His Duchess

by Charlotte Russell

  Louisa turned her back on Morgan and spoke to the fireplace. “Believe me, I have tried. Not with Browne, of course.” Theirs was a marriage in name only and her husband had never set foot inside her bedchamber. “But my efforts, and trust me, there have been many, have failed to produce a child.”

  “And yet you don’t seem nearly as upset as the situation would appear to warrant. Your cousin is a mere three and twenty. Surely she has many years ahead of her to produce this child,” Morgan supplied helpfully.

  “Oh, she certainly does,” Louisa replied slyly as she turned around again. “And I hope the dear little nuisance is blessed with a dozen—after my thirtieth birthday!”

  Morgan nodded sagely. “Ah, the caveat.”

  “Yes, indeed. If neither of us produces a child by my next birthday—which falls exactly one year from this month—then I inherit by default.”

  “Does the girl know?”

  “Good God, no. Do you take me for an idiot? I met with my grandmother’s solicitor privately and assured him Browne and I, as her guardians, would inform Victoria of the unusual terms of the will.” She dropped into the chaise facing the fireplace.

  “And Mr. Browne himself?” Morgan absurdly still deferred to the man’s position.

  Louisa cut her sharp gaze to the butler’s face. “He doesn’t know either. This is my money. However,” she said while twirling a ribbon on her dressing gown, “if you are willing to help me, I might be persuaded to part with some of it.”

  “Couldn’t you have postponed her Season one more year?”

  “Ha! As if I didn’t try my damnedest. Browne is so oblivious, he has never before realized how old Victoria is. I assumed nothing would change. But I have had things well in hand these last few weeks. I have made the mouse look as ridiculous as possible and I do not introduce her to anyone of consequence—or under the age of sixty.” Louisa popped up from the chaise and began to stalk around the room again.

  “Yet the Marchioness of Northfield called upon her today,” Morgan interjected, while drawing up into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

  His words stopped her in her tracks. “What?”

  The bastard shrugged. “She stayed for about twenty minutes.”

  “Bloody hell! Somehow she’s caught the eye of the Duke of Taviston as well.” She noted the widening of Morgan’s eyes. “I am shocked as well, but I do not mistake the look in his eye. I have received that look from countless men. Taviston wants her.” She caught the disappointed expression adorning her lover’s face. “Oh, I seriously doubt Taviston has any ideas about marrying Victoria. I know the man” —though not carnally, as she would have liked— “and he wants someone polished, someone regal, someone exactly like his mother, to be his duchess.”

  “Then, what is the problem?”

  “Passion has a way of making people do stupid things. I certainly don’t mind if the duke does something stupid, as long as it doesn’t result in marriage to my cousin. I am doing my best to ruin her ragged little reputation, in the eyes of not only the duke, but all of society. Nothing would please me more than to see her returning to Lincolnshire with her tail between her legs, all hope of marriage vanquished.”

  Morgan rose and began pulling on his clothes. “How do you expect me to help?”

  Louisa yanked the trousers from his hand. “You may support me emotionally for now and be ready to assist me in any capacity later, should the need arise. I will not allow her to marry anyone, let alone the duke.” She entwined her arms around the butler’s neck and dragged him back to the bed.

  Chapter Eleven

  Victoria attempted, with little enthusiasm and no expertise, to embroider a flower on a linen handkerchief in a small, dark sitting room on the third floor. Facing the street, the two narrow windows didn’t let in much light, but noise from outside was another matter. Decorated in a dark shade of yellow, the room made Louisa feel putrid, hence she never used it. Despite its dubious charms, Victoria did, often hiding herself away, enjoying the solitude.

  She was surprised when Morgan knocked on the door and disturbed her.

  “Yes?”

  “A package has been delivered for you.” He breathed heavily from the climb up and she was certain he intentionally failed to address her. He held a brown paper-wrapped package in his hands.

