One Night in London

by Caroline Linden

  “Yes, what is it?” He sounded weary, and her heart gave a little throb.

  The butler filled the doorway. “Lady Gordon is here, my lord.”

  For a moment there was silence. Francesca was just steeling herself to push past Blackbridge into the room, determined to have her say whether Edward wanted to hear it or not, when the butler leaped aside and Edward himself strode into the hall, in such a rush he nearly ran right into her.

  “Francesca.” His eyes roamed worriedly over her face. “Are you well?”

  She nodded. “May I come in?”

  “Ah—of course. Please.” He put out his hand and ushered her into the room, which turned out to be the study. Lamplight gleamed on mahogany furniture, especially the enormous carved desk covered with stacks of papers and books. The windows reflected the fire crackling in the hearth. Bookshelves held an impressive collection of handsomely bound volumes, and above the fireplace was mounted a collection of battered but polished armor. The room smelled of old leather and mellow pipe smoke and, very faintly, of Edward. Or perhaps he smelled of the room, the power and wealth and prestige held by the men who had worked here. Regardless, it was his scent, and she loved it.

  The door clicked softly behind them as Blackbridge pulled it, bowing discreetly out of the room. Francesca wet her lips. “I apologize for calling so late.”

  “No—no, I am glad you came.” He seemed about to say something else, but caught himself. “Won’t you sit down?”

  She sat on the sofa, and he pulled a leather armchair around to face her. The whole time, he watched her face keenly, as if wary of what she would say or do. Wary, but perhaps hopeful. She straightened her spine and looked away for a moment, gathering her thoughts and trying not to react to his nearness as she always did. Her gaze fell on a large satchel sitting open on the desk, and she realized he was packing.

  “Are you leaving?” she blurted out.

  He blinked. “Ah—yes. I suppose I am.” He hesitated, and again she sensed he was waiting for her. “There’s nothing for me in London.”

  “Your brother’s petition,” she exclaimed in astonishment. How unlike Edward to abandon it now!

  He lifted one shoulder. “Charlie should take responsibility for it. It’s his title, not mine. I told him last night he must exert himself or accept the loss.”

  “But you,” she said in wonder. “You would also lose all you hold dear . . .”

  “I was at peace with the possibility of losing Durham,” he said softly. “When I lost you, I lost what I hold most dear.”

  She had to pinch up her mouth. “Who told you I was lost?”

  His eyes brightened, but his grave expression didn’t. “You left. And you refused to see me.”

  “I said I wasn’t ready to see you. I needed some time to do my research.” He looked at her blankly. Francesca opened her reticule and pulled out the papers folded within. “I wanted to know what I was getting into. It seemed wise, after all.”

  Edward looked faintly puzzled, but he sat back. Francesca cleared her throat and began to read the first page. “ ‘The late Duke of Durham was a wild young man who only settled down when he inherited the title at the age of forty and was suddenly pressed to have an heir.’ ” She looked up in expectation.

  “True,” said Edward slowly.

  “ ‘He was known to be a hard, driven man, ruthless in pressing the advantages of his wealth and position. His duchess died after providing him with three sons, whom he raised to be just like him.’ ”

  “None of us are just like him. And he was a kind and generous man to his family.” Edward cleared his throat. “Otherwise it is true.”

  “ ‘Or rather, that was his bigamist second wife, rather than his duchess. The duke was secretly married in his wild youth, although no one has seen the woman in many years. Who is to say how the duke might have disposed of an inconvenient, unwanted first wife? And now his distant cousin Augustus stands on the precipice of inheriting the vast Durham estate and title, since the Durham sons are apparently only natural children with no claim at all to their father’s properties.’ ”

  “Embroidery and exaggeration,” he said through thin lips.

  “ ‘The eldest Durham son, Lord Gresham, is a rake of the lowest order. He has fought no less than eight duels, gambles constantly, drinks to excess, consorts with known reprobates and scoundrels, has cuckolded half of Parliament, is two hundred thousand pounds in debt, and broke his leg in a tavern brawl,’ ” she read on.

