Biddles narrowed his gaze. “Even if they lead to disaster?”
“A life without a few risks is a life not worth living.”
“Gads, if you are to sink to homilies, I shall leave you to your fate.” Biddles gave a violent shudder. “It is far too early in the day for such trite nonsense.”
Edward chuckled. “More likely you cannot bear to be away from your wife.”
A sly expression touched the narrow countenance. “You know, old chap, it is not too late for me to order that corset.”
“Egads.” Edward stepped back and pointed toward the door. “Go away and pester poor Anna.”
Biddles readily strolled toward the door, although he could not resist a last glance over his shoulder.
“Stay away from Lady Bianca, my friend. She is nothing but trouble.”
Edward smiled blandly.
He fully intended to stay away from Lady Bianca.
At least for the moment.
It simply would not do to call before the appropriate hour.
Despite her vow to remain abed throughout the day, Bianca discovered herself rising with the sun.
She had always been plagued with an excess of energy. A fault pointed out with tedious regularity by her mother, her governesses, her pianoforte instructor, and even her dearest friends.
The mere thought of devoting the day to lying upon the sheets in melancholy splendor was enough to make her break out in hives.
No, it was far better to keep occupied, she had told herself. To simmer and stew upon her troubles would only lead her to another disaster.
And after last eve she had a stomachful of disasters.
At least for the week.
Unfortunately, once she had enjoyed her breakfast and allowed her maid to attire her in a muslin gown in a pale shade of peach and had her raven curls tucked in a tidy knot, she discovered herself at a loss.
There were certainly any number of activities to tempt her interest.
A visit to her dressmaker, an al fresco breakfast at Lady Marrow’s, an Egyptian mummy being displayed at the museum, a charity meeting to assist wounded soldiers returning from the war, and any number of friends who would be delighted to have her call upon them.
Under normal circumstances, any one of the events would have captured her interest. This morning, however, she discovered herself tossing aside the gilt-edged invitations with a frustrated sigh.
Toying with the silver locket hung about her neck, she realized she desired something far more distracting. Something…
With exquisite timing, the door to her chamber burst open and the downstairs maid rushed in with a flutter of sensible wool-and-lace-fringed apron.
Rising to her feet, Bianca regarded the servant with a lift of her brows.
“What is it, Molly?”
“Oh heavens, Lady Bianca, you must come and see.”
“See what?”
“Ach, never did I see such beautiful flowers,” she breathed, her round cheeks flushed with excitement. “Roses and tulips and the sweetest daisies. Why, the entire house is nearly filled, and the door never silent for a moment as more arrive.”
Bianca’s brief spurt of interest swiftly dissipated. After four seasons, she had long ago grown accustomed to the bevy of flowers that arrived each morning. After all, they were far more a tribute to her wisdom in being born the daughter of a duke than to her own charms.
“Indeed.”
Undeterred by her lack of enthusiasm, the maid pressed her hands to her ample bosom.
“And not just flowers. I seen a half a dozen boxes of them marzipan you so love and the dearest ivory fan with ribbons. Why, there was even a beautiful locket with a miniature of Lord Cassel.”
A tiny chill inched down Bianca’s spine.
Fans? Lockets?
Even she had to admit it sounded more than a tad excessive.
And there could be only one reason for the sudden bounty of admiration.
“It seems that Father has lost no time,” she muttered beneath her breath, realizing that the Duke had used her absence from the ball last eve to his own advantage.
Oh, it would all have been exquisitely discrete. A word dropped here, a knowing smile there. Nothing would have been said outright, but by now all of society would know that the Duke of Lockharte had turned away the encroacher Lord Aldron and once again Bianca was firmly upon the Marriage Mart.
Blast the devil.
“Beg pardon?” Molly questioned with a frown.
“Nothing of importance, Molly.” Grimly keeping her temper in check, she managed a tight smile. “That will be all for now.”
“Oh, but…” A sudden flush stained the round countenance.
“Yes?”
“Surely you’ll be wanting me to join you in the drawing room? Your callers have already begun arriving, and it wouldn’t do to keep them waiting too long.”
“They can wait until doomsday as far as I am concerned. I intend to spend the afternoon reading.”
“But you cannot,” the maid unexpectedly burst out, only to bite her lip at Bianca’s startled frown. “What I mean to say is that the gentlemen are all atwitter to visit with you. They would be sorely disappointed if they were not so much as to catch a glimpse of you.”
That warning shiver once again made a brief appearance.
Molly would never be so persistent without cause. A large, interfering, ducal cause.
Blast her father.
“You may inform His Grace that I have no intention of coming down to be fawned over by a pack of social-hungry jackals,” she stated in grim tones.
The maid’s eyes widened in sudden horror. “You are not coming?”
Realizing that Molly was genuinely frightened of confronting the Duke and confessing she had been unable to lure his mulish daughter down to the waiting herd, Bianca reached out to lightly touch her arm.
“Perhaps it would be best if you assisted Mrs. Felton in the kitchen today,” she murmured.
