She was a charismatic distraction who had come to his attention at a time when he was feeling unsettled, and uncharacteristically unfulfilled. That would account for the disproportionate amount of time he had spent thinking about her and his determination to help her with her problems. His life had become too settled, too predictable, and he was in the market for a new cause to champion. Miss Trafford’s appearance was opportune. It was for that, and no other, reason he planned to help her discover the identity of the forger. Patrick Trafford’s generosity should not be so shamelessly exploited. His reputation, hard-won and richly deserved, should not suffer at the hands of the ne’er-do-well taking advantage of his poor mental state.
Nia and her brother had been neglected by their parents, but cherished by their grandfather. He could well understand why Nia in particular returned that adoration tenfold. What was less clear to him was the burning desire he had felt to kiss her. A desire he would most definitely have acted upon, had her brother not interrupted them at the vital moment. That desire had not left him, even after half-an-hour’s conversation with her relatives and close friend.
Vince grinned when his mind briefly dwelt upon Sophia Ash. She must have been stunning in her younger years, and her beauty had not completely diminished. Nor had her flirtatious nature. Vince could understand why Nia was so taken with her. She did not have the hard, self-serving edge inherent to many in her profession, seemed genuinely attached to Patrick Trafford, and was a godsend to Nia. Vince flashed a wry smile. With Miss Ash forming part of tonight’s visiting party, they were assured of a memorable evening.
“What is so amusing?” Zach asked, entering the room with his dogs at his heels.
“I was thinking about Sophia Ash. Not many duchesses would agree to sit down to dinner with a courtesan, albeit a semi-retired one, but our mother appears rather enthusiastic about the prospect. She has asked me a lot of questions about Miss Ash.”
“That doesn’t surprise me.” Zach helped himself to whisky. “And you ought to know by now that our mother would take exception to being compared to most duchesses. She does not have a pretentious bone in her body and is comfortable with people from all walks of life.”
“True enough.” Vince moved aside to give the wolfhounds access to their favourite place directly in front of the fire. “Let us hope Patrick Trafford is in a lucid frame of mind tonight. None of his relations will be able to relax if he is not.”
“You are thinking of Miss Trafford?”
Far too much. “Yes. She takes on too much responsibility. She reminds me of how Crista used to be when Amos first met her.” Zach’s brows disappeared beneath his hairline. “In Miss Trafford’s case,” Vince continued, feeling compelled to defend his position in the light of his brother’s reaction to it, “I am not planning upon quite such a dramatic rescue as Amos decided on with Crista. I intend to make myself useful to her family but don’t envisage becoming leg-shackled in the near, or distant, future. The comparison between her circumstances and Crista’s merely struck me as an odd coincidence, nothing more.”
“Of course it is.”
“Zach, mind your own damned business,” Vince said, irritated by his brother’s superior smirk. “Or else I shall start baiting you about your intentions towards Frankie St. John.”
“Unlike you with Miss Trafford, little brother, I have not shown Lady St. John the sort of attention that would justify intrusive questions.”
“Is that so?” It was Vince’s turn to exercise his brows. “Well, if you’re saying you have no lasting interest in her, it is probably just as well.” Vince paused, waiting for Zach to ask why that should be the case. Needless to say, he did not oblige and so Vince forged ahead. “I heard snippets of conversation yesterday between the ladies about her being pursued by some gentleman whenever she is in town. Lady St. John didn’t appear to find those attentions unwelcome.”
Zach’s only reaction was a miniscule crease of his brow and a fleeting expression of disapproval. “Did you happen to hear the man’s name?” he asked indolently.
“Sorry,” Vince replied, flashing a smug grin. “I didn’t bother to listen. Had I known it was so important to you, naturally I would have paid more attention.”
“Probably a fortune hunter, but Lady St. John must be used to such attentions and will be able to deal with him.”
Vince’s grin widened. “Most likely,” he agreed.