  Edward’s brows knit. “His debts aren’t one tenth that size, to my knowledge. I believe he broke his leg falling down the stairs while drunk, and eight duels is rather more energetic than the brother I know. But the rest sounds like Charlie.”

  “ ‘The youngest son is a military officer who has been reprimanded for dangerous behavior as often as he’s been commended for bravery. Just like his elder brother, he is known as a great favorite of the ladies, particularly his colonel’s much younger wife.’ ”

  “Gerard is too clever to have an affair with his superior officer’s wife,” Edward replied. “I hope.” He leaned back in his chair and looked more at ease, as if he realized what she was up to.

  Francesca turned the page and went on. “ ‘The middle brother is a cold and cunning man,’ ” she read, forcing her voice to remain steady. “ ‘He’s ruthless in business and in love. It is rumored he broke off his engagement to Lady Louisa Halston upon discovering her father’s desperate financial straits, abandoning the fair lady in her hour of need.’ ” Edward scowled and drew breath, but Francesca held up one finger. “ ‘It is also rumored Lady Louisa was instructed by her father to win Lord Edward’s heart and thereby secure his family’s fortune to her family’s, and when the whispers of the Durham Dilemma reached town, she jilted him for the more financially sound Marquis of Calverton. Lord Edward has reputedly taken up with low class women as a result, but as he is about to lose his fortune and rank, this is no doubt merely a portent of his future companions.’ ” Edward muttered something under his breath, and again Francesca motioned him to be silent. “ ‘It is also rumored that Lady Francesca Gordon schemed to disrupt the engagement, and seized on the Durham rumors as a chance to ply her wiles on Lord Edward, ruining the Halstons’ hopes and breaking Lady Louisa’s heart, all for the chance of winning herself a husband of higher rank—’ ”

  “Where the devil did you hear that rubbish?” Edward snapped. His face had grown darker and darker as she spoke.

  “From Gregory Sloan’s gossip rag,” she said. “Some from the Register à la Mode, and some from the Scandalous Society paper. I read them all.”

  “Lies.”

  She looked down at her papers. “Some of it’s wildly inconsistent as well. The stories about your brother are incredible; he must be quite a man. It was far harder to find anything about you.”

  “You wanted to know about me,” he said slowly. He had inched forward on his chair and was watching her with an intensity that made her skin tighten and prickle.

  “Yes,” she said, holding her head high and meeting his gaze directly. “I didn’t have the time to hire an investigator, so made do.”

  His mouth twitched. “I would have told you anything you wished to know.”

  “Would you have told me about . . .” She consulted the paper again. “About the low class woman you are seeing?”

  “I’m not sure what I can say about her that you don’t already know.”

  Francesca glanced at him warily. His expression was serene, but his eyes were glowing.

  “In fact,” he said, “there is only one vitally important thing you must know about her. She has been the salvation of me.”

  “Apparently she’s the best you can hope for, in your new life as a penniless outcast.”

  His mouth curled. “She has always been the best I can hope for, since the moment I met her.” Francesca raised her eyebrows in astonishment. Edward reached out and took her hand, gently and gingerly, as if afraid she would pu
ll away. “I would rather lose everything associated with Durham, and have you, than keep Durham and never have you.”

  “You don’t mean that,” she said, though her heart almost burst to hear him say it.

  He slid off his chair onto one knee. “For all my life, Durham was everything to me. Running it made my father proud of me, as his son and as a man. Neither of my brothers cared for it as I did. I never pursued the interests they did because I was consumed with crops and tenants and investments. My marriage to Louisa would have been the same; I was well aware that my family fortune would save the Halstons from any hardship and their properties from neglect and decay, and Louisa never would have distracted me from the ledgers.”

  “You loved her.”

