by Olivia Drake
But none of that should matter. It was perilous to view the duke as an ordinary man in need of love. He was her employer, not her suitor.
In near-darkness, Tessa hastened up the servants’ staircase. She had forgotten her candle and Robinson Crusoe, much to her dismay. Reading would have provided a distraction from her churning emotions.
She undressed by moonlight and climbed into bed, though the folly of their embrace kept her tossing and turning. Her own mother’s experience should be a lesson that while a nobleman might woo a servant, he never had marriage on his mind. It would be madness to imagine Carlin’s intentions were honorable, or to think she could ever fit into his highbrow world. She had a more sensible dream for her future, a shop to open, a pinnacle to achieve as London’s top milliner.
It was best to relegate that kiss to the dustbin of memory.
Chapter 9
On the night of the lecture, Guy stood in the arched doorway of the Blue Drawing Room and greeted his guests as they entered. The long, cavernous chamber was done in royal blue with enough gold trim to blind the eye, a ceiling decorated with cherubs and nymphs, and Rembrandt paintings over both marble fireplaces. Much of the furniture had been removed to allow space for some two hundred gilded chairs.
This was a room he remembered from childhood visits when he’d been called down from the nursery to bid good night to his grandparents. The duchess had been warm and loving, but he’d always disliked facing the duke’s cutting criticisms, for try as he might, Guy had never succeeded in winning the approval of his stern grandfather. Even now, he felt like an interloper, as if he didn’t quite belong at Carlin House. A ludicrous notion, and one he meant to dispel by putting his own stamp on the place.
Tonight was one way to do so.
Although Aunt Delia had urged him to use the larger ballroom in order to invite the cream of the ton, Guy had overruled her. He’d limited the guest list to old friends and their wives, political bigwigs, and scholarly gentlemen. As much as he’d like to enlighten all of society, he was loath to turn the serious address into a frivolous event. The last thing he wanted was a swarm of ambitious mamas pushing their daughters into his path.
That sort of matchmaking nonsense was precisely why he’d returned home early from the Farnsworths’ ball three nights ago. The same night that he’d come upon Tessa in his study.
Guy covertly looked for her now as he proceeded to the front of the assemblage. The air hummed with conversations. His cousin and heir, Edgar, was seated at the edge of the throng, drumming his fingers on his knee and likely wishing himself out on the town with his friends. Aunt Delia, draped in funereal black, sat in the last row with her companion, Miss Knightley.
Guy didn’t spot Tessa anywhere. Disappointment gnawed at him, for she was a refreshing change from the toadying ladies of the ton. He could have sworn that her keen interest in his voyage would have tempted her downstairs tonight. Her absence, he presumed, must be due to that fiery kiss. No sooner had she leaned toward him with desire in her eyes than his resolve to keep his distance had shattered. At one taste of her soft lips, he’d been consumed by passion, and Guy couldn’t honestly say that he was sorry.
He’d seen her only once since then, when she’d brought Sophy downstairs the previous day to look at his animal sketches. Tessa had been cool and deferential as if that ardent embrace had never happened.
He released a long breath. Dammit, he yearned for his warm, alluring companion of that night. He wanted the chance to coax her into telling him all her secrets. For one, he suspected she’d never before seen a private library. For another, there was her occasional lapse into the common vernacular. She was especially adept at changing the subject whenever it centered on herself.
But her past would have to remain a mystery. Miss Tessa James was off limits. Any further dalliance would only invite trouble. He had no desire to marry ever again—let alone engage in an affair with his daughter’s governess.
Guy took up a stance in between the two fireplaces. His audience instantly quieted with only a few coughs and murmurs to disturb the silence. “Good evening, gentlemen and ladies. Four years ago I embarked upon a scientific voyage that would take me around the globe in search of strange and unusual plants. Along the way I expanded not merely my knowledge of flora, but also my appreciation for the diversity of the world.”
