The smile that teased ignited a flame in his mind and body electrifying the air. He experienced the undercurrent and hoped the lady did too.
Raven whipped his three-tiered cape over his shoulders. He left the silk frogs unfastened, placed his beaver top hat on his head, and lifted his walking stick. “I agree the mob has a right to unhappiness. Most of them are hungry, and they do blame the nobility. The people who well nigh face starvation have my sympathy. My priorities are to effect changes for the good. Many of these men have returned from the Waterloo warfront, and there are not enough jobs for them. I intend to do all in my ducal power to change this.” He paused to peer out the window and listen for mob voices. “I do believe the danger is now over. However, I could stay with you. Is there someone else to whom I should extend my apologies?”
“I have no husband, Your Grace.” She spoke in an assured tone, but to his ears, it sounded like a siren’s call to temptation.
She closed her eyes for a moment. Did something affect her?
“Your Grace, you have crossed no boundaries I can’t overlook since you were in a perilous position.”
He had not imagined the frisson of attraction that vibrated between them. What would happen if the simmer escalated to a scorch?
The fact she wasn’t attached to any man provoked an unaccustomed feeling that spiraled into elation and pooled in his loins. Damnation.
She leaned toward him and hastened to say, “My aunt and brother will be here soon. Under the circumstances, it would be best if you left. Duke or not, it would be difficult to explain your presence. I appreciate your concern. Please go. Heaven be with you. Stay safe.”
Raven’s mouth curved into an unconscious smile. He sensed her uneasiness. “If you are sure that is your wish, I’ll comply, Lady Winston. Thank you, again. Now, with your permission, I’ll depart.”
“Au revoir,” she whispered, and touched his arm. Her hand lingered. “Until we meet again.”
Raven took note of the invitation. “Indeed, my lady.” He left the coach with pleasant expectations of their too brief liaison.
A spritely step to his walk, he relived the encounter. The anarchists’ intent to harm his person troubled him, and then the danger of a beautiful, spirited woman intent on flirtation or seduction intrigued him no end. The latter represented a risk he would face with infinite pleasure.
At another time, another place, if he might find her again, Raven would demonstrate all the other things his lips and manly parts could do.
Chapter Two
The Townsend Ball, London
Raven sprinted up the street until he neared the mansion. Damnation. So now a wealthy and powerful duke had to rely on a young woman for safety? It ended up a trivial matter with the added intrigue and delight of the most kissable lips in England.
Upon his entrance, he paid his respects to Lord and Lady Townsend, his hosts, and glanced around the grand ballroom at this obligatory event. Nothing new or eventful; just more of the same. Raven exchanged greetings with a friend. “Luck has smiled on me,” he announced, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt under his waistcoat. “I escaped a crowd of rowdies intent on physical mayhem to my person.”
“God’s blood, you are fortunate. How did this happen?” the man asked.
“After I visited the Prince Regent, I opted to walk the short distance.”
The older man shook his head. “It’s bloody awful how a gentleman is no longer safe in London.”
“England’s problems are huge with the urbanization of the city. We won the Napoleonic wars but bankrupted the treasury. These are hard times for everyone.” Raven nodded and took his leave.
He skirted the fringe of the ballroom in an attempt to escape unwanted attention from the mothers of the ton and their charges whom he regarded as a useless scourge.
His mind wandered to the lady in the carriage. She told him her family name, not familiar to him, but he didn’t travel in many social circles. Nor did he enter the conveyance for an opportunity to kiss her. Her lemony scent still tantalized his senses, and her coyness and eager response made it all the better. Damnation.
The sound of gaiety and laughter rang in his ears. Raven turned, and his gaze went to a stunning woman who just arrived. She stood in conversation with a group. He retrieved his monocle from a breast pocket and raised it to his eye for a better view. The copper-haired woman’s vibrant eyes attracted him, but her persona held an appeal. Her curls fell from both sides of her head. Familiar jeweled hairpins glistened. Full sensual lips pronounced an invitation. Raven tried to observe the color of her eyes, but somehow he knew they would rival the green of emeralds, likened to an Irish spring morning with sunlit flecks of gold. His heart leaped. In the brighter light of the ballroom, he determined she was his lady of the carriage.
