by Burke, Darcy
“An excellent notion.”
He cast her a quick glance. “I hope you managed to enjoy yourself despite my ineptitude.”
“I had a lovely time—you are not inept. You acquitted yourself far better than I would have.”
“Only because you haven’t practiced.”
“And you have?” she asked, looking at him askance.
He chuckled. “Not really. Perhaps you would have done better.”
They arrived at Nora’s blanket, and she thanked him again for the boat ride.
Lady Satterfield put her hand at the edge of her bonnet brim for additional shade as she looked up at them. “Did you enjoy yourselves?”
“Yes, quite,” Nora said as she sat down beside her.
Mr. Dawson executed a bow. “Until next time, Miss Lockhart.” As he straightened and turned, his toe caught the edge of Lady Satterfield’s plate, flipping it so the contents, including a large dollop of jam, landed against Nora’s skirt.
His face creased with distress. “Oh no! I am absolutely graceless. My sincerest apologies.”
Lady Satterfield dabbed at Nora’s skirt with a napkin. “You should get some water on that.”
Nora’s dress, like her entire wardrobe, was new. She didn’t want to think it might be ruined, not after the trouble and expense Lady Satterfield had gone to. She also didn’t want Mr. Dawson to feel bad. She smiled brightly up at him. “It’s quite all right. Accidents happen all the time. I once spilled an entire glass of ratafia down my front.” During her first Season. It had ruined the ball gown, much to her cousin’s dismay. “I’ll just take a quick trip to the retiring room.”
Mr. Dawson offered his hand to help her up.
“I’ll come with you, dear,” Lady Satterfield said, and Mr. Dawson also assisted her to stand.
“I do hope you won’t think poorly of me after this,” Mr. Dawson said earnestly.
Nora smiled at him. “Of course not.”
He offered another bow—causing no damage this time—and took his leave. Nora departed with Lady Satterfield toward the house.
“I daresay a courtship might be in the offing,” Lady Satterfield said when they were out of earshot of the blanket.
“We scarcely know each other.” For some reason, Nora thought of Kendal. She scarcely knew him either, and yet he occupied so many of her thoughts. She wished he hadn’t left the picnic.
Lady Satterfield started up the short set of stairs to the back patio. “I’ve been around a long time, and I’d say Dawson is definitely interested in you. He danced with you last night and sought you out today. That’s interest.”
Again, Nora’s mind summoned Kendal. He’d also danced with Nora, and he’d also sought her out today. Perhaps the latter wasn’t precisely true—she had no evidence that he’d come to the picnic in order to see her. Really, that would be absurd. But why had he come, particularly when it was common knowledge that he didn’t, as a general rule?
Why did her thoughts keep going back to Kendal? Was it because he’d been the first to pay her attention or because he was…Kendal?
What does that even mean?
It meant he was extraordinary. Definitive. The Forbidden Duke. Whether he’d come to the picnic to see her or not, he’d paid her special attention—not this once, but twice. The realization sent a delicious shiver up her spine. She’d thought they might’ve shared a connection at Lady Satterfield’s ball, probably because of the way he’d looked at her at Lady Satterfield’s tea—as if he’d wanted to know her.
You are being entirely ridiculous.
Just because he made her heart race and he’d been nice to her on a pair of occasions didn’t mean he wanted anything more than an acquaintance. He was the Forbidden Duke—he wasn’t interested in anyone. He was likely only paying her attention because Lady Satterfield had taken her in.
“Does Mr. Dawson interest you?” Lady Satterfield’s query drew Nora from her fanciful thoughts. “He’s not wealthy, but I believe he’s comfortable enough. And he does have children, so you’d have to become an instant mother.” Her features softened. “I’ve done that myself, of course, and it’s wonderful.”
With Kendal. She’d become his mother when she’d married his widowed father. That much Nora had learned in the days since she’d moved to Lady Satterfield’s town house.