Recognizing that botany alone wouldn’t engage their interest, he started by relating a number of vivid anecdotes: outrunning a privateer off the coast of Tripoli, riding out a typhoon in the South China Sea with waves taller than St. Paul’s Cathedral, and nearly being trapped in the ice when venturing too close to the South Pole.
Watching their attentive faces was more enjoyable than he’d anticipated. Tessa had been right about widening the horizons of the ton. And they did seem to be hanging on his every word, even when he began to describe the botanical specimens he’d collected during his forays ashore. Guy strolled back and forth, pointing to his framed paintings that had been propped on easels for easy viewing, and focusing on those plants that would draw the attention of an amateur, such as the carnivorous pitcher plant of Southeast Asia that consumed insects caught in the sticky secretions of its flowers.
“One of the most spectacular flowers in the world can be found on the island of Sumatra in the Indian Ocean. The Amorphophallus titanum has a gigantic burgundy-red bloom with a central green spike that measures several feet taller than I am. The locals refer to it as the corpse plant due to its odor of decomposing flesh—”
“My dear Carlin!” Lady Victor cried out, clutching a black-trimmed handkerchief to her bosom. “Must you include such horrid details?”
Guy made a conciliatory bow. “Pray accept my apology, Aunt. Perhaps you’ll find the Lithops viridis of southern Africa more to your liking. Because its thick leaves resemble stones, it’s commonly called the rock-plant and has a yellow bloom similar to a daisy.”
As he directed the audience’s attention to another framed watercolor, a movement in the arched doorway caught his eye.
Tessa.
His heart actually skipped a beat. He dismissed the reaction as a temporary madness that would soon pass, as infatuations were wont to do. After all, there was nothing in her appearance that was designed to attract male attention. She wore her usual plain gown, this one of charcoal gray with a high neckline and long sleeves. A lace cap covered much of her upswept buttercream hair. Beneath that spinsterish attire, however, she had womanly curves that were etched into his memory.
His gaze tracked her as she found a seat in the back row near his aunt. He willed her to look at him, but she angled her face toward Miss Knightley. The women whispered to each other and shared a smile. Only then did Tessa turn her attention to the front of the room.
As her gaze locked with Guy’s, a bolt of awareness shot through him. The blue of her eyes dazzled him even from a distance. He felt as spellbound as a buck staring at a brilliant flame …
“All this talk of plants has been informative, Your Grace, but do tell us what else you brought back from your travels.” The pompous voice belonged to Lord Churchford, a middle-aged baron with a well-fed frame and a beaklike nose. An old crony of Guy’s grandfather, he was seated in the second row. “Surely you have a trove of gold and jewels.”
Guy cudgeled his mind back to the lecture. “Actually not. Pray recall, my purpose was to enrich our scientific understanding of the coastal regions of the world. Although I visited marketplaces in various ports, I never ventured inland to engage in trade.”
“You’ve no artifacts at all, then?” asked the Honorable John Symonton. The bespectacled young man was employed at Bullock’s Museum, and he was the only one present with a notebook into which he had been scribbling from time to time. “I’m developing an exhibit about South America, you see, and wondered if you might loan us some items for display.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you.” Seeing Tessa lean forward slightly, listening to the exchange, Guy deemed it
time for the story that he’d promised her. “But perhaps I can make up for it by telling all of you about an old pirate I met who’d been shipwrecked in the Caribbean Sea.”
Murmurs of interest swept through the audience. Tessa’s face glowed with curiosity, and he was hard-pressed not to gape at her like a moonling. “The tale began when my ship was blown off course during a tempest. The storm damaged the mast, and we were forced to put ashore on an island so insignificant it didn’t even appear on the captain’s charts.”
Guy had rowed ashore as the crew performed the necessary repairs. While exploring a small patch of jungle, he’d spied human footprints in the mud beside a freshwater pool. “My first thought was that natives inhabited the island. I was about to retreat when a clump of ferns parted and a wrinkled, bearded face peered out at me. A decidedly English face.”
