She twisted, blinking away sleep, just in time to see a dressed Duke begin to slip out of her window into the early morning dawn.
“You’re leaving…” Her voice was scratchy with sleep but loud enough that it stopped him in his tracks.
He didn’t turn, but she saw his head drop and the muscles in his back tense even through the very wrinkled but dry shirt he was wearing.
A lump formed in her throat at the realization that he had been trying to steal away without even saying goodbye. She could not blame him but her chest tightened; a small fissure forming in a corner of her heart.
Slowly, she turned and curled herself against the pillows, his scent still fresh on the cotton linens.
Chapter 17
Pick Me Up and Watch Me Go
Nothing allowed Lady Harriet her full range of expression like a party… especially a party that she had orchestrated.
Her small ballroom was transformed. The curtains had been replaced with yards of gold and black satin so that each tall casement resembled an Egyptian casket. Sandstone urns bore eight huge Kentia palms with extensive bright green fronds, specifically placed, resulting in small, intimate nooks ideal for escaping the press of the crowd.
The dull portraits were gone from the wall, their places taken by a number of Lady Harriet’s favorite papyri which depicted Egyptian royal life in leisurely tableaus. The table at the far end of the room was covered with more treasures: bejeweled scarabs, gold and ebony statues of animal-headed deities, carved ivory combs, and necklaces bearing amber, turquoise, and chrysoberyl stones.
Lady Harriet stood in the open doors of the ballroom, her hands steepled before her face as she swept an eye over the room, mentally ticking off the final details.
The food is ready and displayed in an aesthetically pleasing manner, waiters enough are ready to distribute drinks, everyone invited confirmed attendance...and now we only await our first guests.
Footsteps sounded behind her.
“It’s beautiful,” Miss Raby breathed, her eyes alight. She was glowing, dressed in a black muslin gown with gold accents, and standing alongside the Duke. His evening coat of black linen sported understated white stripes which he wore with a black waistcoat embroidered with dark gold thread, black breeches, white stockings, and black spit-shined shoes. “You have truly surpassed yourself, my dear Lady Harriet!”
“Oh Miss Raby, how you flatter,” Lady Harriet preened, twirling her gown and straightening a ring on her pinky finger. Her dark brown velvet gown with blue silk accents was quite resplendent, if she did say so herself.
“Once the plundering of incomparable artifacts begins, getting carried away is so easy. Tis no wonder we English have been doing it for centuries.”
She raised an amused eyebrow.
“And, of course, it was so easy when one has a tireless assistant,” Lady Harriet said, taking His Grace by the arm. “I just kept pointing at things in the museum basement and he just kept picking them up and carrying, no matter what or how heavy.”
“Thank you, Aunt Harriet.” The solemn, emerald eyes crinkled as he smiled down at her. “I was glad to help.”
“Yes… he is rather tireless,” Miss Raby agreed, taking her other arm.
Adelia and His Grace shared a look that made her reluctant ward blink and drop her eyes, a shy smile curling her lips.
Oh my! How delightfully risqué.
Lady Harriet ignored the ribald intonations behind the remark.
"When it comes to food," Lady Harriet said, warming to the topic, "We've continued with the exotic theme. Roasted vegetables tossed in spices, honeyed dates, figs stuffed with goat cheese and black pepper, roasted lamb with harissa..."
"How you've spoiled us," Miss Raby said, sounding as resigned as she had when Lady Harriet had first begun to insist on having this ball. It was ostensibly to celebrate the beginning of the season, a masquerade ball to end all masquerade balls. She had over-ruled everyone’s objections, saying that as they all would wear masks, what was the harm?
Lady Harriet magnanimously waved a hand. "I tried my best. I mean, God knows we have suffered enough bad news and misery in this family. It doesn’t hurt to celebrate the good."
She somehow managed to give them both a sidelong glance even though they were on opposites sides of her, but a shadow crossed her fine features. A whole slew of things could go wrong at this ball and much as she put on a brave face, she knew it well. For one thing, Miss Raby’s awful sister might make a scene. In the time that she’d had the girl staying with her, Lady Harriet had grown rather fond and protective. With the Duke still very much recovering from his mother’s death, it was up to her to see that everything went smoothly.
She was impatient with everybody’s reluctance to acknowledge the obvious. From the loud silence emanating from the Raby family, it was quite obvious to Lady Harriet that they had indeed stolen the child. She did have a nose for the nefarious, after all…
Crisp shoes tapped on the floor behind them and Lady Dorothea appeared, dapper as ever in company with her mother.
Oh, dear…well, here we go!
Lady Harriet's heart gave a flutter.
Lady Dorothea made to greet them, but her eyes lifted to the room beyond. “Oh!” she murmured.
Lady Harriet resisted the urge to fidget.