  “Because I hadn’t met you.” He brushed his lips over her knuckles before pressing her wrist to his cheek, and a deep sigh shuddered through his body, as if a great tension had been released. Francesca felt it, too. Inside her shoes her toes uncurled, and when Edward turned her hand over to kiss the tender skin of her palm, she bit her lip to keep from throwing herself into his arms right then. “I never could have loved her the way I love you.”

  A loud sniffle escaped her. “You might have said that last night . . .”

  “I had just been caught acting like an arrogant, overbearing ass, and it looked very bad. I really had no idea what to say.”

  She laid her hand on his, loving the way his eyes half closed with pleasure at her touch. “In the future, there’s no reason to wait to say it,” she whispered. “For I love you too well to stay angry for long, especially when you kiss me.”

  He released her hand and cradled his fingers reverently around her head, stroking her jaw with his thumbs. “Then let me learn from my mistake.” He kissed her, and Francesca almost swooned on the spot from the heady intoxication of it. He lifted his head and waited until she forced open her eyes. “I love you,” he murmured. “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his again.

  “Even if I’m to be a penniless outcast?” he asked between kisses.

  “Especially if you’re a penniless outcast.” She wound her arms around his neck. “I shall support you as best I can.”

  “I am already anticipating it with pleasure.” He tugged her closer, pressing light, hot kisses down the slope of her throat.

  Francesca let her head fall back as she sighed with pleasure, her body melting under his touch. “I wished you had come to me today . . .”

  He paused. “You told me not to come.”

  “I know,” she said, “but I wanted you anyway. I wished you had broken down my door and made love to me until I forgot I was angry with you.”

  A flicker of unease darkened his eyes. “I’m not that sort of man, Francesca.”

  “I know—that’s why I came to you, because I am that sort of woman.” She smiled coyly as desire flared in his face. “I’ve come to make love to you until you cannot keep from falling at my feet, and I forget we ever argued.”

  “I knew there were many reasons why I love you,” he murmured. “So very, very many . . .”

  “The only thing I must hold against you is sending Alconbury in your place.” She put on a stern expression. “He was most put out with you for waking him so early.”

  “I knew his affection for you would outweigh any annoyance at me.”

  “What if he had begged me to marry him again?”

  All expression vanished from his face. “Did he?”

  “No, he told me you must be desperately in love with me to send him to comfort me.”

  “Well.” Edward lowered his eyes and looked almost penitent for a moment. “I suppose it occurred to me that, seeing him, you might realize how much you preferred me to him . . .”

  She threaded her fingers through his hair and tugged. “As if I hadn’t realized that some time ago!” He looked up from under his brows and flashed a hint of his wicked, sensual smile. Francesca laughed. “And where precisely were you going, that you must pack? Were you going to make me chase you all the way to Sussex?”

  “Francesca, I was packing up everything about Durham that Charlie will need to pursue his claim. That satchel is going to him. I spoke in all honesty when I told him he must do it, or resign himself to losing the dukedom.”

  Her brow knit as he lowered his head to kiss her shoulder again. “You said you were leaving . . . there was nothing in London for you now . . .”

  “Well . . . unless you had come to seduce me again . . .” He traced one finger over the swell of her bosom. “What should I have done?”

  “This.” Her body arched instinctively into his touch.

  He surprised her by laying his head on her shoulder, his hands going still. “Thank you,” he breathed.

  She pressed her lips to his temple. “For what?”

  “For coming back to me. For giving me another chance to explain.” He sighed. “For forgiving me for being so bloody stupid.”

  “Then I must thank you for being so patient,” she replied softly. “For keeping your temper when I lost mine.” She craned her neck to see his face. “It’s my greatest fault—I cannot promise it will never happen again.”

  “I love you, temper and all.” He kissed her.

  “And I love you, empty pockets and all.”

  “Well.” Edward looked a little abashed. “I shan’t be utterly penniless. I do have a modest inheritance, some thirty thousand pounds—”

  “Thirty thousand—” Francesca gaped at him. “It’s a fortune! You made me think you wouldn’t have two farthings!”

