by Burke, Darcy
Lady Satterfield’s gray eyes lit. “I see what’s happening. Lady Kipp-Landon recognizes that you are becoming popular. You’ve attracted the notice of several gentlemen, including an earl. She’d do better to have you as an ally than an enemy.”
Nora shook her head in disgust. “But it’s all so affected. She doesn’t actually want to be my friend.”
“Perhaps not,” Lady Satterfield said gently. “And you needn’t befriend her, of course. However, I would urge you to be pleasant, as it will only help your cause.”
So Nora would have to resort to deceit as well if she wanted to achieve her goal of finding a husband. She’d known, even in her youth, that one must put on a performance of sorts to gain acceptance and attract suitors. But now that she was older, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to do those things. Her feelings of unease didn’t dissipate.
Lady Satterfield frowned slightly. “You still seem diffident. Is there anything I can do?”
Nora didn’t want to concern her. “No, I’m just out of practice.”
The countess brightened. “Of course you are. It’s quite a change of pace. You mustn’t worry about feeling overwhelmed or unsure. You’ll find your footing again, you’ll see.” Lady Satterfield touched her arm. “But if you want to leave any event ever, you need only say the word. Your well-being is my priority, dear.”
Nora smiled at her kind benefactress. “You are surely heaven-sent.”
Lady Satterfield laughed. “I’m not certain my husband or stepson would agree with you.”
“Nonsense. They both adore you.” Or so it seemed to Nora.
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try their patience from time to time.” She winked at Nora. “Come, I’ll wait for you while you tidy up, and we’ll head back down. You’ve another dance scheduled, do you not?”
Nora nodded. She conducted a brief toilette, then they returned to the party. As Nora began her next dance, she hoped that what Lady Satterfield said was true—that she’d become comfortable soon. However, the alternative, that she simply didn’t like this life, loomed in the forefront of her mind.
Maybe she’d be fortunate enough to find a husband who would provide a quieter country life as she’d become accustomed to. Perhaps someone like Mr. Dawson. Definitely not an Untouchable like the Duke of Kendal. That had been her ambition during her first Seasons, the sparkling dream that she’d foolishly thought was in her grasp.
This time she understood the possibilities, as well as the stakes. And she didn’t plan to fall victim to Society’s vagaries again.
Chapter Six
Brexham Hall, the London residence of Lord Fitzgibbon, was a century-old country house of Palladian design set upon some five hundred acres. Its grandeur and proximity to town made it a favorite haven of the ton. As such, Titus had been here only a handful of times, and never for Lady Fitzgibbon’s annual picnic.
A receiving line of sorts had been established along the path as people made their way toward the picnic, and the Satterfields—and Nora—were just concluding a short exchange with their hosts. Titus had ridden his horse to the picnic and gone directly to the stables, and now avoided the receiving line.
Nora cocked her head to the side, a wide-brimmed bonnet shading her face from both the bright sunlight and him. No matter, for he could recall the slope of her nose, the generous sweep of her lower lip, and the warm sparkle in her tawny eyes. Those very features had haunted his dreams. When he considered the cause, he blamed the guilt he felt. Hopefully today’s errand would set him free.
As they departed the line and continued along the path, Titus made his way in their direction. He was vaguely aware of people staring at him as he passed. He hadn’t attended this many Society events—the tea, the ball, and now this—in such quick succession, since before his father had died.
His stepfather caught sight of him first and inclined his head as he bent to say something to Titus’s stepmother.
She turned to greet him. “Ah, Kendal, I’m delighted to see you here.” She angled her head toward Nora. “Look who’s come, Nora.”
Nora turned and tipped her head up. Her warm brown eyes, so bold and expressive, charmed him. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”
He took her hand and pressed his lips to the back of her glove. The garment offended him because he would rather have kissed her bare flesh. “Good afternoon. It’s a nice day for a picnic.”
The inane comment sounded absurd to his ears. He hadn’t tried to make such nonsensical chitchat in ages.
