The Duke of Morewether’s Secret

by Amylynn Bright

  “At the very least, I can’t say the evening would be dull.” Miss Ashbrook extended her hand. “You may collect me at eight o’clock.”

  Christian clasped her hand as the carriage rolled to a jerky stop in front of an expansive townhouse near his own. When he helped her down, he took another long glance at her face, a gaze that lingered so long as to be nearly rude. This time, when she held his gaze and curled her lips into a smile, Christian was charmed into thinking he could find his way into her good graces. “Until this evening, then.”

  “Ummm.” She nodded to him and waved her farewell to Anna.

  He watched her until she disappeared into the house. Sweet Jesus and all the apostles. The woman was astounding, fascinating, and he wanted to know everything about her.

  “I can’t believe it.” Anna’s voice penetrated his thoughts. “You are completely, absolutely, beyond a shadow of a doubt smitten with her.”

  Christian took the high road and ignored her. The carriage slowed to round the corner to Berkeley Square.

  “Oh you are, you are,” she continued when he didn’t take her bait.

  “Quiet,” he told her in warning.

  “She won’t have you, you know.” Anna’s voice softened. “I know you think you’re every woman’s dream, but you’re not this one’s.”

  That was precisely his fear.

  Chapter Two

  She had selected the dress carefully. Her hair looked perfect. A necklace of pearls and diamonds lay shimmering across her chest, innocently drawing the eye to the low cut of her bodice. A quick assessment in the mirror proved what she already knew. She looked stunning, and it was unendingly irritating.

  “You are a fool,” she told her reflection. Then she repeated it in Greek in case she wasn’t listening.

  Althea Eugenia Ashbrook had not come to London to snag a husband, and certainly not a husband such as the Duke of Morewether. It didn’t matter that he was tall and fit and masculine with beautiful ebony hair and brown eyes. It was of no consequence that he was charming and witty and smiled like a man who knew how to commit all the best sins. She hadn’t been lying when she said she knew him. Perhaps she didn’t know him specifically, but she surely recognized a scoundrel on sight. She could have smelled him coming a mile away. She’d heard countless gossip about him — everything from haughty grand dames warning her away to wistful young ladies sighing dreamily at the thought of a stolen kiss.

  She didn’t need a man. Not for anything. Thea reveled in the fact she was completely independent in all things. She had her own name, the one honorable thing her father left her, and her own money, and she was going to use those things to do what her father never had done. Her half-brothers deserved better than what was left to them, and she had every intention of using her father’s money to buy them a better life. This foray into London would serve to find the boys an acceptable school. Any connections she made with London’s upper class would only serve to make their lives easier.

  Unconsciously, she fingered an errant curl. She tucked it back in her coiffure and smoothed the hair at the nape of her neck.

  The Duke of Morewether’s actions could have been her father’s twenty-five years before. The duke was devilishly handsome, a fact not lost on him, of course, and he had a reputation for having seduced every female since he had left for Eton at thirteen.

  Who seduced women at thirteen?

  Absurd. Still, women could not stop talking about the man. He hadn’t even been in the city for months, and still, at every single rout, ball, or garden party where three women met, he was a topic of conversation. They discussed him in the retiring rooms. They discussed him in the fitting rooms on Bond Street. By the time she’d finally met him this afternoon, Thea was mortally tired of hearing about him.

  Still, she couldn’t deny the man was ludicrously good looking. Although, she’d been lead to believe his powers of seduction were something more impressive than she’d experienced today. It was possible he’d used the tongue-tied ploy to disarm her, but he’d seemed sincere. Even then, he’d almost lured her in, lulled her with his beauty and charming smile.

  Thea had chosen two of the most absurd tales she’d heard about him since her arrival in London to test him. As she had suspected, he admitted both to be true.

  Yet here she was primping. Damn it all.

  She whirled away from the long looking glass and strode across the room.

  She had much to accomplish while she was here; people were counting on her. She would make things right, once and for all, and she didn’t have time for beautiful men.