  Victoria held back asking who it was from, for why else would the butler himself ascend to the third floor except out of curiosity? Arising from her window seat without disturbing Arthur, she said peremptorily, “Thank you, Morgan.”

  The duke had taught her much about attitude.

  Morgan reluctantly let go of the package and left the room with a look of sheer annoyance on his face.

  Victoria ripped the paper off the package and found the two books she had selected at Hookham’s yesterday. Puzzled, she opened the cover of the top book and saw a note folded inside.

  Suddenly Louisa burst through the door, also huffing and puffing. “What is in the package, Victoria?”

  Arthur jumped down from the window and let out a long hiss at Louisa. Victoria used the distraction to surreptitiously close the book without looking at the note.

  She gave Louisa an innocent look and said in her sweetest voice, “They are just books from Hookham’s, Louisa dear.” She held them up for her cousin to see, making sure to clutch the one with the note tightly.

  Louisa repeated, “Books?”

  “Yes, one is about the Roman Empire and the other is about traveling in Italy.”

  Looking displeased and confused, her cousin shrugged inelegantly and exited the room, closing the door loudly.

  Victoria returned to her favorite spot, the thin window seat overlooking Somerset Street. There was enough room for her and Arthur to curl up on the cushion. She settled herself, ignored her mutilated embroidery, and slipped the note out. Clouds capped the city, but a thin ray of sunlight had found a gap and now shone weakly on the heavy vellum note in her hands. Just looking at the bold and precise pen strokes gave her gooseflesh.

  Miss Forster,

  You left these with me yesterday. Rather abruptly, I might add. I borrowed them for you, under my own name. Please see they are returned within a fortnight. I do hope you enjoy your “studies”. Perhaps we can discuss the downfall of the Roman Empire when next we meet.

  Yours,

  Taviston

  P.S. I trust you are feeling much more the thing this afternoon.

  She smiled to herself. The note was exactly like the man—contradictory. But how on earth had he known she was “ill” the night before?

  She read the note through twice more, warmth suffusing her veins. An image of the writer floated through her mind. With his black hair and smoky eyes, he perfectly portrayed the serious and brooding lord. But then he always seemed to do something just the opposite. Such as yesterday when he insisted she was too formal in her address. Or later when he made the quip about her clearing the shop. Or especially on the night when he had almost kissed her, but they had been interrupted and instead he had left that lingering kiss on her hand.

  She sighed and folded up the note. What a silly daydreamer. Hadn’t she already convinced herself there was no imminent kiss? She tucked the note into the front of the book and then began reading about the demise of the Roman Empire.

  After reading for an hour, she made an appearance at dinner with Mr. Browne and Louisa. For all the attention they paid her, she should have had a tray sent to her room. Louisa said not a word to her, but did throw her piercing, suspicious glares every other bite. Mr. Browne bid her good evening and asked if she had any suitors. She replied in the negative and he didn’t favor her with another question or comment the rest of the meal.

  After dinner she headed upstairs to her room to begin getting ready for the evening’s ball at the home of Lord and Lady Burton. It had dawned on her that perhaps the duke had run into Louisa last night at the Langstons’ party and had asked after her, explaining how he had known she was “ill”. S
he hadn’t been thrilled about attending this evening’s entertainment, but she was suddenly buoyed by the idea of Taviston’s presence.

  “Miss?”

  “Yes, Molly?” Victoria answered as she entered her room.

  “Might I curl your hair tonight, please?” Molly pleaded for all she was worth. Scullery maid though she was, Molly had a way with dressing hair and she loved to curl Victoria’s straight tresses.

  Knowing it would give her more time to read about the Roman Empire, Victoria told Molly to start heating the curling tongs. Then she fetched her book from the sitting room.

  TAVISTON GLANCED AROUND the Burtons’ ballroom with displeasure. This was the second ball he had attended this week. He passionately disliked balls. If one were unmarried, the sole purpose of the ball seemed to be to find a mate. If one were married, to find a lover. This wife-finding business was tiresome. Luckily, he had, once again, overhead someone remark about the presence of Lady Tessa Colvin. Diving into the crowd, he vowed this night he would make her acquaintance.

