by Norma Darcy
The look of arrogance on his face shocked her. His words were spoken without care for her feelings or wishes. She had never thought to hear such language from him. And that he should dare to announce their engagement before she had given him her answer? That he should dare to try to force her hand? She was out of all patience with him and determined at that moment that nothing would make her ever accept him.
“If anyone has the right to meet Lady Louisa in private, it is me,” continued the Duke. “We are betrothed and have been for a week. And as her ladyship’s future husband, all her kisses, embraces and anything else you had in mind, Nicky, belong exclusively to me. And I am not willing to share.”
Louisa looked around for something to hit him with. She did not think she had ever been so angry.
Nicholas could contain his own anger no longer and surged forward with fists up. “Why you―!” he lunged, swinging one fist wildly at the Duke’s noble head. But that gentleman, being somewhat expert in the science of pugilism, blocked the blow with one arm and took him down with a right hook before Nicholas Ashworth knew what was happening. Malvern hardly moved, but the young man fell, clutching his jaw, and it was plain from the stars in his eyes that he did not know what day it was. Nicholas pulled his fingers away from his mouth and they were wet with blood.
The Duke stood over the younger, slighter built man, an expression of grim satisfaction on his face.
Louisa was so incensed by his demeanour that she struck Malvern on the jaw with one perfectly formed tight little fist.
The shock of the unexpected assault made him take a defensive step backward, which gave the lady no small degree of satisfaction. She was so furious that she swung at him again, but this time he was ready for her and caught her fist in one large hand. She deployed the other fist rapidly and he caught that hand too and pinned both her arms behind her so that she was, by default, in his arms.
“Let me go!” she cried.
His brown eyes bored into hers. “I demand to know what has occurred between you and that man.”
“Nothing,” she cried, struggling against the strength in his hands. He held her as if quelling a spoilt child and the sensation did nothing to mollify her temper.
“He was kissing you,” Malvern gritted out.
“Yes, he was, and I enjoyed it,” she declared, her eyes wild and passionate and staring up into his face with defiance.
“Take your hands off her!” snarled Mr Ashworth, staggering to his feet.
“Or what?” demanded the Duke, making no effort to release his hold on the lady.
“She’s my fiancée! And you have no right to touch her!”
The earth seemed to spin through one revolution in one second, and it might as well have done, for Louisa reeled with shock.
“Your fiancée?” repeated his grace in an awful voice.
“Yes! So get your filthy hands off her!”
“Is it true?” asked the Duke, his eyes swivelling to the lady.
Later, when Louisa had had time to consider, she would come to regret her answer. But at the moment the question was asked of her, the overriding need to teach him a lesson outweighed good sense and she declared that it was. “And I love him,” she added for good measure.
The effect was immediate and effective. Malvern released her abruptly.
Louisa happened to glance at Nicholas at that moment and he looked so shocked and mortified by her revelation that she nearly burst out laughing. Nearly.
Malvern glared down into her face for a long moment as if trying to ascertain that she meant what she had said, his eyes searching her face. Finally he spun on his heel without another word and walked away.
The newly betrothed couple stared at each other. Good God, what had they done?
* * *
Lady Louisa groaned and buried her face into her pillow. It was ten o’clock the following morning and she had a headache and Lady Garbey’s house was in uproar.
“Did you know anything of this, Louisa?” demanded her aunt. “You are close to your sister. Did she speak to you of her plans?”
“No Aunt. I knew that Emma did not love Lord Yarlett but―”
“He’s broken off the betrothal,” squeaked her ladyship, sniffing her smelling salts. “He’s told Emma that all is at an end. I had to hear it from Mrs Waterhouse who heard it from Lady Holland. I ask you! Such a piece of news happening right under my roof and I had to hear it from Lydia Waterhouse! I felt such a fool. And not to mention that your father will be in high dudgeon at such news. Oh what are we to do? Poor Emma. Poor foolish Emma. They had been betrothed for months. She’ll be ruined now, of course. No man will touch her. And your father will blame me and I cannot say as I had any inkling of what was in her head―”
“Dear Aunt,” said Louisa, emerging out from under her pillow. “Father cannot blame you. You were not to know. Indeed, I knew that Emmy wasn’t at all sure about Lord Yarlett―the stories about him say that he’s forever in debt. I cannot see that Papa will be so very disappointed.”