The audience listened raptly as he described how the scruffy man had vanished into the shrubbery and was nowhere to be found. Over the next few days, Guy had left offerings of eggs from the hens aboard the ship, a loaf of bread, a rough linen shirt and breeches. Each morning the gifts would be gone until finally, he’d coaxed the skittish fellow out of hiding.
“It turned out, Nate had been a cabin boy when a great hurricane sank the pirate ship and drowned the rest of the crew. Ever since, he’d been living off figs, plantains, and various roots, along with fish and birds. His age must have been about seventy since he recalled seeing King George the Third’s coronation parade when he was a lad. I offered Nate passage on my ship, but having lived so long on the island, he balked at leaving. When I gave him provisions from our stores, he declared his intent to repay me. So he took a page from my sketchbook and scribbled a map that showed where the pirate captain had buried several treasure chests on another island.”
A clamor of excited voices broke out. His cousin spoke the loudest. “Thunder and turf,” Edgar exclaimed, “d’you mean you’ve a real treasure map? Why, you might’ve told your family.”
Lord Churchford slapped his knee. “You’re a sly one, Carlin. So you did find gold, after all.”
“No,” Guy corrected, “we sailed from there to Guiana, where I picked up a packet of letters at the consul in Georgetown and learned of my grandfather’s death. Naturally, I returned to England at once.”
Further questions bombarded him, but Guy held up his hand to quiet the audience. “I shall be writing a book about my travels, so everyone will have the opportunity to read all the details. That concludes my presentation. Please feel free to come and take a closer look at my paintings.”
As the guests arose amid an excited chattering and the scrape of chairs, several footmen circulated with trays of champagne. His aunt had arranged for a lavish buffet in the adjoining room, and a number of people wandered in that direction. John Symonton, however, came forward to buttonhole Guy.
“Perhaps you’ll allow me a peek at that map, Your Grace,” he said, peering owlishly through his round spectacles. “The museum may fund an expedition since the cache could include artifacts of scientific value.”
Lord Churchford appeared behind him. “Bah, ’tis likely Spanish doubloons. Gold belongs in a bank, not put on display. I’d pay you well for that map, Carlin.”
Guy was half sorry he’d ever mentioned it, though he’d done so to please Tessa. “I’d be a poor friend if I betrayed Nate’s trust in me. Who knows if he correctly remembered the location, anyway, after more than fifty years? I’m inclined to think it would be a wild goose chase.”
“What, you’d leave those treasure chests buried?” Churchford said in astonishment. “That’s as outrageous as placing gold in a museum.”
“Well,” Mr. Symonton huffed. “At least I am not driven by greed. My sole interest is in the historical nature of the contents.”
“The answer is still no. If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.”
Leaving them squabbling, Guy made good his escape, thankful to forget about that map. As he wended his way through the crowd, people stopped to butter him up with flattery about the lecture. He accepted their accolades while covertly scanning the throng for Tessa. It wouldn’t be wise to pay her special notice, yet surely exchanging a few words with her would not be amiss.
Banfield stood by the arched doorway and directed a guest to the refreshments room. With his trim gray suit and nondescript features, the touch of silver at his temples, he might have been any one of a thousand middle-aged English gentlemen forced by circumstance to work for their bread.
The secretary bowed. “My compliments, Your Grace.”
“Thank you. Have you by chance seen Miss James?”
A slight narrowing of the eyes was the only indication that Banfield still disapproved of the governess. “I believe she went down the passage toward the rear of the house.”
Guy strode in that direction. Really, the man was as much a stickler as the old duke. His grandfather had hired the secretary more than a decade ago, and it occurred to Guy that he knew as little about Banfield’s background as he did Tessa’s. But aside from a tendency to be judgmental, Banfield had been a godsend in helping Guy navigate the myriad duties of the dukedom, training that he’d never received in his youth. No one—least of all himself—had ever expected he’d one day succeed to the title.
