His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  “Heavens, no. Arthur loves to hide, and your home is rather large. I really don’t see much hope in finding him.” Victoria shivered from the cold. So much for that heat she had imagined.

  The duke now stood at least a foot away from her, arms across his chest. “His Majesty seems determined to occupy my house. I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we give him what he wants? He can stay the night. When he is discovered tomorrow morning, a footman will bundle him up and return him to you.”

  Victoria had the distinct impression the duke was once again trying to get rid of her. “I don’t wish to trouble you, but if you think that would be best... Thank you for your patience, Your Grace.” She gave him her best curtsy.

  He reached for her hand and pulled her closer. Bending, he pressed his lips to her gloved hand, lingering much, much too long. That sizzling tingle returned, coursing between them. Though her fingers quaked, she didn’t try to escape his hold.

  He released her hand abruptly. His eyes were a dark and stormy grey again. “Good night, Miss Forster. Do call or my mother will never forgive you.”

  He tipped his hat to her and called to the footman. “Stay close to her, Timothy.” Then he disappeared into the house.

  Victoria headed up the street with Timothy not two feet behind her. The walk home took only several minutes but it seemed to take much longer, for without Arthur or the duke she was bereft of company. She was surprised to feel lonely. She thought she had long become used to being by herself.

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning Victoria spent a couple of hours polishing the silver. With the threat of being locked in her room and banned from any further social engagements, she had followed her cousin’s orders. She honestly didn’t mind the work. There was some satisfaction in seeing the pieces gleam once again. She minded that Louisa so disrespected her, a member of the family.

  Once finished, she worked on sketches from the Northfields’ ball. She had no idea what scenes Mr. Ripley might be interested in, so she simply drew whatever she remembered. Which wasn’t as much as usual because she’d been preoccupied. First with unsuccessfully avoiding the duke, and second with awkwardly dancing with him.

  Arthur arrived around noon, borne in a gingham-lined basket by a footman splendidly garbed in livery of blue and gold. Unfortunately, the footman left so hastily Victoria didn’t have a chance to question him about Arthur’s stay. Though she demanded answers from the feline, he resolutely held his ground and refused to gossip about his time at Taviston House.

  Louisa rose soon afterwards. Victoria decided to avoid her cousin and vacate the house. She snatched up some books and set off for Hookham’s circulating library. A maid should be accompanying her but Louisa would never allow her to “waste the household resources.” The only reason Timothy accompanied her on her nighttime walks was because he was off-duty and the kind young man insisted she shouldn’t go alone. However, propriety would not stop her from acquiring new books. Hopefully ones that would keep her attention off the Duke of Taviston. How could one person so occupy her mind?

  Of course, as she made the three-quarters of a mile journey, she thought of nothing else but Taviston. A small part of her brain had been trying to convince her he had been about to kiss her last night. What utter nonsense. Of course he hadn’t been attempting to kiss her. She did know enough about his character to know he would never want to do such a thing. Although, what experience did she have with such matters? She had never been kissed in her life. Well, not by a grown man anyway. Two village boys, on separate occasions, had grabbed her by the arms and pecked her on the lips when she was a young girl. Both had received black eyes for their efforts.

  Her midnight stroll with the duke had been lovely—and disturbing, at least to her emotions. They had talked like old friends. Or, she had. She had noticed his reticence about speaking of himself or his own life. Such a private man. Except for the startling laugh he had given to her evening gown jest, she hadn’t seen a smile or any merriment from him.

  Her unruly mind returned to the moment when he had stroked her hair. Unless she came right out and asked him, she would never know if a kiss had been imminent. The Thames would have to freeze over before that would happen, so she banished the thought and concentrated on her other concern. He insisted she call on his mother. She didn’t even have calling cards. And the duchess had just been being.... Protective? The woman didn’t know Victoria from Eve. Kind? Perhaps. Victoria had only been in her presence for a minute or so, but she seemed like a benevolent lady. After these last few days she couldn’t afford to offend someone like the duchess so she would have to gather her courage and call upon that fine lady.

  Decision made, she decided to enjoy the sunlit day and put the Duke of Taviston and his mother from her mind. Oh, what had her life become! All because of one overly curious cat.

  Once arrived on Bond Street, she entered the circulating library. It was crowded as usual. London ladies loved to read their novels. She returned the three books she had brought with her and then maneuvered her way toward the back shelves. She quickly found the one book she had been hoping to find. Now she needed to browse and search for a few others. She discovered one that held promise and as she moved along the row, she perused it. Until she accidentally rammed the book into someone’s arm.

  “Good afternoon, Miss Forster!” the Duke of Taviston said with more enthusiasm than she would have thought him capable.

  Blast. “I apologize, Your Grace, for my clumsiness,” she whispered as she moved out of the way of another patron. The duke took her gently by the arm and led her a few feet away, to the back corner of the store.

  “I do wish you would dispense with the formality.”

  His eyes narrowed as if the words had been spoken by someone else. They certainly sounded foreign to her ears. If she knew nothing else, Victoria knew the Duke of Taviston was all about propriety and formality. Just what did he expect her to call him, in public no less? Were men always this difficult to understand?

