Several of the chairs that had been arranged in front of the dais sat empty. His gaze swept the perimeter of the well-appointed chamber. There in the corner, he found her trying to blend in with an assortment of potted plants and fresh flowers. However, nothing could hide the blazing beauty of Lady Castle, not even orchids or roses.
“Your Grace…”
Alonzo heard the concerned whisper of the harpist, Mr. Gray. He had missed his cue to start singing. Nodding in acknowledgement, he then did something he had never done before. Instead of performing the planned aria, he switched to an oratorio about the Queen of Sheba, all the while watching Julia.
The image in his mind, that of the erotic beauty of the Queen of Sheba as she arrived to visit King Solomon, was altered to fit the physical characteristics of Lady Julia in all her golden beauty. Translucent skin, dark eyes, and a form that could summon angels…
*
“Is he staring at me?” Julia asked.
Willa, ever her loyal friend, bravely gazed across the expanse of the drawing room to find the masked man on stage. “I believe he is. And if I am not mistaken, the music was meant for an aria from Rinaldo, not what he is singing now, which is in Italian, not English.”
Slowly, Julia turned her body in the direction of the dais. Could the masked performer be her pretend duke? She scrutinized everything about him: his height, broad shoulders, and even his general build. Most of all, his attractive head of unruly curls.
Admittedly, it could be him. It had to be him! Perhaps she had judged him too harshly. Instead of a liar, he was a half-liar. Honest about what he was, not who. For men of the nobility were not performers.
His tone was otherworldly, revealing, and so powerful. The accompanying instruments trailed off eventually, leaving him to sing alone. With his eyes hidden behind the mask, she could only guess his expression, but there was no doubt where he was looking—at her. Then, as if purposely timed, he sang, “Sei perfetto, divino. Una dea…”
His words were not lost on her. “Thou art perfect, divine. A goddess,” she croaked softly.
“What?” Willa asked, scrunching her nose unattractively. “Did you call me a goddess?”
“No, but perhaps the fake duke did.”
Willa placed her hand on her hip. “Do not be ridiculous, Julia. If anything, the duke is serenading you. What a shame I did not pay better attention to my governess when she tried to teach me Italian.” She sighed and let her attention wander back to him. “Such a potent, mesmerizing voice. Can you not see what he has done to everyone in the audience? They are enraptured.”
Including herself… like a moth to flame, or flies to…
Julia ventured closer to the last row of chairs, finding it necessary to sit down. Every note he sang, every practiced gesture he made, deserved her contemplation.
The woman she sat beside looked at her and smiled. “He is amazing, is he not?”
“Indeed,” Julia admitted. “Do you know his name?”
The older lady stared at her aghast. “Have you never heard the Duke of Pridegate sing before, my dear?”
She closed her eyes and shook her head.
“Do not be ashamed of it,” the woman said. “Our own Regent considers him a treasure, so must we.”
Chapter Seven
A treasure? Julia’s clarity of mind and focus had always been her most valued assets. They were how she managed to absorb information from so many books. But in one fell swoop, the Duke of Pridegate, a man she wished she had never met, much less run into, had left her in a state of confusion. Not only because he had played a cat and mouse game with her, manipulating her into thinking he was something other than a duke, though he claimed to be one. And the fact that he was big and muscled, and extremely pleasing to the eye, did not help her resist his charms.
She wiggled in her chair as the woman next to her spent more time studying her than listening to the duke perform his third aria.
“Forgive my interruption, my dear,” she said. “I believe we have met before.”
Julia offered her a small smile. “My father is the Duke of Craven.”
“Of course,” the woman said. “Lady Julia, I am Lady Mara!” Mara took her hand and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I have not had the pleasure of seeing you since you were a child of nine.”
Slowly, the memory of a kindly woman who adored her mother surfaced in her mind. The Countess of Elsmere. “I am so sorry I did not recognize you.”
“How could I expect you to? You were but a girl, and I have been living in Italy for ten years, only recently returned.”
Before Julia could reply, the crowd erupted in applause and gave Alonzo Farrington a standing ovation—something reserved for only the best of performances, especially coming from the rather suppressed passions of an English audience.
Lady Mara even stood, beaming with joy, giving Julia a recriminating look, silently urging her to do the same. Oh, she wanted to heap praise upon the duke, for his voice was the best she had ever heard, but it was his arrogance that gave her pause. And his daring. She had not failed to notice the way he ogled her, and if she had seen it, so had the other guests. To what end, she did not know, but the scandal sheets might reveal it tomorrow. These were the kind of gatherings that the purveyors of such nonsense attended in hopes of catching unsuspecting people in compromising situations.
An innocent look was one thing, but staring unabashedly while he sang an amorous aria about the Queen of Sheba was another. He might as well have recited verses from the Song of Solomon to her!
She watched as the duke bowed and graciously accepted the unending adoration. Many begged for an encore, but Alonzo shook his head with a sly grin, then removed his mask.
Why did that cause her heartbeat to race and steal her breath?