  Thirty minutes later he made it to the other side of the ballroom without encountering Lady Tessa or anyone who could introduce him to the young beauty. It seemed all anyone could speak of were the new sketches in Hither and Yon. As if a scandal rag interested him, he who had no acquaintance with scandal and never intended to.

  Taviston looked toward the terrace doors with the thought of escaping into the fresh air for a while. And there she was. Fingering the leaves of a potted plant and... Was she talking to it? No, how absurd. But her lips were moving. Before he knew it, his feet were moving as well and he stood before her.

  “Miss Forster. Are you feeling better, then?”

  She turned from the plant and settled her gaze on him. Her slow, innocently seductive smile brought his dulled nerves to life.

  “Oh, good evening. Yes, I am quite well, thank you.” This time she didn’t address him formally, or at all really.

  He stood like the fool he was, staring at her. Her ball gown again left much to be desired. It was white, entirely appropriate for a young, unmarried lady. However, the style was more in keeping with something an ancient widow would wear. The neckline actually came all the way up to her chin and ended in a ruffle. He had never seen such a thing on a ball gown. The sleeves were long and also ended in ruffles. The rest of the gown was unadorned, though she had tried to add a little color by tying a dark blue ribbon around the high waist.

  He dragged his gaze back up to her face and hair. If he ignored the gown, she looked delightful this evening. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a mass of curls with a matching dark blue ribbon wound through it. Her blue eyes were sparkling and there was a hint of color in her cheeks. Had he really once described her as plain?

  “You look lovely,” he finally managed to say, wondering if she didn’t think him daft for staring at her for so long.

  She returned his gaze with an intensity that held him immobile. There could have been a fire in the room and he wouldn’t have been able to look away from her face.

  “Thank you.” Suddenly she smiled again in appreciation of his comment and his blood heated.

  Involuntarily his hand began to rise. When he saw it out of the corner of his eye, he snatched it back. Touching her in a ballroom could only bring disaster. What was the matter with him? He felt bewitched in her presence.

  Still, she stared at him. He would go mad if she continued to look at him that way. Her cousin made him long for a hot bath and she put him in need of a very cold one.

  Victoria continued to smile. Taviston didn’t think her lips had turned down the entire time they had been together, which only made him want to smile.

  “Thank you so much for the books. I had completely forgotten about them yesterday.” Now her smile did falter, probably because she was remembering her abrupt departure.

  He decided not to bring up that awkward scene. “You are most welcome. I assume since you wanted Volume Two you have already finished Volume One.”

  “Yes, earlier in the week. I started Volume Two today.”

  He offered his arm. “Well then, would you care to stroll around the room and discuss the evils that befell the empire?” He must be going insane. The only reason he was at this ball was to meet Lady Tessa. He couldn’t do that with Miss Forster beside him.

  She looked his arm over briefly, to what purpose he had no idea. Slipping her small hand onto his sleeve, she said, “I would love to.”

  They started off around the room and instantly all regret left him. The crush of the crowd forced her to stay close to him. He pulled his arm in tightly and she had no choice but to lean into him. His body thrilled once again. The sober topic of the Roman Empire barely kept his desire leashed. They meandered around the room for almost three-quarters of an hour, so deep in their discussion that no one attempted to interrupt them. Finally, he could no longer tolerate the physical tension. He left her in the care of Lady Tupton, one of her “old” friends and set off in search of a drink.

  VICTORIA WAS IMMENSELY grateful Lady Tupton wanted to sit on a settee and watch the dancing. After that turn with the duke, she needed to sit down herself. If only she had a fan.

  She was no expert on matters of the flesh, but she thought she had a fairly good idea now of what was meant by desire. From those first deep gazes to the way their bodies had melded together on their stroll, the excitement running through her had only swelled.

