He sighed loudly and consented with a nod. “Very well.”
Stepping closer to her, he continued, “But first, let me apologize for my words of the other day. I do not think you are a woman of loose morals, nor should I have said so.”
“Then why did you?” Victoria asked, boldly looking him in the eye.
“Why?”
“Yes, why?” she said, now impatient for his answer.
He looked at her for a long moment before resignation settled his features into a frown. “I wished to bring out that glorious spark in your beautiful eyes.”
She had no reply for some time, but never took her eyes from his face. No one, not even her father, had ever declared any part of her beautiful and so she did not feel the slightest twinge of guilt at basking in the moment.
Eventually she cleared her throat and spoke, though she skirted around acknowledging his compliment. “I want to thank you for rescuing me. I truly appreciate it.”
She glanced around and noted that no one was about, nor did Timothy pay them any mind at the moment. Using his arm to balance herself on her tiptoes, she reached her lips up to his cheek. She placed a soft kiss there, marveling briefly at the slightly rough texture.
Marching smartly past the oblivious Timothy, she proceeded around the corner to Somerset Street.
MUCH LATER THAT EVENING Taviston reclined in his favorite chair in his private study, reading a new copy of Travels in Italy by James Peter Mann. With his feet resting on a stool, he sat before the empty fireplace. The weather was far too fine to warrant a blaze. Having just returned from an evening of card play at White’s with James, he could not have been happier.
They had enjoyed themselves greatly—James because he hadn’t been out in a while, and Taviston because women were strictly forbidden from entering the gentlemen’s club. He had successfully avoided Miss Forster for the night.
He was deeply engrossed in the second chapter of the book on Italy, never having had the opportunity to explore the country. Though a party of his university friends had set off to explore Europe during the peace of 1803, Taviston had only just inherited the dukedom. Despite their incessant nagging, he had felt obliged to beg off and tend to his responsibilities.
A sharp rap sounded on the door and Peyton stepped into the room.
“What can I do for you?” Taviston wasn’t much in the mood for company and hoped that his brother had kept himself out of trouble of late.
He gestured toward the armchair across from him, but Peyton ambled over to the fireplace and casually leaned against the mantel.
“It has come to my attention that you were escorting Miss Victoria Forster through Hyde Park this morning.” Peyton’s expression was relaxed but there was a certain amount of intensity in his eyes.
“Has it?” Taviston replied noncommittally.
Peyton’s lips turned slightly downward. “Well, is it true or not?”
Taviston shrugged his shoulders and feigned nonchalance. “Yes, I suppose so. We met by chance” —with a little help from friends— “and then she needed someone to see her home.” The question was, why did Peyton care?
“It sounds very innocent, and yet there were reports of you making a minor spectacle of yourself by nearly collapsing with laughter.” A small gleam lit his brother’s eyes.
Taviston bit back a curse. It had never occurred to him that his laughing fit had probably been seen by numerous gossiping sorts. How odd, because he was usually very much aware that society’s eyes were always upon him.
He waved his hand in the air, as if dismissing the matter. “It was nothing. Am I not allowed to enjoy myself every now and then?”
“Of course you are, dear brother.” Peyton eyed him innocently. “All of this makes me curious though. Are you, perhaps, courting Miss Forster?”
A scowl formed on his face before Taviston could even think about repressing it. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not courting her.”
“Why, exactly, is that such a ridiculous idea? She’s unmarried, she’s a gentleman’s daughter and, I have heard it said, she is not exceptionally unattractive. In addition, Mother apparently found her delightful.”
This subject was becoming more than a little tiresome. Taviston briefly considered telling his brother to mind his own business but he knew from past experience Peyton would never let the subject go if he didn’t say something.
“She’s completely unsuited for the position of Duchess of Taviston. She is socially awkward and totally uninitiated to the ways of society. Not to mention, I do not have any personal interest in her whatsoever.” He wagged a finger towards his brother. “In truth, there lies your answer, Peyton. She holds absolutely no fascination for me and therefore why would I ever consider courting her?”