  She was not in London for a husband, and she’d do well to keep that in mind.

  ~~~***~~~

  Christian decided he’d experienced some form of temporary insanity. There was simply no other explanation for his strange behavior. Never in his life had he been skittish around a woman. Yet with Miss Ashbrook, he’d been tongue-tied. Maybe that’s why he’d been obsessed with her all day. For God’s sake, he’d known her less than an hour. At his sister’s tonight, he’d see that she was just a woman like any other and not worth becoming over-wrought. Still, he was in a nasty mood.

  He crossed one leg over the other, careful to avoid catching his mother’s skirts in the close confines of the carriage, and perched an ankle on the opposite knee. He rolled his eyes in irritation at the lack of leg room, the gratingly genial conversation between his mother and Anna, and his own damn stupidity. His mother glanced over at him, curious at the foulness of his mood he supposed, but he ignored her as he had ignored Anna when the damned chit smiled at him as if she knew something.

  Christian turned his head and looked out at the inky darkness of St James Street. For the seven-thousandth time that day, he thought of the scourge of gentlemen lecturers everywhere. He closed his eyes briefly and let the memory of her accent roll over him. He opened his eyes before his body shivered with anticipation.

  He knew how to solve his problem. After dinner he was going to find a woman with an accent and an amenable disposition, one who liked him — unlike the hellion — and bury himself inside her until she screamed his name. He hadn’t realized how his extended stay in the county had affected him, but that had to be the answer to his preoccupation with Thea. Too much time spent on horses and not enough attention on his baser needs.

  Certainly the lady was lovely, but he’d bedded scores of lovely women and never acted so unbelievably green before. Not even when he was green. It wasn’t as if he was unfamiliar with intelligent women. His mother was bright. His sister was smart and witty. While he might be cursed by his sister’s best friend, Anna, and her damned insightful nature, she would never be called anything less than sharp. So, he wasn’t intimidated by the lovely lady’s brain.

  Actually, maybe that held the clue to his madness after all. He couldn’t think of any other woman of his acquaintance who would have the nerve to stand up to a learned scholar even when she knew he was wrong. Not one who would stand up to an orator in private, much less in front of an entire assembly full of gentlemen peers. The woman was nervy besides being intelligent.

  And beautiful.

  Yet it didn’t matter — lightskirt or cuckolding wife — he was going to knock a woman tonight and get his mind back in order.

  Miss Ashbrook’s butler showed them to the front parlor to await his mistress. Christian refused to sit on any of the spindly-legged chairs arranged about the artfully decorated room. The favored ton décor inspirations were not intended for big men. Instead he strolled about the perimeter of the room taking notice of the various pieces of classical Greek objets d’art. One piece, a black and red vase of impeccable quality, grabbed his attention. He was just bending to examine it more closely because surely what he thought he saw couldn’t be right, when the melodic tones of Miss Ashbrook’s voice wafted across the room followed immediately by a perfumed scent Christian would associate with her for the rest of his days. Once again, the lady proved she was no typical English maiden with nothin
g more than the unusual scent she chose. Not a soft violet or even a sweet lemon verbena for Althea. No, her scent was bold but not at all overpowering. Conjuring visions of teal blue ocean and fields of Cypress trees, Christian could almost smell the Mediterranean Sea and feel the breeze that brought her scent to him.

  When did I get so fanciful? He marshaled his composure and turned when she greeted them. His face wore the expected mask of fashionable boredom he hoped fooled everyone because it didn’t fool him.

  “I’m very proud of that piece,” Miss Ashbrook said, and gestured to the vase he had been admiring. “It’s one of my best rescues so far.”

  Christian dragged his eyes from her and back to the large vessel perched on the center of a table. He took in the figures depicted in stark red against the black background. He cleared his throat. “It’s a very … unusual … in the home of a lady … of good reputation, that is.”

  Anna had crept closer when he wasn’t paying attention and, when she peeked around him, she let out a gasp and a reflexive giggle. Served her right, and he hoped she was completely scandalized.