Nora didn’t think before saying the next thought that crossed her brain. “I heard someone talking about Kendal on the lake.” She cast Lady Satterfield a worried glance. She hadn’t meant to gossip, especially about the woman’s own son. Oh, she was worse than out of practice. She was hopeless. “My apologies. I shouldn’t repeat such things.”
Lady Satterfield laughed. “It’s hard to ignore talk about my stepson. Especially at an event like this.”
They reached the door to the house, and Nora followed Lady Satterfield into the drawing room. “Surely he should be able to attend a picnic without scrutiny?”
Lady Satterfield lifted a shoulder. “This is London, dear. An unmarried duke can’t do anything without scrutiny.”
“Lady Satterfield!” An older woman strode toward them. “I must speak with you. Is it true Kendal was here earlier? Is he finally on the hunt for a wife?”
Lady Satterfield turned to Nora. “Do you require assistance in the retiring room? It’s just through there down the corridor.” She gestured toward a doorway.
“No, I’ll be fine.” She suppressed a smile. “I’ll leave you to deal with…that.”
Lady Satterfield’s eyes sparkled with mirth as she whispered, “This could be fun.”
Nora had no idea what Lady Satterfield intended to say or do to make that encounter “fun,” but imagined she’d hear all about it later. She found the retiring room with ease and tended to the spot on her skirt. The outline of the stain was still there, but with treatment when they returned home, it would be salvageable.
She found herself in a strange room and realized she’d taken a wrong turn out of the retiring room. She spun on her heel and was about to retrace her steps when her heart lodged in her throat. There, blocking the doorway, was Lord Haywood, the very last person she ever wanted to see, never mind encounter alone.
He was as tall as she remembered, but he’d filled out a bit so that he didn’t seem as athletic as he’d been in her memory. And his pale hair was thinning. But his cobalt eyes were as vivid and alluring as ever. Those eyes had seduced her, along with the smile that was currently curving his thin lips.
Had she really found him devastatingly attractive once? Now he seemed utterly lacking, especially when compared with Kendal, the man who had somehow become Nora’s measuring stick for all other men.
The tension she’d felt on the lake returned tenfold as she searched for another way out of the small sitting room. There was another door, but she had no idea where it led. For all she knew, it was a closet and she’d be even more trapped than she already was.
“Miss Lockhart?” His deep voice rattled her already screaming nerves. “I had heard you were back in town. I’m so glad we’ve run into each other.” He crossed the room toward her, leaving the doorway accessible—provided she could get around him.
She knew she ought to be polite, perhaps act as though she didn’t even know him. But the pain and injustice of nine years surged through her. “I would prefer it if you never spoke to me.” She forced herself to move and made to barrel past him.
He snagged her elbow, drawing her to a stop near his side. He pivoted without releasing her. “There’s no call to be rude. I only wanted to say how lovely you look. It seems the country agrees with you.”
“Don’t you mean banishment?” she snapped. She wrenched her arm free and took a large step away from him. “I have nothing to say to you. Ever.”
“Pity, for I’d hoped we might rekindle our acquaintance.” His gaze raked her in a manner that left no doubt as to what he meant by “acquaintance.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You’re disgusting. And married. I
ought to tell your wife.”
He laughed. “Tell her what? That you cornered me in a sitting room again? I imagine that will work out quite well for you a second time.”
“Go to the devil.” Nora resisted the urge to slap his smug face before she whirled about and stalked from the room.
She hurriedly made her way back to Lady Satterfield, passing the retiring room just as the door opened—and out walked Lady Abercrombie, whom Nora careened into.
Lady Abercrombie stepped back from her and brushed at her arm where they’d collided. “My goodness, you’re in a terrible hurry.”
Nora didn’t dare look behind her. If Haywood was in the corridor, and Lady Abercrombie saw her dashing away from him… Wait, how could that be bad?
Because this was London, and she was Lady Abercrombie. She would make it something bad.
Nora rubbed a hand over her own elbow where she’d crashed into Lady Abercrombie. It was a shame she hadn’t knocked the other woman down. “Please excuse me.”
She tried to walk more sedately to the drawing room, but her blood was rushing in her ears, and it felt as though she’d toppled out of the boat after all and was struggling to breach the surface of the water.
