The Wicked Duke Takes a Wife

by Jillian Hunter

  Chapter Eight

  Lost Angel of a ruin’d Paradise! She knew not ’twas her own; as with no stain She faded, like a cloud which had outwept its rain.

  PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY

  Adonais

  Edlyn was sitting at the window again when Harriet entered the room with a bedtime offering of hot chocolate and warm currant buns. She set down her tray on the circular rosewood table. The girl had at least traded her dreary gray dress for an embroidered white nightrail, but somehow the change only made her seem thinner and more ethereal.

  “I love hot chocolate on a rainy night,” Harriet said cheerfully, if only as an antidote against the somber atmosphere in the room. “Which, living in London, means I drink it all the time.”

  Edlyn sat in utter silence.

  “And Cook makes the most scrumptious currant buns you’ve ever tasted. I ate five in a row when I first came to the academy. I almost blew up like a balloon. It’s embarrassing to think of it.”

  Nothing. She might have been talking to the bedpost. Charlotte had urged her to persist. “You aren’t unwell, are you?” she asked. “Perhaps we should-” She broke off. Harriet had never possessed much patience. “What are you looking for from that window? Whatever it is can’t be more enticing than Cook’s buns.”

  “You talk too much,” Edlyn said unexpectedly.

  “That wouldn’t be because I have to talk for two, would it?”

  She waited. Then, more curious than offended, she went to the other end of the window and peered down into the street. It was empty. Edlyn turned her head and subjected her to a wrathful scowl. Having received and given worse in her tender years, Harriet disregarded this affront. She thought she heard the echo of hoofbeats from the corner. She might even have perceived the rear end of a hackney coach. But there was nothing unusual about that. It was almost as if the girl could see ghosts. Harriet shivered pleasantly at the thought.

  “Have some hot chocolate,” she insisted, returning to the table. “This room is colder than I can ever remember. Perhaps we’re going to have another storm.”

  Edlyn finally deigned to speak. “It stormed the entire way from home to London.”

  “Did it? Mind you don’t burn yourself. The drink is piping hot.” She carefully handed her the bone-china cup.

  Edlyn took a reluctant swallow. “This is good,” she said grudgingly. “Bitter and dark, the way it’s supposed to be. And it always storms when one of us is in a mood. My great-aunts think Uncle Griffin attracts thunder and lightning.”

  “Nonsense,” Harriet said, her scalp prickling. “Nobody has that sort of power, except in stories. What you probably mean to say is that he-I don’t know-that he stirs up his surroundings.”

  “Does he stir you?”

  Harriet blinked. “A woman in my position does not allow herself to be stirred.”

  “Would you admit it if you were?”

  Harriet gave a reluctant laugh.

  “I saw you holding his hand tonight.”

  She cut one of the buns neatly in half. “I was not holding his hand. We were on a hunt. Your aunt was frantic because she couldn’t see you, and if I appeared to be upset, or stirred, that would be why. Now, then. I’ll leave you in peace. I have to go and settle down the other girls. Some of them have never attended a ball before, and they’ll be up half the night talking.”

  She waited again. At least she had tried. “I sleep down the hall if you need me during the night.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Ring if you want anything,” she said in resignation.

  She turned. Harriet could hardly escape the room fast enough. Then, just as she reached the door, Edlyn’s voice stopped her. “What do you do when you’re alone?”

  Harriet knew she should not give an honest answer. But she did. “I read.”

  “An etiquette manual?” Edlyn asked in disdain.

  Harriet turned slowly. “No. Not when I’m alone. I have a favorite book-”

  Edlyn turned her head. “I’m tired. Go away.”

  Harriet paused. “Fine. I hope you have pleasant dreams.”

  When she left the room a moment later, she realized that she knew nothing about Edlyn but that she had revealed three things about herself. One was that she loved hot chocolate on a rainy night. The second, that she had once eaten five currant buns in a row. Third, that she read when she was alone. And if she had not admitted it in so many words, it was obvious that she had allowed herself to be stirred by Edlyn’s horribly handsome guardian.