She walked right past His Grace without even looking at him…
Lady Dorothea passed the trio, her attention fixed on the redecorated ballroom. Her aristocratic head turned as she took in details. She peered closely at a papyrus, ran her fingers along the fronds of a plant, and examined the necklaces on the table. She ran an elegant finger along the neck and ear of a reclining cat of carved jasper.
Lady Harriet glanced at Miss Raby, who was watching Lady Dorothea’s examination with a curious, expectant look.
At length, Lady Dorothea turned back. “Extraordinary! This room has risen from the dead,” she exclaimed.
Miss Raby aimed a reassuring glance at Lady Harriet before replying to her likely sister, “Yes. Lady Harriet did most of it, with the Duke’s help.”
“Miss Raby? Lady Harriet?” Lady Dorothea looked at them as if seeing them for the first time.
“How do you do, Lady Dorothea?” Lady Harriet said, pursing her lips with disapproval.
Lady Dorothea crossed the room and clasped Miss Raby’s hands in hers. “My God, it is good to see you again,” she cried, squeezing them. Miss Raby frowned, quite taken aback by the warmth of her greeting. Lady Cornhill smiled with delight and the frown lightened on the Duke’s forehead.
“And you, Lady Harriet.” She took Lady Harriet’s hands in hers… and then reached the Duke.
The sharp golden eyes blinked. “I am so sorry for your loss, Your Grace. It is good to see you out and about again.”
“Thank you.” To his credit, he stood up straight and met Lady Dorothea’s firm gaze with one just as unwavering.
Gracious. This should be interesting, Lady Harriet mused, her own knuckles still smarting from how hard Lady Dorothea had squeezed. However, while she had little doubt concerning the Duke’s physical strength, she was still wary of upsetting his constitution. His eyes sometimes showed his fragility, when he did not know anyone was watching.
Lady Dorothea’s golden gaze bored into the Duke’s emerald one.
Oh dear…
“Your Grace,” Lady Dorothea intoned. With precise, specific movements, she bowed her head. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to tell me about these etchings I see. I know you are a well-educated and traveled gentleman.”
Lady Harriet released a breath, actively refraining from rolling her eyes.
Oh for goodness sake! Can she be more obvious?
There came a knock at the front door.
The butler was there before any of them could move and Lady Harriet turned her attention to the arrival of her guests.
* * *
Lady Dorothea, the Duke, and Adelia stood in a reluctant tableau as Lady Cornhill hovere
d nearby. Adelia could feel Lady Dorothea’s eyes on her, probably willing her to move away. But she was as frozen to the spot as the other two seemed to be.
“Miss Raby, you must promise to dance with me later,” the Duke said, his eyes holding a different conversation.
“I would be honored,” she held his gaze, letting him know she understood. They had not spent much time together since that fateful night when he had sought her out. And every time since then, it had been in company.
The Duke had not tried to speak to her alone, or indeed apologize for showing up like he had. It was a relief, actually. She might have felt insulted if he had apologized. However, she had not been able to get rid of the niggling worry in her breast that hit her at unexpected times. She worried that he was suffering and had no one to speak to about it. She worried that he was embarrassed about breaking down in front of her. She prayed frantically that he was not, for she had been glad to provide succor.
In his state of mind, the entire thing had been completely innocent. Not that she believed anyone else would view it so. She just wished this situation she was in would be resolved quickly. And then, if he wanted to, the Duke could declare himself.
Not that she was so bold as to assume she meant that much to him. She just harbored the hope that she was. The only person more impatient than she was for answers was Lady Cornhill. The Earl’s wife filled her with conflicted feelings. She could see how much she wanted it to be true that Adelia was her daughter.
Mother, where are you?
Chapter 18
Courtship and Clarity
The streets of London were awash with rain. It pooled up in the dirty crevasses of the pavement, mixed with the dust and muck, formed miniature rivers that sloped down lanes until they met one of the grilled ingresses to the drains. London never appeared to be any cleaner after a rain shower, but during the rainfall was certainly the worst.
As Adelia made her way back to Cheapside, she soaked the hem of her skirt in the mixture of disgusting dirt and water. Her new brown leather boots were wet through also, but her woolen stockings still kept her feet warm. She had traveled to the city with Lady Harriet, in search of her cousin. Perhaps he could give her some answers since she had not heard from her parents for so long.
Knocking on the door, she waited for her cousin Alexander, who still worked as a messenger for a haberdashery, to open the narrow door in the wooden gate and check who was outside.
“Oh, dear. Adelia! You’re soakin’ wet. Come in and get yourself up into the kitchen. Hold while I build up the fire. Why’d you not wait until this weather stopped before comin’ here?”
He opened the door and she followed him up the stairs.
His reddish-brown hair was tied in a neat queue and he wore a coat and breeches that were threadbare but well cared for. Alexander was poor by any man’s standards but in Cheapside, he was just one of many who crammed themselves in these tiny spaces.
Having grown up alongside Adelia, he had learned the value of recognizing what you have rather than what you didn’t.