His stepmother smiled widely. “It’s especially fine today. I don’t remember the last time Lady Fitzgibbon’s annual picnic was blessed with such lovely weather. Kendal, come and join us at our blanket.” She took her husband’s arm and led the way.
Titus held his arm for Nora. She curled her hand around his sleeve, and Titus’s body came alive with awareness. Damn.
He strove to keep his mind away from her charms. “I understand you’re keeping my stepmother busy.”
Nora cast him an enigmatic look—it was almost inquisitive, and yet she didn’t ask a question. “We’ve been adding to my wardrobe. She’s been incredibly generous. She says it gives her pleasure to have a young woman to support and shepherd.” She shook her head, her lips curving in a self-deprecating half smile. “I only wonder what I did to earn such kindness.” Ah, that was her question: why her?
Because she deserved it.
“Does it have to be something that you did?” Titus asked. “My stepmother is an exceptionally benevolent person by nature. I’m not the least bit surprised that she wanted to sponsor you.”
They crested a small hill, and the picnic lay before them. Dozens of colorful blankets set as elegantly as a Society dinner dotted the verdant lawn. The thought of sharing Nora with a blanketful of people annoyed him nearly as much as the glove on her hand. Which was ridiculous. He was here to ensure her acceptance and success. He had no personal interest or stake other than righting the wrong he’d done her.
He sought to keep the conversation benign. He’d once been very good at charming young ladies with his conversational wit. In retrospect, that seemed like another life. “Have you been to Brexham Hall before?”
She looked at him askance, and her expression was tinged with disbelief. “Goodness no. I wasn’t in a high enough position during my Seasons. Brexham Hall is a destination for the Untouchables.”
“What the devil are the Untouchables?”
She laughed, and he loved the dark, throaty sound of it. “Spoken like a true Untouchable.” She looked at him again, this time studying him at length. “Shall I explain?”
“No, I think I comprehend the meaning.” He tried not to scowl. This sharp division even among the upper class was another reason he’d come to loathe Society. He didn’t care for other people dictating whom he ought to befriend or associate with. Or dance with. Or fall in love with.
Not that he was in danger of that.
“I didn’t mean to offend you,” she said softly.
She hadn’t, but he acknowledged he wasn’t exhibiting his best side to her. Hell, did he even have a good side? He’d long ago abandoned comporting himself in the manner necessary to win smiles and affection, and back when he had, the skill had come effortlessly. What had happened to him in the intervening years? He knew: a persistent feeling of disgust from his youthful behavior and a heavy dose of cynicism engendered by the very people he’d once called “friends.”
Nora, however, was not one of those people. She was someone with whom he could relax and let down his guard—if he wanted to.
He studied her pert profile.
Yes, he wanted to, but he wouldn’t. There was no point when their association would be disappointingly brief.
“It is I who must apologize. I’m afraid I don’t socialize well,” he said.
“You did fine at your stepmother’s ball.”
He sent her a wry glance. “I’ve had enough practice with that particular occasion—that�
��s the one thing I do annually, if you recall.”
She laughed again, and the sound burrowed into him, sparking something most inconvenient—desire. “I do recall, and even if I didn’t, there are plenty who will remind me.”
He couldn’t help but join in her mirth. “That is true. It’s an appalling state.”
She adjusted her hold on his arm, sending a shock of awareness straight to his gut. “People talking about you?”
“I don’t much care if people talk about me. As you so aptly stated, I am untouchable. Most, however, are not. I find gossip and the proclivity of much of Society to burrow their noses in other people’s business abhorrent.”
Her gaze took on a sheen of approval. “You’re most vehement.”
“As any full-witted person ought to be.”
She pressed her lips together, and he had the sense she was trying not to grin. “I agree.”
He allowed his lips to curve into a smile. “Of course you do.”
She’d already demonstrated her keen intelligence and delicious wit the other night. She was, so far, unlike any other young lady he’d met.
