A Vixen For The Devilish Duke (Steamy Historical Regency Romance)

by Olivia Bennet

  “Have my horse saddled, please.” She told the footman outside her door. He nodded and hurried off while she changed into her riding habit. She was walking determinedly out the door when she heard Dorothea calling to her.

  “Where are you going, Mother?”

  “I need to see Miss Raby.” She stopped, turning to face Dorothea. Her eyes narrowed as a thought occurred to her. “And you are coming with me.”

  “Me? What—?” Rose reached out, grabbed her hand and dragged her along. They reached the front door where the footman was leading her horse.

  “Change of plans. We will be needing a carriage,” she informed him, her hand still firmly wrapped around Dorothea’s wrist.

  “Mother?”

  She turned to Dorothea and patted her arm. “Do not worry. Everything will become clear soon.”

  Dorothea continued to survey her with puzzlement but Rose simply ignored her, tapping her foot impatiently as they waited for the carriage. As soon as it came to a stop beside them, she was pulling Dorothea into it.

  “Where to, Milady?” the coachman asked.

  “Winchester House.”

  * * *

  Usually when Lady Cornhill or anyone really came to call, they left a calling card or sent a letter in advance. So it was a matter of surprise when Adelia was called to the sitting room, where apparently, Lady Cornhill and Lady Dorothea were waiting.

  Lady Cornhill got to her feet as soon as Adelia stepped in the room. Her eyes were bright, almost feverish and Adelia stiffened at once.

  “Lady Cornhill,” she curtsied and then turned to the daughter, “Lady Dorothea.”

  The latter nodded curtly but Lady Cornhill lunged toward her, grasping her shoulders in a way that was just a hair short of painful.

  “Can you take us to your chambers? We require some privacy.”

  Adelia’s brow quirked but she turned at once and led them out of the parlor toward the stairs.

  “Is something the matter?” she asked.

  “No, no, but I require you both to divest your clothing.”

  Adelia stiffened, turning to face Lady Cornhill in some surprise. “I beg your pardon.” She turned to Dorothea, who had echoed her sentiments at exactly the same time. Lady Cornhill looked from one to the other, her eyes wide.

  “You even sound exactly the same,” she murmured, as if to herself. Adelia caught it though and thought it best not to respond.

  She led them to her room, closing the door behind them and then turned to face Lady Cornhill.

  “Lift up your gown,” the Earl’s wife ordered.

  Adelia stared at her, not certain whether or not she was serious. Lady Cornhill made a lifting motion. “Go ahead. Do it. You too, Dorothea.”

  Both girls blinked repeatedly at Lady Cornhill before reaching down to lift their gowns so their ankles were showing.

  “Higher,” Lady Cornhill said, “right up to your thighs.” Her voice was breathless, color high. Adelia wondered if she was coming down with something. She lifted her gown higher, until it was way above her knees. She breathed in deep, blushing at the immodesty. Lady Cornhill was staring at her thigh. Then she came closer, peering at the ship-shaped birthmark Adelia had always had, as if it were the second coming.

  “You have it, too,” she whispered, her voice sounding unaccountably happy. Adelia met Lady Dorothea’s puzzled eyes above her mother’s head. Then they both looked down at her thigh. Lady Dorothea gasped.

  “That looks like mine!”

  Lady Cornhill nodded. “Yes. Yes, indeed it does.” She straightened up slowly, looking Adelia in the eye. “Oh God…it really is you.” Her voice was trembling and tears ran down her face.

  “What do you mean?” Adelia let her gown cover her legs again as she looked from mother to daughter, waiting for someone to explain.

  “Your birthmark.” Lady Cornhill said pointing at her thigh and then at Lady Dorothea’s, “it proves that you are indeed our long lost child.”

  Adelia and Lady Cornhill stared at each other. The latter seemed to be waiting for Adelia to say something; do something. There was a curious buzzing in Adelia’s head. She couldn’t really think.

  “I—” she began to say but then Lady Cornhill was enveloping Adelia in her arms, and she was surrounded by the scent of lavender perfume and powder. Her mother’s grip on her was so strong, Adelia suspected she was planning never to let go.

  Chapter 20

  A Celebration

  It made sense that the Cornhills would want to announce her to the world in the most flamboyant way possible.

  “We shall have a coming out ball for you…albeit belated,” Lady Cornhill said, her eyes shiny with tears. She had asked Adelia to call her ‘Mother’ but it was not that easy. As far as Adelia knew, her mother was Mary Raby. She would have given her right arm for her mother to appear and explain everything.

  But so far, nobody had been able to find them yet.

  On a sticky, hot summer night, the breeze welcoming and honeysuckle-scented, Adelia Harrington stood upon the balcony of the Earl’s home. She was dressed in finery she had only hitherto imagined, an emerald green confection made of the finest silk. It shimmered around her, hugging her figure before flaring out extravagantly and trailing behind her. She wore gold earbobs on her ears and a pearl and emerald choker around her neck.