He was striding past an alcove when a man hailed him. Recognizing those lean features and the rakishly tousled blond hair, he broke into a smile. William Nye, now the Earl of Haviland, had been a close friend during their school years at Eton. Although they’d parted ways at Oxford, with Guy pursuing his studies and Will pursuing his vices, they’d kept in occasional contact over the years.
“By God, it’s good to see you, Will,” he said as they shook hands with a tight grip. “When I sent the invitation, I never really expected you to attend.”
“How could I miss the chance to congratulate the new Duke of Carlin? Well done, old boy, you’ve come up in the world.”
“As have you, inheriting the earldom. My condolences on your father’s passing last year.”
Haviland grimaced. “It’s required me to spend quite a lot of time at Ainsley Hall, tending to estate matters. You’d have chortled to see me with my nose glued to the account books. You know how I scorn work.”
Guy wondered if he was still drowning in River Tick due to his incessant gambling. Although rumors swirled about Will’s vast debts, Guy had never broached the topic. As adults, they’d always kept certain aspects of their lives private.
“With privilege comes duty,” Guy said wryly. “Though frankly, I could do without all the headaches of the rank.”
“I know what you mean. My father left the estate in shambles.” Haviland glanced around as if to ensure no eavesdroppers lurked nearby. “Nor was he as virtuous as the world believed. You see, on his deathbed, he admitted to siring a daughter with my younger sister’s governess.”
The old earl had been as much a despot as Guy’s grandfather. It was one of the things that had forged Guy’s unlikely friendship with Will. “That must have come as a shock.”
“Yes, well, it happened over twenty years ago while we were away at school. The callous old devil cast the poor woman out.” Haviland’s mouth twisted. “It was only when he was about to meet his Maker that he suffered an attack of conscience and made me swear to find her.”
“Did you have any success?”
“My father gave me an address, but the woman died years ago, and her daughter—my half sister—disappeared, never to be seen again. I managed to track down a few leads, but they ultimately led nowhere.” He shrugged as if it mattered little; then his mouth tilted in the engaging grin that had made him a favorite with the ladies. “Of course, my adventures have been tame compared with yours. Damme, wouldn’t we have loved to have had a treasure map back when we used to play pirates?”
Guy chuckled. “We’d have sneaked down to the docks and tried to board a ship to the Caribbean, only to be dispatched home in disgrace.”
Just then, two women emerg
ed from the throng and strolled in his direction. It was Tessa, deep in conversation with Miss Knightley.
Tessa’s eyes widened on him. Guests milled in the corridor, talking and laughing, but Guy noticed only her. He could swear that a current of energy leaped between them. She must have felt it, too, because her aloof expression softened in the instant before she curtsied.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
He bowed in return, disliking the custom that required her to show obeisance to him. Afraid she might continue on by, he drew her closer. “Lord Haviland, if I may introduce these ladies—”
“Miss Knightley,” Will broke in.
Guy paused, intrigued to note that Will’s face lacked its usual charming smile. A glance from him to Miss Knightley revealed that Will was staring at her as if transfixed and she was scowling back. A flush of color in her cheeks lent a prettiness to her mature features.
Her movements stiff, she curtsied. “If you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I must return to Lady Victor. She will be wondering where I am.”
Her head held high, Miss Knightley sailed away and vanished into the crowd. “Later, old chap,” Will muttered in Guy’s direction before he strolled off in pursuit.
Guy stared after them, then glanced at Tessa. “That was … abrupt. I had no idea they even knew each other.”
One eyebrow arched, she appeared just as puzzled. “I’ve never heard Avis mention Lord Haviland. But I’ve only made her acquaintance recently.”
“Hm, you might warn her that he’s a gambler and a rake. If in fact she doesn’t already know that.”
“I’ll be sure to mention it.” Her expression polite, Tessa stood with her fingers clutched at the sides of her skirt. “The lecture appears to have been a great success, Your Grace. I enjoyed it very much.”
“You missed three-quarters of it.”
“Lady Sophy dawdled at bedtime. I thought it best not to leave until she was fast asleep. You wouldn’t have appreciated her sneaking downstairs to make a surprise appearance.”