Adelia sat down at the tiny kitchen table and accepted the tea her cousin offered to her.
“I think I also have some biscuits left,” Alexander noted and dug out a tin box from the sideboard. “They’re proper ones, too, the type with butter and sugar.”
Adelia took one of the biscuits, savoring the taste. They were like a burst of sunshine after a rainy day. Her eyes met Alexander’s and she smiled amid the tears brimming in her eyes.
“Thank you. It is good to see you again, Alexander,” she said wholeheartedly.
She had not had time to send him a message before she left the orphanage with the Duke but had written him a quick note when she wrote to her parents. She did not tell him about her situation. Until she was sure about her identity, she did not want anyone to know. Not even the cousin she’d grown up with.
“The tea’s delicious,” he said, sitting down next to his cousin with his own steaming cup. “Soaks away the damp and warms you up on a day like this.”
She nodded.
“Tea’s good,” she agreed.
Then she dug in her cloak and drew out a small bundle.
“Have you had dinner yet? I bought a hock of chicken from the butcher. Got it on the cheap because it was smaller than the rest. It’d be great for some soup.”
Alexander’s face lit up.
“That sounds like a splendid idea. But first, I have to get the fire goin’ so you won’t freeze to death tonight. Then we can make chicken soup and you can tell me why you’ve come.”
Adelia sighed but sat back and waited for him to return as she savored her confection. When Alexander returned his face was solemn.
“All right then, Adelia, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I have not heard from Mama or Papa in months. I thought maybe you might know what’s become of them.”
Alexander shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I haven’t heard from them, either. You know they make sure to write to you more than me.” He grinned at her, meaning no malice. It was just that Adelia was better at keeping up with correspondence. If she heard from their parents she was always sure to notify Alexander.
Adelia sighed, wondering if she should tell him.
“Adelia?”
She looked up at him.
“What is going on?”
Adelia closed her eyes, heaved a breath, and began to speak.
* * *
Relief flooded her body as Dorothea loosened the stays of her corset, and her head fell back as she enjoyed the freeing sensation before flinging the corset to the floor. She pulled the ribbon and discarded her petticoats on the floor. That left her wearing just her chemise as she sat at her dressing table.
She loosened her hair from the plaits her lady’s maid had fastidiously fastened and ran her brush along the length of it for less than half the required one hundred strokes. It was not her job to do it anyway. That’s what Sarah was for.
Besides, she was far too preoccupied for such humdrum tasks. Her mind was filled with thoughts of the Duke. She looked in the mirror, narrowing her eyes in annoyance when she caught the slack-jawed, dreamy-eyed look on her face. Her cheeks were pink, her pupils were dilated. She stared in despair at the masquerade mask she’d pilfered from him, hanging on the corner of her mirror where she could watch it as if it were a coiled snake.
Dorothea bit her lip, remembering how close he seemed to have become to her sister. Oh, she had accepted that Miss Raby was kin to her—there being no other reasonable explanation for the resemblance. She just was not interested in pursuing a bond because of it.
She plucked a rose from the vase atop the fireplace, pressing the fragrant flower to her nose. The perfectly sweet scent assailed her, she savored the feel of the petals, still as delicate as they had been when it was plucked from the garden. Trailing the rose against her cheek, she wondered if the petals had always been that soft. Whether her body always melted like candle wax against the heat at the scent of roses. She could not say, only that from this moment, a rose would never just be a rose.
The rose was every aspiration she had toward the Duke. It was his rough palm on her skin, his eyes ardent as he declared his passion for her, just as vibrant and red as this rose.
Dorothea drifted unconsciously to her bed, the rosebud pressed to her nose as her body fell down to her mattress with a sigh. All thoughts of the Duke were so utterly consuming that she could not escape. It was as if he was in the very room.
One hand held the rose, running it along her skin, while her other hand inched along her body. Her nipples tightened as her fingertips brushed over them. She trailed her hands down her midriff, hesitantly drifting downward.
Dry-mouthed, she glanced at her bedroom door, making sure it was securely closed. She would likely remain undisturbed all night but the dread of discovery in such a compromising position made her pulse race—yet didn’t stop her from her sensual exploration.
Palm pressed
between her thighs, she gasped, the intensity making her sink even more into the mattress. She lightened her touch using just a single finger against the gossamer-thin fabric of her chemise. Desire met but not sated, her body tingled.
Her body frantic for some unspecified thing, Dorothea gasped, giddy with emotion as if she had just had her first taste of wine. She was drunk on something completely different, the smell of the rose and the thought of she and the Duke intertwining like vines.
She pictured his lips on her neck, the soft brush of his hair against her cheek, tantalizing her skin as her fingers raked the hem of her chemise. She bit back a moan, hands busy, bosom heaving as she pictured his rough touch juxtaposed by the softness of his lips on her flesh.
A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance) Page 15