“Isn’t that what I said?” Peyton asked, holding up his hands. He let them fall and turned more fully toward Taviston. “You need to get back to living, resume normal activities.”
“Like sleeping and eating,” James clarified. “Dunne says you haven’t slept more than an hour or two a night.” He gave Taviston a reproving look.
Brilliant. His brothers were attempting to be his caretakers now. He lowered his head into his hands.
“Taviston,” Peyton began, “we are only looking out for your well-being.” He smiled impishly. “If you were to take ill and turn up your toes, why, I would be the next Duke of Taviston, and God knows we cannot allow that under any circumstances!”
James’s blue eyes all but pleaded with Taviston. “Please, save us all from such a fate.”
Taviston gave them a small smile for their attempts to restore his spirits, but it slowly slid away. “You do not understand. I am only bracing myself for the scandal.”
Peyton looked exasperated. “What scandal? There is no scandal. Miss Forster chose to return to the country and all of you agreed the incident would be kept quiet.”
Taviston’s chest tightened. The words I will not marry you echoed in his head again and again, as they had for the past two days with no relief. He rubbed his chest briefly. After suffering stomach spasms at Northfield’s party he had then lost his appetite and couldn’t sleep. Now he was having chest pains. Maybe he was dying. The only comfort in the thought was that he wouldn’t have to witness either the scandal or Peyton being the next duke.
“You know full well the story will leak out somehow. Sketches are probably being printed in Hither and Yon as we speak.” Taviston sank heavily against the back of his chair. “These things have a way of becoming general knowledge.”
A man of few words, James just shook his head.
But Peyton leapt up from the sofa. “Why do you have such an obsessive fear of scandal? You have worried about scandal since you learned to speak. Frankly, it’s become more than tiresome in, oh, the last ten years.”
Taviston eyed Peyton wearily. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. You are not the head of this family. It is up to me to protect the Danforth name. All that we are, all that we have, all that we do—it rests on my shoulders.”
“But who cares about scandal?”
“Everyone, you fool! Never once, in the past three hundred years, has the Danforth family name been besmirched. There has never even been a whisper of scandal.”
Why was this so difficult for Peyton to comprehend?
A feminine voice sounded from the doorway. “Then perhaps it is time.”
Taviston rose. “Mother!”
She waved her hand at him. “Sit down before you fall down. I don’t believe you’ve eaten a thing in two days.” She arranged herself on the sofa Peyton had vacated.
Taviston saw James and Peyton exchanging knowing glances.
The duchess directed gentle words towards Taviston. “Perhaps it is time for some scandal. You are correct this family has a venerable reputation going back centuries. However, a little scandal never hurt anyone. Quite often it only adds an air of excitement to one’s name and amusement to one’s life.”
“You and Father never created any scandal. You led exemplary lives,” Taviston said, almost accusingly.
She smiled at him. “Yes, we did. And I wouldn’t trade that life for anything. But I am quite sure we could have handled any untoward situation that arose. No one ever dies from scandal, Taviston. They might be physically harmed by foolish actions but the whispering, the gossip itself, doesn’t hurt them.”
Taviston’s skepticism stood firmly rooted. He could not believe his mother actually advocated a scandal. Looking her right in the eye he asked, “Are you saying, Mother, that you are neither ashamed nor appalled by my behavior the other night?”
She returned his gaze. “I am never ashamed of you, my dear Charles.” Her eyes twinkled, however, as she continued, “I will, however, admit to being slightly appalled by the fact that you chose to engage in a passionate embrace in the portrait gallery of Northfield House during a dinner party.”
Both James and Peyton developed coughs that sounded suspiciously like laughter and Taviston found he could no longer look his mother in the eye.
Any further discussion was interrupted by a knock at the door. All four Danforths commanded, “Enter.”
Halston did so and his gaze settled on Taviston. “Your Grace, Miss Forster is here to see you.”
Taviston was certain his heart stopped beating for a moment. Victoria? Here?
“I beg your pardon, Halston?”
The butler graciously tried another turn of phrase. “Miss Forster has requested a moment of your time.”
There was nothing for it. “Very well, show her in.”
Halston replied, without a twitch, “I have shown Miss Forster to your study, sir.”
“Well, you may now show her in here,” Taviston said tersely.
“I do believe, sir, what Miss Forster wishes to say is of a private nature. She awaits you in your study.” And with that he turned and glided from the room.
“Halston!” What the devil did his butler know about the nature of Victoria’s visit? Perhaps it was time to employ more obedient servants.
VICTORIA SURVEYED TAVISTON’S study. Everything was neatly arranged. Not even a single piece of paper adorned the desktop. It was exactly as she would have expected, and yet it was a comfortable room nonetheless. There was a window, situated between bookcases, which overlooked the garden at the back of the house while two armchairs sat cozily in front of the fireplace. But what first drew her attention were the strange items gracing the mantel, including what looked like an old, much worn child’s ball and a pair of gentlemen’s leather gloves. Odd adornments for a gentleman’s study.
