by Diana Quincy
“You mean to say he was at liberty to live a life of dissipation.”
Abel waved a dismissive hand. “The women, the parties, the drinking. That’s all just a distraction. I knew Adam as a boy. Aside from his intelligence, he is sensitive and thoughtful, although his father did his best to beat those qualities out of the boy. He saw them as weaknesses.”
Isabel felt a stab of compassion for Sunderford. She had to admit it had been very kind of the duke to show Prudie the Sunderford gallery. Giving the child a sense of belonging was a sensitive and thoughtful act on his part.
“Take the children home, Isabel.” Abel came to his feet. “You will see that I am right. This way is best for everyone, including you.”
Chapter 17
Pan whined, staring at Sunny with a reproachful canine gaze.
“Don’t look at me,” Sunny growled at the animal. “I didn’t send them away.” Even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. It was obvious Finch had run to get away from him.
Standing by the billiards table, he picked up a ball and rolled it across the rough baize surface. The wooden ball hit another and both floundered before puttering to a stop in the middle of the table. The perfect allegory for his day. Much like Pan, Sunny was feeling out of sorts. Except for the vigorous exercise he now engaged in daily, ennui had set in, everything seemed dull and without excitement. Colorless.
Being in the house alone didn’t help matters. It was far too big and too empty. Why had he never noticed before that Sunderford House was a cold mausoleum devoid of life? Being idle had started to grate on him. He had too much time on his hands; long hours filled only with thoughts of how he’d wronged Finch.
He wandered out of the playroom with Pan trailing him, the animal’s tail firmly tucked between its legs. Dowding appeared immediately.
“Is there something I may bring you, Your Grace?”
“Was there anything in the post today?”
“No, Your Grace. Not today.”
He felt a stab of disappointment. The girls had taken to sending him letters and drawings. For the most part, he couldn’t make out what the drawings were supposed to depict—the girls were definitely not going to become great artists—but he’d come to look forward to receiving their mail and hearing their news.
The stable cat had borne kittens. They’d met Cousin Curtis, the vicar who was very nice but not as nice as Cousin Adam. Sunny had smiled at that. Patience had climbed Uncle Abel’s apple trees and had fallen from high up, but he wasn’t to worry, because she wasn’t seriously injured. But he had worried. About Prudie and Patience. And Finch.
Aimless, he ambled up the stairs with no real destination in mind and ended up wandering into the nursery. Pan leapt onto the twins’ bed and whined. The chamber had been cleaned since their departure, but Finch’s scent still lingered like a specter, chiding him for forcing her into an untenable situation.
He picked up a doll that had been set on the girls’ bed. The face and arms were made of clay, the body clad in a full muslin dress. It was one of Prudie’s. Then he remembered. He’d promised to buy the child a new doll’s house. A place to put her dolls. Damnation. He’d forgotten all about it.
He’d have Dowding arrange it immediately. He wanted the doll’s house to be of the best quality. Sunny paused. What did Dowding or a footman he might send on the errand know about purchasing a doll’s house? Sunny, at least, could recognize fine construction.
Now, as he considered his options, Sunny decided that he might as well go and select a doll’s house himself. Cosmo had a daughter. He’d ask his friend where to find such a toy, and it would be ready for Prudie when she returned.
If she returns. Sunny pushed that thought from his mind. Of course they’d return. He was their guardian, and Finch really had no choice but to bring them home at some point. But he would not force the issue; he would wait until Finch was ready to come home with the children.
And then he would prove to her—and himself—that he was not a monster like his father.
* * *
—
Cosmo accompanied Sunny to a toy warehouse on Jermyn Street where Cosmo had acquired a doll’s house for his young daughter, Marion.
They entered the immense space where the shelves and display tables were stocked with everything from chinaware and jewelry to fire screens and a multitude of other home products. The proprietor, a stocky bald man, came rushing forward as soon as the two men stepped inside the building.
“Your Grace. My lord.” The man’s full, ruddy face glowed with pleasure. “Welcome. Welcome.”