Her ladyship groaned from behind her handkerchief. “I will end up in Bedlam.”
“Poor Aunt. There now.”
“And now there is a note from Malvern saying that he cannot come today, and it’s all my fault,” sobbed Lady Garbey.
“Malvern?” repeated Louisa, faltering slightly.
“Yes, a message arrived from his secretary at Grosvenor Square. He says that his master has a business emergency today and regrets that he will not be able to escort you to the British Museum,” said Aunt Garbey from the edge of the bed, turning over the Duke’s missive in her gnarled hand.
Louisa snatched the message out of her aunt’s hand and read the scant few words with a sinking heart. “Oh.”
“I must say it is most unlike Malvern to cry off from any engagement,” continued her aunt, “particularly when it’s history and there is nothing he enjoys better than to walk around examining old relics. You saw him last evening, Louisa, was all well when you spoke to him?”
Louisa sat up abruptly spilling pillows to the floor. “Why does everyone automatically assume it was my fault?”
Lady Garbey gave her a blank look. “I was only enquiring as to why―”
“I am not Malvern’s keeper,” replied Louisa stiffly. “Who he sees or what he does is of no concern of mine. He does not seek my permission to go out of town on business and I’m sure we will do well enough without him.”
Lady Garbey blinked. “I see.”
“I didn’t want to go to the stupid museum anyway. I have been there many times before. And Malvern spends an age before each exhibit, staring at it as if he expects it to come to life at any moment until I wish to scream with boredom.”
“But you always used to enjoy it, my love. You were in raptures over the Elgin Marbles.”
“Please can we talk about something else? I am weary of this subject.”
“But it is so unlike him. I swear I have never met a more agreeable gentleman than Malvern. And so handsome too.”
“I may wear the white muslin with the lemon satin ribbons this evening,” declared Louisa with a note of steel in her voice. She reached for her cup of hot chocolate and sipped it.
“Indeed, my love, I think you should for it becomes you very well. I was only saying to Emmy that you have been looking a little peaky of late. A ball with some dancing is just what one needs to restore one’s spirits. And hopefully Malvern will be returned from his business and you will be able to arrange another day to go to the museum.”
“Oh hang the museum!” said Louisa, setting down her cup with some force.
“My dear…you have not argued with Malvern again, have you?” asked her aunt.
“No, I have not. And I do not see why everyone always thinks that it is me who―”
“But when I come to think of it, he walked right past our box at Vauxhall last evening without so much as a nod in our direction.”
“He probably didn’t see us. And I don’t care t
hat he didn’t say goodbye and I don’t care that he was making up to Miss Watson and I especially don’t care that he has business today and cannot take me to look at mummified Egyptian cat dung or some such thing.”
Louisa flung aside her bedclothes and swung her feet down to the floor.
“Oh dear,” murmured Lady Garbey as she watched her niece flounce away to the washstand.
* * *
“You do not dance, my lady?”
Lady Emma Munsford turned her head and perceived the Duke of Malvern smiling down at her. They were attending the Carrs’ ball and she had already received the cut direct from several of her acquaintance.
“I am tired, your grace,” she said as she held out her hand to him. “Are sure you should be seen talking to me? Can you not see that I am a fallen woman?”
“How so?” replied he, kissing her hand briefly and taking the chair next to hers.
“Well, if not fallen, then I am certainly in the middle of an undignified stumble. My engagement with Lord Yarlett is at an end.”