  She said, rather tentatively, “I beg your pardon. Would you prefer ‘Duke’ or ‘sir’?”

  “Neither,” Taviston replied with a certain amount of impatience while looking her up and down.

  She certainly wasn’t so intimate with the duke that she felt comfortable addressing him as Taviston. Though she would admit—to herself—she had probably seen more intimate parts of him than any other member of society who addressed him as Taviston. That unnecessary thought sent a flush of heat across her face. Victoria now had a few choice names for him running through her mind, but she was certain he wouldn’t react well to any of them, so she decided to forgo addressing him by name, title, or courtesy at all.

  “I do hope Arthur behaved himself last night.”

  A smile slowly lit his face. Victoria swallowed some air and tried to discreetly cough behind her hand. My goodness, but he was a handsome fellow when he smiled. Perhaps he refrained from smiling all too often so as to prevent all the ladies from swooning in his presence.

  The smile stayed on his face as he said, “Oh, His Majesty did well actually. Arthur spent the better part of the night sleeping beside but not, thankfully, atop me and I am told he thoroughly enjoyed cook’s meal. However, my mother did report, with some alarm, that she had encountered a very large, grey rat with glowing eyes in her dressing room.” His own grey eyes positively gleamed with a devilish light.

  Who was this merry man and what had he done with the staid duke? “The poor duchess,” was all she could think to say.

  “Don’t trouble yourself about the duchess. She raised three sons, not to mention my sister Harriet who was given to bring every stray animal or child running about the estate.”

  Victoria wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she focused on a more concerning issue. Like what, pray tell, was his jolly mood all about? He seemed a completely different person. Thoughts of madness drifted through her head again. What was he doing here?

  “What are you doing here?”
she said out loud, rather rudely, and instantly regretted it. The smile quickly left his face. Well, bother.

  “I had some errands to run in this part of town and my mother asked me to pick up a book for her,” he explained.

  “Oh.” A perfectly reasonable explanation. What had she expected, that he had followed her again?

  “What current novels are you reading?” he enquired as he reached for one of the books in her hand. She instantly tightened her grip on it. He was still able to pull it from her hand with little effort.

  “The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, Volume Two.” He scowled and grabbed the other book from her. “Travels in Italy by James Peter Mann. No novels? You surprise me, Miss Forster.”

  “I have a fondness for learning,” she replied defensively. Especially given the fact she hadn’t been afforded an education at all. The family finances had been so strapped that a governess was out of the question. Victoria had taken it upon herself to read any book she could, thus educating herself.

  She glanced up at him and saw admiration in his grey eyes. No, she didn’t like to think of them as grey. What was that word she had been searching for?

  “Smoke!” That came out a bit louder than she had intended. Taviston looked slightly astonished.

  Suddenly the murmur of voices in the shop died down and individual ones were readily heard by all.

  “Did she say ‘smoke’?”

  “There’s smoke?”

  “Oh my God, there’s a fire!”

  “Fire in the library! Everybody out!”

  “Fire! Fire!”

  Taviston and Victoria watched, dumbfounded, as the patrons of Hookham’s made a dash for the exit. Within minutes the shop was entirely empty. Even the employees had left.

  The duke watched the last one leave and turned back to Victoria. “I was not overly fond of that crowd myself.”

  Good heavens, had the dignified duke made a droll jest? Perhaps someone had slipped a little drink into his morning coffee.

  “It would probably be wise if we left as well,” he declared while reaching for her arm. He propelled her outside the shop where the crowd now gathered in Bond Street. They stared back at the building, apparently watching for signs of the fire, in the meantime stopping traffic in the street. The noise rattled Victoria’s eardrums. Members of the crowd shouted at one another, trying to identify the whereabouts of the smoke or fire. The drivers of the carriages who couldn’t pass through the street angrily berated the crowd to move.

  Taviston had pulled her slightly away from the crowd. For the first time, Victoria looked him over in the light of day. By night he was a dark, handsome devil and by day he was a bright, striking angel. The sun shone off his glossy black hair and highlighted his strong bone structure. That warm shiver of electrical heat ran up her spine again. It was a pity she would never receive a kiss from those beautiful, firm lips. He looked the classic gentleman in his blue coat, ivory waistcoat, buff breeches and black boots. Victoria couldn’t look away.

  Finally, the duke used his forefinger to raise her chin and bring her gaze up to his face. He stroked her chin once with his long finger and then dropped his hand. He said with much doubt, “Did you really see smoke?”

  She would have liked to stare past his shoulder, to avoid meeting his eyes. However, he was too tall and she was too short. Instead she addressed his fine blue coat, “No, I did not.”

  “Whatever were you referring to then? Surely you have been told not to shout ‘fire’ in a crowded room.” He didn’t sound altogether too angry.

  She protested, “I didn’t shout ‘fire!’”

  Then she erred and looked into his eyes. Those smoky eyes. Right now, they were determined, smoky eyes. He wanted an explanation.

  This time she addressed his simply-tied cravat and spoke quickly, “Your eyes remind me of smoke, only I could not think of that word to describe them. Then suddenly, it came to me.”