  Miss Ashbrook, however, was not scandalized. Her laugh joined Anna’s, husky and low in contrast with Anna’s higher pitched trill. “Actually, I think I keep it in here, in this sitting room, solely for the purpose of shocking the ton.”

  “I can’t believe I haven’t heard about it,” Christian’s mother said, adding herself to the group gathered around the table, staring at, well at bawdy art, no matter if it was classical or no.

  “Are these people gods?” Anna asked, gesturing with an outstretched hand Christian thought for all the world was damned near desperate to stroke the black pottery.

  “No, although many amphorae do depict one god or another.” Miss Ashbrook lifted the vase with gentle hands and brought it higher to nestle in her arms, all the better for her to lecture on its timeless beauty. “This gentleman here with the tail —” Christian noted she did not mention the most rampant feature of his anatomy “— is a satyr. The lady is a maenad. I believe it is from somewhere between 500 and 600 BC, although I won’t know for certain until I get it home to Greece and consult Father’s texts.”

  Anna exhaled an awed breath. “So old? Really?”

  Christian made every effort to be unaffected by Miss Ashbrook’s fascinating brain as he did her breasts which swelled over the top of the neckline of her vivid blue gown. “You said it was a rescue.”

  Miss Ashbrook smiled at him, her eyes more gray than green, enhanced by the deep azure of her gown. “I found this one by accident, but it inspired me. I rescue Greek treasures whenever I find them.” The smile left her eyes and was replaced with an intensity that was even more striking. “Treasure hunters rape the temples and bring the spoils here and the rest of Europe. When I find them, things like this amphora here, my heart breaks. I know it sounds silly, but it’s like I’m collecting my family and bringing them home.”

  “That’s commendable,” his mother said, though she seemed distracted by the salacious scene played out on the red and black surface of the vase.

  “Would you like to have a tour? I’d be happy to show you the others another time, Your Grace,” Thea told them, her invitation enhanced by a promising smile. “Not all the pieces are as provocative as this piece, however.”

  Christian wanted a tour, and he didn’t care how the rest of her collection was decorated.

  “Oh,” his mother murmured, and then the meaning of Miss Ashbrook’s statement sunk in and she quickly stood. “Oh, of course not. I’m only interested in the history.”

  “Me, too,” Christian shared a knowing smile with the young lady before she looked away. Was there a blush? He’d feel much better about his own behavior if she was indeed blushing and if it had been his feeble flirtation that had put it on her cheeks.

  “Hmmmm.” Anna remained bent at the waist, peering intently at the vase cradled in Miss Ashbrook’s arms. “I’m interested in the art.”

  Christian breathed in the husky lilt of Miss Ashbrook’s laugh. With the exception of her Mayfair address and perhaps her wardrobe, there was nothing to liken her to the breed of woman with which he was so notoriously familiar. She was infinitely more interesting than her contemporaries. As far as he had been able to tell, she used no artifice to impress others — something he and his family were acutely sensitive to in their lofty social position. Someone somewhere was always trying to ingratiate themselves into his family’s good graces.

  “I’d be interested in seeing what else you’ve recovered, Miss Ashbrook.” Christian laid his hand against the small of his mother’s back in an effort to steer her through the parlor. The air in here was too thick and full of portent, and he wanted out, needed out, before someone got wind of his burgeoning interest. Someone like Anna who could smell gossip at twenty paces.

  “Shall we say tomorrow, then?” Miss Ashbrook encompassed the three of them in her invitation. She placed the vase gently back on the table. “Come for tea, and I’ll show you more lost Greek treasures.”

  Anna grinned and linked her arm with her fascinating friend’s. “Shall I bring Frankie?” Anna asked, referring to Christian’s sister. “She’ll be most intrigued with your collection as well.”

  The four of them climbed back into the carriage. Anna made a big show of sitting next to Christian’s mother, leaving the bench seat vacant next to Miss Ashbrook. Christian hesitated for a heartbeat and gave Anna a narrowed glance which she responded to with a knowing twitch of her lips. By all the heavens, the chit was worse than his true sister ever was.

