“Should we leave?” Lady Louisa asked, the concern in her voice causing Jenny to feel guilty about her lie.
“No, I’m fine now.” She sat back with a contented sigh. She was more than fine. Every lady needed a good ravishment now and then.
Chapter 9
A fter listening to opera for most of the evening, Louisa thought the coach seemed unnaturally quiet as it journeyed through the fog-shrouded streets of London, its passengers either too weary or too preoccupied to carry on any sort of meaningful conversation. She’d never traveled with a gentleman other than her brother or father. She didn’t know why she’d expected there to be ample discourse. The hushed and shadowed confines seemed to call for something other than the type of discussions she was accustomed to engaging in during dinners.
She told herself that she was merely a deterrent to naughty behavior, that she was not supposed to engage Jenny or Hawkhurst in conversation, and yet…
“Thank you for sharing your box with us this evening,” she heard herself say before she could think better of it.
She saw his teeth flash as he smiled. “It was my pleasure.”
He fairly purred pleasure like a contented cat—a very large cat—that has lapped up the last of the cream. Did he have to constantly make innuendos? Or did she simply interpret everything he said as though it had some scandalous meaning?
“I’m always amazed by how quiet it gets when the fog rolls in,” she said, anything to fill the silence.
“I find it a good time to be reflective,” he said.
Jenny laughed. “Then you must be reflective quite a bit, because it seems there is always fog.”
Louisa heard Hawkhurst chuckle. “Perhaps too reflective. What sort of weather do you enjoy?”
“Sunshine,” she answered without hesitation. “Why would anyone like any other sort of weather?”
“I enjoy when it rains,” he said. “What of you, Lady Louisa?”
She was suddenly very self-conscious and wished she’d kept quiet. “I like cold days when I can snuggle before a fire, which is a good thing as the manor at our estate is quite drafty.”
“I’ve heard most are,” Jenny said. “From what I’ve been told, it can be quite a shock to an heiress to discover that the manor house has not been kept up as well as the London residence. Is your manor home drafty, Your Grace?”
“There are spots where one can catch a chill, but I have tried to keep it well maintained for the sake of my mother.”
“You care for her a great deal,” Jenny said.
“My father, upon his deathbed, charged me with seeing that she was always happy. A drafty home that makes one frequently ill doesn’t lead to happiness.”
“My mother once told me that I should pay attention to the manner in which a man treats his mother, that it is often a foreshadowing of the way that he will treat his wife.”
“I’m not familiar with that philosophy,” he said.
“Is that a polite way of saying that my mother utters nonsense?”
Again, he flashed a smile. Louisa wished she could look away, wished she could ignore the conversation, wished she wasn’t intrigued by the glimpse she’d been given into his relationship with his mother. It was much easier to dislike a man who showed no kindness toward the woman who’d given birth to him.
“I promise you,” Hawkhurst said, “that I shall not look upon my wife as I look upon my mother.”
“But if you are kind to your mother, it stands to reason that you will be kind to your wife,” Jenny said. “So it is simply a point in your favor.”
Louisa did look away then. She didn’t want to see that speculative gleam in Hawkhurst’s eyes as he looked at Jenny, the challenging smile that she was giving him, as though daring him to come up with ways to earn more points.
Louisa wondered if she should sit down with Jenny and tell her all the things she knew about Hawkhurst that would take the points away. She shouldn’t be favoring him, she shouldn’t be enjoying his company or looking at him with speculation and a hint of promise.
But Louisa was having a difficult time standing behind the conviction of her beliefs. He was not suitable…and yet she was no longer entirely certain that she could proclaim him unsuitable. What had he really done to fall out of favor with her?
“That would be lovely,” she heard Jenny say. Jenny touched her arm. “Wouldn’t it?”
“I’m sorry. I really wasn’t paying attention.”
“His Grace wants to take us rowing on the Thames tomorrow afternoon. Won’t that be great fun?”