  Her eyes were lined with kohl and her lips brightened with red paint. When she studied herself in the mirror she had done a double-take, thinking for a moment that she had been looking at Lady Dorothea…her sister.

  Her eyes were the only thing she recognized. They were wide and scared, bewildered by it all. She did not want a coming out ball. Still, she tried to smile and seem pleased, if only for the sake of Lady Cornhill…her mother.

  The music of a string quartet wafted from the stuffy ballroom behind her. A lively dance had just finished, and the haute ton crowd applauded politely before resuming their conversations.

  None of the guests in the ballroom paid the young lady on the terrace any mind. Oh, they were interested in her story, and they stared in stupefaction at the resemblance. More than one person had marveled at them both, requesting that she and Lady Dorothea stand together side by side so that everyone could ogle them as if they were museum pieces.

  At least Lady Dorothea is reveling in all the attention.

  Her sister wore a matching red silk gown. Her earbobs were diamonds, with her choker matching with diamonds and pearls. While Adelia’s hair swept down to her lower back and clipped to the side with a huge flower-shaped emerald brooch, Lady Dorothea’s hair was piled on her head and fastened with pins, a strand of pearls woven into her hair.

  Adelia beheld the gardens below, with their painstakingly trimmed topiaries bordering a trickling fountain. The water shimmered beneath the starry night sky. Adelia allowed her hip to rest against the balustrade and released a long sigh, taking it all in.

  She was glad of the fresh air after the closeness of the ballroom. Her mother had taken her from group to group, introducing her to everybody. There was no way she could remember all the names.

  A soft hissing sound emanated from directly below the balcony. Adelia blinked in surprise, leaning a bit farther out the edge, as she gripped the marble with her white-gloved hands.

  “Who is there?” She hissed, peering around the seemingly empty garden.

  “Forgive me,” the words were preceded by a gentle rustling of the shrubbery. A familiar figure stepped slowly out of the shadows and smiled up at her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

  Adelia’s breath caught in her chest. She knew he had been invited, to be sure. But she had not seen him all night and had assumed he had decided not to come. She would not have blamed him, seeing as he was still grieving.

  Flummoxed, she cleared her throat. According to Lady Harriet, it was not seemly to speak to a gentleman one had not been introduced to and to her recollection, no one had ever formally introduced her to the Duke. Not since she had moved from a
nobody to the daughter of an Earl, at least.

  Nevertheless, as there was no one around to observe their interaction, she risked a gracious smile, whispering directly to him.

  “What are you doing down there?” She leaned forward to get a better look at him. As he moved into the direct beam of moonlight below, her eyes caught on his green eyes and she smiled.

  Harry licked his lips slowly and smirked, “I saw a beautiful maiden upon the balcony and could not miss my opportunity to play the Romeo to her Juliet,” he gestured up toward her, a sparkle in his eye.

  “Romeo?” she hesitated, having seen a play featuring these characters but not sure if he was playing with her or… Nevertheless, she rolled her eyes and smiled against her better judgment. “If I remember correctly, he’s the one what took poison and pretended to die?”

  Harry laughed. “Indeed, fair Juliet, he did. And so did she. It’s a fair tragic story.” He squinted up at her, his mouth twisting and she watched him, feeling affection blooming in her chest.

  “Maybe you should choose another reference then. Perhaps, Punch and Judy?”

  That drew a laugh out of him and she felt glad for the first time all evening. This ball had been thrown in her honor. She suspected that her father would be glad if she found herself a suitable husband this evening.

  Not that she was particularly interested in such a thing. But living in the same house as Lady Dorothea was proving to be a challenge for all of them. Her displeasure at having Adelia in the house, sharing her spotlight, was apparent. Hence her escape to the outdoors the second her dance card was empty.

  “Tell me, Harry,” she asked after a moment, slightly shifting her weight, her emerald gown catching the moonlight. She stood at her full height and took in a deep breath, “Why is it that you took the opportunity to approach me from down there, instead of in the ballroom? Are not ballrooms meant for such interactions?”

  “They are, Adelia,” he replied, “nonetheless I am quite insightful, and I knew I would have better chance to leave a significant impression on you if I accosted you away from the crowds.”

  “You know you already have done that. In any case, my…Father…would consider this quite improper, you know. My…Mother has already spoken to me about allowing men to take liberties.” She raised an eyebrow down at him. He lifted his own to match and chuckled softly.

  “Then I shall apply to him inside. Or would I merely be wasting my time?” he placed his hand upon his chest and cocked his head to the side. “Please tell me I would not be.”

  He looked handsome and charming, for sure he was well-spoken. But that was not what caught her interest. His heart was large and he made her laugh, he saw her for who she was, regardless of the outer trappings of her station. Adelia was more than ready for him to make an offer. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips, as she shrugged. “We’ll see,” she turned and sashayed into the stifling ballroom.