Her cheeks flushed as she spoke. Her graceful neck rose from alabaster shoulders, encased in green gossamer of the latest fashion. Between the candlelight on her hair and the luminescence of her dress, she might well have been a goddess journeying through the heavens. His breath caught, his attention drawn to her generous breasts.
Her attraction lured beyond the ordinary standards of the day. Her exquisite smile and contagious effervescence demanded his attention. His formal upbringing warned that his presence at this event did not encompass reasons related to amorous adventures. Raven inhaled. Obligation spurred his attendance, but he now looked forward to an enchanted evening with a mysterious lady. All he had to do was find someone who’d formally introduce them.
Of a certain she’d rescued him, and he already knew the softness and appeal of her lips, but there was another quality about her that defied definition.
The monocle fell from his hand. The restlessness in his loins almost paralyzed him when he realized this woman brought to mind the epitome of someone he knew so well, his beloved late wife, the Duchess Liana. Except for the color of her eyes and hair, they could have been twins.
Who knew this woman? He would make discreet inquiries, but he knew deep inside, without a doubt, he wanted to see her tonight.
She fluttered her fan below her eyes in a flirtatious manner and laughed at a comment he could not hear. He guessed her to be a few years over twenty, considered mature for this polite society. What attachments might she have? Had another man claimed her?
Samantha stood with a group of ladies exchanging tidbits of gossip, giggling behind their fans. Peering over hers, she became aware of a man’s gaze and returned his glance. His dark eyes, magnificent cheekbones, and the sharp angles of his jaw seemed familiar. The man’s dark hair, drawn into a meticulous queue tamed by a satin ribbon, fascinated her. The handsome nobleman held himself ramrod straight and carried with him a regal manner. From the sly grin on his face, she assumed he had observed her for a while. A flutter tingled when she recognized the diamond and sapphire stickpin encased in his frothy white cravat. She fanned herself to cool the strangeness overwhelming her body. Goodness, what could it be?
Samantha turned her back, her left hand adjusted the band on her gown, spoke to her companion, Clarissa Holt, who said, “There have been some assaults on gentlemen as they walk home from their clubs. I worry whenever my husband goes out. Those brutes hate us.” They walked toward another group of older ladies.
Samantha absently nodded to her acquaintance and thought of her actions in the carriage, which now seemed justified. While it may have been unconventional to kiss a stranger, it was a wonderful kiss for a woman who had not enjoyed too many of them over the past years.
“Samantha, did you know that a gentleman is staring at you?” Lady Holt asked. “I do believe it’s the renowned Duke of Ravensmere.”
That name was familiar. Her breath hastened, and her hands shook. Goodness, it was him. Clutching her fan, she summoned her control. “Is that the gentleman in the splendid evening attire near the column?”
“Yes, the duke is quite a catch. His Grace has it all—looks, wealth, and influence,” her friend added.
“I’m not in the market for a husband. The last one sufficed.” Her mind raced to the sham of a marriage to Lord Percival Foxton. She turned her head, met Ravensmere’s gaze once again, and bestowed a soft smile. She raised her fan. “Although I would wager marriage to a man like that would make for a memorable wedding night,” Samantha teased. “Perhaps he is well endowed, too.”
“An experienced widow such as you might shock someone with that statement.” Her companion grinned.
“The status of widowhood is not liberation,” Samantha answered in a sardonic tone. “It’s more of a curse than a benediction.”
Her brother, Lord Brandon Winston—the Earl of Medford, and a new member of the House of Lords—and some gentlemen were engaged in a discussion. To her surprise, the duke joined them. Unable to curtail her fascination, she excused herself from the group and sought her aunt, who chatted with the matrons.
“Walk with me, Aunt Min. Let’s see what the men are about.” They strolled toward one of the gold trimmed Corinthian pillars where they could listen.
