Including her reluctant rescuer?
Yes, that did indeed include the Duke, Pandora acknowledged as she now seemed unable to stop her trembling. There had been something in Rupert Stirling’s eyes when he had looked upon her in the candlelight just now, an expression of purely male assessment on his austere and aristocratic features, as he had seemed to take in everything about her in a single glacial glance. Followed by his swift exit from the library just now, as indication, no doubt, that having looked his fill, he was now in a hurry to be rid of her.
No doubt the Duke would have already made his planned excuses to leave if this obviously unwanted sense of responsibility towards Pandora had not delayed him.
Her legs began to shake in earnest as the full horror of what had almost transpired earlier once again washed over her. Indeed, if Rupert Stirling had not interceded, then she was certain that Lord Sugdon would have succeeded in his obvious intention of ravishing her. With or without her permission. And, in the case of Lord Sugdon, it would most certainly have been without!
Oh, she was well aware of what society thought and said about her, of the belief that she had cuckolded her husband with Sir Thomas Stanley, which had resulted in a pistols-at-dawn duel, which minutes later had left both gentlemen lying dead upon the ground.
All, and every part of it, a lie.
But it was a lie which the ton had wanted to believe a year ago, when Pandora had attempted to claim her innocence of any wrongdoing in her marriage. Unfortunately, tonight’s events proved they did not believe in her lack of guilt now, either.
From the conversation she had overheard earlier between Rupert and Dante, it was obvious that they had also heard, and believed, the rumours that had been rife a year ago.
Before her marriage to Barnaby four years ago, Pandora had been the naïve and trusting Miss Pandora Simpson, the only child of the impoverished landowner and Greek scholar from Worcestershire, Sir Walter Simpson, and his wife, Lady Sarah.
With Pandora’s first successful Season behind her, during which she had received several offers of marriage from gentlemen she liked but whom her father considered unsuitable, she had later come to realise that none of those gentlemen had been wealthy enough for her father to tap for the funds necessary to alleviate the family’s impoverished state due to Sir Walter’s complete incompetence as a landowner; her father had always preferred his books to the running of his estate.
Then had come the offer during her second Season, from the young, handsome and extremely wealthy Barnaby Maybury, Duke of Wyndwood, an offer which Sir Walter had grasped greedily with both hands.
Perhaps Pandora was being a little unfair in laying the blame for her marriage upon her father, when he was no longer alive to defend himself, Sir Walter having succumbed to the influenza three winters ago, her mother following him only weeks later. After all, Pandora had been equally as flattered by the attentions of such a handsome and wealthy gentleman as Barnaby Maybury and excited at the prospect of becoming his Duchess.
Neither had there been any indication, during those heady days of her short betrothal to the Duke of Wyndwood, when he had been both charming and attentive towards her, of the nightmare her life would become once the two of them became husband and wife.
A nightmare which had refused to end following the scandal which had dogged her every footstep since her husband’s death in a duel supposedly over her honour and culminating in the final and humiliating indignity of Lord Sugdon’s attack on her earlier this evening.
Final—because this evening had shown Pandora that it would be better for everyone—but most especially herself—if she were to seriously consider withdrawing completely from society.
The majority of Barnaby’s wealth had been left to a distant cousin, his male heir, upon his death, but her marriage contract had ensured that Pandora was left with some funds of her own, along with a property in London which was not entailed in the Duke’s estate. Not in a particularly fashionable part of London, admittedly, but certainly a house she had been able to occupy in quiet seclusion during her year of mourning. But with the money she already had, added to what she might expect to receive from the sale of that house in London, she would surely be able to buy a suitable property and retire to the country, where hopefully she might be allowed to live out the rest of her days in peace and solitude?
She knew that Sophia and Genevieve would both decry such a course of action on her part. Both women had been kindness itself since declaring, when they’d first befriended Pandora, the one with kindness, the other with vehemence, that what wife had not, on occasion, wished to cuckold her husband and possibly even dispatch him?
Close as Sophia and Genevieve now were to her, Pandora could not reveal even to them that she was not guilty of doing either of those things. There were reasons, and others even more innocent than she who could be seriously wounded by the truth.
But after the unpleasant events of this evening, much as Pandora valued the other ladies’ friendship, she now felt sure that the only future left to her if she stayed in London was to become prey to opportunists such as Lord Sugdon. A fate that was wholly unacceptable to her.
‘You may safely unlock the door now, Pandora.’ A brisk knock accompanied the Duke of Stratton’s terse instruction.
Rupert knew at a glance, as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, that Pandora was a little more composed now than she had been earlier. She was very pale still, of course, that pallor giving a haunted depth to the deep violet of her eyes, but the expression on the delicate beauty of her face was one of resigned dignity rather than the emotional upset she had been verging on before he left the library just minutes ago.
Hers was a beauty of such delicacy—ivory skin, high and intelligent forehead, those incredible violet-coloured eyes, a short straight nose above the perfect bow of her full and sensuous lips, with a slightly stubborn tilt to her small and pointed chin—that Rupert found he was not in the least surprised that two gentlemen, her husband and her lover, had challenged each other to a duel in order to claim sole rights to that beauty.