Lady Satterfield was waiting for her in the drawing room and was thankfully alone. When she saw Nora, a small crease formed between her brows. “Is something wrong? You look flushed.”
Nora winced. She moved closer to the countess and spoke softly, “I’m afraid I took a wrong turn when I left the retiring room and ran into Lord Haywood.”
Lady Satterfield’s expression deepened to a frown. “I see. Did anything happen?” She also kept her voice low.
Oh no, did Lady Satterfield think Nora would’ve repeated the same mistake again?
The countess’s face softened. “Not that, dear. I meant, did he make any untoward advances?”
“Only verbally. I instructed him never to speak to me again.”
Lady Satterfield laughed, which put Nora at ease. “Well done. I wish I could’ve seen it.” She linked her arm through Nora’s, and they left the house. “On that note, did anyone see you?”
“Not with him, but I ran into Lady Abercrombie on my way back. If she saw Lord Haywood…” Nora couldn’t bring herself to verbalize her fear.
Lady Satterfield patted Nora’s forearm. “Do not worry yourself about it. She saw nothing. Anything she says will be innuendo.”
“But that’s enough to ruin someone, isn’t it?”
“It can be…damaging, but I’ll ensure that it isn’t.”
Nora sent her a disbelieving look as they walked back down to the grass. “How will you manage that miracle?”
The countess smiled. “Leave that to me, my dear. One doesn’t spend three decades amongst the ton without learning how to survive and how to protect those we care about.”
Nora’s heart swelled. For a brief moment, it almost felt as though she had a mother again. And that sentiment was enough to drive away the disquiet Haywood had left her with.
For now.
Titus stalked into his office, intent on the whisky decanter. He was glad for the abbreviated session in the House of Lords tonight. He loosened his cravat as he arrived at the sideboard. As he poured his whisky, he worked to shove the evening’s business from his mind—he was weary of discussing the Luddites.
Instead, he preferred to focus on the pleasant afternoon he’d spent at Brexham Hall. He’d enjoyed his brief walk with Nora more than he ought to admit.
He wished he’d skipped the infernal meeting and stayed to take her out in one of the boats. Instead, she’d likely gone with Dawson, a gentleman Titus didn’t even know but longed to remove from her presence.
Really? He wanted to deny her the very thing she was trying to gain? She wanted a husband. She deserved a husband. Or at least happiness. And if a husband would afford that, then that was what she deserved.
“Your Grace?” Abbott, the butler who’d overseen this town house in Titus’s father’s time, stood at the threshold. “There is a letter from Lady Satterfield on your desk. It arrived while you were out.”
Titus took a drink of whisky as he went and located the note from his stepmother. He set the glass down to open the paper. Immediately, a cold sweat dappled the back of his neck.
Kendal,
I am concerned that a rumor that has started about Miss Lockhart will spread. She was seen leaving a private rendezvous with Lord Haywood this afternoon. It was a chance meeting and one that no one witnessed, but the woman who saw her immediately afterward—that detestable Lady Abercrombie—seems intent on disparaging Nora. I’m going to do my best to quash any gossip, and would appreciate any help you can offer.
Lady S
Rage heated his blood and sent tremors through his hands. He crumpled the paper and dropped it on his desk. “Abbott,” he barked.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Have my coach brought back around—I’m going to the club.” He meant to find Haywood and ensure the knave never again came within fifty paces of Nora.
“Yes, Your Grace.” Abbot didn’t question the sudden change of Titus’s evening plans, which was a bit surprising. Titus didn’t remember the last time he’d done anything spontaneously.
But this was necessary. He picked up his whisky and tossed it down his throat in its entirety. The liquor warmed his belly, stoking the anger that the lecherous Haywood had provoked.
A scant twenty minutes later, Titus strode into Brooks’s and immediately walked into the subscription room, where a good number of London’s gentlemen would be gambling and drinking. He scanned the tables for Haywood and located him seated near the corner, playing whist.