  He settled onto the velvet seat for twenty minutes of torture. He heard the feminine conversation, but he didn’t listen. Christian leaned back into the leather of the darkened, carriage, and made an effort to relax. Miss Ashbrook’s scent and the lilt of her voice engulfed his consciousness. Heat emanated from her, warming his leg, hip, and arm, forcing an unwelcome awareness he didn’t want to acknowledge in a carriage occupied by his mother.

  Christian let the darkness soothe him, inhaling deeply through his nose, an ill-advised plan. Her distinct scent, warmed by body heat in the close carriage, assailed his senses and his body responded in the most inconvenient way possible. He stifled a groan and a curse as the vehicle came to a stop.

  Christian leapt from the carriage, ostensibly to lower the step and assist the ladies, but it was a desperate bid for self-preservation. What was it about this woman, this particular female, that put him on the alert so fully? How much attraction could she possibly hold for him, for any man, actually, during two such brief interludes? Interludes, he might add, that were chaperoned by his near-sister and later by his mother? Granted, he’d flirted shamelessly the first time to no avail, so he was already lost by the second conversation. He was so infatuated by the time he found out she collected pornographic art in the name of preserving history that her entire family tree could have chaperoned the conversation in her parlor and it wouldn’t have mattered.

  What Christian found the most disturbing and disheartening was that Miss Ashbrook didn’t seem to be affected by him in any way whatsoever. Once again, his libido suggested the need to prove his masculinity with any willing female. Any other willing female. The Duke of Morewether had not lost his touch and, by God, he’d prove it — at least to himself.

  However until he could make a graceful exit from a dinner he’d forcefully invited himself to, he would keep his distance from the chit. Clearly, Grecian women were immune to his charms, and he did not feel any perverse pressure to continue torturing himself. She and her stimulating mind and seductive accent and winsome beauty — dammit, he was going to ignore her for the rest of the evening.

  Chapter Three

  Thea was desperate to get out of the carriage and was prepared to make a jump for it by the time it rumbled to a stop on the pavement. When the duke finally roused himself from his lazy position next to her she was finally able to inhale a deep breath. Till then, she’d been leaning as far to the right as p
ossible so as minimize the feel of herself pressed up against his leg. Honestly, it was just a leg, and hers was separated from it by scads of fabric, linen and wool, cotton and silk, yet the heat was still there. The heat and a very unnerving awareness.

  He’s just a man, Thea. A man with a reputation that makes him more than a little unlikable.

  She gave herself a mental nod, agreeing wholeheartedly with her sage inner-voice. She was here to make friends with influential members of the ton, not to be distracted by a man too handsome by half. She’d be very smart not to forget why she was in London at all.

  Except that man you so desperately want to ignore is just as influential.

  True, she admitted.

  Fine. She wouldn’t ignore the duke. She’d simply avoid sitting too near or being close enough to smell his shaving soap. His scent had been intoxicating mixed with the fine leather of the carriage, a spicy, masculine aroma that made her want to run her cheek along his lapel like one of the many cats from home.

  Thea let Anna and the duchess alight first before emerging from the dark, safe cocoon. If she waited until last, the duke might go forward and escort his mother to the house, leaving her to avoid having to take his hand to step from the carriage. No luck. The god Momus certainly mocked her when the long fingers that reached out for her own did not belong to the gloved hands of a footman or carriage driver, but that of the duke himself. Of course he’d wait for her. The man may be a wolf when it came to women, but he played in the society she was wooing and that meant he would certainly be a polite wolf.

  There was no way around it, and she slipped her fingers into his palm and gracefully descended. Only she didn’t. She was so busy concentrating on ignoring him, her heel caught the lip of the carriage, and she stumbled forward.

  She let fly a curse in her own language. The duke caught her in time before she had a chance to fall in earnest. He righted her, keeping a steadying hand on her elbow. The instinct to look at him was too great, even though she suspected there would be a self-satisfied air about him that would grate her nerves.