The rest of the family joined them at that point, and the brothers’ private discourse was brought to an end. They had not been together for more than five minutes before Lady St. John was announced. She entered the room wearing a magnificent evening gown of striped satin gauze in a cornflower blue that exactly matched the colour of her eyes. Always beautiful and immaculately attired, she had seldom looked lovelier. He couldn’t help wondering if she was getting tired of waiting for Zach to make up his mind about her and had decided to take matters into her own hands. Always supposing it was Zach she had set her cap at, of course. Vince had just assumed that to be the case because…well, because most women admired the eligible duke, and because whenever they were in the same room, sparks flew between them.
Perhaps Lady St. John thought along the same lines as Miss Trafford and had decided against matrimony. Now that Vince had learned there really were some ladies in this world who, like him, Zach and Nate, did not look upon matrimony as inevitable, he was forced to consider the possibility. Unlike Nia, Lady St. John had embraced the institution once, was now widowed and independently wealthy. Could it be she had no plans to alter that situation? He had seen her in society and observed just how much attention she received from gentlemen; none of whom appeared to hold her interest, with the notable exception of Zach.
But Zach was as obdurate as ever in his determination to remain single, leaving Amos, as his named heir, to produce the next generation of Sheridans. How frustrating Zach’s stance must be for Lady St. John. However, if she had fixed her interest upon Zach, she was as inventive and intelligent as she was beautiful, and Vince could not see her failing in her ambition to secure him. He glanced at his brother but, as always, his expression gave little away. Even so, Vince detected admiration, and perhaps something deeper, filter across his face as he took his turn to greet their first guest.
“I was just remarking upon how interested I shall be to meet Mr. Trafford,” the duchess said when Lady St. John took a seat beside her. “I confess to feeling rather intimidated at the thought of having someone so famous beneath this roof. Artistic types can be so unpredictable. What if he decides he does not like us?”
“Do not concern yourself on that score,” Lady St. John replied. “Patrick, if he is lucid, has all the charm of the Irish. He will have you in fits of laughter with his tall stories and irreverent attitude. And if he is not on song then Nia and Sophia between them will manage him well enough. And he would never be intentionally rude to anyone.”
The duchess shook her head. “His friends and relations have a lot of responsibility. It must be hard for them to manage.”
“If it is, I have never heard them complain.”
“I have hidden all of my sketches away,” Portia said, grimacing. “I should be ashamed for Mr. Trafford to see them.”
Vince, aware that his younger sister possessed some artistic talent that she tenaciously endeavoured to improve upon, smiled at her. “You shouldn’t have done that, Portia. The Traffords would not be ill-mannered enough to criticise your efforts, and I should think less of them if they did.”
“Your paintings aren’t half bad,” Nate added grudgingly.
“Which leaves me to suppose they are not half good, either.” Portia smiled good-naturedly at what, coming from Nate, was fulsome praise. “But thank you for trying to make me feel better about my lack of talent.”
“Happy to oblige,” Nate replied, grinning.
The double doors opened and Faraday stood on the threshold, clearing his throat. All heads turned in his direction.
“Mr. T
rafford, Mr. Trafford, Miss Trafford and Miss Ash, Your Grace.”
He stood back, and the party entered the room. Vince’s gaze immediately fixed upon Nia, who was on her brother’s arm. At least he assumed it was she. He inhaled sharply, scarcely recognising the transformation that had taken place in the grubby gardener from the day before. Tonight she wore a gown of emerald green, reinforcing Vince’s conviction that emeralds were the only jewels that would be right for her. There was a visible underskirt beneath the gown of a lighter shade of green, fashioned from what he thought must be sarsnet. Growing up with a fashion conscious mother and two sisters, he had learned more about ladies’ apparel than had ever been his intention.
