He frowned. “I suppose you had that from your friend.”
Her chin came up. “Yes. Harriet was good enough to remind me that a widow in my position must observe all the proprieties.”
“In your position? What do you mean?”
“I mean that I intend to re-enter society and I must, therefore, strive be circumspect in all things.”
“I see. And will you re-enter society in London, or here, in the village?”
“I am afraid London is out of the question but Harriet has promised that she and her husband shall conduct me to all the village functions. I shall attend musicales and assemblies and I shall dance and play cards and delight in every entertainment put before me!”
“So you intend to make up for lost time, do you?”
“Indeed, I do!”
“And catch the eye of some eligible bachelor?”
“As many bachelors as possible!” she answered, smiling.
His dark brows came together. “Is that your plan, then, Julia? To marry again?”
She was suddenly unable to meet his eyes, and she made a great show of smoothing the wrinkles from the gown as it hung over her arm. “Yes. Yes, it is,” she said.
“I see. And how will you choose between your suitors? Will you marry the most wealthy of them so you may at last have some of your fortune restored you?”
That brought her head up quickly. “You make me sound quite mercenary!”
“Aren’t you?”
“Certainly not!” she said, her temper rising. “How can you speak to me so? You know I have nothing in this worldNothing at all!”
“And can you think of no other way to remedy your situation than to marry?”
“No,” she said, a little sadly. “I have no means of supporting myself, I am afraid, and I have lived too long off the kindness of friends.”
“You could make peace with your father,” he suggested. “You could go to him.”
“I told you, he won’t have me. Don’t you think I tried?”
“So it must be marriage, then. I hope you may get what you want out the business.”
She felt herself stiffen again. “I shall not make demands, you know, and I am not overly nice in my requirements. All I ask for is a man of sense for a husband, who will provide me with a place to live. In return, I shall provide him with a home that is refined and peaceful”
“And boring,” interpolated Gavin.
“If the security of having a roof over my head is boring, then I am content to be bored.”
“You will marry for the wrong reasons, Julia.”
“Will I? You, I suppose, are an expert in such things!”
“Expert enough to know that I shall never marry againfor any reason!”
“I do not share that luxury,” she retorted. There had been something, she thought, a little hurtful in the way he had spoken to her. She turned her back to him then and made a great show of folding up the gown she had been sewing and gathering up her needles and threads and ribbons.
Gavin silently watched her move about the room. Until he had made her acquaintance, it had been a long time since he had found himself in the company of a woman of Julia Pettingale’s caliber. Too long. He had forgotten how pleasing it was to see a woman move with gentle beauty. He had a sudden vision of her, gowned in finest silk, and moving with easy grace from one guest to another in a crowded drawing room. His drawing room.
His gaze dwelled appreciatively on her. As she had been the first time he had met her, she was dressed very simply in a gown that was rather out of date; yet she wore it with a certain air of elegance that was unmistakable. No baubles or jewels graced her ears or the slender column of her throat, yet he thought she held her head in the same regal way she might have had she been adorned with the crowned jewels of a queen.
His gaze traveled upward; upward to where that wretched cap covered her hair. He wanted nothing more than to pluck the thing off her head and he couldn’t think of a single reason why he shouldn’t.
Gavin closed the distance between them in a few easy strides and before Julia could turn about, before she even realized he was there behind her, he pulled the cap from her head.
Julia swung around, her eyes wide and her lips parted in surprise. Her hair had been pinned up into a profusion of curls beneath the cap; now freed, the fiery tendrils caught the light of the sun as it streamed through the window, making her hair look so soft, so appealing, that his fingers itched to touch it. In the soft light of the morning, her skin was like porcelain, perfect, and clear. It would have been so easy for him to reach out and touch her. She was so close, he could see the little flecks of gold in the depths of her wide, green eyes. And she looked right back at him, saying nothing.
Before he could think, before he knew what he was doing, he was reaching for her. “I can’t fight this anymore,” he said, almost beneath his breath; and if his voice was gruff and grudging, he lips, when they brushed hers, were tenderness itself.
Her mouth was soft and inviting beneath his and he took his time kissing her, savoring every moment. Then slowly, alert to her reaction, he changed the tenor of their kiss, deepening it until he held her completely in his power. His hands move slowly over her, spanning her narrow waist, pressing her against him, willing her to kiss him back.
Julia didn’t disappoint him. She raised one arm up to encircle his neck and returned his kiss wholeheartedly. She had never kissed a man back before. Having been taught that ladies were merely passive recipients of such passions, she had never initiated a kiss with her husband when he had been alive. But she wanted to kiss Gavin. She wanted to return to him a small amount of the pleasure he was giving her.
After a moment he raised his head and look down at her. “You’ve never been kissed that way before, have you?” he asked.
“Never,” she answered, feeling a little light-headed.
“Not even by your husband?”
“No.”
He looked down at her, at her kiss-bruised lips raised so enticingly toward his. He tightened his arms about her and whispered, “William Pettingale was a fool.”
Julia wasn’t sure what exactly he was talking about, but she heartily wished he would stop talking altogether and just kiss her again.