Taviston glanced away quickly. He didn’t often lie to his siblings and he wasn’t very comfortable doing so.
Peyton nodded his head. “But of course. Sometimes the charms of a certain woman are lost on some men.” He glanced around the room again then brought his eyes back to Taviston. “It occurs to me, though, that since you feel she is unsuited to the position of duchess, perhaps she might be more suited to the position of wife of a second son.”
Taviston stared, or perhaps it was more of a glare, at Peyton. Surely he wasn’t serious? But there was not a smile on his face or any amusement in his eyes. Peyton appeared to be very earnest indeed. A horrible, sick feeling pulsed through Taviston’s stomach. His hand unconsciously rubbed it.
“Taviston? What do you think? She seems to be an amusing little chit and I shall have to marry sooner or later, especially given that you have not seen fit to provide the dukedom with a direct heir. The wife of a second son need not aspire to much, socially speaking.” Peyton pushed himself away from the fireplace mantel, spread his feet apart and folded his arms across his chest. The challenge in his stance was unmistakable.
As his stomach roiled, Taviston forced away all images of his brother with Victoria. Would Peyton even give up his wild and rakish lifestyle once married? No woman deserved such a fate.
Taviston stood up straight and tall and placed his hands on his hips. “Leave Miss Forster be.”
Defiance flashed through Peyton’s cobalt eyes. Startlingly, it was gone quickly, replaced by an emotion Taviston couldn’t discern, but he didn’t think he had ever seen such a look in his brother’s eye.
After a moment, Peyton gave him a curt nod. “Very well.”
He turned to leave but then quickly swung back around, his face alight with its usual cheerfulness.
“Care to join me for a night of carousing?”
Relaxing slightly, he gave his brother a rueful smile. “Sorry, no.”
“Good night then.”
Alone again, Taviston still felt slightly queasy but didn’t want to sit down. He walked over to one of the windows in the room. He cranked it open and breathed in the fresh air. After a moment he leaned his shoulder against a nearby bookcase and gazed out into the night.
What on earth was that all about? Peyton had never shown interest in any particular woman before. He was certainly enthralled with all women in general, but never one specifically. And why Miss Forster? To Taviston’s knowledge the two of them had never even met. He hadn’t liked cautioning Peyton, but it was necessary for the protection of a young lady. Any honorable man would have done the same.
The previous six days had been decidedly calm. He credited that to his overwhelmingly successful campaign to avoid Miss Forster. If he was honest with himself, he would also admit that the previous six days had been undeniably boring.
He had no desire to be honest with himself.
Chapter Fifteen
Victoria twirled around her bedchamber in her chemise. Four agonizingly long days had passed, but it was finally the night of the Northfields’ dinner party. Anticipation swam through her veins at a vigorous rate because Jane had promised to invite an eligible gentleman or two who might suit her. At last, she could advance her
plan to make a safe match and escape her cousin’s home.
The day before she’d met with Mr. Ripley and handed over a third set of sketches. He’d flashed her a brilliant smile and given her an extra pound, claiming her artwork had significantly increased sales of Hither and Yon.
To make matters even better, she had not seen Taviston in the last four days. That meant she had only encountered him once in the past ten days. And that made her happy because without him around, she could focus on other, more appropriate gentlemen.
Alas, no matter how hard she tried, she could not banish him from her thoughts.
He was in her dreams, doing wonderfully delicious—and surely illicit—things with his lips and tongue. His face filled her mind at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. She imagined she heard his voice in a crowded salon or ballroom. Two nights ago she would have sworn on her mother’s grave that she even caught a scent of him at Lady Smitherton’s card party. It was all completely inane, but there was nothing she could do about it. So, she pretended he didn’t fill her every waking and sleeping thought and told herself she was elated she had not seen him lately.