“Ah,” replied the Duke.
“So you had heard.”
Malvern picked up her fan and began to play with it. “A mere hiccup, my lady. Best to ignore them; that’s what I do.”
“Having spurned Lord Yarlett, for it is my fault you know, even if I have done nothing to deserve the withdrawal of his suit. Am I allowed to own that I am relieved to be freed from the relationship? I am even quite happy.”
“If my opinion means anything to you, I think that you have had a lucky escape.”
Emma smiled. “Thank you. I hope so. Sadly, everyone else thinks me callous.”
“Let them say what they like, my lady. It has been a good many years since I cared what any of them thought about anything.”
“Well, it is certainly a pleasant surprise to see you here for I am quite without allies, you know. To think of the Duke of Malvern gracing us with his presence; how you will put the match-making mamas in a bustle. I did not know you attended such things.”
“Why I hope I am not so important as to spurn an evening of dancing with pretty females,” he replied smiling. “And the happy consequence of being a Duke is that I am never short of the society of those ready to toad eat me.”
“That is a rather lowering thought, sir.”
“Yes, isn’t it? How long do you stay in Town?”
“Until the end of the month,” said Emma. “But I have a feeling I may be sent packing sooner than that. I am a social pariah. I have been spurned by their precious Yarlett, and the ton is determined to punish me for it. Do you stay in town long yourself?”
“Until the end of the season. We ride in Hyde Park tomorrow morning. You ride well as I recall, do you not, ma’am?”
“Oh yes, when I can. But I am forbidden to ride as a consequence of my having a cold recently. It’s all ridiculous in my opinion, but my aunt, you know, is convinced I shall have some sort of setback and so I am to stay at home. Very dull, is it not?”
“Very,” he agreed, absently playing with her fan. He looked thoughtful as if weighing his words. “You know that Marcus would mount you if you were in need of a horse, don’t you?”
Lady Emma blushed faintly. “Oh I do not ride because I am need of a horse; I have my own horse here, you know. And I am grateful to you for your offer but I have no desire to be indebted to Mr Ashworth,” she replied stiffly. “Besides, I feel sure he would lend me the oldest, fattest horse in his stable and laugh himself into an apoplexy to see me thrown by it.”
He smiled and was silent for a moment. “I doubt he has any horseflesh such as you describe in his stables.”
“You are no doubt right. He’d rather see me break my neck on that black beast of his.”
“The black? God no. He’d never let you near her.”
She sighed. “Too true. How very dull. The cart horse then.”
Malvern smiled and shook his head, his eyes following his finger as he ran it over the ridges of her fan. “You know he would willingly walk through fire for you, don’t you?”
Emma found herself reddening, much to her annoyance. “Mr Ashworth? When he doesn’t speak a word to me that is not forced out of him? When he can be in my company for a whole afternoon and make it perfectly clear that he is bored rigid by my presence? No, your grace. I think that is highly unlikely; impossible in fact.”
“Impossible it may be, but true it certainly is.”
“Mr Marcus Ashworth is as cold as the north wind, sir,” she said frigidly.
“He…er…suffered a disappointment as a young man,” said Malvern. “And that makes him cautious.”
“I see. And does that give him an excuse to treat me as if I had developed the pustules of the plague?”
The Duke smiled. “He is embarrassed.”
Lady Emma allowed her eyes to stray across the room to the tall unfashionably dressed man, staring in abject boredom out of the window. “He would be a good deal happier if he danced and tried to enjoy himself. Come Malvern, we know each other well enough I hope, not to stand upon ceremony. Say what it is you wish to say. You wish to add your voice to those of my cousin and my uncle and persuade me into taking Mr Ashworth.”
“Not at all. I merely point out that Marcus is a good man.”
“Oh I’m sure he is a good man; a capital fellow, as my uncle would say; a bruising rider by all accounts, adept at cards, boxing, shooting and fishing. These may be good qualities in a gentlemen’s friend but they do not figure highly on the list of what a woman desires in a husband.”