“Of course,” Louisa managed to say. “Great fun, indeed.”
It had seemed like the perfect plan. Remove Miss Rose from her home during the afternoon when gentlemen were most likely to call. Make her unavailable for their attentions and flirtations. What Hawk had not counted on was the closeness of her chaperone within the small rowboat he’d rented.
Holding a parasol at the perfect angle so that it cast shade over both ladies, Louisa sat behind Jenny. She wore a light blue dress with a high collar, buttons in the front, every one snug and secure in its place. Nowhere on the material could he see signs of fraying or fading, and he wondered if this dress had also once belonged to one of the Rose sisters. Like Jenny, Louisa wore a wide-brimmed straw hat decorated with satin ribbon and dried flowers. It shaded her face and made the parasol seem superfluous.
Hawk had removed his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and set himself to the task of rowing with a great deal of enthusiasm, making his muscles burn in order to distract himself from the fact that Louisa sat so damnably near, a portrait of perfection, gazing off to the side, absorbed in the scenery. He could only be grateful that her attention wasn’t focused on him, and yet even as he thought it, he was somewhat irritated that she could dismiss him so easily when he was having a hell of a difficult time ignoring her.
“Are we engaged in a race, Your Grace?” Jenny asked.
Slowing his frantic movements, he shifted his gaze to her. Was she not the one who should be garnering all his attention? He gave her what he hoped was a seductive grin. “My apologies. I suppose I was simply…”
Smiling, she angled her head thoughtfully. “Demonstrating your strength?”
“I will admit to enjoying sports and competition.”
“I don’t know how much competition truly exists if the others on the river don’t realize a contest is taking place.”
Almost a dozen other boats were floating nearby. Hawk had planned to have a calm and relaxing outing. Instead, he’d fairly worn himself out.
“What sort of sports do you enjoy? Other than rowing?” she asked. “Croquet perhaps?”
He scowled; Jenny laughed lightly, and Hawk found himself wishing that he could say something that would bring Louisa’s laughter into the mix. Had he ever heard her laugh, truly laugh? Not scoff, or scorn, or berate with a harsh clearing of her throat? He’d heard her light laughter, but he wanted more. He wanted her holding her sides, her smile wide, her eyes bright.
“I do not consider croquet a sport. It is merely a game, one that allows for flirtation more than anything else. I enjoy lawn tennis,” he admitted.
“My brother is fond of that sport. I would enjoy it more if I were allowed to wear trousers.”
That comment brought Louisa’s head around and a bit of satisfaction to Hawk. So she was listening to the conversation, not completely distracted by the fauna. He tried to imagine Louisa in trousers, shook his head. It was Jenny who was interested in wearing men’s clothing.
“I daresay ladies wearing trousers is something that shall never come to pass,” Hawk said.
“I disagree,” Jenny said. “At least in America. Years ago, Amelia Bloomer advocated women wearing baggy trousers like those worn by Turkish women. Even your Rational Dress Society approves of Miss Bloomer’s notions.”
“It is not my Rational Dress Society,” he grumbled.
That drew a light laugh from Louisa, and he welcomed the excuse
to shift his attention to her. “I suppose you are a member of that ludicrous society.”
She ducked her head. “I support Viscountess Haberton and Mrs. King’s notion that a lady should not have to wear more than seven pounds of clothing.”
“If that is their stated philosophy, then I suppose I support them after all, because I prefer women with no clothing at all.” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, as soon as Jenny—whom he’d forgotten was sitting right in front of him—gasped, as soon as Louisa stared at him openmouthed, he regretted that he’d felt a need to shock Louisa, to ensure she keep her distance. Which was a ludicrous action on his part when she obviously had no interest in him whatsoever. So instead of building a barrier that would keep him from even being tempted by Louisa, he had effectively ruined his chance of making a favorable impression with his intended lady.
He shifted his attention to Jenny, where it should have remained all along. “My apologies. That was an entirely inappropriate comment for me to make in the presence of a lady as delicate as you.”