It was the third day after the most humiliating episode of her life. She had thought initiating a kiss in a garden had been embarrassing. No, getting caught was more so. She couldn’t believe she was here, at Taviston House. But after forty-eight hours of brooding like a lord she had come to what should have been a foregone conclusion. She should marry Taviston.
Oh, she was still angry with him. The blasted man hadn’t even apologized to her, or even spoken directly to her. And yet, would she really have wanted him to apologize for showing her what exquisite pleasure there was to be had with a man? Of course, not just any man. The thought of doing such intimate things with Lord Wareham, for instance, stirred nary an emotion. But perhaps Taviston, and men in general, weren’t so particular. Maybe he would have done the exact same things with Louisa. Oh, now there was an abhorrent thought.
Victoria walked around the room, enviously eyeing all the books that lined the shelves. Really, she should have known the Duke of Taviston would ruin her life from the very first night she had met him. After spending hours bemoaning the loss of any kind of respectable life, or a family of her own, Victoria had finally realized what she needed to do. She needed to accept Taviston’s reluctant and forced offer of marriage. How could she have been such a halfwit to turn him down? She comforted herself with the knowledge that she had just been jerked out of a world of heretofore unknown delight.
Walking over to the small table abutting one of the chairs, she picked up the book that lay there. Travels in Italy by James Peter Mann. She couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. The very book she’d had in her hands the day she and Taviston had “set fire” to the circulating library.
The door opened forcefully and Taviston strode into the room. He ignored her and walked behind the desk, then waved vaguely, indicating Victoria should sit. She slipped the book back onto the table just as he demanded, “What do you want? I was not aware there was anything else we needed to discuss.”
She sat before the massive desk and he lowered himself into the chair behind it. This was not going to be easy. Heaven only knew why he was in a frightful mood. As she looked more closely at him, sympathy
filled her heart.
He looked haggard and drawn. His skin was almost the same grey as his eyes, not a good thing at all. Victoria wondered when he had last eaten. Obviously, he had been suffering more than she had thought possible, but then she knew his horror of scandal.
Nothing, however, was going to stop her from her business here today. She took a deep breath. “I have changed my mind.”
For the first time, his eyes met hers. “Women often do. How exactly does it concern me?”
Did he really have to use such a surly voice? “I do not wish to return to the country. I demand that you marry me.”
Demanding probably wasn’t such a good idea, but that was how she had rehearsed it. How was she to know he would be feeling ill and not quite himself?
But her words seemed to light a spark in his eyes. Good.
“You demand that I marry you?”
“Yes. If you will recall, you compromised me three nights ago.”
“Oh, I recall the evening in question. I distinctly remember you kissing me, not to mention removing some of my clothing.”
She felt herself blush. True enough, but hardly to the point. “You may remember it any way you wish, but you did offer to marry me. I was a bit hasty in my refusal. I now accept your offer.” She was very proud of herself for keeping her voice strong. This was not an easy conversation to undertake.
Taviston leaned back in his chair and looked all around the room, as if he hadn’t seen it before. Finally, his gaze found its way back to her. “And if I refuse?”
Victoria stifled a groan. She had so hoped to receive his agreement without any fuss. But she was determined in this. “Then I will have no choice but to educate society about your lascivious and dishonorable behavior.”
It hurt her to say the words, but she knew she would never have to follow through on her threat. The Duke of Taviston was honorable to a fault.
He did not look surprised by her declaration, but his eyes hardened minutely. “Why have you changed your mind?”
This was not a question she had anticipated. Because of that, her tongue spoke before her brain thought. “I came to London because I wished to marry and escape life with Louisa. I could hardly do better than you.”
There was some truth to that, Victoria had to admit. She was certainly attracted to Taviston and at times she felt as if they might have been friends, under other circumstances.
But the duke’s eyes darkened until they were almost black, and not with passion, alas. Abruptly pushing his chair out from under him, he came around the desk, snatched her hand from her lap and pulled her up out of her seat. “Come along, Miss Forster,” he spat.
She had no idea what he was about, but she sincerely hoped he would not harm her person. She didn’t think him at all the violent type, but she had never seen his eyes look so murderous either. Surely he was just going to escort her to the door?
He dragged her down the main hallway of the first floor and then down the grand staircase. He never relinquished her hand but did shorten his stride so she might keep up with him. Once downstairs he led her toward the back corner of the house where he threw open a door with a flourish.
As he hauled her inside the room, Taviston announced in a loud and harsh voice, “Peyton, James, I know the two of you have been dying to meet her. Here is my fiancée, Miss Forster.”
Chapter Nineteen
Three days later Louisa Browne sat at her breakfast table, unable to eat any of the sumptuous food on her plate—for a fresh copy of Hither and Yon also lay before her. That rag took great pleasure in boldly announcing the engagement of the Duke of Taviston and Miss Victoria Forster, not to mention salaciously wondering just how the young lady had entrapped the duke. She could only thank God one of those detailed sketches didn’t accompany the blast of news.
Spooning up some blackberry jam she dropped it onto the offending type. It did not make her feel any better, but it did blot those hateful words from her sight.
Browne had informed her last night that things had taken a different turn between the duke and the mouse. Her husband had no idea what had happened; he knew only that Taviston had called on him and advised him the marriage was now set for next week. Victoria had confirmed this when Browne had spoken to her.
