Flushing with embarrassment that all eyes seemed to be upon her, Marguerite found herself wishing now that the floor would simply open up to swallow her and end her misery. She could read the displeasure upon Sir Russell’s face as if he were shouting it from one end of Almack’s to the other.
A lowly parson’s daughter waltzing with the future Duke of Summerlin, why, the brazen unseemliness of it all! Sir Russell had already inferred quite blatantly that she wasn’t suitable for such attention, hadn’t he?
Marguerite didn’t wait to hear any further insults from the baronet but fled toward Corie and Lindsay without even a glance at Walker. She heard him curse behind her, which only made her cheeks flare hotter.
No doubt he had realized, too, the spectacle they had made and regretted his choice for a dance partner! Oh, why had she ever agreed to venture to London again?
Tears stung her eyes as she reached her sister at the same moment a buzz of excitement swelled in the air. To her immense relief, Marguerite saw that she was no longer the focus of attention as everyone rushed toward the main entrance of the room.
“Ah, look,” said Nigel, taking his wife’s arm so they might move closer, too. “His Royal Highness Prince George has arrived!”
Marguerite felt as if she were caught in the flow of a current as Corie and Donovan, flanking her, drew her along with them while Lindsay and Jared followed close behind.
Above the din of conversation now resounding in the assembly room, Marguerite could hear Jared saying tersely to Lindsay, “Walker’s not the one for her, Lindsay, and you know the reason as well as I do. Now enough, we’ll speak of it later.”
To that, Lindsay uttered a retort that Marguerite could not discern for all the mounting commotion, but which told her from Lindsay’s indignant tone that she had no intention of letting the matter rest at all.
Marguerite heard no more, though, swept up as she was in the tide that split in two by the entrance when a tall and quite corpulent gentleman strode into the room with his sumptuously dressed entourage. At once everyone began to bow and curtsey as the Prince Regent waved grandly to his subjects while a massive gilt chair was carried inside by footmen to accommodate his girth.
With a grunt Prince George sat heavily and propped his enormous calves upon a matching footstool while red wine was poured for him into a golden goblet. Yet he waved it away when he appeared to spy Nigel in the crowd, beckoning to him with a huge fat hand.
“Arundale, old boy, didn’t know you’d be here tonight! Come forward—ah, and Lord Donovan, too! Is Lord Dovercourt here and his most fortunate of friends, Lord Summerlin?”
“Yes, Your Highness, all are here,” spoke up Donovan, who left Marguerite and Corie to move closer to Prince George. Now Donovan beckoned, too, and Jared came forward, while the gathered crowd parted to allow Walker, still standing with Sir Russell, to stride from the center of the room.
Glancing at Walker over her shoulder, Marguerite could see that his expression hadn’t lightened, though to her surprise when he passed her, he threw her the faintest of smiles.
Her heart beating faster at the sight of him, she watched breathlessly as he reached Donovan and Jared, and together they bowed as one to the future King of England. Prince George gestured almost at once for them to rise, his voice booming out across the room for all to hear.
“I welcome you home, Summerlin. Dovercourt. Lord Donovan is to be commended for his heroic efforts to restore both of you to our good graces. I trust your allegiance from this day forward will rest firmly with King and Country.”
Once again all three men bowed, which seemed answer enough for Prince George who beckoned to the footman holding the brimming goblet.
Now he did drink, emptying the goblet with gusto and wiping his mouth with a white lace handkerchief handed to him by one of his courtiers. A great belch followed, which was met by polite applause from onlookers, while Marguerite could not stop staring at Walker’s broad back.
Oddly, he looked stiff with tension, and he threw a dark glance at Jared, who stood rigidly beside him. Marguerite had only ever heard from Lindsay’s letters how close they were as friends, and of the grievous trials they had suffered together, so their stance seemed so strange.