  She almost screamed when she encountered the horribly handsome duke in the middle of the stairs. At first she thought it was only a tall shadow that darkened her path. Then the shadow moved up toward her. A pair of strong arms reached out to firmly entrap her. The duke’s eyes gleamed with dark amusement. She pursed her lips, doing her best to look disapproving. He wore a black cloak over his long-tailed evening jacket. The satin-lined wool bore a pleasant scent of damp that wafted to her as he shifted his weight evenly on the step beneath.

  “If I’d had a tray in my hands,” she said in a precise voice that she hoped would put him in his place, “I would have dropped it and disturbed the entire academy. Shame on you, your grace. You shouldn’t be sneaking up here like this.”

  The darkness lent his chiseled features a dangerous appeal. “I know,” he whispered with a conspiratorial smile. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”

  She gave him a politely discouraging frown. “I assume that you were looking for Miss Edlyn. I have in fact just left her. She’s still awake but ready to retire. I’m sorry, your grace, but gentlemen aren’t supposed to be upstairs. You will have to wait until the morning to make a proper call.”

  “Oh.” He didn’t appear particularly disappointed or surprised. “Well, in that case, perhaps you can give her a message from me.”

  She nodded graciously. “Of course.” But only because it was a duke asking and there was something beguiling about his voice. If any other fellow had come creeping through the house, Harriet would have tackled him for all she was worth. “I’ll go right upstairs and deliver it before she goes to bed.”

  He frowned.

  “Your grace?” she prompted.

  “Yes?” His large body pressed against hers, a pleasant if awkward position that gave little chance to move.

  “I can’t very well deliver a message unless I know what it is.”

  He gave her an abashed grin. “I don’t know what it is, either. Do you want me to make one up?” That was her cue to escape. She knew it. But did she try?

  He studied her face, obviously interpreting her hesitation as a sign of encouragement. In the next moment he was leaning over her. Even then she could have squeezed under his arm and slipped down the stairs. She could have resisted the soft kisses he sprinkled against her neck and denied how nice they felt. Instead, she stood, utterly mesmerized by the sensations that took her by storm.

  “This is your message to Miss Edlyn?” she managed to whisper in chagrin, her chin resting upon his clean-shaven cheek.

  “Not exactly.” He lifted his head. Suddenly his firm lips rested ever so lightly on hers. His arm locked around her waist. She waited, then expelled a breath.

  “Your grace,” she said firmly, “you are not allowed upstairs. Or past my guard. Or-”

  His mouth captured hers. His arms held her before she could fall. Thunder. Lightning. A force so remorseless and elemental that it torched not only a woman’s senses but the entire world. Electricity shivered through her veins. He wedged her securely between the railing and his body. Her lips parted, softened, sought, allowing his tongue to slide deeply into her mouth. Nobody has this sort of power. But the power gripped her harder, possessive and assured, guiding her into temptation. For several inarticulate moments, she was too nonplussed by the maddening ache that rose inside her to recognize it for what it was: passion. Subtle. Persuasive. To think she had been born in sin and managed to elude this. No wonder the girls in the a
cademy were forbidden to talk of kissing and what it led to. Harriet had never before received such an insightful lesson in the art.

  Griffin gave Harriet the barest chance to breathe, afraid that she would make him stop. His cloak had gotten trapped between them, buffering the intimate heat of their embrace. Her mouth had tempted him all night. He had deceived Charlotte when he’d left her downstairs with his aunt, promising he would seek a servant to make sure that Edlyn had settled into her new room.

  Worse, he had deceived himself. He realized it the moment he spotted Harriet on the stairs. If she hadn’t set them both on fire earlier, she did so now with the purity of blue flame.

  His mouth sought hers again. He tore off his gloves, catching one of her hands in his. Before he knew what he was doing, he lifted the bare fingers of his other hand to her cheek, to the curve of her throat. Her skin felt warm, enticing. He could spend hours drawing constellations from the tiny freckles that dipped from her neck across her shoulders. Untouched. Unexplored. From the depths of the house, voices rose, intruded, impinged on his awareness. He groaned softly in protest. Not yet. Go away. He hadn’t realized that a woman’s kisses could bring him to his knees. A dark haze blanketed his brain. “Your grace.”