“How are you, Morris?” Cosmo said. “I’ve assured His Grace that you carry the best doll’s houses in the metropolis.”
“Indeed. Thank you, my lord.” He beamed. “We have set out our finest selection for His Grace’s perusal.” The warehouse had received advance notice of the ducal visit. Sunny’s footman had come that morning to alert the proprietor. “This way, if you please.”
Morris led them past a watch display and a selection of personal care products before reaching what they’d come for. A half-dozen doll’s houses were lined up on two display tables. The proprietor watched expectantly from a respectful distance, giving the men their privacy. Sunny moved down the row, pausing to inspect each offering. The first house was very nicely crafted but had only four rooms, two on each floor.
“Hmmm,” he murmured mostly to himself. “This one, while well made, is rather smaller than what I have in mind for my ward.”
The next was too plain for his taste, the one after that badly constructed. The largest doll’s house had several rooms but the trimmings were a bit garish.
“The craftsmanship on this one could be better,” he said about the next one.
“I never realized you were knowledgeable about woodworking,” Cosmo remarked.
“I learned from the carpenter at Parkthorn Hall. He was a man of great skill, and I used to spend whatever time I could working with him until the old duke found out and forbade me from continuing. A duke’s heir should never work with his hands and all that.”
He came to the last offering with a shake of his head. “None of these is right for Prudence.”
“If none of these houses suit, why don’t you just design and build one yourself?”
“I’ve never built a doll’s house before. It would look ridiculous.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Cosmo leaned down to peer more closely at one of the houses. “It doesn’t look that complicated to me.”
Sunny didn’t disagree. “The actual lines of the houses are relatively basic,” he acknowledged. The prospect of building Prudie’s doll’s house himself was damned enticing. A thrill went through him at the prospect of working with his hands again, cutting precise edges that fit together perfectly while savoring that fresh woodsy scent.
“And if you run into trouble,” Cosmo added, “you could always hire an actual carpenter to assist you.”
Anticipation rushed through Sunny’s veins. “I suppose I could give it a try.”
“I never thought I would live to see the day when Sinful Sunny became domesticated.” There was laughter in Cosmo’s voice.
Sunny bristled. “I’m hardly domesticated. I’ve always enjoyed working with wood and this gives me the opportunity to indulge myself.”
Cosmo made a skeptical sound in his throat. “How long have your charges been gone? A fortnight? Three weeks?”
Too long. “A month.”
“And how many times have you put that playroom of yours to good use since they’ve been gone?”
“You’re supposedly happily wed,” Sunny retorted. “What business is it of yours?”
“Evading the question, are you? I take that to mean you haven’t thrown one of your famous revels since their departure.”
“Is there a point to your ramb
ling?”
“I think there is, yes. I couldn’t help but notice your intense interest in that governess of yours. Especially when the two of you were dancing.”
Had it been that obvious? He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “What are you suggesting?”
Cosmo held up his hands. “Nothing illicit. I know you draw the line at servants. And Miss Finch does appear far too respectable for the likes of you. She’s obviously wellborn.”
Sunny pretended to reinspect the shoddy doll’s house before him. “So it appears.”
“Maybe it’s not just the girls who’ve won your heart. Perhaps the governess is the real reason you’ve kept your prick in your pantaloons.”
“Now you’re being completely absurd.”
“It would be natural to grow bored of the constant party and mindless swiving. It happens to the best of us.”
“Perhaps you’re correct.”
Cosmo’s eyes widened. “I am?”
“The playroom has been idle for far too long. It’s time I hosted an entertainment.”
“Don’t do it on my account,” Cosmo said. “You’ve got nothing to prove to me.”
No, but Sunny did have something to prove to himself. The truth of it was that he hadn’t felt like swiving any woman other than Finch since that evening in the schoolroom. But she was out of his reach. Perhaps he needed a romp or two with other women to remind himself of that fact.
He was willing to try anything to get the governess out of his system. And then she’d be truly safe from him and his baser instincts.
