by Suzi Love
While Max placated his future duchess, he’d have little time to meet at Brent Street and she’d be free from liaising with a man she didn’t yet trust.
“I’ve always believed,” he murmured close to her ear, while the maid relieved them of their cloaks, “that unpleasant tasks are better undertaken quickly rather than drawing out the agony.”
“Like pulling a tooth?”
“Exactly.”
She smiled at him while sauntering towards the drawing door where a patient butler waited. “I disagree. Some episodes, though considered unpleasant at first, are better enjoyed if time is taken. It’s a lesson I learned one night eight years ago. Do you remember?”
Lady Johnston peeked around the doorway and saved him from answering. “Your Grace,” Alice whispered, staring with wide blue eyes before dropping into a deep curtsy. “Is something amiss? My parents are waiting to welcome you, and the Countess of course.”
Alice’s feeble smile failed to touch her cheeks, or her eyes. The corners of her small mouth turned up just enough that a meagre glimpse of perfect teeth was allowed, and not one wrinkle lined her face. Carina repressed a desire to roll her eyes, because Alice’s mother had assuredly lectured since birth to her hapless offspring about the correct way to smile. Young ladies were taught that moderation in all things were of uttermost importance and that smiling freely might cause premature wrinkling on a lady’s forehead. Besides that, excess emotion was supposedly reserved for the lower classes who knew no better.
Max matched Alice’s polite reserve by blanking his own expression. “Lady Johnston─”
Displaying an overly-sweet smile, Carina said, “Max dearest, do not stand on ceremony on my account.” She tapped his rigid arm with her folded fan. “I’m confident that you’re on more intimate terms with your entrancing young friend. Come, come, don’t be shy.” She rapped Max’s forearm again, before leaning towards Lady Johnston and saying in her loudest whisper, “In private, I’m sure you call each other adorable little names.”
Alice’s bowed mouth dropped open and showed that her front teeth were not perfectly even, or perfectly white. She couldn’t speak and her hands, gloved in white satin with lace and bows, fluttered between them as if touching her future husband was as unthinkable as calling him a pet name.
“Oh, no. One cannot address His Grace without his full title. He is, after all—” Alice’s pale blue eyes widened and she said with awe, “the Duke of Stirkton.”
Max looked out of his depth, an unusual state for him. Goading him might stop her worrying about dinner and the catastrophes that could occur during formal and drawn out dining. She’d attended few formal occasions, partly because of her fear of being recognized, but more because she’d been sickened by her husband fawning and toadying over people with titles. Local squires had called to gawk at the Earl’s much younger wife and to then spread malicious gossip about the couple.
Max turned back to his young bride-to-be. “Lady Johnston, I would be honored if you would address me with less formality as, in a short time, we will be married.”
Alice’s blush spread up her fair skinned neck up and reddened her scalp under her pale blonde hair. “My mother would never forgive me, were I to forget for even one minute who you are. Your titles are some of the oldest in England and your estates the largest.”
Carina watched with blatant amusement while Max’s scowls, shot in her direction during each of Alice’s downward glances, only increased her enjoyment. As they entered the foyer, she placed her hand on his tautly muscled forearm and surreptitiously walked her fingertips up and down. “I agree, Alice, that merely being in the Duke’s presence might cause a lady to swoon.”
Alice, poor chit, appeared ready to faint at Max’s feet and land on his black evening shoes. A predator like Max was going to eat this timid girl for breakfast in the first month of their marriage. Forced to extricate himself from Carina’s clutch to support his betrothed’s withering form, Max glared at Carina and, for an instant, guilt rose up like bile. His anger was justifiable because this blameless girl didn’t deserve shabby treatment from her guest.
“Lady Johnston,” Max said in the sweetest voice she’d ever heard him use. His face showed genuine compassion so perhaps he did comprehend the terror Alice felt in his presence, especially if she’d been taught by her mother that catching a duke was the dream of every debutante, and that she must obey him without argument because of his social standing.
“My dear, do not overset yourself. Lady Dorchester is teasing. If you and your family feel more comfortable addressing me by my title until after we marry, I shall accede to your wishes.”