His mouth thinned. ‘Our hostess has been informed of your departure and the carriage is now waiting outside to take you to your home. I have brought this for you to wear.’ He held up the black cloak he had requested from the Duchess of Clayborne’s butler. ‘It has the advantage of returning my jacket to its rightful place, as well as covering your own … damaged gown.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky and she kept her lashes lowered over those violet-coloured eyes as they exchanged Rupert’s jacket for one of the Duchess of Clayborne’s own evening cloaks.
Rupert pulled on his own jacket and straightened the cuffs before looking down at her with disapproving eyes. ‘What on earth possessed you to walk outside with a man like Sugdon in the first place?’
Thick lashes surrounded those violet-coloured eyes as they widened indignantly at the accusation in his tone. ‘I did not go outside with Lord Sugdon! I had been standing outside on the terrace alone for some time when he found me—’ She broke off her protest abruptly, the colour deepening in her cheeks, as she obviously realised she had just revealed her presence on the terrace directly outside the library whilst Rupert and Dante conversed privately.
How much of their conversation had she overheard? Rupert wondered ruefully. Certainly the latter comments concerning herself, if the deepening of that blush in her cheeks was any indication!
‘Indeed?’ His nostrils flared. ‘And did you overhear anything of interest whilst standing there?’
She drew herself up to her full height of a little over five feet. ‘Not in the least, your Grace.’
He quirked a mocking brow. ‘No?’
‘No.’ Pandora had no intention of admitting to overhearing this man’s conversation regarding his stepmother. The remarks about herself, on Dante Carfax’s part at least, had not been too insulting, and the Duke’s less-than-flattering opinion of her had, as with so many of the ton,
been formed on hearsay rather than personal knowledge of her.
Or, at least that had been the case before Rupert Stirling had been forced to rescue her from the unwanted attentions of Lord Sugdon!
She sighed heavily. ‘I think it best if I leave now, your Grace.’
‘I think so, too,’ he agreed. ‘The Duchess’s butler has arranged for the carriage to be brought to the back of the house rather than the front so that we might leave through the servants’ hallways and kitchen rather than run the risk of running into any of the Duchess’s other guests, and so cause them to question your current … appearance,’ he added drily as Pandora gave him a startled glance.
‘“We”, your Grace?’ she repeated slowly.
Ah, her surprise was not, as Rupert had believed, caused by their means of leaving the house, but more by the fact that he so obviously intended departing with her. ‘We,’ he confirmed authoritatively as he took a light grasp of her elbow before opening the door and indicating she should precede him out of the room.
Something Pandora made no effort to do as she instead looked up at him with obvious uncertainty. ‘I have long been acquainted with what society has to say of me, your Grace, but I feel I should warn you—’
‘And I am only too well aware of what that same society has to say about me, madam.’
He scowled down the length of his arrogant nose at her. ‘But you may rest assured that I am in no mood this evening to confirm any of the … less-than-complimentary remarks you may have heard in regard to my conduct towards the ladies.’
Pandora was pleased to hear it, having briefly wondered if she might not have succeeded in being rescued from one unacceptable situation only to now find herself in an even worse one!
Although she seriously doubted that most women would find the interest of a man as aristocratically handsome and challenging as the eighth Duke of Stratton in the least unacceptable!
Indeed, once upon a time, before her unhappy marriage, she would have been delighted—nay—ecstatic, to have attracted the attentions of such a handsome and eligible gentleman as he. No longer. Pandora’s only wish now was to draw as little attention to herself as possible.
‘Then let us both depart, your Grace,’ she accepted reluctantly as she reached up to pull up the hood of the cloak so that it covered part of her face and all of her hair.
A disguise that proved absolutely useless in helping her to pass unnoticed through the servants’ hallways and kitchen!
How could it be any other way, when a gentleman as recognisable as Rupert Stirling strode arrogantly along at her side? Sophia Rowlands’s household staff were obviously all agog at seeing a handsome Duke marching through their midst, their gazes speculative as they moved to the cloaked woman at his side.
‘Not quite the unobserved departure we might both have wished for,’ he acknowledged ruefully as they emerged outside into the dark lane at the back of the crowded and candlelit mansion house.
‘No.’ Pandora frowned as she saw there was only one carriage awaiting them there. A fashionable black carriage, which bore the Stratton coat of arms upon the door the groom now hurried forwards to open. ‘My own carriage does not appear to have arrived as yet, your Grace—’
‘Nor will it,’ the Duke assured her briskly, maintaining that firm hold upon her elbow as he strode towards his own carriage. ‘Whatever society may say about me, your Grace, my nanny and tutors ensured that I grew up knowing my manners perfectly, even if I do not always choose to put them into practice.’ He raised an expectant brow as he waited for her to precede him into the interior of the ducal carriage. ‘One of those precepts being that a gentleman does not abandon a lady in distress,’ he added softly.
The only distress Pandora suffered at this moment was the thought of being seen driving through the streets in the Duke of Stratton’s carriage and then arriving back at her home in that so-called gentleman’s carriage rather than her own!