The presence of a few marriageable gentlemen this evening would surely drive the duke from her overly active imagination. There must be other handsome men in society to whom she could find herself attracted. However, she was perfectly willing to be reasonable and take any respectable offer she received.
Unfortunately, two other matters, besides the Duke of Taviston, threatened to spoil Victoria’s high spirits. One was that, as her guardians, Louisa and Mr. Browne had been invited to the dinner party as well.
Second was that Louisa had chosen yet another ugly gown for her to wear. It lay on her white counterpane, staining it like a large amount of cat sick. Yes, the color was that atrocious. She had yet to try it on because she knew the yellowish-green color would do her no justice. She wasn’t sure it would do anyone justice. It was that frightful. But she had no choice. She was here, in London, having her Season by the graces, such as they were, of the Brownes. She hadn’t yet earned enough money from Mr. Ripley to purchase a gown of her own and truthfully, she thought it better to save her funds. So, she had to wear whatever atrocious bit of fabric Louisa brought her.
“Are you ready to dress then, miss?” Molly asked as she entered the room.
Victoria heaved a dramatic sigh and grinned. “If I must.”
“I’m sure no one will regard the color,” Molly said smartly.
“Certainly not. I shall simply fade into the walls. The gentlemen won’t even know I am there.”
“Now, miss. Your pretty face and wonderful personality will outshine the gown,” Molly reassured her.
“We can only hope so. Let’s see how it looks.” Molly helped her into her corset first, then the gown and soon Victoria was shielding her eyes from the sight of herself in the mirror. It was worse than she had thought.
“”Tis actually a lovely cut for a gown,” Molly told her as she hooked up the back.
Victoria had to admit she was right. The style of the dress was fashionable, with its high waist, small puff sleeves and low neckline. She stared at the amount of her bosom showing above the neckline. After a moment she smiled to herself. Well, it can only help when one is trying to attract a gentleman’s attention.
In a trice, Molly had arranged her hair, she had stepped into her slippers—not dyed to match the dress, thank goodness—and she was out the door with her cousin and Mr. Browne.
As they walked up the steps to the Northfields’ front door, Victoria took a deep breath and let it out contently. Tonight, she might meet her future husband.
TAVISTON SAT IN HIS bedchamber, clad only in his trousers. His valet, Dunne, was in his dressing chamber hurriedly pressing a shirt. Dunne had been mortified when he had brought out the shirt and discovered it had not one, but two, wrinkles. He had ignored Taviston’s request to select a different shirt and had insisted on pressing out the wrinkles this very instant. Dunne had a high opinion of his own knowledge of fashion and never failed to keep Taviston up to his fastidious standards. As for himself, he didn’t much care about fashion, but he did like Dunne’s personality and the sage advice the man always felt necessary to impart as he dressed his employer.
The wait for his shirt was short in comparison to the last four agonizing days. Taviston knew, without a doubt, that Jane and Northfield had invited Victoria to their dinner party tonight. It was the next step in their machinations, and he dreaded the evening. His friends should trust him to know whether or not he wished to pursue a woman. He did not wish to pursue this woman.
He knew his protestations would fall on deaf ears, so he intended to ignore what the Northfields were doing. If he showed no reaction it would drive them crazy. Eventually they would desist in their matchmaking efforts. All he had to do was ignore Miss Forster and the way she made him feel.
“Right then, Your Grace. Here’s your shirt, free of wrinkles of any kind,” Dunne pronounced as he entered from the connecting dressing room.
Taviston rose and took the shirt from the short, entirely bald valet. “Thank you, Dunne. Not that the wrinkles would have been visible beneath my waistcoat and coat.”
Dunne stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “You have no idea whom you might meet at this dinner party, sir. It would not do to meet, say, your future wife, in a wrinkled shirt.”
“I have an excellent idea I shall not meet my future wife this evening because I am not looking for a wife this evening.” Speaking of wives, though, Taviston had completely lost track of Lady Tessa Colvin over the last ten days. S’pose it would be too much to hope the Northfields had invited her.