“I have an older brother with whom I’m very close, Your Grace. I’m well aware that men prefer women without clothing.”
“Still, it has been my experience that a man is better off not voicing his preference.”
“It seems we are prone constantly to disagree, Your Grace. How is a woman to know what a man prefers if he is not confident enough to share his preferences—even if it is a mere whispering in her ear?”
Her suggestive voice, her flirtatious smile should have had his body tightening in response. Instead, he found himself put off by her brashness, could not envision leaning near and whispering anything of a seductive nature to her. She was too easily conquered, not a challenge in the least.
Louisa, however, looked properly appalled by the direction of the conversation. He met her gaze only to have her quickly avert it, once again seeming to find solace along the banks of the river. He wondered if she’d ever been kissed. If a gentleman had ever whispered his longings near her ear. And if he had, what exactly had he said? Had he whispered memorized poetry, or had the words come from his heart?
“I believe you’ve made your chaperone uncomfortable,” he said.
“Nonsense,” Louisa answered quickly. “I’m paying no heed at all to your conversation.”
She grimaced just as Jenny said, “If that were true, you wouldn’t have known what he said.”
Jenny then proceeded to laugh as though she thought everything were great fun, while Louisa looked over at her charge apologetically, and even with the lacy parasol casting a shadow over her face, Hawk could tell that she was blushing profusely. He wondered if the blush ran the length of her body.
“I’m sorry,” Louisa said. “It is a bit difficult not to hear when the boat is so small.”
“No need to apologize,” Jenny said. “Honestly, I suspect it must be rather uncomfortable for you to watch us skirt around the mating rituals. And I suppose you know all the ways to evade one’s chaperone so one can test the depths of a man’s passions.”
Hawk watched in fascination as Lady Louisa’s blush darkened.
“I can’t say that I’ve spent any time evading a chaperone,” Louisa said.
“You can’t say or you won’t say?” Jenny challenged.
“Allow me to be clearer. I have spent no time evading chaperones.”
“I believe quite strongly that every woman should evade a chaperone at least once in her youth. How else is she to experience a kiss?”
Louisa’s gaze slammed into his. Her blush deepened even more as her gaze dipped, and he wondered if she was studying his mouth, curious as to what his kiss might be like. Then he cursed himself for giving a care about her thoughts. How was it that she managed so easily to distract him from his purpose?
Suddenly she looked away, and said on a sigh as soft as a summer breeze, “I’m amazed by the lovely weather we’re having this afternoon. We could not be more fortunate.”
Jenny laughed. “Are you attempting to change the subject?”
“Quite.”
Jenny laughed again. Louisa gave her an impish smile that made Hawk feel as though he’d taken a swift kick to the gut and almost caused him to release his hold on the oars. He imagined Louisa nestled up against his body, curled against his side as they lay beneath silk sheets that would serve to cool the heat of their fevered skin.
Once, if he could have her but once, this fascination with her would desert him. It was because she was unobtainable and untouchable that his attention kept shifting to her.
“Is there anything in these waters that will snap at my fingers?” Jenny asked.
He shifted his gaze to her. They seemed effectively to have moved off the topic of kisses and evading chaperones. Thank goodness. “No, your fingers will be quite safe.”
An image of nibbling on Louisa’s fingers popped into his head. He thought of her holding the book in the library, how slender her fingers were, how rounded her nails. He thought of them digging into his backside as she squirmed beneath him—
Shifting on the bench, he began rowing in earnest while Jenny slowly, seductively removed a glove. If Louisa wasn’t here, he would have taken that bared hand, pressed it to his lips, circled his tongue over her knuckles…
He would have trailed his mouth across her wrist, along her forearm. He would have kissed the inside of her elbow, inhaled the perfume she would have placed there. He would have slowly journeyed along the inside of her arm, stopping only when he reached her shoulder. He would have nibbled on the sensitive skin at the base of her neck, heard her sharp intake of breath, shifted his gaze up to meet hers, stared into her cornflower blue eyes…
Damnation. Louisa again, worming her way into his fantasies. It was Jenny dangling her bare hand over the side of the boat. It was Jenny’s fingers tripping over the current. Jenny’s green eyes that he should envision gazing into.