“Perhaps not. But he has money, a family that can be traced back for hundreds of years and a large profitable estate. As well as a good figure, he is in possession of all his own hair and a modicum of good sense. He is considered a very eligible bachelor by every family in his neighbourhood except―” Malvern broke off.
“Except mine? That is what you were about to say, is it not? Well, I will speak plainly sir, since you will have it so. Much as I blush to admit it to you, my family will not countenance a match with Mr Ashworth, even if I were disposed to accept him and he was disposed to ask me. Father wishes for a title. Now that it seems that you and Louisa are at an end, you can count on it that next he will be hoping that you and I might make a match of it instead.”
“Save your blushes, my lady. I know very well what your father wishes for. But you will forgive me if I speak plainly now…but you don’t wish to marry me, do you?”
Emma blushed despite herself. “I…I like you very well…but I do not wish to marry you, sir. No more than you wish to marry me.”
“No,” he agreed, spreading open her fan again. “Which in some ways is a shame; for I think we would deal together tolerably well. Our temperaments are well suited, we both have a sense of humour, a respect and admiration for the other, and a similar outlook on the world…and yet, there is something missing.”
“Love,” she said quickly and without giving herself permission to voice her thought aloud. He gave her a curious glance and Emma regretted her unruly tongue.
“Yes…love. You have felt it, ma’am? I feel sure you must have done to speak so.”
She blushed and looked away. “I believe one may do very well without it. I know many couples who wed for convenience and seem to be happy enough. You will laugh at me, your grace, but I am a romantic. My parents married for love; and I wish, if I possibly can, to do the same.”
“Good for you. For myself, were I not the Duke of Malvern I might hold out for love too. But I am a Duke and it is my duty to marry and to marry well. My family had settled upon a young lady for me…your sister Sophie. But as she is now unavailable, they wished for me to marry your sister instead.”
“And now that has fallen through and you are to be encumbered with me instead.”
He smiled. “Not at all.”
“But you, sir? Who do you wish to marry?”
He paused a moment, turning the fan over in his fingers. “There is a young lady for whom I have t
he deepest regard.”
“And your choice is not suitable?”
“Oh she is very suitable.” He paused and sighed. “But she won’t have me. Marrying a Duke carries with it a burden of expectation and responsibility and I do not think that the young lady wishes for that. She is well born but wilful.”
“Who is the young lady, sir?”
Malvern gave her back her fan, his eye carefully falling on no particular female before he looked away. “You should take this before I break it.”
Emma mechanically took the fan from his hand. “Forgive me, I did not mean to pry.”
He smiled. “No matter.”
“Am I to make my sister jealous, Malvern?”
He looked at her with a rueful smile. “Is it that obvious?”
“Anyone who sees the way you look at her may know it.”
He looked away at the dance floor. “Shall we?”
She smiled brightly. “But of course, your grace. And I shall take your arm thus and look up at you adoringly―how’s that?”
“Perfect,” he replied smiling down into her eyes as he led her to the floor.
* * *
“Enjoy your dance?” muttered Mr Ashworth, throwing down his cards on the table in the card room later that evening.
Malvern smiled. “Losing again, Marcus?”
“Yes, damn you. But nothing to signify.”
“I notice that you did not stay long to watch the dancing,” observed the Duke, picking up his friend’s cards and shaking his head over such a bad hand.
“Why would I watch something in which I have no interest?”
“Because you might spy a lady with whom you wish to dance.”
“And why would I want to do that when I am perfectly bored out of my mind with this room and everyone in it?”
“Because you would have the opportunity of a woman’s undivided attention for half an hour―that’s why.”
Mr Ashworth grunted and picked up his meagre winnings. “Can we go now?”
“You haven’t yet asked anyone to dance.”
“How observant you are. And nor am I likely to.”