  Her voice. Her mouth. Her-

  “Duke,” she whispered urgently, giving him a sharp poke in the ribs. “Get hold of yourself right now.”

  He drew away, shaking his head. His blood was on fire. “Please tell Edlyn that I was here. There’s no point in making her come down if she’s ready for bed.”

  She hesitated, then reached down behind her with a reproving sigh.

  “The academy will do its best, your grace,” she said, handing him back his gloves. “You’d be surprised what a difference the proper influence can make. Now do us both a kindness and leave before one of the girls realizes you are here. There seems to be something about you that disrupts our sheltered world.”

  Chapter Nine

  Learn from me, if not by my precepts, at least by my example, how dangerous is the acquirement of knowledge.

  MARY SHELLEY

  Frankenstein

  Harriet slept late and went by rote through her morning ablutions. It was to her advantage that today was Sunday and that the previous night’s ball had, as she’d predicted, kept most of the students up into the wee hours, whispering of amours imagined and observed. At least they would sit in chapel too weary to get in trouble chattering.

  Monday morning, however, was another thing.

  She walked slowly down the stairs, straight past the spot where the duke had kissed her. The memory still lingered in her mind as she entered the classroom a few moments later. She hoped the young devil’s conscience had prevented him from enjoying his day of rest. To think he’d bluffed his way past her guard. It wouldn’t happen again, even though she accepted half the blame for playing into his hands. Yet it wasn’t altogether the worst thing that could happen to a woman, being kissed for her first time by a duke.

  She dropped her book down on the desk.

  Today’s lesson covered the proper attire for garden parties. Linen was the preferred fabric, and a bonnet was de rigueur. What would the well-prepared lady do in the event of rain? Was it true that a gentleman could wear any shade of gray, while his female counterpart would be accused of bad taste? And why could a duke get away-

  She pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. He had a lovely mouth and strong, gentle hands.

  She heard her name. The girls were whispering about… her.

  “Do you think poor Miss Harry will be dismissed because of what happened at the ball?”

  “That wouldn’t be fair. I heard old Lady Powlis ordering her to dance with the duke.”

  “Is he here?”

  “In the academy?”

  Several heads turned.

  Miss Edlyn strolled into the room, her black hair streaming to her waist. “He isn’t. The old one is, though.”

  Harriet glowered at the girls. “I hope you’re all proud of yourselves. It’s one thing to talk about me, but you are never to disparage another student, not in her presence or behind her back.”

  “It’s all right,” Edlyn murmured, slipping into the empty chair that had been saved for her. “Everyone talks about us.”

  “It isn’t all right,” Harriet said in a curt voice.

  She opened her guidebook, wondering whether the chapter on funerals would be more appropriate than the more cheerful subject of garden parties.

  Dismissed? Was it possible? Not for obeying a frantic lady who was also a family member. However, if Charlotte or anyone else in the house had glimpsed the duke kissing Harriet on the stairs, a dismissal would not only be possible but completely deserved.

  Charlotte Boscastle smiled cordially as she served tea in the yellow breakfast room. She wished she knew of a polite way to request that Lady Powlis lower her voice. The subject of their conversation happened to be Harriet Gardner, who, according to some reports, had created a delightful scandal at Saturday night’s dance. Charlotte saw no reason to admonish Harriet. She had not witnessed any impropriety on her young assistant’s part. Still, for the life of her, she could not understand why Lady Powlis had insisted that Harriet be brought to her immediately. To what could this tête-à-tête be leading?

  Had Lady Powlis learned of Harriet’s unfortunate upbringing? No one at the academy spoke of it, although one could not bury what could be so easily unearthed.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Lady Powlis set down her cup. “You must be wondering why I have come today.”

  “Well, at first I assumed you came about Lady Edlyn,” Charlotte said cautiously. “But then-”

  “Yes, of course,” Primrose said, a trifle testily. “Edlyn is always my primary concern.”