“Thank you,” the duke said. “I am elated to be home with all of you.” He bowed again. “And to commemorate my historic return to our beloved London, please accept this token of my appreciation.” He raised the gilded mask he had worn and pretended to toss it into the crowd.
There was a collective squeal of excitement, mostly from the females, though Julia was sure she heard masculine sounds mixed in with the noise.
The duke laughed and, this time, threw the mask. Much to her dismay, he had tossed it so vigorously, it was headed for her head. Without thinking, she snatched it from the air.
Lady Mara gasped at her athleticism. “If it had been me, I would be sprawled out on the floor!”
Feeling her cheeks flush, Julia hid the unique memento behind her back, only to find herself the center of attention from everyone seated around her.
“I say,” a nearby lord said, “what a fine catch.”
“Lucky woman,” a young woman commented.
As if summoned, Willa came to her side. “Well, the duke appears to be genuine after all,” she whispered near her ear.
Yes. A duke and a rake all mixed into the perfect shell of a man. Though that shell had all the right adornments to capture her attention—and to make her shiver with, well, something she had never experienced before—lust?
“Lady Mara,” Julia took the opportunity to change the subject. “This is Lady Willa Bradbury, the daughter of the late Earl of Hemley.”
Willa curtsied and smiled brilliantly at the older woman.
Lady Mara clearly admired Willa and took her hand. “Enough with the formality, my dear. Any friend of Lady Julia’s is a friend of mine. Do you not agree?”
“Of course,” her friend agreed politely.
Willa had again won the heart of another member of the ton, even if she and her mother had fallen from grace by keeping shop to support themselves. It would have been better for them to live in obscurity in the country than to buck tradition and live as commoners. But Julia did not care a whit about tradition or the unfair expectations of the ton. She believed in live and let live, as did the small circle of intellectuals she spent most of her time with. So if anyone shunned her dearest friend, she would
do the same to them.
Refreshments were about to be served, and Julia could do with a glass of champagne. As the women were about to make their way across the drawing room, a velvety baritone bid her stop.
“Lady Julia, do not run off yet.”
The command came from behind her, but Lady Mara was looking in the opposite direction, facing the Duke of Pridegate. Her reaction was predictable, for her face lit up like a lamp, her cheeks blooming with color.
“Your Grace,” she said, giving a half curtsey.
“Lady Mara,” Alonzo said, taking her hand and kissing it. “I was not aware you were acquainted with Lady Julia or Lady Willa.”
How did he know Willa’s name? Had he inquired after her and her friend? Perhaps her family? Reluctant to heap any more attention upon him, lest it break his already burdened back, Julia had no choice but to face him. She of course gave him the respect his title deserved, curtseying in reverence. “Your Grace,” she said.
“Did you enjoy the performance?” he asked, a little too enthusiastically.
“I believe the harpist showed great talent, sir.”
“The harpist?” he asked as if he had not heard her clearly.
“Yes, of course.”
“Mr. Gray is a reliable man and has a good ear for music,” he said.
“Let us not forget the pianist,” she added, looking to Willa for support.
“Lady Julia?” Willa asked. “Are you quite well?”
Unsure how to respond, Julia simply nodded. “I am fine.” But once she gazed at the duke again, finding his manner overly flirtatious and his arrogance on full display, perhaps her stomach did suddenly feel funny. “I am parched.”
Lady Mara placed her hand on her arm. “Stay here and enjoy His Grace’s company while Lady Bradbury and I go for ratafia and perhaps some cake?”
“Yes. Thank you.” How could she turn away one of her mother’s dearest friends? She had always been a wonderful person, more like an aunt, and if she remembered correctly, was a distant relative on her father’s side, which made her family.
Though she appeared unaffected as she watched Willa and Lady Mara saunter away, she silently begged for them to stay. Any time alone with the duke would surely cost her something. What exactly, she did not know. Why had she come here? Did she expect to escape this intimate gathering without having a confrontation with him? If she had, what a silly fool she was, for here he stood, ready to engage in whatever games such a man thrived on.
“I am happy to see you, Lady Julia,” he broke the silence between them.
“It has been an enjoyable experience, Your Grace.”
“Of course, you came for the musicians, not to hear me sing.”
“I attended out of curiosity,” she said calmly.
His brows rose in humor. “Is that a confession? I piqued your interest enough during our brief encounter yesterday that you risked coming here not knowing what to expect?”
Julia allowed herself to relax as she gazed about the lively drawing room. As long as they were in such a public place, there was no danger in engaging in a revealing conversation with the duke. “The countess is a respected member of the ton, sir. She’s also a fellow patron of the arts, something I, too, endeavor to support.”
He ran his fingers through his hair, considering her words. “Is that why you were wandering about St. James’s unescorted, to support the arts?” His tone sobered. “No lady of quality belongs there alone. Though I fail to see any reason for a woman to be in that neighborhood at all.”
Julia rolled her eyes, steadfast in her opinion that women deserved the freedom to choose where they went without reprisal. “My friend owns the bookshop.”
“I am aware of it,” he said disapprovingly. “Lady Willa’s situation is unfortunate at best. If I were her brother…”
“But you aren’t,” she quipped.
