorry I troubled you. Everything is fine.”

  “It’s not fine. It’s a disaster.” Mama kneaded her hands together, staring up at the stern stone battlements atop Sunderland House. “Lord Hatherly must be accustomed to much more sophisticated ladies. Perhaps you’re simply too innocent for his jaded tastes? Oh dear. What’s to be done?”

  “He wasn’t out last night with courtesans if that’s what you—”

  “I have it!” Mama interrupted. “My sister-in-law will know what to do. Come, dear, we haven’t a moment to lose.” She pulled Alice with her and headed for the drive and her waiting carriage.

  Alice knew it was useless to reason with Mama when she fixed upon an idea.

  “You mean Aunt Sarah?” Alice had never been allowed to visit her Scandalous Aunt Sarah, as her mother usually referred to her.

  “I don’t like asking for help from such an impious woman, but these are desperate times. This marriage must be legitimized, and quickly.”

  Alice couldn’t very well say no to a visit with Scandalous Aunt Sarah, since she’d always wanted to meet her.

  Jane had been slumbering peacefully when Alice left her this morning, and Nick would no doubt sleep the day away.

  Leaving the house would give her time to think about what she truly wanted.

  Mama wanted her to consummate the marriage so there could be no danger of an annulment.

  But what did Alice want?

  Everything had become so much more complicated than she’d anticipated.

  The duke’s orchids may not have whispered any secrets to her, but they had made her listen to her own heart.

  Acknowledge her own secrets. The tendril of caring taking root in her heart, threatening to bloom despite her resolution to maintain a scholarly detachment.

  She must find a way to control her emotions . . . or she must find a way out of this marriage.

  Chapter 15

  She walks with swanlike gait, and her voice is low and musical as the note of the Kokila bird.

  The Kama Sutra of Vātsyāyana

  Scandalous Aunt Sarah lived in opulent apartments, bequeathed to her by one of her lovers, on the entire upper floor of a lavish building overlooking Hyde Park.

  She’d had many lovers, Aunt Sarah. And not one husband. She was the family disgrace.

  Despite her emotional turmoil, Alice was excited to finally meet her aunt.

  Her apartments were everything Alice had imagined. Red silk and black lacquered furniture from the Orient. Low divans piled with velvet cushions. Stalks of jasmine flowers in vases on every table, their sweet, heady fragrance scenting the room.

  Aunt Sarah lounged on one of the low divans, swathed from her turban to her toes in white silk trimmed with dyed-red feathers. A miniature white poodles nestled on either side of her.

  Alice noted a generous display of bosom and ruby rings on every finger.

  An inordinately handsome young footman in close-fitting livery of white satin trimmed in red stood at attention near the door.

  “Do come in, Agatha,” said Aunt Sarah. “When my butler brought your card I thought there must be some mistake.”

  Mama pursed her lips, eyeing her sister-in-law and the gorgeous footman with distaste. “You know I would never visit, Sarah, if it weren’t a matter of great importance.”

  “I’m well aware of that. Since you haven’t visited me in . . . oh . . . ever.”

  Her mother approached. “We need your help. There’s been a . . . situation.” She bent closer. “Hatherly never came home. On his wedding night.”

  Aunt Sarah laughed. “My, that is a situation. And so you thought you’d come here, for a little amorous advice?”

  “It’s not for me,” Lady Tombs said. “It’s for Alice.”

  “Come here, girl,” Aunt Sarah commanded, waving her bejeweled hand.

  Alice approached.

  “Let me have a look at you.” Her aunt caught hold of her chin and turned her face to the window. “Fortunately you have your father’s chin.” She glanced at Mama’s soft, wobbling chin. “And the family dimples, I see. Altogether charming. You, my dear, are not the problem.”

  “I know that, Sarah,” Mama said disapprovingly. “It’s not her face . . . it’s her mannerisms. She’s a very nervous girl, always saying whatever comes into that changeable mind of hers. Always putting her foot squarely in her mouth. She’s never been successful at attracting a gentleman’s lasting attentions.”