Might it have something to do with the vexed exchange she’d heard moments ago between Jared and Lindsay? That was strange in itself, the two of them so much in love—though Lindsay was well known to be wildly romantic and impetuous. As the orchestra began to play and Prince George motioned for his goblet to be refilled, Marguerite turned to Corie to ask her if she knew the cause of their tension when a loud murmur went up from the crowd.
Once again, all eyes turned to the entranceway. There stood the most beautiful woman Marguerite had ever seen, resplendent in a blue silk gown that clung to her hourglass form, her blond upswept hair the color of spun gold.
“Ah, Lady Belinda, join us!” enthused Prince George. The woman nodded in gracious deference to him but her vivid blue eyes did not stray for an instant from Walker, who had appeared somewhat startled at the sound of her name.
Just as Marguerite had started at the sound of her name, a terrible sinking feeling gripping her heart that stunned her with its intensity.
Lady Belinda Cavendish. Marguerite had heard Corie and Donovan speak of her and how she’d been engaged to marry Andrew Scott, Walker’s twin brother, until his untimely death.
Oh, Lord…oh, Lord. Again Marguerite had to tell herself to breathe. From the way Lady Belinda stared so intently now at Walker, might she be hoping for a second chance at becoming a Summerlin bride?
Like breaking glass, any romantic notions Marguerite had harbored deep in her heart upon seeing Walker Burke again—yes, the man of her dreams!—shattered into a thousand glittering pieces.
Silly fool, not Walker Burke at all, but one day the Duke of Summerlin!
Too high and lofty for the likes of a vicar’s daughter…while the loveliest of women, who looked as if she’d been born to become a duchess, walked gracefully toward Walker.
Chapter 5
Walker felt that every eye was upon him as he watched Lady Belinda move closer until she stopped only feet in front of him.
He smelled her fragrance first…jasmine and damask rose, a seductive combination that would stir any man’s senses.
Just as his senses were aroused by her incomparable blond beauty for again, how could any man’s not be? Yet what struck him next was the cool appraising glint in her eyes, the stunning blue devoid of any warmth that would have made her almost impossible to resist.
A warmth he’d glimpsed in another young woman’s eyes tonight, innocent and sincere, that even now made his blood course hotter at the memory of it.
He knew Marguerite Easton stood not far behind him. That she must be watching him and wondering, her breath coming faster with the rapid rise and fall of her breasts.
She hadn’t needed to say a word for him to know she’d felt much as he had when they had danced together, her rosy lips parted and her gaze locked with his. He hadn’t wanted the moment to end and neither had she. It was all he could do not to turn around and give her a reassuring glance, but now was not the time. He had Jared—by God, his best friend!—to deal with first and his father’s lofty expectations.
Yet he knew he had made his choice for a bride, the rightness of his sudden decision as plain as day to him. He must take a wife…and it wasn’t the beautiful woman standing in front of him though Lady Belinda gazed at him as if she already imagined their wedding day.
“I would never have thought it possible,” she breathed, her voice as silky as cream. “You look so much like my beloved Andrew…”
Her softly uttered sentiment didn’t reach those cool blue eyes, and Walker found himself wondering if Lady Belinda had loved his twin brother at all, poor devil. No wonder his true mother, Anne, hadn’t cared for her.
Lady Belinda glided a step closer and he inclined his head gallantly, though he felt reluctant to kiss her pro
ffered gloved hand as he had Marguerite’s. It seemed everyone around them had their ears pricked to their every word, and even Prince George watched with great interest from his gilded chair while he quaffed his wine.
“My lady,” Walker murmured, pressing his lips only briefly to the top of her hand before straightening again to face her. “I’m sorry for your loss—”
“Call me Belinda, please,” she broke in, and then gave a plaintive sigh. “A pity, truly, but what better end than to so gallantly give one’s life for one’s homeland.” She glanced pointedly at Prince George, who raised his goblet to her, and then back to Walker, placing her hand upon his forearm. “As soon as I heard you were alive, I hoped for your return, Alexander. And now you’re here! It’s a miracle, is it not?”
