The Wild Duchess/The Willful Duchess (The Duchess Club Book 1)

by Renee Bernard

“I am not being cold or mean, Scarlett. I’m trying to simply…ensure that you have thought it all the way through. He is not ancient but in ten or twenty years when you are still vibrant and full of life, the difference between your ages will be—far more stark than it is today.”

  Scarlett took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Please. At every turn, there is someone to tell me how ridiculous it is that he would even consider me, or someone to accuse me of scheming for his title, or better yet, pretending to be thrilled at my good fortune while watching closely for my downfall. I need you to trust me. I need you to simply hope for my happiness and know that I would never advance myself at the expense of another person—not even a duke.”

  * * *

  “Of course you wouldn’t. I’m sorry I—I should not have doubted it for a moment.”

  They came across a stone bench next to a manmade stream and miniature waterfall. They sat in the sunshine absorbing the warmth of another bright spring day. Scarlett tipped her head back so that her bonnet revealed her face to the sky.

  “Don’t trouble yourself,” Scarlett said softly. “Doubts are like echoes. They are repeated back to me over and over but it is nothing I didn’t say to myself first.”

  “I’m a bit warm. I’ll go collect us each a glass of lemonade. Do you mind sitting by yourself for a few minutes?” Lady Winters asked as she stood.

  “Not at all. It is a luxury I seldom have the chance to enjoy.”

  Scarlett leaned back and closed her eyes, savoring the solitude and doing her best to think of anything but Chesterton and even less so about Stafford. The latter was particularly challenging. For all of Lady Winters questions, she had been asking about the wrong duke. Talon Rush was much harder to deny.

  Wicked thing. I must stop wishing that he had been the one in the conservatory at Aldridge’s, stop wishing he looked more like Mr. Feltzer so that I wouldn’t feel so giddy every time he pops up and stop trying to pick fights with him. If he gets any more skilled at apologizing, I think I’m lost.

  “Miss Blackwell?”

  No, it simply isn’t possible.

  She opened her eyes slowly. “How do you manage it?”

  “Manage what?” Talon asked.

  “To appear every time I think of you, or rather, every time I try not to think of you.”

  “Why are you trying not to think of me?”

  “Well,” she sat up primly before she continued her answer. “Since it is my understanding that dukes are showered with attention in their every waking moment, I am sure it is important if at least one person in the realm makes an effort not to think of you too much. It is my Christian duty to keep you humble.”

  “A sacred charge,” he said with a solemn nod. “I can respect that.”

  “How is it that you are here, Your Grace? Have you bribed my maid for a copy of my social calendar?”

  He smiled. “No. Only Chesterton’s valet for his appointment book.”

  “He is here?”

  “No. He sent a note to advise me that he wasn’t feeling well and had made his apologies to the hostess. So, naturally, I thought to step in and see if you would still be in attendance…”

  “You admit it? You are shadowing me, Your Grace?” Scarlett looked up at him in amazement. “If you were hoping for another argument about my ability to speak Latin, French, Italian and Russian, I would rather not.”

  “You really speak Russian?”

  “You don’t?”

  Talon laughed. “My God, may I sit down?”

  “Only if you promise it’s not to fight.”

  “No fights today.” He took a seat next to her a respectable distance at the opposite end of the bench. “You look lovely in green, Miss Blackwell.”

  She blushed as she realized that he had told her it was his favorite color. “Thank you.”

  “Are you enjoying the party? I was told that there will be a quartet playing soon to liven things up.”

  “It is a garden. Is it supposed to be lively?”

  He shook his head slowly. “No, but don’t tell Amersham. He’s been known to hire jugglers and clowns so this was a much more tasteful option and I was quite relieved to hear of it.”

  “I like jugglers,” she said pertly.

  “What a confession to make!” Talon looked at her in mock horror. “Wait until the gossips get wind of it!”

  “Oh, my secret is safe with you.”

  “Is it?”