Lady Johnston bobbed yet another curtsy, but was in such a rush to escape Max’s presence that she almost tripped over her skirts. Max muttered something under his breath, and Carina took pity on Alice and led her away.
“Shall we follow my sisters, Alice?” Hopefully, her emphasis on the name would shoot another arrow into Max’s thick hide. “There’s no need to stand on ceremony with any of us, and I’d be honored if you would call me Carina, as my sisters do.”
Alice nodded. “Certainly. It’s only the Duke of Stirkton that I cannot address casually.”
In an overloud whisper, Carina said, “In public you can continue to use his title.” She giggled. “But in private, I’m sure Max would enjoy you being more playful.”
Alice glanced over her shoulder at Max who was straining to hear their conversation. His brooding expression would intimidate the most daring schoolroom miss, yet his resemblance to the devil incarnate exhilarated rather than intimidated Carina.
She’d witnessed first-hand the evil that men could commit and for a time had viewed death as the only way to extricate herself from the devil’s clutches, but her accursed strong mindedness had prevailed and she learned to confront life rather than death.
If she’d died, their stepbrother would have shown no mercy towards her sisters so, for their sake, she’d fight long and hard. Anything to keep Georgie and Lucy out of their stepbrother’s clutches.
“Max,” Carina said, “please reassure Lady Johnston that you’re not about to pounce and gobble her up.”
Alice gasped in pure terror. Her reaction to Max seemed extreme, yet Alice had been sheltered by her parents, and Carina had been tossed to the wolves at an early age. Carina had more reason to fear Max’s wrath and to expect some retaliation to her blackmail threats, yet Max appeared more frozen than frightening and more tormented than wicked.
Max smiled at Alice. “I hope we become friends during our marriage and then you will become more comfortable using my Christian name.” He glared at Carina. “And disappointing your parent is unthinkable. Rules serve a purpose and without them there would be anarchy in the world.”
Carina clapped. “Bravo, Max. An astute yet subtle way of reminding us of our faults, and of our obligations to proper society.”
Neither Alice nor Max spoke until Lord Johnston stepped forward to greet them with his hand outstretched. “Your Grace, we are delighted to have you dine with us. My daughter has been so looking forward to it, have you not, Alice?”
“Yes, Papa. Mama and I spent the day deciding the menu and selecting gowns.”
Alice drew breath and her developing breasts rose up and ballooned over her décolletage. Max went goggle-eyed for a second and Carina smothered a gurgle behind her gloved hand. Alice rushed on with an obviously well-rehearsed question which she directed towards the man peering down at her face. Or rather, from that height, he was most likely able to see down her dress all the way to her toes. “Do you not think,” she said as she twirled a little to show off her flowing satin skirt, “that this is the most exquisite blue you’ve ever seen?”
Carina rolled her eyes until Max glared at her over Alice’s shoulder. “A beautiful color and it matches your eyes perfectly.”
Alice looked down at her gown and frowned. “But my eyes are pale blue, not dark like the gown, nor medium blue like the lace.�
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Carina chuckled. “You silly man,” she said with a shake of her head. “Alice will imagine you pay no heed to her coloring or to her beauty. Her eyes are the palest shade of blue imaginable.”
Max blushed, or as close to that human condition as his disposition allowed. “A careless mistake. Your eyes are pale blue and your hair is …”
“Golden like sunshine?” Carina beamed at their stunned faces. “Max might conceal his poetic bent but he gives women the most breathtaking compliments.” Max and his poetic bent looked ready to throttle her in the drawing room of his future father-in-law’s house, because she couldn’t picture him spending enough time with any mistress to offer her flowery compliments. “And Max extolls your virtues endlessly, Alice.”
“He has?” Alice looked stunned.
“He’s delighted that he can hold long discussions with you about his estates, and he eagerly anticipates the day you will seize the reins and organize his households.” She put a hand to her brow. “Is it four or five, Max, which Alice will be responsible for?”
“Seven.”