Why could Jenny Rose not have a hideous, old, and unsightly chaperone? Why did she have a chaperone who was playing havoc with his fantasies, his desires, his yearnings? Why did her chaperone continually distract him?
Louisa was aware of each stroke of the oars, each bunching and relaxing of the muscles in Hawkhurst’s forearms. The man’s form had been sculpted as though by the gods—simply to torment women with his perfection. Even turning her head and focusing on the greenery along the banks did her little good, because her peripheral vision was exceptionally irritating, taking note of Hawkhurst almost as though she were facing him. She’d actually considered turning completing around, presenting him with her back—but she feared the rudeness of that gesture. After all, he was a duke.
Not to mention a friend of her brother’s.
And it appeared he had Jenny’s complete interest. Why else would the young woman be hinting at escaping her chaperone for a moment of privacy in order to have an illicit kiss?
Louisa was grateful for the wide brim of her straw hat that shaded her eyes as well as the parasol. She hoped both darkened her face enough that the numerous blushes she’d felt making their way up her neck and into her cheeks had not been visible to the duke. What would he make of a woman so easily embarrassed?
She and Jenny were complete opposites, and Louisa felt rather boring sitting in the same boat with her. Again, she couldn’t help but wonder if it was more than her impoverished state that had kept gentlemen callers away.
Occasionally her gaze shifted to a gentleman in another boat. None had the duke’s virility; none seemed to have his determination to reach the end of the river. She smiled at that thought. Of course he had no intention of rowing until he reached river’s end, but he was putting his all into the effort, as though he sought to escape something.
Or perhaps he was simply showing off. She doubted any man could keep up with him. He’d mentioned sports, which had surprised her. She’d assumed his life of debauchery would leave little time for sporting pleasures, and yet she couldn’t deny that he had a very healthy bronzed tint to
his skin. She wanted to ask after his interests, but she was not the one with whom he should be conversing.
As a chaperone, she should be invisible, a role for which she’d apparently been preparing all her life. To be present, but unnoticed. To be available if needed, to be disregarded if not.
Unlike Hawkhurst, who would be noticed even if he dressed in clothing that matched his surroundings. He was not a man to be overlooked. He stood out. Even here on the Thames, with others in similar boats, wearing similar shirts, trousers, and straw hats. While most continued to wear their jackets, Jenny sat on Hawkhurst’s…a bit of cushioning he’d said with a grin…a gentlemanly gesture Louisa would not have expected of him.
But she didn’t quite trust it. He was seeking to woo the American heiress—no doubt at any cost, even if it meant creating a false perception of him as a man and potential husband. While Mrs. Rose wouldn’t look beyond his title, Louisa was certain that Jenny would.
She couldn’t help but respect the girl for that bit of wisdom. She had little doubt that Jenny was worthy of a duke, would make an exceptional duchess.
But she sincerely hoped that she wouldn’t settle for this duke. Although for the life of her, she was no longer certain why she thought it would be a horrible thing to be married to Hawkhurst.
And that worried her even more, because how could she properly advise Jenny when Louisa was losing her own perspective on what a suitable man should be?
Chapter 10
T he two outings with Hawkhurst had signaled the start of a whirlwind of activities that seemed to know no end: gentleman callers in the afternoon, theater and concerts and dinners in the evenings. Always Jenny and Kate ushered Louisa into their wardrobe room and insisted that she select something different to wear.
That morning Louisa stood in the confectioner’s shop, studying all the varied offerings in the display case, trying to decide which she should select. It was the first time in days that she’d worn her own clothing in public, something that had been worn on more than one occasion. She drew comfort from the familiar.
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