  “Oh, yes,” Scarlett said with a mischievous smile. “For if you threaten to expose me, I shall have no choice but to share your penchant for romantic trifles with the world at large.”

  “I knew I shouldn’t have given myself away so quickly. Though I could still plausibly deny it.”

  “No. For you promised to always be honest with me and if you denied it, then that would mean you’d gone back on your word. Your honor would be forfeit, Your Grace.”

  “My goodness, I am once again outmatched—and without a fight!”

  Scarlett felt a surge of giddy pleasure at this new experience. The Duke of Stafford with his guard down, sitting with her and conversing more easily than they ever had. This version of him was irresistible and for the first time, that realization didn’t bring down a cascade of nerves and anxiety. She was happy in his presence—just happy. She wasn’t censoring her speech or concerned about offending him. It was ridiculous but she didn’t want it to end.

  Enemy or ally, I don’t care anymore. He is…intoxicating to be with.

  “So you’ll keep my secrets?”

  “I will. And not just because you’re blackmailing me, Miss Blackwell.”

  “I find that extremely reassuring, Your Grace.”

  “Have you ever been kissed, Miss Blackwell?”

  “What?” She stiffened as if a gun had gone off in their proximity.

  “I apologize. I misspoke. It was a wayward thought that escaped my mouth before I... Damn it! I meant to prove to you that I could behave without reproach without any effort and apparently when I am not making an effort in your presence, I don’t behave well at all.”

  Scarlett touched her lips with her fingertips, nervously trying not to laugh. “Such language!” At that, she began to giggle. “Oh, dear, I sounded like my mother just then when my father speaks without caution.”

  “You are laughing at me.”

  “With you. Near you. It is much kinder.”

  His gaze narrowed and he shifted to move just a few inches nearer on the bench. It was not a vast change but Scarlett could have sworn the sun’s rays intensified as a new heat uncurled down her spine.

  “Answer me then.”

  “No. I have never been kissed.”

  “You speak so directly, Miss Blackwell. May I speak plainly as well?”

  “Speak as plainly as you wish to me, Your Grace. I will not cry off.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am resolute.”

  “Then I will tell you that I can’t stop thinking about you. This all started so stupidly. Chesterton is my closest friend in the world and I was so sure that I was the best judge of what woman would be his match and so arrogantly confident that I could discern for him…that I could dissuade…I don’t even remember what I was doing.”

  Scarlett nodded. “You were very intimidating, Your Grace.”

  “Thank you.” He smiled. “You did intend that as a compliment, didn’t you?”

  “If it pleases you, yes. Though I will say I’m still very proud of myself for not kicking you in the shins.”

  “Miss Blackwell.”

  “Yes?”

  “This is the strangest exchange I have ever had with a woman.”

  “Your final verdict then?”

  “I think if I don’t kiss you very soon, I shall go mad.”

  “Oh!” Her breath caught in her throat. “I am not sure I can have you in Bedlam…my conscience wouldn’t allow it,” she whispered.

  Scarlett couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of her
own heart. In the novels, women were swept up in crushing embraces and she told herself not to flinch if he lunged for her—but Stafford made no such aggressive movement. Instead it was like a slow dance. He leaned in as if each inch that disappeared between them was a physical barrier to fade at her will alone. She had endless seconds to tell him no, to demur from his intentions, to turn away. But Scarlett didn’t stop him. Instead she listened to the rising chorus from inside her that clamored for his touch. She tipped her face up and when his lips met hers, it was the most tender and reverent contact she could have imagined. He only grazed her flesh at first, his lips like warm silk over hers and then she lost all sense of things. She was in his arms, and he was tasting her and she was eagerly mirroring his every move. It was thrilling and odd and fabulous to surrender to all of it. Molly had once called it ‘mashing’ but she didn’t feel bruised or overcome. She felt worshipped and on fire and—

  Footsteps on the gravel path warned of someone coming and he released her instantly, both of them breathing raggedly as if from a sprint.

  “Damn it,” he whispered.