“Oh dear, oh dear.” Alice sank into a chair and fanned her face. “Mama!” She grasped her mother’s wrist and tugged her closer. “However will I manage?”
Lady Johnston perched beside her daughter and stroked her hand. “You’ll be the Duchess of Stirkton, so of course you’ll manage. Dukes and duchesses are the highest ranks, if you discount the Prince.”
“Because,” Carina muttered, “one always discounts royalty when the Duke of Stirkton is present.” The three Johnstons had identical blank expressions, but Max looked unamused.
Lady Johnston tried to placate her pale daughter. “I shall remain with you, darling, because His Grace knows understands that you’re too young to cope without your mother’s guidance. We shall all reside with you for part of the year.”
Max growled with disbelief, horror, or both. Thankfully, the butler announced dinner and the gentlemen escorted the ladies to the table. Carina was partnered by Alice’s brother, her sisters were allocated escorts, and Max escorted his betrothed, though not before scowling at Carina. The message in his eyes warned of retribution, but nothing he did compared to the danger her sisters were in if she they didn’t meet, and marry eligible gentlemen.
Carina turned her charms on the young man beside her. “Lord Johnston─”
“Please, Lady Dorchester, call me Brendon.”
She knew the old biddies wouldn’t approve of such informality, but the Colonel had taught her that in for a penny, in for a pound. “Certainly, Brendon.”
She flashed him an enchanting smile and clutched his arm. Ahead of them in the procession, Max forgot to shorten his strides to accommodate the constraints of Alice’s blue satin skirt, and she stumbled and would have fallen if Max hadn’t put both hands on her waist and pulled her upright.
Carina held her breath. Brendon shrugged.
“My sister and the Duke are an unlikely match, don’t you think?” Brendon guessed why Carina kept her mouth firmly closed. “We both realize that my downtrodden sister is out of her depth with the infamous Duke of Stirkton.”
Although his honesty surprised Carina, she held her tongue.
“My sister is beautiful and charming when you know her as I do, but my mother smothers her good qualities. From the time Alice toddled, she was told her only purpose in life was to snare a lofty title. The man behind that title was unimportant.”
“But without a husband and a title, a woman is less than dirt under men’s feet and can be passed from pillar to post with no care for her wellbeing.”
Brendon studied Carina with his intense blue gaze and more intelligence than he’d displayed before his parents. “Ah, this happened to you. Your eyes show your pain quite clearly.”
Waiting in line for a footman to seat her, Carina considered her companion. For a young titled gentleman, Brendon seemed level-headed and deserving of a sensible answer.
She dipped her head in agreement. “I cannot stand by while others suffer the same fate.” She glanced at her two sisters who were paying rapt attention to their partners’ conversations.
Brendon followed her gaze. “You’re worried that your sisters will also be shuffled form pillar to post.”
She assessed Brendon from his stylish haircut to his well-shod feet, the way an unmarried lady evaluated a bachelor’s worth.
He threw back his head and laughed, the enjoyable sound of a man easily pleased. “Are you deciding if I’m a delicious pudding and you want to eat me, or a prospective groom and you want to marry me?” She smiled and shook her head. “Ah! Perhaps for one of your sisters?”
Carina matched his laughter, enjoying being with a man who expressed his emotions so freely. “I apologize. Was I that obvious?”
“I feel like a side of beef hung at the market.”
She chuckled. “Worrying about my sisters is making me crazy.”
“I forgive you.” Brendon glanced to where his own sister was being seated at the head of the table next to the Duke. “I also worry for my sister. She’s too immature to cope with Stirkton. My parents were foolish to push for this marriage before Alice enjoyed her first season, or gained some experience dealing with men.”
Carina pitied Alice who was a sacrificial lamb being offered up to a god. Surviving marriage to a man as potent as Max would take a lady of indomitable strength, or he’d dominate her and squeeze the life out of her as easily as he’d squash a cockroach under one highly-polished boot.