Samantha noted the men in the distance, one of whom was her brother. She and her aunt moved closer to the men in conversation, but stopped just short of the pillar, intent on separation from most of the young women. Nor did she wish to intrude upon the gentlemen. Samantha peeked out from the stone column and listened to the discussion about the reforms Parliament endorsed. She observed the tall man’s face and noted his every movement with significant interest.
He caught her glance and nodded, his gaze intense, and retrieved his quizzing glass. Conversation stopped.
“Your Grace, are you acquainted with my Aunt Minerva and my widowed sister, Lady Samantha Winston?”
“No, I’m not. Could an introduction be arranged?”
Winston nodded and the two of them spanned the short distance to the two ladies.
“Lady Minerva Harrington, dear aunt,” he called. “I’d like to introduce you to my esteemed colleague in Parliament, the Duke of Ravensmere.”
Raven nodded. The elder woman curtsied. “Your Grace, it’s delightful to meet you. My nephew speaks of you often.”
She lowered her eyes with respect.
Lord Winston smiled. “Your Grace, allow me to introduce my sister, Lady Samantha Winston.”
Raven again nodded. “My pleasure.” He kissed her gloved hand.
Her heart beat so fast, she was afraid he would hear the pounding. To meet him again and so soon at the same event was a masterful stroke of fate. No, she considered it an omen. He was even more handsome than in the carriage. Samantha whispered from behind her fan so no one but Ravensmere could hear, “I believe we didn’t have time for formal introductions at our chance meeting.”
“I shall not forget your assistance, Lady Winston. I’m in your debt, and I repay all of them.” His voice was a perfect low growl.
Oh, my. The room warmed faster than she could fan. Conscious of her actions, she flipped it closed.
Samantha held a suggestive stare to his dark eyes.
“Would you care to join me for a glass of ratafia, Lady Winston?” asked Ravensmere.
She accepted the invitational smile. “Why, yes, Your Grace.” Samantha placed her hand on the duke’s proffered arm, aware of the heated sensation that roiled within. The touch became a strange new stimulation to her; it promised much more than a thrilling dream. Oh my, what just happened? The warmth of her cheeks burned. Could everyone read her mind?
Ravensmere escorted her to the elegant refreshment table. With his strong presence beside her, her body and its reaction to him kept her unsettled. The novelty of sensuality made it difficult for her to control the thrill of velvet warmth at her core.
“My lady, I didn’t warrant our introduction in the carriage as proper. Therefore I requested your brother make it formal. I am first and foremost a gentleman.”
Samantha reached for her fan and fluttered it. “Yes, it was most appropriate. Thank you, Your Grace, for your silence about the incident in the coach. It would have been difficult to explain to my family. My aunt would chastise me.”
“Your secret is safe with me. My lips are sealed.” Humor rippled his voice as his smile charmed.
“Do I amuse you?” She arched a haughty brow.
“Yes,” he replied, “but perhaps amusement is an insignificant term. I find you a woman of special interest.”
He was a stranger—who kissed her with such longing—and set her body on fire. What would he look like naked? Would she now incinerate in front of the duke? Her normal talent for conversation left her. She inhaled to clear the salacious thoughts from her head.
Samantha, in caution, recalled all too well her late husband’s ill treatment of her on their wedding night.
Chapter Three
Raven guided Samantha through the crowded ballroom.
“It appears fate has thrown us together. I wonder whatever for?” Samantha asked.
“Perhaps it is destiny that predetermined we meet again and, to my pleasure, so soon.” A smile curled his lips.
“It could also be the heavens,” she added. “Do you believe in the stars, Your Grace?”
“My late wife not only believed in them, but she also tinkered with astrology.”
“I’m sorry to hear that she passed. Has it been long?”
“Over ten years now,” he said, solemn. “Perhaps it’s best to change the subject away from death and ill-fated stars. Do you attend many balls?”