  Sensing danger, she had hesitated before accepting his offer to promenade. Her fear had been warranted. There was not a doubt in her mind that if they had not been in a ballroom teeming with people, she would have attacked Taviston in a very unladylike manner. And yes, she was going to think of him as Taviston because it was utterly ridiculous to call him anything else when she had this mad, wild urge to press her lips and her body to his. Thank goodness they had been discussing Marcus Aurelius and Diocletian and not Marc Antony and Cleopatra. It had been the only thing keeping her in check.

  Well, that and the whole of society present. When Taviston had approached her, she had been vowing to the potted plant that she would not cause an uproar this evening. Thank heaven he hadn’t seemed to notice her conversation with the foliage.

  It was apparent to her that she needed to avoid Taviston at all costs for the rest of the evening for she seemingly could not trust herself. Just a few short days ago she had thought him a pompous, boring peer. Now, because he had done a few small favors for her and because his touch did marvelous things to her nerves, she had completely different thoughts about him. Carnal thoughts she knew young ladies such as herself were never supposed to have. Thoughts like, what if she didn’t only kiss his lips, but his jaw and his ears and his chin as well? How would that feel? Or, what would happen if she kissed his bare chest and maybe even his stomach? And, what about that other fascinating part of him she had glimpsed and attempted to draw?

  As a servant passed by, she grabbed a glass of champagne from his tray and gulped it down. She most certainly could not let herself get within ten feet of Taviston again tonight. Wherever did an innocent girl come up with these notions?

  A conversation with Jane and then a lengthy turn at the card table with Lord Marbury successfully distracted from her lustful thoughts. Marbury was like a grandfather to her. He loved nothing better than card games and he never failed to entice Victoria into a round or five. Tonight, she willingly agreed, as she wanted nothing more than to keep herself occupied and away from the Duke of Taviston.

  When she finally emerged from the stuffy card room after getting bested four rounds out of six by Lord Marbury, she was hot and thirsty. She glanced longingly at the terrace doors. Fresh, cool air sounded marvelous right now, but of course she could not go traipsing about the garden without a chaperone.

  Well, she should not, but that didn’t mean she could not, or would not.

  After grabbing another glass of champagne, she sidled up to the attentive but silent potted plant. She stroked a few leaves, t
ook a few sips of champagne then with a whirl she darted out the terrace door.

  A quick glimpse around ensured no one was paying her any attention. She slipped down the nearest stone steps and made her way into the verdant garden of the Burtons.

  At first, she strolled among the rosebushes and clematis, stopping every now and then to sip her drink and admire the handiwork of the gardener. She could still hear strains of music and could even see couples dancing through the windowed terrace doors.

  Eventually she made her way deeper into the garden, back among the yew trees lining the stone wall that abutted the mews. She neither saw nor heard anyone else, much to her relief. The muted music barely reached her ears now and the house had completely disappeared from her sight. Finding a garden bench, she sat down and slipped off her gloves, using them to fan her face.

  Now this was how to enjoy a ball. Alone, outside, breathing the clear night air and avoiding all social interaction.

  Who was she fooling? She had spent the better part of her life on her own. Now—this Season—was her chance to find herself a mate, someone to spend the rest of her life with. She wasn’t asking for much in that quarter. All she wanted was a pleasant, intelligent man who treated her with respect. He didn’t have to love her. She knew that would be asking for heaven and earth. He needn’t even possess a title; she wasn’t so particular. It was probably better that he didn’t.

  Of course, he was hardly likely to be found wandering around the garden. Perhaps she should return to the ballroom and seek Jane out again. Surely the marchioness could help her find a husband, if Victoria were bold enough to ask for assistance.

  As she picked up her empty glass from the bench, she heard the distinctive sound of small branches being crushed by heavy footsteps. She froze with dread and knew in her heart lady luck had deserted her once again.