She hadn’t directed her query to Walker but to the surrounding crowd, who broke into enthusiastic applause and nods of approval. Clearly she was a woman used to swaying others with her charm, and she focused all of her feminine wiles now upon Walker by flashing him a brilliant smile.
“I’m so happy that we’ve finally met! Dance with me, Alexander. We’ve so much to talk about…so much to share with each other.”
Now Walker did hear an audible gasp from somewhere behind him, and he didn’t have to guess that it had been Marguerite. His first thought was to politely decline. Yet Belinda was already moving toward the center of the room in a swaying rustle of silk as if she had no doubt at all he would follow, while Prince George roared for his courtiers to join them as well.
Walker sighed to himself and strode after her, a night that hadn’t seemed so dismal once he’d seen Marguerite now looming ahead of him again.
He didn’t glance in her direction, he couldn’t at that moment. Strangely he felt so bound to her already that the last thing he wanted to see was hurt in her eyes.
Beautiful brown eyes tinged with iridescent green that had mesmerized him and made him feel wholly unlike he had ever felt before.
He had never allowed himself to care for any woman before, only availing himself of carnal pleasures…which he imagined was why Jared had appeared so irritated with him tonight. Of course Jared would be protective of his wife’s best friend’s sister—but dammit, did he think that Walker had no heart? That he couldn’t change once he had met—formally, this time—the angel of his dreams?
Soft sultry laughter tore him from his thoughts as Belinda turned around and fairly sank into his arms, the music swelling around them.
Only then did Walker glance past the other dancers to the throng still gathered around Prince George to discover that Marguerite, Donovan, Lindsay, the Arundales…all of them were gone.
***
“I’m sorry we had to leave so abruptly,” Donovan said more to Marguerite than anyone else in the dimly lit carriage, the mood not at all lighthearted as it had been on their way to Almack’s.
How could it be? A messenger had delivered a note to Donovan right there in the assembly room that there had been an accident at Arundale’s Kitchen in Cornwall, a dozen tinners trapped deep in the mine. They had left the ball at once to return to the town house…although for Corie and Donovan, not for very long.
They would leave London that very night to return to Porthleven, taking the twins, Estelle, and Linette with them while Corie had insisted once again that Marguerite remain behind with Lindsay. Just as Corie had insisted that she would accompany Donovan tonight rather than wait to follow him in the morning, although he had tried to convince her otherwise and that he would ride out ahead.
There was no arguing with Corie once her mind was made up. She cared for the tinners and their families as much as her own, and would share their suffering at Donovan’s side. The carriage had then settled into a deep somber silence but for the clattering of the wheels upon the cobbled street, broken only by Donovan’s grim voice.
“There will be other balls, Marguerite.”
“We’ll not think of that now, brother, of course we couldn’t stay,” Marguerite said as she glanced at Corie, who sat beside her. Her sister’s face was so pale, Marguerite knew Corie’s thoughts were only upon the tinners, their wives, and their children.
“If there is anything we can do, Donovan, you must let us know,” Jared said as grimly, his hand tightly gripping Lindsay’s.
If there had been any disharmony between them, Marguerite saw none now in the flickering light of the oil lamp hanging in the opposite corner. Lindsay’s other hand rested protectively upon her rounded belly as the driver urged the horses onward at what felt like a breakneck pace through the darkened streets.
Marguerite knew they would arrive soon at the Dovercourt town house, and all she wanted to do was flee to her room, undress, and jump into bed.
It had been kind of Donovan to say there would be other balls, but Marguerite had already vowed to herself that she would not attend another one.
She would suffer no further humiliation from Sir Russell or anyone else’s insults for that matter…and she never wanted to see Walker Burke again.
She’d had no idea why Jared might have said so heatedly to Lindsay that Walker wasn’t the man for her…until his attention had turned so abruptly from her to Lady Belinda as if he hadn’t just held Marguerite in his arms.
As if he hadn’t looked at her when they were dancing as though she were the only woman in the room.
The man was clearly a rogue! Perfidious and inconstant as the day was long!