“Yes…oh yes, thank you,” Molly breathed in relief.
“You may go now.”
With a hasty dip, the servant scurried from the room and Bianca angrily paced toward the window overlooking the garden.
Did her father possess no scruples whatsoever?
Did he not realize that her heart was still aching?
She did not wish to be in the company of another gentleman, let alone choose one for a husband.
Not any gentleman.
Against her will the memory of a dark, fiercely handsome countenance rose to mind. Along with the startling realization that it had not been Stephen in her thoughts when Lord Harrington had held her in his arms and kissed her.
Her heart gave an odd leap before she was ruthlessly thrusting aside the dangerous thought.
No. Not now.
At the moment, she had to concentrate on some means of evading the horde of husband hopefuls that filled the drawing room.
And teaching her father she would not be so easily manipulated.
Squaring her shoulders, Bianca moved to place a pretty chip bonnet on her curls and wrapped a light shawl about her shoulders.
Let her father entertain the callers.
They were only here to please him anyway.
Leaving her chambers, she took the precaution of using the servants’ staircase to slip out of the house and into the garden. For all her bravado, she was in no mood for yet another argument with her father.
Not one she was bound to lose.
Thankfully, the townhouse was vast enough to allow her to slip through without note, and once in the gardens she headed directly to the mews. She would collect her carriage and groom and call upon her cousin Alexander. The sardonic dandy would be just the person to take her mind off her current troubles.
Sensing that her father would soon come in search of her, Bianca left the graveled pathway and angled through the rose garden that would take her directly to the back gate.
A fine notion until her hurried fl
ight was brought to an abrupt halt as her fluttering skirts tangled on a large rosebush.
“Oh…blinking, blooming, bloody hell,” she muttered as she turned to glare at the offended bush. “Damn you to the netherworld.”
Her words rang through the silent garden, and without warning there was a soft chuckle from the gate.
Bianca froze in wary suspicion. “Who is there? Reveal yourself.”
A beat passed before a solid, now-familiar form stepped through the gate. Lord Harrington. Even larger than she remembered and startlingly handsome in the slanting sunlight.
Her breath caught. He was so…gads, what was the word? Earthy? Male? Virile?
His presence filled the air with a powerful force that was nearly tangible. A force that seemed to wrap around her with a tingling excitement she felt all the way to her toes.
More than a tad alarmed by the unfamiliar sensations, Bianca forced herself not to fidget beneath the amused hazel gaze.
Daughters of dukes did not fidget.
Not even when confronted by the near stranger who had kissed her witless the night before.
“Whatever are you doing hiding in the mews?” she demanded.
A startling pair of dimples danced about his lips.
“Actually, I was just admiring your rather…colorful vocabulary,” he murmured in deep, rich tones. “I had no notion that governesses were teaching such language in the schoolroom these days.”
Against her will, her lips twitched. Most gentlemen would have pretended that they had not heard her less-than-ladylike curses.
Or else chastised her.
Few if any would have found it a source of amusement.
“If you must know, my governesses were always quite prim and proper. It was my groom who taught me the more interesting words of the English language,” she corrected in pert tones.
“Ah.” He stepped close enough for Bianca to catch a faint whiff of warm male skin. Delicious. “I should have guessed as much. There is a certain cadence to a groom’s turn of phrase that I particularly enjoy. However, if you desire a truly spectacular vocabulary, then you must spend time with a sailor. They can curse in nearly a dozen different languages and possess several hand gestures that add a distinctive charm.”
“I shall keep that in mind.” Her lips twitched again. “However, I must point out that I am unlikely to have the occasion to be in the company of a sailor. Certainly not one willing to school me in curses.”
“Ah well, if that is your desire, I stand ready to introduce you to any number of sailors. I am always happy to be of service to a beautiful maiden.”
“A charming invitation, but one I fear I must decline.”
His soft chuckle sent an astonishing shiver down her spine.
“As you wish.”
Bianca was momentarily bewitched by his engaging grin before she gave a shake of her head. Oh, for heaven’s sake. How the blazes did this gentleman manage to lull her into such a sense of ease?
She should be discovering why he was creeping about her mews like a common thief, not treating him as an old and treasured friend.
Conjuring as much dignity as possible considering she was currently attached to a rosebush, she regarded him with a suspicious expression.
“You still not have told me what you are doing here.”
He shrugged. “In truth I was on the point of collecting my carriage when I heard your…intriguing mutterings.” His lips twisted. “It seems your butler has taken an exception to my presence and refused to accept my calling card.”
Bianca blinked in confusion. “Harrison?”
“Thin, beak-nosed chap with a face that could sour milk?”
There was no mistaking the description of the ancient butler. Still, it did not make the least amount of sense.
“That is absurd. Why would he turn you away?”
“Well, I have it on excellent authority that it cannot be the cut of my coat or the gloss of my boots.” He gave a shrug. “So I can only assume that he was either convinced I might nip the silver or was told by your father I was unwelcome within the ducal townhouse.”