He strode to his former crony with purpose, aware that dozens of pairs of eyes followed him. When he arrived at the table, the occupants looked up at him in concert, but he noted this from the periphery of his vision—his primary focus was on the reprobate who’d dared insult Miss Lockhart a second time. “Stand up, Haywood.” He kept his voice low and didn’t give a whit that it carried a dark menace. In fact, he liked that.
Haywood’s eyes widened, and he briefly touched his chest, looking mildly affronted. “I’m in the middle of a hand.”
“I wouldn’t care if you were in the middle of using the privy. Stand up.”
Haywood’s brow furrowed. “Really, Kendal, I must ask that you wait.”
“It’s quite all right,” said the gentleman to Haywood’s left. “We’ll pause the game.”
Haywood looked at his tablemates. “If you’re certain you don’t mind.”
Titus’s patience withered until it was nearly gone. He was about to physically drag the man out of his chair when he finally stood.
“Come.” Titus bit out the command and gestured for Haywood to follow him. He led the scoundrel to his private chamber.
“What the devil is going on?” Haywood asked as they mounted the stairs. “You haven’t spoken to me in nearly a decade, and now you interrupt a perfectly smashing game of whist. I hope you haven’t upset my streak.”
Titus waited to answer until they were inside his private room. A footman opened the door and closed it behind Haywood. It took everything Titus had not to smash his fist into the man’s ruddy face.
“I haven’t spoken to you in a decade because I haven’t had reason to. Now, however, I have a reason, and you will heed every word I say. You are going to deny that you saw Miss Lockhart today.”
Haywood appeared utterly nonplussed. “I already said that I did.”
Titus’s right hand curled into a fist. How he ached to hit the man. “Say you were mistaken. Furthermore, you are not to speak to Miss Lockhart again. You are not to speak of Miss Lockhart. You are not to come within fifty paces of Miss Lockhart. In fact, you are not to look at Miss Lockhart. Do I make myself clear?”
With each directive, Haywood’s mouth had opened a little further until his jaw had gone completely slack. He stood like that, gaping at Titus for a moment. He closed hi
s mouth and did the damnedest—no, the stupidest thing. He laughed. “I beg your pardon? Is this some sort of joke?”
Titus took a step toward him. “You are the only joke in this room.”
Haywood sobered. “Now, there’s no call to be rude. Why do you care if I speak to Miss Lockhart?”
“Because you ruined her chances at a decent, happy life once, and I won’t allow you to do it again.”
“Who are you? Her father?” He laughed again, but without humor this time. “This is rich. You used to be the worst rake in town.”
“Used to be. We’ve matured past that, haven’t we, Haywood?” He took another step toward him. “Or are you still behaving like a lad who can’t keep his cock in his breeches?”
Haywood’s eyes narrowed. “You go too far.”
Another step forward. “I’m not sure I’ve gone far enough. If you so much as think of Miss Lockhart, let alone approach her, you will be sorry.”
Something lit in Haywood’s gaze—an acknowledgment of Titus’s anger, perhaps. “I have no reason to speak with her again anyhow. She propositioned me—a married man.” He shook his head. “She’s every bit the trollop she was all those years ago.”
Titus didn’t think. He just acted. His fist connected with Haywood’s half smirk, sending the degenerate’s head snapping backward.
“Christ!” Haywood’s hand came up against his mouth as his tongue darted out to catch the blood from his split lip.
“I believe I told you not to speak of her, and yet you did. Do it again, and you’ll be looking for a second.”
This seemed to finally sink into Haywood’s pea-sized brain. He blanched as he licked another drop of blood from his lip. He nodded slowly, his eyes failing to meet Titus’s.
Titus moved past him, catching his shoulder against Haywood’s bicep and knocking him off-balance. He opened the door and addressed the footman in the corridor. “Please have this rubbish removed from my chamber.”
Titus didn’t look back as he made his way downstairs. Energy still thrummed through him as if he’d raced his horse across his estate at a breakneck pace, but there was satisfaction too. And that was a damn sight better than the outrage he’d felt earlier.