  “Lady Winters…lemonade….” She managed and shifted back guiltily, looking up to see that it was not Lady Winters but Dr. Rowan West approaching them holding two glasses of iced lemonade.

  Talon was on his feet and Scarlett noted the way his jaw tightened in his misery.

  “Uncle Rowan,” Scarlett spoke first, praying that calm would prevail. “May I introduce you to the Duke of Stafford? This is Dr. Rowan West, Father’s best friend and my godfather.”

  “Your Grace.” Rowan came closer, his expression betraying nothing of his thoughts. “Lemonade?”

  “Lady Winters was…did she send you in her stead?” Scarlett asked as she took one of the glasses from his hand. “How kind of you, Uncle Rowan.”

  Rowan set the second glass down on the bench. “It was the least I could do. All these tall hedges and…lovely private paths. I was worried she’d lose her way back to find you and naturally, offered to do what I could.”

  It was an awkward silence like no other and Scarlett’s knees began to feel like rubber. Oh, God, if he saw us—if he tells Father—it’s scandal—it’s ruin…

  Rowan cleared his throat. “So, you are the Duke of Stafford.”

  “I am none other.” Talon straightened his waistcoat.

  “I confess I was disappointed when Starr shared her understanding of your opinions of the feminine mind. My own wife is as talented a healer as any licensed physician in my profession. I do hope you’ll reconsider.”

  “I already have and am somewhat reformed thanks to Miss Blackwell.”

  “Good. It did not seem in character that you would not be. After all, you have such a good reputation for charitable works and a concern for others, it didn’t seem to suit your character to disregard the rights of so many.”

  “Charitable works?” Scarlett asked.

  “The Duke of Stafford is one of the largest benefactors to the London hospital in the East End as well as his remarkable support of—”

  “Those are anonymous gifts and I would rather not have it known, Dr. West, of my efforts to assist those less fortunate than myself. The choice is not always politically appreciated amidst my peers, sir.”

  “I apologize. I will never mention it again.” Rowan took a deep breath. “Even so, I need to escort my goddaughter back to the party. The musicians are set to perform and her absence will be noted.”

  “Of course. I would never keep her from…her obligations.” Stafford looked to Scarlett, an unspoken apology in his eyes. “Good day to you, Miss Blackwell.”

  “Good day, Your Grace.” She bit her tongue to keep from saying anything else. Rowan West was too keen an observer to miss anything and if she crumbled now there would be no escape.

  She took the doctor’s offered arm and left, stealing only one quick look back at the handsome Duke of Stafford sitting alone, his expression like a man struck by lightning, next to a forgotten glass of lemonade.

  * * *

  “Scarlett Blackwell,” Rowan said calmly as they walked toward Amersham’s house. “Is there anything I should know?”

  “I don’t believe so.”

  “Are you certain?”

  Scarlett sighed. “Uncle Rowan, I am certain of nearly nothing. I like him too much to discuss it and I—find that I like arguing with him more than I like agreeing with almost anyone else.”

  “Were you arguing with him today?”

  “No. Today was…Truces are even more agreeable, but please don’t tell Father. He has a very low opinion of dukes or—of any man over the age of fifteen presently. Nothing happened. Nothing—illicit.” She slowed her steps and squeezed his arm, desperate to make her point. “I know the boundaries. I will not cross them. I am not that foolish, so please, trust me. I need to find my own way.”

  He nodded slowly. “I trust your judgment, Scarlett. It’s not your head I’m worried about, but the heart can overtake you. Be careful. I will only tell your parents that he was here today. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough. Thank you, Uncle Rowan.”

  “No more kissing the Duke of Stafford in gardens, do you hear me?”

  She blushed furiously, her cheeks stained with pink. “I hear you.”

  “God, how did I draw the short straw?” he sighed, then tucked her hand back into the crook of his arm to continue their walk. “Ashe will murder me if he finds out.”

  “Would it be bad timing if I told you how much I love you, Uncle Rowan?”