Her eyes narrowed in a playful, almost flirtatious manner. “Your Grace, I think you do know how to socialize. You flatter me.”
Apparently he hadn’t completely forgotten how. “Only by chance.”
“Oh? You didn’t mean to be complimentary?” Definitely flirtatious, judging by her arch tone.
He couldn’t help but warm to her vivacity. “See? I told you I wasn’t good at this. I didn’t set out to charm you. I don’t set out to charm anyone.” Not anymore.
“And that’s precisely what I find so…charming,” she murmured, her eyes glowing like dark amber.
They’d traversed the path to the site of the picnic and now made their way to their assigned blanket. This area was flat, but past the picnic area, the ground gently sloped down toward the small lake, where a handful of boats bobbed near the shoreline. A group of footmen stood at the ready to assist picnickers into the watercrafts.
Nora gestured toward the lake. “Oh, there are boats!” Her unabashed glee coaxed another smile to his lips.
His stepmother turned upon hearing Nora’s exclamation. “Indeed. We shall see if we can persuade Mr. Dawson to take you out in one.” She gave her ward a mischievous grin.
Dawson? Who the hell was Dawson?
Titus had almost forgotten that the goal was to give Nora a Season, and more importantly, the chance to find the husband that she was denied. He’d been about to offer to take her onto the lake himself, but it was better that she went with someone else. Someone she could marry. He was not that someone. A wife would intrude on the solitude he loved, but more than that, Nora wouldn’t want him—not after he’d contributed to her disgrace.
His stepmother looked at him with satisfaction in her gaze. “He danced with Miss Lockhart last night. As did several other gentlemen. Miss Lockhart is becoming quite popular.”
Nora blushed and didn’t meet Titus’s gaze. “I hardly think so.”
A scowl sprang to Titus’s mouth, but he was able to wrestle it into a mere grimace. Then he forced himself to smile. Again. “How nice.”
“Shall we sit?” his stepmother asked.
Titus reluctantly withdrew his arm from Nora’s electrifying touch. “I’m not staying.”
Nora’s gaze snapped to his, her disappointment evident. “You aren’t?”
His stepmother gave him a cross look. “I was hoping you might stay longer.” Her eyes narrowed, and he knew a discussion would be forthcoming—either now or later.
His stepfather intervened, but not in the way Titus would have hoped. “Come, Miss Lockhart, let us sit down.” He guided her to the blanket.
Titus’s stepmother pulled him a discreet distance from the blankets and, more importantly, from inquisitive ears. Clearly the interview was to come now. “Can’t you stay a little while?”
“Why? You have this Dawson chap on leading strings already, do you not? Plus any number of other gentlemen. I’ve done what I said I would.”
She studied him with a small frown. “You seem annoyed. Do you have a problem with Dawson?”
Hell. He didn’t even know the man. He only knew the thought of him—of anyone—courting Nora was akin to a splinter stuck beneath his thumbnail. “I’m sure Dawson is splendid.” He made an effort not to grit his teeth.
She peered at him expectantly. “Is there any possibility you might be interested in Miss Lockhart?”
Interested. That word could encompass many things. Did he want to converse with her about such inanities as the weather and the color of the ocean? Yes. Did he wish to dance with her or take her out in a dinghy on a tiny lake? Yes and yes. Did he desire the heat of her gaze upon him, the touch of her hand, the press of her lips against his? Holy hell, yes.
He looked over at her sitting next to his stepfather on the blanket. He could almost smell her lilac scent.
“No,” he said tightly, thinking that the constrained sound of that single word somehow approximated the feel of his breeches around his thickening cock. It was past time to leave.
His stepmother’s answering look indicated she didn’t entirely believe him, but he didn’t care to debate the point. “Well, if you were, I would endorse your suit.”
Of course she would. She wouldn’t care if Titus wished to court a washerwoman or a princess. She only wanted him to be happy. And that was why he loved her.
“I’m leaving now.” He took a step toward the path.
“Will you come for dinner later?” she asked.