She nodded. “I attend some, but I do confess Your Grace, I’d rather be in the country where I can act with freedom. However, I’m here with my Dowager Countess Aunt Minerva for a short part of the season. We are sponsors for a special charity event. I’m not sure if you are aware, but Almack’s supports this effort. It’s near and dear to me.”
“What charity might that be, Lady Winston?”
“It benefits orphan girls, Your Grace. There aren’t many opportunities afforded women who are not born of the nobility, and these are young women of good character and virtue.”
Raven caught her diverted gaze.
My foundation assists in the education of such ladies. We try to find positions for them so they can enter society with pride, even though they enjoy no real male protection. The alternative for them would be unspeakable.”
“Indeed,” he said. The alternative, prostitution, was not mentioned in polite society. “Admirable.” He nodded while he studied her demeanor. “What have you called this foundation?” he asked, not out of curiosity, but with a desire to continue the conversation. All the while he assessed her pleasant manner and the fervor of her cause.
“It’s known as The Winston Foundation for Ladies. We don’t wish to call attention to their station in life as orphans and wards of the state and prefer to give them the self-esteem of an education, and, perhaps, the ability to seek good marriages. As the Foundation increases its funds, we might be able to provide small dowrys.”
“How many of these ladies have you helped, Lady Winston?”
“Since the foundation is rather new, we have secured good positions for five women.” She smiled as she placed the ratafia glass on the table.
He nodded. “I note you have retained your maiden name. Why so?”
“I preferred it after my short marriage.” She lowered her lashes.
Raven found it difficult to keep his eyes from the unique woman, so different from other young ladies of the ton. Her exuberance and vitality appealed to him. It could also be the short time he spent in her carriage where he enjoyed the prolonged memorable kiss.
“Lady Samantha, you continue to intrigue me.” He squared his shoulders, and they might have been sentinels on guard. “I wonder what possessed you to start this Foundation.”
“One day when you have time, I will tell you, but not tonight. It’s a sad story.”
“I do take it that your family supports you in this idea?”
“Yes, Your Grace.” She spoke in a confident manner. “I’m the most fortunate of w
omen in a man’s world.” He noted her eyes flashed in response. “Do you think it an uncommon pursuit for a woman?”
“I think it’s an unusual one,” he stated in all truth. He liked the tinkle in her laugh.
“Your Grace, I have been told that I’m too advanced and high-spirited for these times, but I’m passionate about this cause. I’m also blessed my family allows me the independence to officiate the Foundation. My brother, Lord Winston, is solicitous of me, so is my Countess Aunt. Ours is a universal cause, but perhaps that, too, is another conversation.”
“Then it is something to which I look forward. I see your brother and your aunt. Allow me to return you to your family. I have monopolized your time.” He extended his arm, which she accepted.
“Thank you. I enjoyed our exchange.”
They walked in leisure to her brother. After a few words, Samantha joined her aunt and the other ladies.
Winston said, “Your Grace, my sister is quite an enchantress. She is a woman of great intensity with an inquisitive mind.”
“If you asked me to think of one word to describe her, that word would be vivacious.” Raven paused. “I find her intelligence refreshing. She seems to bring gaiety wherever she goes. It’s a pleasant combination and novelty.” His mind raced in remembrance of his late wife.
“Samantha’s marriage to the second son of the Earl of Foxton shortened when he became involved with a footpad who killed him when he left his club. These streets of London harbor felons. She’s been a widow for three years, and everyone believed they were besotted with each other. Two weeks is not long to be married and then widowed.”
“It’s a sad state of affairs,” Raven’s thoughts turned somersaults. Her simple presence and his reaction to her became an enigma. He needed to take control of himself. Now, at least, he could understand the rationale of her conversation and her need for a cause. Wrenched from her, the death of Foxton must have caused unbearable grief. “I do understand how the loss of a loved one brings the vagaries of life to maturity. Unhappiness and its twin, sorrow, can cause one to champion issues. I know this too well.” They shared that common bond, he and Samantha. Could it also contribute to part of the allure?
One Night with a Duke Page 2