  Not for the first time in their acquaintance did Victoria think about running. With mortification slowly creeping across her skin, she decided to act on it this time. She darted around him and disappeared into the crowd and out the other side, skirting around the numerous stranded carts and carriages. She eventually came out onto Piccadilly and made her way home via the long route.

  She suffered a small disappointment when she returned home and discovered she didn’t have any books. But there was nothing for it. The last she remembered the duke had had them in his hand. No reading for her today.

  She sprawled across her bed and contemplated how to occupy herself. Arthur dozed beside her. She had already done her correspondence for the day and finished a few sketches. Maybe she could sketch the duke—with his clothes on.

  No, absolutely not.

  In truth, she was thinking of pleading a headache and begging off from this evening’s dinner and entertainment. Then she could avoid both Louisa and the seemingly omnipresent Duke of Taviston, if he should happen to be there.

  She heaved a dramatic sigh. Well, she was left with nothing left to do but think of said duke. His mood today utterly fascinated her. He hadn’t seemed aloof or unapproachable at all. This was a side of him she could like.

  A knock on her bedchamber door had her scrambling off the bed and into a more ladylike pose before bidding them to enter.

  Morgan, the Brownes’ butler, opened the door.

  “You have a caller, miss,” he intoned with disbelief in his eyes.

  She couldn’t really blame him for his incredulity. “A caller. Who is it, Morgan?”

  “Her card says she is the Marchioness of Northfield. I could find no reason to disbelieve it.” His tone suggested he had hoped to find a reason.

  Drat the man and his supercilious attitude. He should be in raptures to have a marchioness visit his household. But of course he wasn’t, because apparently the marchioness was here to see her, Victoria, and not the lady of the house. She was surprised herself that Lady Northfield had come to call on her, but she didn’t show it to Morgan.

  Instead, she imitated the duke’s imperious tone. “I will receive her in the drawing room in a few minutes time, Morgan.”

  Obviously not appreciative of her new manner, Morgan twisted his lips in an ugly snarl before he backed out of the door, closing it solidly behind him.

  Victoria hurried over to the washstand to freshen up. She then presented herself before the mirror and repaired her hair while also checking her dress for cleanliness.

  She did her best to graciously glide into the drawing room. She had briefly met Lady Northfield last week and then again at her ball the night before. The marchioness was a petite, attractive, dark blonde who radiated confidence. But then, why shouldn’t she? The former Miss Jane Stockton, daughter of Viscount Stockton, had been raised right here in London society. And last year she had married one of the wealthiest and handsomest men in London. Victoria wasn’t acquainted with the scions of the ton, but her elderly friends did love to talk about such people.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Northfield. It is a pleasure to see you.” She gave a curtsy.

  Lady Northfield rose from her chair and reached for Victoria’s hands. She gave them a light squeeze and said, “It’s good to see you as well, Miss Forster. I do hope you realize I call in the name of friendship.”

  She returned to her chair and Victoria took a seat on the sofa. Conversation with people her own age was foreign to her, but the marchioness had come to her rescue last night. That thought might keep her nervousness at bay.

  “How gracious of you. I had a lovely time at your ball last evening.”

  “Oh, thank you so much. I am glad you enjoyed it.”

  “I appreciate your assistance with my cousin and the duchess as well.”

  Lady Northfield waved her hand in the air. “It was noth—” Her words abruptly descended into a squeak as Arthur’s overly large body landed on her lap.

  Rising out of her chair to fetch her impertinent pet, Victoria apologized.

>   The marchioness shook her head as she settled the grey feline on her pink poplin gown and commenced petting him enthusiastically. “It’s quite all right. I love cats.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Certainly. What’s his name? He’s a handsome fellow.” Lady Northfield ducked her head and began murmuring nonsense in his ear, all the while scratching his chin.

  “He’s called Arthur.”

  With a hint of wistfulness her ladyship recounted, “I was smitten with the kitchen cats as a young girl. However, my parents refused to let me take them abovestairs and make pets out of them.” An impish grin lit her face. “But let me share a secret with you, Miss Forster. I often smuggled those cats, especially the young ones, up to my bedchamber for the night. It was ever so lovely to snuggle with the kittens.”

  Victoria felt comfortable enough to smile back at this fellow cat lover. “Arthur has been a steadfast friend and first rate snuggler, despite all the trouble he gets up to. I’m glad I brought him from Lincolnshire.”

  “It must be difficult to come to Town without really knowing anyone,” Lady Northfield commented with a gentle smile. “Did you know my husband and the Duke of Taviston are very close friends?”

  The duke. She wanted to talk about the duke. This could be disastrous.

  With caution Victoria replied, “I had no idea.”

  “They have known each other for ages. Edmund introduced me to Taviston last year, just before our wedding. How long have you known the duke?”

  She peered at Lady Northfield closely. Her visitor had said she had come in friendship, but Victoria was suspicious by nature. Thus she kept her response short. “We met two days ago.”

  It only seemed like a month ago.

  “Hmmmm. He is a quiet man, but a good man nonetheless, wouldn’t you agree?” Lady Northfield’s face glowed with curiosity.