The bust line of Nia’s gown was low, giving Vince a graphic idea of the treasures concealed beneath it. Quite without his permission, his gaze lingered on her décolletage and his breeches suddenly felt too tight. God forbid that she, or anyone else, should notice his physical reaction! Crystal beads decorated the bodice and short sleeves of Nia’s gown, but Vince’s knowledge of feminine attire failed him when he attempted to name the lace flounces that trimmed her hemline. Her hair had been tamed into a fashionable waterfall of shimmering curls, held in place with a tortoiseshell clip. Her cheeks were rosy pink and those temptingly plump lips of hers were shiny and moist, crying out for the kiss he had been deprived of delivering the previous day.
She levelled a cool gaze in his direction, but looked away again almost immediately. Vince felt no inclination to follow her example and continued to look exclusively at her until Zach, still standing beside him, gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs.
“Miss Ash is playing up her role,” Zach remarked in an amused undertone.
And so she was. In figure-hugging scarlet silk, she deferred to the duchess with decorum that belied her attire. Her poise hinted at being accustomed to meeting people from all walks of life and not feeling intimidated by them or their opinions of her. Vince wondered if, through her choice of gown, she was trying to make some sort of obscure point. People had preconceived ideas about her, and she tried not to disappoint.
“How is your grandfather this evening?” Vince asked Nia as they shook hands.
“You don’t need to worry about him, my lord. He is having another good day. He rested for a long time this afternoon, so ought to see the evening through without embarrassing anyone.”
Vince glanced at the old gentleman and could see for himself that his eyes were bright and clear. “That was not my purpose in asking the question. I was thinking more of your enjoyment. You will not relax, I suspect, unless you are sure your grandfather is comfortable being with us.”
She sighed. “I’m sorry, Lord Vincent. That was unpardonably rude of me. You have gone out of your way to be of service to my family and I cannot seem to find a civil tongue in my head. Please forgive me.”
“There is absolutely nothing to forgive,” Vince replied, taking two glasses of champagne from the tray Faraday proffered and handing one to her. “Unlike mine, your life is not one of idleness and dissipation.”
She took a sip of champagne, and choked on it when his words registered with her. “I cannot believe you expect me to believe you live that way.”
“But it is what you think of me.” He sent her a taunting smile. “Part of you is intrigued, at least in regard to the dissipation, which infuriates you because you want very much to disapprove of what you see in me.”
She arched a brow, hiding the lower half of her face behind her raised glass. “Do not suppose to know what I think, Lord Vincent.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Even if you were not, I should never admit it. Allow me a little mystique, if you please.”
“Anything you desire, you have but to say the word.”
She clearly realised he was referring to their almost-kiss and blushed. “There is nothing you have that I personally require.”
“You really should not have said that,” he replied softly.
She blinked up at him. “Why ever not?”
“Because I cannot resist a challenge.” He shrugged. “It is a family failing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“What is wrong with being competitive?” he asked innocently, speaking in a smoky, provocative tone that was anything but innocent.
“Are you flirting with me, Lord Vincent?”
“I believe I am, Miss Trafford.”
“Well, please don’t. If you feel the need to flirt, I will gladly excuse you so that you can converse with Sophia. I am sure she will oblige you and give you a good run for your money. Unlike me, she knows how these games are played.”
“Then where would the fun be in that?”
She didn’t answer him. Instead she glanced towards Sophia, who was in conversation with his mother, while her grandfather’s attention had been claimed by Amos. “You can relax, Nia. Everyone is comfortable.” He paused. “Everyone except for you. I wonder why that is.”
“You may wonder all you wish.” Her eyes sparkled as she levelled them upon his face and responded to him with lively playfulness. “I have not the slightest intention of enlightening you.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
She shook her head, setting her curls dancing around her face, but remained silent.
“What is it?” he asked. “What are you thinking?”
“Believe me, Lord Vincent, it would be a great deal better if you did not know.”
His lips quirked. “I am not afraid of your thoughts.”