As the Countess of Dorchester, Carina was seated down the table from Max, the highest titled gentleman. She sighed with relief that both her sisters were now seated and engaged in conversation with their dinner partners. For the first time in years, Georgie paid attention to the topics discussed around her and Lucille, with her friendly demeanor, was happily conversing with both ladies and gentlemen. Georgie’s recent withdrawal had become so severe that Carina and Gertie had feared for her sanity.
Carina studied Max’s severe profile and marveled anew at how unfair life was that he’d gained titles and wealth by accident of birth, yet had devoted himself to maintaining that inheritance and passing it on to future generations, in contrast to her step-brother whose only interest was his immediate situation and which gambling hells he could afford to visit. Apart from his titles, wealth, and aura of power, Max’s features were ruggedly masculine, which together made him breathtakingly handsome and infinitely desirable.
Was that enough to agree to become his mistress? Not if there was a way to avoid it. Being close to Max and giving herself to him was a dangerous temptation because, once again, it would mean surrendering her soul to a stranger.
Chapter Five
Dinner progressed without mishap and Carina’s fears about her sisters’ ability to cope dissipated, allowing her the first glimmer of hope she’d felt in many months. Georgie was displaying her best side and seemed her old self, sensible and capable, and not a quaking mess who was terrified of large men, especially their step-brother.
For her own part, Carina enjoyed not only Brendon’s company, but this brief respite from her own worries and a chance to talk and laugh instead of being on guard every moment. Lady Mitchell sat opposite them, and each time she regaled her audience with titbits of gossip her purple turban bobbed so violently that its spiraled feather dipped towards her food. Diners all along the table watched with open-mouthed fascination and counted down the seconds until the tip of the feather acquired an additional hue.
Cream lobster bisque was narrowly avoided, and thankfully she missed the salmon mousse because the color would have clashed dreadfully with the purple of her gown. The third course, served by an also-amused footman, was Crème d’Asparagus and an exact match for the grass-green ruffles bouncing gaily around the lady’s enormous bosom. Carina was able to hide her growing amusement behind her napkin, until the poor unassuming asparagus proved her undoing. Brendon whispered in her ear and her small bubble of mirth quickly escalated
into full-blown laughter, when their nonsense and amusement triggered laughter all along the table too.
Carina’s hand still covered her mouth when she lifted her head and encountered Max’s dark stare. On one side, his bride-to-be prattled to his profile, while on the other, her mother gushed and waved her hands but was also unable to capture her future son-in-law’s attention. Max’s facial expressions during the first courses had fluctuated between boredom and frustration, but he now appeared furious.
She understood his boredom and the frustration, considering his dinner companions. But his fury was directed down the table at her, though what she’d done to earn it was a mystery.
“My lady,” Brendon whispered, “for some obscure reason Stirkton is hurling metaphorical daggers in your direction. The two of you have been close friends for many years?”
“Quite correct.” She gave Brendon an agreeable smile and lied through her teeth. Nothing was going to upset her sisters tonight. “His Grace and I met several years ago, but I’ve no idea why he seems out of sorts.” Another blatant lie.
After that, dinner became uncomfortable. Each and every time Carina glanced down the table, Max’s attention was fixed on her and waves of fury emanated from his tense body. When the final course was consumed and the ladies left the men to enjoy port and cigars, Carina was the first to rise from the table and walk to the door.
“Where are you rushing to, Lady Dorchester?” Lady Dorothea Johnston placed a light hand on Carina’s arm and pointed down the hallway to where two footman waited. “Tea is being served in the drawing room and when the gentlemen join us, we shall have music.” Lady Johnston’s voice rose an octave, “Dearest Alice plays the pianoforte brilliantly. His Grace will be captivated when he hears her repertoire for the first time.”
Forced to follow Lady Johnston to the drawing room, Carina said, “I’m certain His Grace will be enthralled.” She envisioned a bored-to-tears Max falling asleep every night, while his young wife valiantly tried to snare his attention with her music. Max didn’t appear the type to content himself with unvaried evenings of mild entertainment. Attempting to cage a prowling beast like Max in a quiet drawing room each evening would be akin to trying to hold a tiger by the tail.