  “Adelia,” she was swarmed from the very moment she entered the ballroom, and Adelia suppressed a put-upon sigh. She took the offer for a dance with a polite smile.

  The gentleman was tall and sinewy, with corkscrew auburn hair and a pince-nez. He stepped on her toes nearly four times during the course of an interminable symphony.

  As the dance came to an end, Adelia curtsied politely and turned away. Her gaze betrayed her as she cast about the still-full ballroom. She saw many a head of blonde hair, but none of them was Harry. She hoped her coyness had not scared him away.

  Or perhaps he has changed his mind.

  A gentle touch at her elbow made her turn. Adelia found herself looking up at the Earl. Her heart jumped within her chest as he spoke, “Adelia, it’s good to see you enjoying yourself. May I present,” he gestured to the side and turned. The moment seemed an eternity as she waited for Harry to step into view, but was presented instead with a portly, aging widower. Despite repeated lessons on decorum, Adelia’s smile faltered. The bright look on the gentleman’s face faded even as he bowed politely, then exchanged a few remarks before excusing himself.

  Adelia raised her eyes to her father’s, quirking an eyebrow. The Earl sighed. “Lord Morley was very taken with you and begged an introduction,” he explained.

  “That is nice…er, Father, but—”

  “I know,” the Earl cut in, his eyes sad. “I do have eyes in my head. I see how you look at the Duke. I simply wished to prevent conflict between you and Dorothea. You barely have had the chance to be sisters and he is a potential source of conflict.”

  Adelia dropped her eyes, unable to deny his words. “What would you have me do?” she whispered.

  To her surprise, his hand reached out to squeeze her shoulder. “Follow your heart. That is all anyone can do.”

  Adelia slowly closed her eyes and knit her fingers together in front of her, bowing her head just slightly with utter embarrassment and a great surprise. She had not expected such a show of support from the Earl. Dorothea had been his daughter a lot longer, after all.

  The ball continued for hours, dragging on without end. She deliberated about downing a few glasses of wine to help her get her through all the dancing but refrained for fear of making even more of a spectacle of herself. She remembered well where she had imbibed too much and made improper advances on Harry.

  “Well, Adelia,” The Earl smiled as he approached her once more. The room had begun to clear. “Have you had a nice evening?”

  Knowing her father had put a great deal of money and effort into her ball, she smiled back and gave a polite nod. “Yes… F-Father, thank you,” she took his hands into hers and squeezed them softly.

  “I have a final name for your card,” he petted her gloved hand, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “On the condition that you feel up to another dance.”

  “I believe so,” Adelia suppressed a sigh and attempted to look nothing but delighted. “But tomorrow I think I shall not be able to move at all.”

  “A shame,” a familiar voice spoke. Harry drew near, arms clasped civilly behind his back.

  “Lady Adelia, you remember His Grace, don’t you?” The Earl gestured toward Harry. Adelia felt her skin heat as she realized that this was it. He had waited hours for his formal introduction to her. “Your Grace, allow me the pleasure to reintroduce to you, Lady Adelia Harrington, my daughter.”

  Her father was beaming. Adelia felt a lump in her throat.

  “Lady Adelia,” Harry bowed low before her. “It is indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  She curtseyed in answer, as was expected.

  “If your feet can bear it, would you honor me with a dance?”

  He held out his hand, fingers gloved in white, and Adelia battled the butterflies in her stomach. Slowly she slid her own hand into the crook of his elbow. Her mouth was dry and she could hardly speak. He led her to the floor just before a slow, tender violin melody began.

  Adelia’s eyes were glued to his as they took their positions, her palm lightly pressed against his. Her other hand delicately held her gown.

  “You thought I had left without so much as a word, didn’t you?” His voice was very soft. They changed trajectory turning counter-clockwise, in step with the music.

  “That I did,” Adelia confessed.

  She had never been one to lie about her feelings, and she did not wish to start, even though it was likely unseemly. There were only four other couples on the dance floor. Most of the attendees had called it an evening. Dropping her gown, she let her hand slide against his and he twirled her once more in a circle.

  “Your eyes are the deepest gold I have ever seen,” he whispered this time, his gaze searching hers.

  Adelia smiled as he whirled her around. She rose on her tiptoes. “The deepest of two, you mean,” she replied wryly, her voice also so soft it could barely be heard over the music. They whirled the other way.

  “How many dances have you had tonight, do you believe?” He muttered as they danced. Her hand slipped from his grip as she crossed before h
im and turned again. She thought she felt his touch against the curl of her ribbons as she moved. He imitated her steps, only to face her as more of the quartet joined the violinist.

  Adelia searched his eyes as she answered him. “I lost count two hours ago, but it was nearing two dozen, I believe,” she smirked slightly. “Hence my poor, sore feet.”

  Although she expected him to smile back at her, he did not. She breathed slowly, trying to spare any further commentary. He took both of her hands drew closer to her. So close that the heat from his body was flush against hers. They stepped back again and turned in a prickly silence.