“Very well then.” She focused her entire attention upon him, the light of battle shining from her eyes. “Since you insist upon knowing, I was wondering if anyone has ever told you how insufferably arrogant you can seem at times.” She was clearly doing her very best to appear severe, but a tiny smile slipped past her guard, spoiling the effect.
“Quite a few jealous husbands,” he replied, grinning.
“I should only be surprised if that were not the case.”
“Because you have already formed an opinion of my behaviour that is entirely without foundation.”
She huffed indignantly. “How can it be without foundation when you have just admitted that you dally with other men’s wives?”
“I admitted no such thing. I merely suggested that I might have invoked husbands’ jealousies. I did not say their reactions were justified. It is hardly my fault if they cannot keep proper control of their wives.”
This time she did manage to look disapproving. “I don’t think I like you very much, Lord Vincent.”
He lifted one finger and placed it gently against her lips; removing it again almost immediately. “Yes you do,” he said, in a soft, melodious tone. “You may not want to, but you can’t help yourself.”
“Definitely arrogant,” she muttered with less conviction than previously.
“Go with your instincts, Nia,” he added in an undertone. “I promise not to bite.”
“Go to the devil!”
He roared with laughter, attracting curious glances from others in the room. “I very likely shall.”
Vince sobered when she appeared on the point of walking away from him. That could not be allowed to happen. He was almost sure she was enjoying their lively exchange as much as he was. He admired the way she stood up to him and gave as good as she got. But enough was enough—for the time being. Rather than lose her, he changed the subject, moving their conversation onto safer ground.
“What is your grandfather doing?” he asked.
Nia turned her head abruptly, tension radiating through her body. Then she smiled and he sensed it drain out of her again. “He obviously remembers he is to paint the duke’s portrait. Good, I am glad that did not slip his mind.”
“But if you only just told him, and he is having a lucid day—”
“Means nothing. Grandpapa has perfect recall about things that happened before I was born. You will discover that for yourself later since I dare say he will i
nsist upon telling the most outrageously exaggerated stories.” She shook her head, a tiny smile playing about her lips. “There is no help for that, I’m afraid.”
“I, on the other hand, am not in the least afraid. I look forward to hearing what he has to say for himself. It might teach me more about you.”
“But, you see, even on good days, if you ask Grandpapa what was said to him half an hour ago, he would be hard-pressed to answer you.” She sighed. “I am told that is not uncommon for people with Grandpapa’s affliction. Short-term memory is the first thing to go.”
“I am sorry, Nia. It must be very hard for you.”
“I did not tell you in order to invoke your sympathy. And to answer your original question, Grandpapa is observing the duke’s profile from all angles, committing his features to memory. Amazingly, he will not forget them. The mysteries of the human brain never fail to astonish me. However, I am willing to wager that at some point during this evening, Grandpapa will call for paper and dash off a sketch of his grace without again looking at him, and it will bear a remarkable likeness.”
“Really?”
“Oh yes, I cannot recall a time when Grandpapa has not done random sketches. We have had to persuade him not to sign them because he always gives them away and the recipients sell them for a lot of money simply because—”
“Because they bear his signature.” Vince sighed. “Does absolutely everyone take advantage of his good nature?”
She spread her hands. “Sometimes it seems that way.”
Faraday appeared in the open doorway and announced dinner.
“May I have the pleasure?” Vince proffered his arm but Nia seemed reluctant to accept him as an escort. “My mother and your grandfather are going in together,” he pointed out. “Your brother is escorting my sister, Amos is escorting his wife, and my brother Nate is taking care of Sophia.” Vince bit back a smile. Nate was the youngest of the four boys, still earning his spurs in many respects—respects that Sophia would have recognised. Vince wasn’t the least bit surprised to notice his interest in a lady of Sophia’s persuasion. “And Zach is escorting Lady St. John. So, I am afraid you’re stuck with me, Nia.”
Ducal Encounters 03 - Portrait of a Duke Page 14