“I have two sisters, Lady Julia. Give me the benefit of sharing my opinion on how women of quality should be treated.”
“You may keep your opinions, Your Grace. I do not believe we shall ever agree on anything.”
“No?” He studied her for a long moment. “Let me guess. You consider yourself a revolutionary, someone who can change long-standing traditions put in place to protect the interests of the families who have made Britain the greatest empire in history.”
“And what is the benefit of that?” she asked, trying to maintain a modicum of control over her temper. “The commoners outnumber the nobles, sir. And soon enough, as we’ve already seen in the United States, workers will demand more pay, better working conditions, and a higher quality of life for their own families. All of this…” She raised her hand, gesturing at the lavish surroundings they now stood in. “Is unsustainable. The Combination Laws cannot silence the poor forever.” Somehow, she managed to smile after her less than pleasant speech.
The duke loosened his cravat and shifted on his feet, his intense gaze never leaving her. “You are a complicated woman, Lady Julia. Even I can appreciate that. But we are in Mayfair, the cradle of London prestige and wealth. It is easy to judge your peers while you live in comfort under your father’s protection, but have you truly seen the world, your own country, and experienced the way of life in a place such as…” He thought for a moment. “East Anglia, where the working-class struggle to put food on their tables every night?”
“I have not had the opportunity to travel much in the country.”
The duke nodded and stepped closer to her. “Nearly half their children die before the age of five, Lady Julia, for many reasons, though malnutrition is a leading cause. The men and women are forced to work long hours in unsanitary conditions. Disease runs rampant among the poor.” He looked as if he were about to chastise her.
“You take a particular interest in that part of the country. Why?”
“My family has long owned assets in that part of the kingdom,” he said shortly. “And now, if you are done testing me, madam, I will leave you to your friends.” He bowed in cool courtesy just as Willa and Lady Mara arrived with refreshments.
“Goodness,” Lady Mara exclaimed as the duke stormed off. “I wonder what has upset our songbird?”
Willa gave Julia an accusatory glare.
Lady Julia’s mood had deteriorated, too. “Songbird is too kind a name for him,” she gritted. “From what I gather, Lady Mara, the duke is able to maintain his excellent singing voice because he is a castrato star.” Taking the offered glass of ratafia from Willa, she took a drink, then walked away in a huff, in search of a private place to take some air.
Chapter Eight
Alonzo could almost sympathize with Lady Julia’s causes except that she came off as short-sighted and judgmental, and infuriatingly intelligent. In essence, a paradox. He’d escaped the heat of the drawing room by visiting the countess’s extensive garden, appreciating the clear sky and thousands of stars overhead, a rare thing to behold in Town.
Had he stayed a moment longer with Julia, he might have said things he would have later regretted. The woman knew no boundaries, and he guessed that her father would disapprove if he knew his daughter was gallivanting about Town sharing her political views. Unpopular views when it came to the peerage. Fortunately for her, he did not completely disagree with her list of grievances on behalf of the less fortunate.
But her approach to finding solutions for those problems lacked the finesse of an experienced man. Change would not happen overnight. Perhaps not in their lifetime. In order to raise awareness of the horrible conditions in which more than half of the population of his country lived, it must be revealed slowly and deliberately, with men such as himself making improvements on his holdings for his tenants and servants.
He had realized these hardships on his own years ago, before he inherited the dukedom. But his father cared little for the well-being of his servants as long as his own needs were being met. After his sire died, Alonzo began the strenuous effort of visiting all of his estates, spending time with his t
enants, and compiling a list of the most important matters at hand—like repairing dilapidated housing and lowering the rents for his tenants. By doing so, after only four years, the many children that lived on his lands or in the villages were healthier and happier, and had a better chance of making it to adulthood.
By making these small improvements, Alonzo had guaranteed the next generation of workers for his estates, thus securing another generation of his own family. After all, that is what had finally brought him home from the Continent—responsibility. He required an heir at some point, and the first step to finding an appropriate wife was securing his place in Society again. Performing must become a thing of the past, unless it was for a small crowd like tonight.
No diamond of the first water would want to share him with the whole of London, so he must accept his fate and let fame slowly slip out of his life.
But not his desire for women—that was one thing he’d never give up.
As he continued exploring the garden, he stopped at one of the many statues that graced the central part of the grounds. The main walking path was surrounded by meticulously kept, raised garden beds. The fragrant night air could soothe the most rankled lord. Dozens of lit torches illuminated the way, and he found a gazebo nearby.
He slowly approached, desiring to sit on one of the curved benches, but found he was not alone. Of course, he should have walked away, leaving the lady to herself. Even though he could not see her face, he recognized Lady Julia. Her golden hair, arranged in an elegant manner, had caught his eye now as it did the first time they met. Nor could he ignore her perfect posture, for she sat as erect as one of the statutes and could rival the beauty of any of them. Upon hearing his footsteps, she gazed over her shoulder at him.
“Your Grace,” she said. “It seems we are destined to keep meeting at the most inopportune places.”
Duke of Decadence (Lords of Hedonism Book 1) Page 4