  Rowan smiled. “Terrible timing. Be sure to put flowers on my grave, will you?”

  Scarlett laughed and within just a minute or two, Dr. Rowan West joined her.

  Death be not proud…

  Chapter 9

  “I didn’t realize you were such a fan of tragedies,” Starr whispered to Scarlett as the lights dimmed in the ornately designed Theatre Royal Haymarket. In their balcony box, it was clear that everyone in attendance was as interested in seeing each other as they might be in the performance on stage.

  “Shh! I’m trying to concentrate,” Scarlett replied quickly.

  “It hasn’t started yet. What level of concentration does it take to watch a curtain go up?”

  “Tara, please. I’m sure Mrs. Martin is excited to see things unfold. Aren’t you, Mrs. Martin?”

  Sabrina nodded. Once again, she had stepped in as an unlikely chaperone for the evening. She was openly in awe of the décor and the lovely proscenium arch, sighing and gasping in turn much to the twins’ amusement. They had been invited to attend the play by the Duke of Chesterton but Elgin was terribly late so the women had been forced to take their places in his balcony box seats by themselves.

  The situation suited Scarlett just fine since she had not seen Chesterton since her interlude with Stafford at Amersham’s. She wasn’t sure how to feel about any of it. The men were friends and it seemed like there was some kind of betrayal in that kiss.

  Or was there? Is kissing a man when you are pretending to be courted by his best friend a betrayal? Does one confess to such a thing? Or would I be destroying their real friendship over some…imaginary trespass? The kiss wasn’t imaginary. My lack of sleep ever since it happened has not been a concoction of my fantasies.

  God, what a mess!

  The play began and after a few minutes, Scarlett tried to lose herself in poor Hamlet’s crisis of conscience. It certainly superseded her own in scope if not in immediacy.

  Danish princes do know how to drag a decision out!

  Starr knew every one of Shakespeare’s plays by heart. Scarlett envied her as she shifted forward in her seat, holding her breath along with Mrs. Martin, riding the waves of language and emotion as each wove through the story. Scarlett glanced back again at the curtain behind them, listening for the door. She tried to take comfort that even if Chesterton arrived now, conversation would not really be possible.

  A stay of execution.

  At last, there was the quiet
sound of the doorway being opened by the theatre attendant and Scarlett nearly cried out at the sight of Talon Rush in his evening finery coming through the curtains. He smiled at her and then took his place behind the ladies, as if all was just as it should be.

  Mrs. Martin didn’t even notice the addition to their party as she gripped Starr’s hand in horror as Hamlet’s dead father’s ghost began to rattle his chains.

  Scarlett opened her fan to try to cool her cheeks. It was a guilty pleasure to see Stafford again and a strange kind of torture to have him so near, to be unable to speak. He was sitting directly behind her and she closed her eyes, marveling at the connection between them. It was as if she could read his thoughts if she tried hard enough.

  Finally, curiosity won out and she discreetly shifted to look back at him.

  He was looking only at her without a single glance at the stage. His features were lit by the glow from the stage lights below and it took her breath away. Talon Rush was always handsome but in the gaslight, he looked otherworldly as if he’d been tipped in gold.

  He gave her a hungry and unsettling look, stood up and stepped back slip through the heavy velvet curtains.

  It made no sense but she counted to one hundred and then silently excused herself to follow him. Enough is enough. I have to find him while the others are watching the play to explain that—

  She’d expected to proceed out the door and find him in the corridor but he was there, in the dark tight space between the thick, sound masking barrier of the curtains and the closed, insulated door. It was shocking to realize that within six feet of her sister and her chaperone, they were in a quiet and incredibly intimate bubble away from prying eyes.

  He gently pulled her close. “Shh! We must speak in whispers.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Why do you ask me that, Miss Blackwell, every single time I see you?”

  “Perhaps because I’m not yet used to the amazing sensation of you materializing without warning.”

  “I have Elgin’s appointment book, remember?”

  “Have you murdered him to take his place? Should I worry about his safety?”