  “And she is the reason you asked me to summon Harriet from class?”

  “No.” Lady Powlis frowned. “It has come to my attention that Harriet debuted as an actress at an early age. Is this true?”

  Charlotte fidgeted. “Well, yes, but she was very young, an orange girl, and she got her first part-”

  “-when the leading lady broke her nose.”

  Charlotte sighed. “She was very young.”

  “And very busy afterward, from what I’ve heard. Miss Gardner has lived quite the eventful life.”

  Charlotte put down her tea. “Are you afraid she will have a bad influence on Edlyn?”

  “Good grief, no. Edlyn is the one who taints the well water. Trust me.”

  “Then what in the world do you want with Miss Gardner?”

  “I want to employ her as my abigail.”

  Charlotte’s blue eyes widened in astonishment. “You want to what?”

  “Do I not speak loudly enough, dear?”

  “Quite loudly,” Charlotte said with a frown.

  “Then what is confusing about the nature of my request?”

  “Well, I-that is, the academy needs her.”

  Lady Powlis balanced her cane between her knees, her voice creaking like a rusty hinge. “More than one lonely old woman?”

  Oh. Charlotte knew she had backed herself into a corner. Harriet and Primrose. What an impossible association. She had always assumed she would be having this conversation with a gentleman who sought to be Harriet’s protector. But how did one refuse an aging relative who had spent an entire life exerting her will? “I shall have to speak with Emma about this, and she and the duke have not arrived in London yet.”

  “My nephew is a duke,” Primrose said craftily.

  “No one is likely to forget that.”

  “Well, do you own Miss Gardner?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Stop pretending to be such a corkbrain, Charlotte. Did Miss Gardner sign a contract with you or not?”

  Charlotte blinked. A corkbrain, Griffin’s sweet-looking aunt had called her. Who was the one who needed instruction in manners? “I don’t know that she and Emma actually made-”

  “I’ll buy it o
ff Emma. The price is of no consequence. Are we agreed, then?”

  Charlotte shook her head. “I am not empowered to pass Miss Gardner off like a pawn. Harriet has a say in this, too. And, oh, you have really pushed me into revealing what I promised to keep private.” She hesitated. “Harriet’s past is-”

  “-interesting?” Primrose flipped her cane against her chair. “I gathered that. Why else do you think I want to employ her? Do you imagine I want to spend my final days being dusted like a museum piece? I have hopes for my dotage. Your young instructress gave me a giggle the night before last, and I am a lady in sore need of upliftment. One of these days I intend to travel, and I am not dragging along a dull, stodgy companion who spoils my fun.”

  “Interesting is one thing,” Charlotte sputtered. “But let me be clear when I say that Miss Gardner has spent more of her life in the rookeries than teaching the rules of deportment.”

  “Yes, yes. One can hardly help noting her flaws. However, I shall soon be alone to contemplate my own deficits. Griffin will marry. By the grace of God, Edlyn shall, too. I would rather pass my final years in laughter than mourning the child and husband I have lost.”

  Charlotte felt rather as if she were being trampled by a runaway cart horse. Not that one could compare Lady Powlis to-Perhaps she was worrying for nothing. Harriet felt at home in the academy. She and Charlotte had become close friends. It was Charlotte who had introduced Harriet to literature. It was Harriet who stayed up with her late at night, listening to the stories Charlotte wrote. Why would Harriet want to give up her safe shelter to work for a woman who would-treat her like the daughter she had lost?

  Charlotte didn’t want to lose Harriet, either. Without Harriet, the academy would revert to the boring, disciplined institute it was meant to be.

  But in the end, the choice would come to Harriet, and Charlotte could only be glad she was staring down into a teacup instead of a crystal ball.

  Harriet could not believe what she had been asked. She stood in a daze, until Lady Powlis insisted she take a chair. Then she plopped down so ungracefully that Charlotte closed her eyes in mortification. “Sorry,” Harriet whispered, but what could one expect? It was a good thing she wasn’t a swooning sort of girl.