She was to have her wish. Gavin’s mouth met hers once more and this time, his kiss was long and lingering and tender. His kiss was unlike anything she had ever experienced and it left her hungry for more.
After several more minutes of such heaven, Gavin raised his head. Slowly, and more than a bit reluctantly, he loosed his hold of her and stepped away. “God, what you do to me.”
Julia watched him move very pointedly toward the other side of the room. Her eyes met his and she saw that he was regarding her rather fixedly. He was also smiling slightly. The thought occurred to her that he could no doubt very easily make a woman fall in love with him when he looked at her in just such a way; and that thought was swiftly succeeded by the startling realization that he had just succeeded in doing exactly so.
She strongly suspected that she was fast losing lost her heart to him and she was a little bit stunned to realize that of all the men in the world, she was half-way in love with a man who had long made it his practice to scorn society and fan the flames of gossip concerning his reputation.
But the irony was that she could listen to the stories of his notorious behavior and the logic of shunning him only in his absence. When he was with her and her eyes met his, she became instantly convinced that he was an honorable man, worthy of her friendship and of her affection.
Whether or not he felt any of the same emotion for her, she had no way of discovering; for Harriet Clouster tumbled back into the drawing room then, the promised sewing basket in her arms. She was half-way across the room before she realized he was there, then she drew up short and her expression dissolved into one of shock. “Duke! Gracious, I had no idea! When did you? Oh, heavens!”
He saved her the trouble of formi
ng a more sensible conversation by stepping forward and sketching a very proper bow. “Mrs. Clouster, how do you do?” he asked, so politely as to stun her even further. “I have called merely to satisfy myself that Lady Pettingale was well and suffered no ill effects from our encounter earlier this week.”
“Oh, no! Julia suffered not at all andand she is very well!” sputtered Harriet, still quite flustered.
“I am glad to hear it,” said Gavin. He turned and claimed Julia’s hand momentarily. “Lady Pettingale, I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing you again sometime.”
Julia was reluctant to allow his fingers to slip from hers and she heartily wished he would stay longer. “But, will I not see you at any of the village parties? Mrs. Ludhill is hosting a card party this evening and tomorrow there is to be an assembly with dancing. Will you not be there?”
“No, I never partake of neighborhood society,” he said, quietly. “I find the villagers have enough tales to tell of me without my adding any more fuel to their fires.”
He departed before Julia could think any reason to make him stay. No sooner had the door closed upon him than Harriet directed a rather horrified gaze upon her and said, “You, Julia Pettingale, are playing with fire! You have had more than ample opportunity to hint the Duke away, which is what any prudent woman would do! Instead, you invite him into my very own drawing room, as bold as you please!”
“I did not invite him in. Your maid announced him and he came in before I could put two thoughts together.” She took the sewing basket from Harriet’s lifeless fingers and began sorting through its contents.
“Why was he here?”
“He explained the reason for his call. I believe his motives were quite gentlemanly.”
“I don’t!” retorted Harriet. “I saw the way he looked at you just now, and I also noticed how you looked at him. For heaven’s sake, Julia, stop this madness before it goes any further!”
Julia felt her temper rise, and said, rather defiantly, “I have met the duke on only two occasions and in both instances, he was very kind to me. I cannot think why you have chosen to hold him in such low regard.”
“Julia, the Duke of Warminster is a libertine,” said Harriet, bluntly. “It pains me to say such a thing, but you must face that fact.”
“So you have told me,” Julia answered, calmly.
“He gambles away small fortunes on a turn of a single card,” said Harriet, undeterred, “and he runs sporting mad to the exclusion of all other pursuits.”
“I am sure he regrets such behavior!” Julia said, her voice seriously weakened.
“When he is at Merrified, he spends his leisure time at the local inn, where his favorite drinking companion happens to be a serving maid by the name of Leggy Liz. And in London, he has a house on Albermarle Street where he has installed his latest flame! My dear Julia, this man is not for you!”
“Are you simply repeating gossip or do you know such things for a fact? I thought so!” she said, when Harriet could not reply. “Will you condemn him based on rumors and gossip? I refuse to judge a man merely based on stories that neither you nor I know in fact to be true!” protested Julia.
“Then here is some truth for you, Julia, and I shall speak it plainly to you, as a friend. When I invited you to visit I promised I would do my best by you to find you a husband; but you must know that no man will offer for you if it is put about that you are on intimate terms with the Duke of Warminster. For your own sake, you must end your friendship with him now.”
“Harriet, I cannot”
“My dear Julia,” Harriet said, a bit more kindly, “no man of honor will ever propose marriage to a woman who counts a libertine among her acquaintance.” Julia was quiet for a moment, prompting Harried to add, “You do see that I am right, don’t you?”
Julia knew very well that Harriet was speaking nothing but the truth, but she fought against it with a feeble protest. “I don’t think you would say such things if only you knew him as I do.”
“I know him well enough to know that he will never offer you marriage. He can only prevent you from marrying another, and then where will you be?”