So, the report in the newsletter was not a surprise to Louisa. But it did grate on her nerves. It did mock her. It did impart a new sense of urgency. All had been set. She and Browne had planned for her bothersome cousin to be on her way back to Lincolnshire today. Louisa wasn’t sure what angered her more—the fact that Victoria would be married and could produce a child, or that her cousin was marrying a duke. Not only that, but a duke who clearly desired his intended.
She toyed with her eggs. Perhaps urgency wasn’t the word she was looking for. Desperation was much more the thing. Those twenty thousand pounds were hers. Neither her unsophisticated cousin nor the self-righteous and priggish duke was going to stop her from realizing her inheritance. They had made the situation a little more difficult for her, but she would overcome these impediments.
Louisa smiled at the empty breakfast room. As a matter of fact, these obstacles added a sense of excitement. She was going to have to become more creative in dealing with them. She loved to be creative.
“Morgan!” she barked.
“Yes, ma’am?” Her trusted butler appeared with satisfying speed.
“I find I will need your assistance after all, in that matter we discussed. There will, of course, be a rather large monetary reward involved.”
“I am always ready to serve you,” he answered with a salacious grin.
Batting her eyelashes, she gave him her nastiest smile. “I need an unsavory fellow or two. Do you know of anyone?”
Morgan nodded slowly. “Indeed I do, ma’am. Indeed I do.”
THREE DAYS AFTER HE’D been blackmailed into marrying Victoria Forster, Taviston stood in the Brownes’ entry hall. He heaved a sighed and stretched his neck. He knew very well she hadn’t blackmailed him. He’d seduced her and he’d been forced to do the honorable thing. Unfortunately, he did not feel honorable. It was as if his insides had been flayed and exposed for all to see.
However, the deed was done and the soon-to-be Dowager Duchess of Taviston had insisted the two of them make an appearance in public. So, to the Kennewick rout they would go.
Just then, Victoria descended the stairs, in yet another gown that did no modiste credit. The bottom was heavy with flounces, the top was overlaid with dyed brown lace. The color, well, he believed the hue known as philomot described it best: the color of dead leaves. No gown should ever suffer such an indignity. Though the color turned her skin sallow, as it would anyone’s, his intended nonetheless arrived at the bottom in a swirl of graceful dignity.
“Good evening, Your Grace.”
He narrowed his eyes at her salutation. “We are betrothed now. Do not address me as Your Grace or sir.”
Much as he had done a moment ago, she exhaled heavily. “As you wish.”
“It’s not merely my wish. It is what society expects. Taviston will do.”
The words came out harsher than he meant. She wasn’t quick enough to hide the this-is-going-to-be-a-long-evening look from her face.
Good God, surely he could make an effort to be less of an ass. He surveyed his betrothed’s attire and settled on “Your hair looks lovely this evening.”
She flashed him a genuine smile. “I thank you for the compliment and for not commenting on my gown. I do believe I am ready, if you are.”
“Certainly. You might, however, desire a wrap of some kind. It is a bit cool out tonight.”
A maid stepped out of the shadows of the staircase and handed Victoria a cream-colored shawl. At least it didn’t clash with her dress. Speaking of...
“Have you a gown for the wedding?” He valiantly suppressed a shudder at the thought of what atrocity she might show up in.
Victoria blinked at his abrupt question. “No, I suppose I don’t.”
“I will have something made and sent over for you.” There. At least he could feel useful in some way. She couldn’t possibly turn aside such a generous offer and he needn’t worry about the appropriateness of her attire on the appointed day.
That wasn’t, however, gratitude blasting out of her widened eyes. “Do you honestly think I choose these horrid gowns?”
“Why else would you wear them?”
There was anger darkening those blue eyes but also something more. A hint of humiliation? No, impossible. Miss Victoria Forster was nothing if not unassailable.
“They are all Louisa will allow me.” She paused then admitted, “I haven’t the faintest idea where to find a gown for the wedding.”
Icy hot anger enveloped him. How petty and cruel her cousin was. “I am sure my mother would happily recommend her modiste.”
“I would be most appreciative. Now, stop fussing over my wardrobe.” She laid a hand on his sleeve, her touch feather-light, though it was enough to thaw his fury at Louisa Browne.
He allowed a small smile to turn up his lips. “Don’t tarry over it, though, only five days remain until the wedding.” Only five days until the wedding night. That, at least, he could look forward to. Victoria Forster had shown him her passionate side in that gallery, and he was not immune to her. Hadn’t been for many weeks now, he must admit.
Taviston took the cream-colored shawl from her and draped it across her back. He allowed his hands to linger on her shoulders as he steered her toward the front door. As he opened it with one hand, the chilly air that washed over him should have frozen any lusty desire. It did not. He lowered his mouth to one of those tiny ears and felt her shiver.
“I hope you realize that this will not be a marriage in name only. I intend to finish, in exactly five nights, what we started last week.”
By the coy smile she threw over her shoulder he gathered she took his words as an exciting promise, exactly as he intended. Suddenly five days seemed an overly long time to wait for a wedding night.
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