  He laughed. “You would have taken me, even without two farthings?”

  “Of course! But—you wretch!” She smacked his arm. “I thought we should have to give up the carriage, and economize on the housekeeping . . . burn tallow candles and dine on mutton . . .”

  “I don’t care for them, but since I shall be dependent on you, I must submit to your decision.”

  “Stop!” She laughed as he nestled his head on her shoulder again. “Dependent! You silly man; your income will still be three times mine, if you only put it all in the five percents.”

  “Francesca.” Edward raised his head and gave her a look. “It’s less than one year of Durham’s income. It’s one third of my mother’s dower, divided among me and my brothers, as she wished and my father agreed.”

  “Well.” She tried to look irked. “I shall be marrying very well indeed, although you must feel it a poor bargain.”

  “My darling,” he said, “it is the very best bargain I have ever struck.”

  Chapter 27

  It was a very small, quiet wedding. Georgina was there, bright-eyed and delighted to attend her aunt in a new pink dress. Ellen Haywood lingered at the back, as if uncertain of her welcome, but Francesca greeted her with a smile. It still hurt Francesca to see Georgina so affectionate with Ellen, but at least she was able to bask in her own share of Georgina’s attention and love now.

  Alconbury refused to come. He replied to her invitation that he had pressing family business; Francesca wasn’t sure if it was true, and Sally Ludlow claimed ignorance of the matter. Sally was there with her husband, a bit awed by Durham House but increasingly cordial to Edward as he spoke with them at length. She whispered to Francesca later that he was indeed as charming as Francesca had always said, and if he loved her, who was she to protest?

  Francesca also met some of Edward’s family. She was utterly charmed by his uncle and aunt, the Earl and Countess of Dowling, a handsome elderly couple. Lady Dowling welcomed her very warmly to the family. She made Francesca promise to call on her for tea within the week, and scolded Edward for not bringing Francesca to her already.

  “You and your brother,” the countess said with a reproving look at him. “I should box your ears for the way you’ve gone about marriage.”

  Edward smiled. “I’ve apologized twice, Aunt. But whatever Charlie’s done, you cannot blame me.”

&
nbsp; “I didn’t mean Charlie,” murmured the countess.

  “Gerard?” Edward frowned. “What’s Gerard done about marriage? He left town weeks ago and hasn’t sent so much as a word.”

  “His Grace, the Duke of Durham.” Blackbridge’s voice rang through the room before Lady Dowling could reply.

  Everyone turned to look. The duke seemed to know it and paused in the doorway, looking rakish and elegant and very dangerous. Even Sally Ludlow, happily married to Mr. Ludlow for ten years, stopped and stared in admiration as His Grace prowled through the room like a panther, sleek and dark, despite the cane he leaned on.

  Edward seemed to find him amusing. “How good of you to come, Charlie,” he said to his brother. “This is my wife, Francesca. Darling, my elder brother.”

  “How good of you to invite me, Ned,” drawled the duke. He fixed his dark gaze on Francesca and bowed over her hand. “I’ve waited far too long to make this lady’s acquaintance.”

  “But I’ve heard so much about you, Your Grace,” said Francesca as she sank into a curtsey.

  Durham paused, his thumb stroking the back of her hand as he studied her through narrow eyes. “All of it wicked and scandalous, I hope.”

  She dipped her chin and smiled. “Very much so, Your Grace.”

  Slowly he smiled back. “Excellent. Welcome to the family, my dear. You must call me Durham.”

  “Ah,” said Edward. “I’m glad to hear that at last.”

  The duke shot an annoyed glance at him. “Yes, damn it, you would be.”

  Edward just smiled and steered Francesca away. “It’s about time he took an interest in the title.”

  “But you aren’t planning to abandon it, either.” She, too, kept her voice low. No matter what he said about being at peace with the prospect of losing Durham, Francesca knew he cared too deeply for his heritage to give it up without a fight.

  “Of course not. But Charlie doesn’t need to know that. It will do him good to work for it.”