She wasn’t one to swear, but Walker could have his damned ducal title and ladies swooning at his feet.
From this wretched night onward, he was no more the man of her dreams than the…the bloody man in the moon!
***
“You’d never know there’s been so much commotion in the house from how sweetly he’s sleeping,” Lindsay murmured to Jared, who hugged her close as he gazed at their eighteen-month-old son.
Such a welling of emotion struck him that Jared didn’t speak, but so he always felt at these quiet moments with his beloved wife in his arms and Justin fast asleep in his crib.
After they had donned their nightclothes, it was their evening ritual to visit the nursery for a last glance at their little son before retiring to their bedchamber. The nanny had stepped outside the room to give them some privacy, the only sounds the gentle rhythm of Justin’s breathing and the soft chiming of the clock upon the mantel.
Half past eleven. Donovan and Corie and their family had already packed up and left for Cornwall, their visit cut short by the tragedy still unfolding in Porthleven. Lindsay and Corie had clung tearfully to each other at their goodbyes, which had made Jared all the more certain that he’d made the right decision in returning to England.
Lindsay needed her friends, her family. She had not uttered a word of complaint during their three years in Boston, but Jared would never forget the joy in her beautiful blue eyes at the news from Donovan of a royal pardon.
They could go home again…even though for the longest time, England had represented nothing to Jared but pain, treachery, and a burning quest for revenge.
Yet that tortured past lay behind him now. Thanks to Donovan’s help—spurred on, Jared knew, by Corie’s impassioned urging—he had regained his title, Dovercourt Manor, and Lindsay once more being closer to her best friend. Her happiness meant everything to him. He drew her closer to press his cheek against her silky blond hair.
“We’ll have them back soon, I promise,” he whispered against her ear, not surprised when she gave a small sigh. He sensed from how quiet she’d grown that she missed Corie terribly, but at least Marguerite had remained to keep her company.
That thought made him sigh, too, but from aggravation. The image of Walker holding Marguerite so close against him at Almack’s earlier that evening still fresh in his mind, Jared wasn’t surprised, either, to find Lindsay studying him in the flickering candlelight.
He could read the way her eyes searched his face as clearly as if she’d spoken to him, and he knew that she, too, thought of
Walker. The peace of the moment fled, Jared took her hand and together they walked quietly from the room so as not to wake Justin. At once the nanny went back inside to take their place, while Jared led Lindsay past the room where Marguerite slept to their master suite at the end of the hall.
Lindsay clutched his hand so tightly now, he knew she was holding her tongue only until they’d entered their room and closed the door behind them. The click of the latch had barely sounded when she heaved a sigh of pure exasperation and spun to face him.
“Oh, Jared, Walker is your best friend! You’ve saved his life and he’s saved your life time and again—and yet you would deny him—and Marguerite!—a chance for happiness?”
Jared didn’t answer, his jaw grown tight. Instead, he moved past Lindsay and shrugged off his robe. He’d known this discussion would come, he’d told Lindsay as much at Almack’s, but the matter was disagreeable to him all the same.
Walker Burke was his closest friend—but blast it all, the man was incorrigible when it came to women. Not callous or cruel, mind you, tavern wenches to bored merchants’ wives all adored him, and therein lay the problem!
“Come to bed, wife.” Jared heard Lindsay’s indignant intake of breath as he stripped off his breeches and moved to the huge four-poster that seemed to dwarf the room. “Perhaps stoke the fire on your way—”
“Come to bed? Stoke the fire? Is that all you have to say to me, Jared Giles?”
Naked now, he turned around to face her, his intent to distract her from the unpleasant topic blessedly working. Her widened eyes dropped from his face to his erection, her cheeks flaring pink.
“Y-you’re trying to change the subject.”
“I am indeed. How about I stoke the fire while you undress and climb under the covers.” His voice grown husky at the thought of the lushness of his wife’s body beneath her silk dressing gown, Jared took a few steps toward her. “If you’d like, I’d be happy to assist you…”
My Forbidden Duchess Page 4