“That does not mean you will not meet her,” Dunne doggedly replied as he turned to fetch a waistcoat from the dressing room.
Taviston called after him. “Even if I were to meet her, she would never see the wrinkles. But if, by some strange chance, she did and was offended by them, why, I would never marry her anyway.”
“The wrinkles themselves would most likely not be offensive to a lady. However, the idea of a gentleman’s valet allowing him to leave the house in a wrinkled shirt would surely offend many a lady,” the older man informed him as he returned and helped Taviston slip into an emerald green waistcoat embroidered with an astonishingly bright yellow thread.
“Ah. So you are concerned for your own hide. Do not worry, Dunne, I shall never let my future wife decide the fate of my valet.”
“You, sir, have obviously never been in love.” Dunne disappeared again and returned with a white cravat.
“No, I haven’t. How does that bear on this absurd discussion?” Taviston took the cravat and tied it around his neck in the simplest knot known.
Dunne regarded his movements and heaved a huge sigh. “When you do fall in love, sir, you will realize you will do anything, and I do mean anything at all, for the one you love. In point of fact, you will probably find yourself doing things completely against your nature.” Dunne eyed the cravat with disdain and tried to slip in his usual request. “Might I refold it for you?”
Taviston glanced at him sideways. “No, you may not. You know full well I detest all of those fancy knots.” He looked back in the mirror. There was absolutely nothing wrong with a simply-tied cravat. He heard Dunne return once more to the dressing room and when he emerged this time, he held Taviston’s coat.
“I want you to know, that if I were to ever fall in love, it would not change me one bit. I am who I am, and I will not change for any woman.” Taviston slipped into the coat with help from Dunne.
“We shall see, sir. We shall see.” Dunne retrieved Taviston’s boots and waved him back into his chair. A minute later he was ready.
“Thank you, Dunne.”
“You are most welcome, Your Grace. Enjoy your evening and do give my regards to the future Duchess of Taviston.” Dunne had busied himself straightening toiletries and so evaded his employer’s searing look.
“Comedy is not your forte,
Dunne.”
“I am fortunate to be employed as a valet then, sir.”
Taviston left the room shaking his head. Perhaps there did come a time when a servant became overly familiar. But no, he wouldn’t trade Dunne for anyone else. As irritating as it was, the old man’s wisdom and advice usually turned out to hold true. The essential word there was “usually.” Taviston did not believe for a second anything the man had said about love tonight.
He gained the foyer, gave Halston a brief nod, and walked out the door. He was, as usual, walking to Northfield House. It wasn’t raining but the air was certainly heavy with moisture. It might very well be pouring by the time the dinner party came to an end. He wasn’t troubled by the thought of having to walk in the rain though. If it proved too wet, Northfield would be more than willing to provide him with transportation home.
As he strolled on, he had trouble keeping Miss Forster out of his mind. In truth the kiss she had stolen from him in the Burtons’ garden was never far from his thoughts. And the feel of her body in front of his in the saddle... Would he never be free of this unrelenting appetite for Miss Victoria Forster?
He was about to see her again. However, he was a man, not a boy and he would not be ruled by any one particular part of his anatomy, except his brain. With steely determination, he climbed the steps to Northfield House.
The butler, Jackson, showed him into the drawing room, where Northfield stood alone. After a quick greeting Northfield eyed the double doors and said, carefully avoiding Taviston’s gaze, “I should warn you.”
Silence followed.
Taviston looked at Northfield’s profile. “Please do. You sound entirely too dire.”
Still evading his gaze, Northfield replied, “Jane is intent on matchmaking this evening.”
Taviston laughed to himself. Nicely done of Northfield to put the blame on his wife. Taviston had known all along this party was about matchmaking, but he was surprised his friend had admitted it. It hardly mattered. He would make a match when he was good and ready—and he would choose the lady himself.
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