Where, indeed? In Harriet’s rather direct words, Julia was forced to acknowledge a truth she would rather dismiss: She was fast falling in love with the Duke of Warminster, and had been from the moment he had set her upon his horse and wrapped his strong arm comfortingly about her. She thought that since that moment, she had witnessed changes in him, that she had detected a softness whenever he was in her company. But she also recalled how guarded he was of his emotions and how much he grieved still for a wife who was long gone from him. Harriet was right; he would never offer her marriage. Just moments ago he said very plainly he would never marry again; yet marriage was the only avenue by which Julia could obtain for herself some sort of security for the future. Without marriage, Julia was relegated to living off the kindness of her friends for the rest of her life.
Harriet wrapped a comforting arm about Julia’s shoulders and said, compellingly, “You see that I am correct, I know! Now, promise me you shall remember what I have said. If you have any hopes of marrying again, you must have nothing more to do with the Duke of Warminster. Promise me, now!”
Julia closed her eyes and fought back the small lump that had formed in her throat. She said, at last, in a voice of flat despair, “I promise. I shall have nothing more to do with the Duke of Warminster.”
Gavin made the drive from Sussex to London in record time and reached his townhouse in Grosvenor Square just after the summer sun sank into the western horizon. During the entire drive he had pushed his horses to their limits and had maintained a pall-mall pace that had, on more than one occasion, caused Newley to clutch his seat and hold on for dear life. But there was no time to be lost. Gavin knew that if he was going to accomplish what he had set out to do, he had to reach London before it was too late; before gentlemen of fashion left their homes for the evening; before they set off for their nightly entertainments at theatres or their clubs.
He had only a slim chance of succeeding. In truth, during the entire drive he had frequently questioned his own sanity, telling himself that Julia Pettingale meant nothing to him and that her estrangement from her father mattered to him not one jot. Yet, still he pushed toward London and when at last he arrived, he left his curricle and horses standing in the street, and entered the house only to order that his grey be saddled and brought round immediately.
“Your grace is not thinking of going riding at this hour?” objected Newley as he observed the darkened sky.
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am,” retorted the Duke, “and you’re coming with me in the curricle. I want you to sound a certain knocker at someone’s door.”
Newley looked a trifle alarmed. “Drive your curricle, your grace? Do you think that wise? I’ve never driven your bays before.”
“Don’t worry, they lost their edge miles back. You’ll only be driving to Green Street, after all, and I shall be riding alongside all the way. Never fear!”
As it happened, fear did not overtake Newley until the drive to Green Street had been accomplished and they were pulled up before a very large and elegant townhouse.
“Sound the knocker, Newley,” commanded Lord Warminster, waiting on horseback. “Let us see if Sir Walter Gardner is at home.”
Newley obediently jumped down from the curricle and did as he was told. But no sooner was his knock at the door answered, and the front door swung wide open by the butler of that establishment, than Lord Warminster went into action. Still astride his horse, he ascended the front steps and, ducking his head, drove his mount directly into the front hall of the house.
Riding past the stunned expressions of Newley, the butler, and several footmen positioned about the hall, he sent his horse cantering up the staircase. At the first floor, he reached down to open the first door he came to. That room was empty and he rode on down the hall to the next door. Again he reached down and opened it, and this t
ime, he found what he was looking for.
Sir Walter Gardner, unsuspecting that a man on horseback had invaded his home, was leisurely partaking of a glass of port before departing for an evening’s entertainment; but when the door flew open and the Duke of Warminster rode his grey stallion into the room, he flew to his feet, oversetting his glass and sputtering with shock.
“Warminster!” he managed to say at last. “What the devil is the meaning of this!”
Gavin circled his fidgeting horse twice about the room, his dark eyes focused all the while upon Sir Walter. “Not too many days ago you told me you wanted to buy this horse. I am here to sell him to you.”
“Of all theHave you gone mad?”
“Perhaps I have; but that is not at all to the point. Do you still wish to buy him or don’t you?”
“You are mad!” accused Sir Walter. “How dare you come to me like this!”
“I dare many things, Gardner, but I didn’t come here to catalog my exploits for you.”
“No need, I assure you! Like everyone else, I am well aware that you have been barely hanging onto the hem of decent society for years.”
“I’m flattered you have taken such an interest in me,” said Gavin, “but I would rather we concluded this business so I may be on my way. Do you wish to purchase this animal, or don’t you? The price, I assure you, is very reasonable.”
Realizing at last that his uninvited guest was speaking with perfect sincerity, Sir Walter Gardner frowned as he watched the Duke of Warminster continue to circle his shying horse about the furniture. “Very well. You may name your price, but I do not doubt you have in mind some exorbitant sum!”
“On the contrary, I don’t want your money, Gardner. I want your word.”
Sir Walter’s eyes widened. “My word?” he repeated.
“Yes. On paper,” said Gavin, evenly. “I will sell you this horse. You shall pay for it by writing a brief letter to your daughter.”
Sir Walter stood very still for a moment, his attention arrested; then slowly he sank down onto a chair. “My daughter? You’ve seen her, then? You’ve seen my Julia? Is she well?”
The Notorious Nobleman Page 6