Chapter Three
She drew in a shaky breath. ‘I believe I would rather this was an occasion upon which you chose to ignore the teachings of your nanny and tutors, your Grace.’
There was a stilled and expectant silence for several seconds and then the Duke gave a loud bark of spontaneous laughter. ‘My friend Carfax omitted to mention that you are an Original, Pandora Maybury,’ he finally murmured appreciatively.
‘Possibly because I am not.’ She became flustered as she recognised the speculation in the cool and assessing grey gaze now levelled at her.
‘I beg to differ,’ the Duke drawled.
‘That is your prerogative, of course.’ She nodded coolly. ‘But I really would prefer to return to my home as I arrived, alone and in my own carriage.’
‘Why?’
Her agitation increased. ‘I— Well, because—’
‘Can it possibly be that you are nervous at thoughts of travelling alone in the ducal carriage with me?’
‘Of course I’m not!’ Pandora glared up at him in the darkness.
‘Good.’ His mouth firmed with satisfaction as he all but lifted her inside the lantern-lit carriage and placed her on one of the plushly upholstered seats. He swiftly followed her inside to sit directly opposite her and nodded tersely to the groom to close the door, the movement of the carriage only seconds later evidence that they were now on their way.
On the way to where, Pandora was unsure, when the Duke had made no enquiry as to where in London her house was situated.
Rupert studied her between narrowed lids, able to take in her full appearance in the warm glow given off by the lantern inside the carriage. Her hair and lashes were of pure and deep gold, a perfect foil for those deep violet-coloured eyes, her skin the colour of ivory, her lips—full and pouting lips that hinted at the sensuous nature which had perhaps caused two gentlemen to fight a duel over her—the colour of ripe raspberries. The same colour as the nipples he had glimpsed through her chemise earlier, tipping those surprisingly plump breasts …
If released from their pins, would her golden curls be long enough to fall over those beautiful, pert breasts, thereby allowing those ripe berries to peak through invitingly? More interestingly, once fully unclothed, would the curls between her thighs be that same enticing gold—
Dear Lord, was his life not complicated enough, without sitting here contemplating what the notorious Pandora Maybury looked like naked!
‘It really was unnecessary for you to manhandle me that way, your Grace,’ she now spoke primly into the silence. ‘I assure you I am both young and agile enough to climb into a carriage without your assistance.’
‘And yet you made no effort to do so,’ Rupert pointed out coolly, not at all pleased at the direction in which his thoughts had so recently been straying.
‘Because, as I had already stated, I had every intention of seeking out my own carriage.’
‘And I have already explained why that arrangement did not suit me.’ Rupert’s patience with this situation—what little he possessed—was wearing thin as he glared coldly across the width of the carriage at his reluctant companion.
Her lashes lowered as a blush coloured the ivory of her cheeks. ‘I have told you how grateful I am for your help earlier this evening—’
‘One would never believe so from your manner towards me now!’
Pandora gave a pained frown as she looked across the carriage at him. Perhaps his criticism was merited; she had behaved less than graciously towards him this past few minutes, because, despite wishing it were otherwise, she was utterly disconcerted at finding herself alone with Rupert Stirling in his carriage.
Every wary—and utterly weary—bone in her body had stiffened just now as she saw the speculative way in which his gaze had roamed so familiarly over her face and body. And against the warning of the rational part of her brain, she was equally as aware of his disturbing presence as he sat opposite her.
The gold of his hair now fell rakishly across his brow and curled about his ears and nape, the glow from the la
ntern lending an austereness to his high cheekbones and firmly squared jaw, his lazy sprawl on the upholstered seat totally at odds with the sharpness of that intelligent grey gaze as he continued to look at her from between narrowed lids. He was, without doubt, one of the handsomest gentlemen Pandora had ever beheld—even more so than Barnaby, who had possessed boyish good looks as well as dark hair and blue eyes.
Unfortunately, the Duke of Stratton’s reputation also rendered him the most potentially dangerous gentleman Pandora ever beheld, too, which was the very reason she felt so totally out of her depth in his company. ‘It was precisely because I did not wish to inconvenience you any further this evening that I asked to return home in my own carriage.’
The nostrils flared on that aristocratically straight nose. ‘Do you suppose we could possibly talk of something else, Pandora?’
She blinked. ‘Of course, if you wish it.’
‘Indeed—’ he nodded tersely ‘—I find myself exceedingly bored with the repetition of our present conversation.’
As no doubt he now regretted driving her home at all, Pandora accepted heavily as the Duke turned away dismissively to look out of the carriage window at the other carriages travelling London’s moonlit streets.
Pandora had been much in society during the years of her marriage; indeed, Barnaby had considered it part of her wifely duties to accompany him to all the balls and parties given by the ton and so she had long ago learnt to engage in the polite and meaningless small talk that made up so much of the conversation at those entertainments, and to keep any of her original thoughts and ideas to herself.
Indeed, until Pandora had met and become friends with Sophia and Genevieve shortly after the start of the current Season, she had long assumed that there were no intelligent ladies or gentlemen left in society, let alone those who found that inanity as tedious as she did herself.
Some Like It Wicked (Mills & Boon Historical) (Daring Duchesses - Book 1) Page 3