A sharp, painful wave of embarrassment flared through her at his unruffled manner. He had every right to be furious at being treated in such a boorish fashion. For God’s sake, he was a peer of the realm. An earl with impeccable lineage despite his more humble beginnings.
More importantly, he possessed an air of solid decency that was all too rare among noblemen.
Certainly none of the rakes, rogues, scoundrels, and decrepit roués currently littering her drawing room could make such a claim.
“I am beginning to suspect that he has become completely doddy,” she muttered.
“Your butler?”
“No, my father.”
His glance was quizzical. “Why? Because he does not wish you to associate with the Peasant Earl? He is not alone.”
The very fact that he seemed so indifferent to the insult delivered to him only made Bianca feel worse.
“He has never cared for such things before.”
“Then perhaps Biddles is wrong and it is my coat,” he retorted with a small smile, abruptly lowering himself to begin untangling her skirt from the devilish thorns that held it captive. “It could be your father possesses an aversion to Weston.”
Watching as he gently worked the delicate fabric loose, Bianca found her gaze lingering on the strong hands that had been bronzed by the sun.
Her heart skipped a beat. Those hands had been warm and powerful as they had held her in the darkness. Strong in a manner not found among noblemen. Even now she could swear she could feel the lingering pleasure of his touch.
She resisted the urge to fan her hot cheeks and hurriedly sought to distract herself.
“Does it bother you?”
“The foolishness of society?”
“Being called by that ridiculous title.”
His head lifted, the sun shimmering in the thick strands of his chestnut hair.
“Why should it? Some of my closest and most trusted friends are peasants.”
“Yes, but…”
“But I should never confess to such shameless connections?” His jaw hardened to a determined jut. “I fear I am too old and too set in my ways to begin pretending superior ways, even if I desired to.”
“It would make your entrance to society considerably easier,” she pointed out softly.
“Perhaps. But while I am willing to endure London and the silliness of the fashionable world, I cannot change who I am.”
Bianca did not miss the tightening of his jaw, nor the edge in his voice. The Earl of Harrington clearly was not without his own share of pride.
“Or are too stubborn to change,” she murmured.
There was a moment before his features softened with that disarming sense of humor.
“Touché, muirnin.”
Her brows drew together. “What does that mean?”
“Muirnin?”
“Yes.”
He offered a faint shrug. “Just a term of endearment. My mother was from Ireland.” Having rescued her skirt from the thorns, the gentleman rose to his feet. “I have answered your questions as to my presence here. Now it is your turn.”
“My turn?”
He shot a deliberate glance toward the nearby townhouse. “I am well aware that there are near a dozen gentlemen awaiting your presence. Why are you attempting to slip away?”
Her features unwittingly hardened. Had he been anyone else, she would never have confessed the truth. In London one did not reveal sordid family secrets.
But there was simply something in that steady hazel gaze that lured her to unburden the frustration that seethed like a cauldron within her.
“What does it matter if I make an appearance or not?” she demanded. “My father is perfectly capable of discovering which of the fools possesses the largest fortune.”
His brows arched although he thankfully resisted the urge to point out she sounded like a petulan
t child.
“And you are content to allow him to choose your husband in such a manner?”
“Content?” Her heart gave a sharp twist at the memory of Stephen’s handsome countenance. “Of course not. Unfortunately, I seem to have no say in the matter.”
“You do know he cannot force you to wed?” he questioned softly.
She wrapped her arms about her waist. “Perhaps he cannot force me, but he well knows that I would never stand aside and allow my family or our tenants and staff to suffer. If I must wed a fortune, then that is what I will do.”
He absorbed her words with a silent nod, seeming to consider his words before he spoke. A habit she was beginning to expect from him.
“Duty to family.”
“Yes.”
“That I understand.” Without warning his hand reached up to brush a stray curl from her cheek. It was a casual gesture, but there was nothing casual about the sizzle of heat that arrowed toward the pit of her stomach. “I also understand that duty can be near unbearable. It seems to be something we have in common.”
Her eyes widened. “You consider your inheritance a duty?”
“Does that surprise you?”
“I would think that it would surprise anyone.”
His hand dropped from her cheek, and Bianca struggled not to reach up and ensure her skin had not been singed. Oh lordy, but the man was lethal.
“As hard as it might be to believe, I was quite content with my life as a gentleman farmer. I possessed a comfortable home with enough staff to suit my purposes, loyal friends, and the satisfaction of turning a neglected manor into a flourishing estate. Now I spend my days mincing about like a buffoon and never come closer to my lands than a handful of letters from my stewards.”
Bianca opened her mouth to protest. Being blessed with an unexpected title and vast fortune was hardly some gruesome duty. In fact, it had to be the secret fantasy of every commoner in England.
But before the thoughtless words tumbled from her lips, she abruptly bit them back.
Certainly his inheritance had been a windfall. But it had also thrust him into a society that had been far from welcoming and burdened him with responsibilities he had never been trained to carry.
Even worse, he obviously yearned for the quiet life that had been his before being thrust into his earldom.
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