  Because I hadn’t wanted to attract them, Alice thought.

  “So that’s why you had to win her a husband at cards,” Aunt Sarah said.

  Mama nodded. “Now she must win him”—she lowered her voice, glancing at the footman—“in the bedchamber. To legitimize the union.”

  This marriage meant everything to her mother. She longed for her elevated place in society.

  Aunt Sarah sat up. “I accept! Antonio,” she called, and the footman was at her side instantly, helping her rise. The poodles were dislodged with little yelps of displeasure.

  “Lavinia,” Aunt Sarah shouted, and a pretty maid in a crisp white pinafore appeared at the door.

  “Sit down, Agatha,” Aunt Sarah said, placing a hand on Mama’s shoulders and giving her a push.

  Alice’s mother fell onto a divan with a grunt of surprise.

  “Lavinia will rub your hands with a softening oil while you wait for us; it’s delightful,” Aunt Sarah said. “Come, Alice.”

  Alice followed her whirlwind of an aunt outside, leaving her mother sputtering in the center of a pile of cushions.

  “Are you as foolish as your mother?” Aunt Sarah asked, as the footman handed them into a gleaming white carriage.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then we shall suit each other famously. Now then.” Aunt Sarah settled back against the cushions. “You must mount that steed. Hoist that lance.”

  “Er . . .” Was her aunt speaking of a jousting tournament?

  “What we need is the proper armor.”

  “Chain mail?” Alice asked helpfully.

  “Chain mail? I was thinking lace . . . with a few wisps of silk.”

  Wispy was right.

  Practically nonexistent.

  She might as well appear in her altogether.

  Alice was blushing merely looking at the scandalous garments the ginger-haired shopgirl laid upon the counters. If one could call them garments.

  Alice rather thought more fabric was required to deserve the designation.

  “I could never wear something like this.” If there was even a slight draft, she’d catch pneumonia and die. “I only wear linen or flannel nightdresses, to protect against drafts.”

  “Very prudent, I’m sure,” Aunt Sarah said with a twinkle in her lively brown eyes. “However, for tonight something a little less sensible and a l
ot more seductive is required.”

  The shopgirl surveyed Alice from head to toe. “You would look well in scarlet, milady. It’d bring out the roses in your cheeks.” She held out a corset fashioned from thin red silk. “This one’s direct from Paris. We only had it in yesterday. They call it the Gay Lady.”

  Alice frowned. Her garments didn’t have names.

  She preferred sensible cotton, linen, or muslin, fashioned for ease of movement.

  “It won’t cover very much of me,” Alice said.

  “That’s the point, milady, if I may be so bold as to say so.”

  “Suppose I catch a chill?”

  “You won’t.” The shopgirl winked. “Not in this. You’ll have plenty of company to keep you warm, I’ll wager.”

  The shopgirl and Aunt Sarah exchanged amused glances.

  “See how even the lacing is the finest of silks? Have a feel, milady,” the girl urged.

  Alice had never in her life pictured herself wearing something so utterly sinful, and yet . . . She slid her forefinger along the folds of the fabric.

  Smoother than flesh.

  Smoother than rose petals.

  As soft as Kali’s fur after she’d grudgingly had a bath and dried herself in the sun.

  A silk that made even a sensible girl think purely decadent thoughts.

  The shopgirl, sensing victory, rubbed a scrap of the silk between her fingers. “Your husband will never have felt anything so soft.” She drew a pair of thin pink silk stockings from a box. “It’s to be worn with these.” Next she unwrapped scarlet and white lace garters. “And these. Trimmed with real Swiss lace, they are.”

  Garments such as these could make a lady feel more confident. More in control.

  The silk between her fingers whispered of midnight seductions.

  Of strong hands deftly untying lacings.

  She pictured the silk crumpled next to his bed.

  Then she pictured herself naked . . . in his bed. All her many questions about to be answered.

  His strong hands on her body.

  Shaping her waist. Tangling in her hair. Pulling her close . . .

  She wanted to experience lovemaking with Nick, but would she be able to protect her heart?