During the Season, he typically had dinner with them once a week or so. But that was when it had just been the three of them. Now there was Nora, to whom he was apparently insanely attracted. “I don’t know. I have some things to read.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled too. “You always do. I hope we’ll see you. You know you’re always welcome.”
He chanced another glance at Nora and had the air sucked straight from his lungs when he saw she was looking right at him. Those inquisitive, gorgeous eyes of hers seemed as though they might pierce directly into his soul, if he let them.
And he wouldn’t. Of all the women he might finally allow into his life, she was the one he couldn’t consider. She was the one who’d eviscerate him if she ever discovered the role he’d played in her downfall—and rightly so.
Chapter Seven
Nora clutched the side of the small boat as it teetered precariously.
Mr. Dawson laughed warmly. “I’ve got it now, I think.” They’d been in the boat ten minutes, and he was having the devil of a time figuring out how to row properly. Nora feared they were going to end up swimming in the small lake.
The craft evened out, and Nora loosened her grip, though she kept one hand on the side. Why, she didn’t know. It wasn’t as if holding on to the boat would save her from a dunking if they tipped over. She wondered if Kendal would’ve had such trouble and instantly doubted it. His entire demeanor suggested he commanded everything he did. He wouldn’t allow a small watercraft to be a nuisance.
She looked over at Mr. Dawson, with whom she’d danced last night. He was a pleasant fellow perhaps five years her senior. A widower, he was on the hunt for a wife—and a mother for his two children back in Sussex. He seemed an affable sort, quick to laugh and charm, with an ever-ready smile lighting his acorn-brown eyes.
His light brown wavy hair fell across his forehead, and he pushed it back as he fought to turn the boat back toward the dock. “My apologies, Miss Lockhart. I’m afraid I’m not much of a sportsman. However, if you desire an engaging chess match or game of cards, I’m your fellow.”
Nora worked to ignore the rocking of the boat. She’d suffered worse during their short jaunt, but she’d feel much better when they were back on land. “As a matter of fact, I enjoy chess immensely. My father taught me to play when I was younger.” Before he’d withdrawn into himself after Mother had died.
Mr. Dawson in
clined his head. “Excellent. I look forward to playing with you some time.”
That he spoke of some future activity surprised Nora. Did that mean he was interested in courting her? She was woefully out of practice when it came to this game. If she’d ever been any good at it. One could argue she was an abject failure at husband hunting.
They were headed toward another craft. Nora put both hands on the sides again as she tensed. “Careful of the other boat,” she said, perhaps stating the obvious. However, she wanted to be certain Mr. Dawson saw them.
He dug the oar deeper into the water as he worked to alter their course. “Yes, I see them. This is just so…difficult.” He grimaced as he barely managed to divert the boat. The man rowing the other boat had acted quickly and was probably the reason they’d avoided a glancing collision.
As it was, the two crafts came abreast of each other and exchanged friendly waves. Nora overheard what the woman in the other boat said to her companion, “Did you see the Forbidden Duke? Lady Faversham said he was here, but I didn’t see him.”
“I did not, but I daresay she was mistaken,” the gentleman replied. “He doesn’t attend gatherings like this.”
“That’s what I said. But she was most insistent.”
Nora didn’t say a word as the growing distance between them prevented her from hearing any more of their conversation.
Mr. Dawson let his hands go slack with the oars hovering above the surface of the water. “We are approaching land at last.” He flashed her a self-deprecating smile. “You must be terribly relieved.”
“Will you dislike me if I say I am?”
He laughed. “Heavens, no, I shall respect your honesty.”
The boat tapped the dock, and a footman helped them to disembark.
Once Nora’s feet were safely on the ground, she fully relaxed, giving her shoulders a little shake as the tension seeped from them. She turned to Mr. Dawson, who was adjusting his hat. “This is much better,” she said.
“Agreed.” He offered her his arm, and they strolled back toward her blanket. “I think I shall keep my feet on terra firma from now on. Unless someone else is steering the boat.”