* * *
—
The girls were asleep by the time the carriage rolled into London late in the evening. Days of travel had left Isabel exhausted, but she was too apprehensive about seeing Sunderford again after five long weeks to get any sleep.
And, unfortunately, the fluttering in her stomach wasn’t all nerves; the reckless part of her, that side she tried so hard to contain, was eager to see him again. The truth was that she wasn’t certain she’d have the self-control to deny the duke if he came to her bed.
She stared out into the darkness as the carriage rattled toward Sunderford House. Whenever she closed her eyes she’d see that image of him again, the one burned in her memory, of the duke handling his sexual organ, erect and eager, offering himself, the naked need in his eyes begging her to consent. And she’d done more than consent, she’d practically begged him to take her and had participated fully. The rawness of their lovemaking, the uncultivated tenderness, had kept her awake most nights since their coupling.
It was nothing like her experience with Ben. Although she had loved him and thoroughly enjoyed what they’d done in bed—Ben had been bold in the bedchamber as well—the chemistry, the combustion that occurred when she’d come together with Sunderford was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
With the duke, she’d been shocked to feel her release coming during the act itself. She’d never reached her peak while making love with Ben. It was usually before or after, when he’d used his hands to bring her the same completion that he always experienced when they’d copulated. Ben had taught her to demand pleasure, and he’d done his best to give it to her. Sometimes, she felt she’d let him down by not reaching her peak while joined with him. It had disappointed her as well. She’d assumed she just wasn’t made for it. Until the duke had shown her that she was. And how.
Her stomach was unsettled. She exhaled, trying to soothe her anxiety. She knew she was being silly. Sunderford had probably already forgotten their quick, heated coupling. In all likelihood, Isabel would slip back into her governess role, while he continued to conquer anything in skirts across the metropolis.
Sunderford House was ablaze with light when the carriage pulled to a stop before it, but she saw no immediate signs of activity. The massive front door opened and Dowding appeared, a dark silhouette against the bright lights behind him. He turned to issue some directive and two footmen hastened out to carry the sleeping girls inside.
“Please place them on their bed in the nursery,” Isabel directed. It was too late to change the girls. They’d wash off the grime and fatigue of the journey in the morning. The footmen hurried in ahead carrying the limp forms of the sleeping children. Isabel followed somewhat more slowly.
Dowding greeted her when she entered the front hall. “Welcome home, Miss Finch.”
“Thank you, Dowding. It is good to be back.” She meant it. For the first time, Sunderford House felt like home.
She became aware of noise coming from above stairs, the buzz of laughter and conversation. Her gaze met the butler’s. He reddened. “His Grace is entertaining, Miss Finch.”
She swallowed against the unwelcome surge of emotion in her throat. “I see.” She managed to smile brightly. “As is his right,” she said firmly. “I’m for my bed.”
“Very good, Miss Finch. Shall I order up a bath?”
While she’d like nothing more than to submerge herself in one of the duke’s enormous tubs, she didn’t want to task the servants with bringing up buckets of warm water at this late hour. “Not this evening. I suspect the staff has enough work without my adding to it. A basin of water will do nicely for this evening.”
“Very well, Miss Finch. I’ll see that it’s brought up directly.”
As she went up the stairs, the buzz grew louder, and she knew the sounds were coming from the duke’s playroom. She meant to continue on to her chamber—what Sunderford did was none of her concern—but curiosity got the better of her.
The door was ajar when she reached the illicit chamber. Isabel peered inside, hoping the shadows from the corridor would hide her. Not that anyone inside would take notice.
The chamber was full of people—both men and women—in various stages of undress. One couple was openly copulating. The woman was fully clothed with her skirts hiked up as she rode a reclining gentleman. Isabel released a breath when the man’s ginger hair came into view. At least it wasn’t Sunderford. Other couples were kissing or merely drinking and laughing. Four men were at the game table playing cards. One had a painted harlot on his lap who he stopped to kiss, wide and openmouthed, his lips coming away smeared with the harlot’s lip stain. A pair of naked women dancing intimately with each other atop the billiards table was cheered on by a small group of men.
Isabel felt sick to her stomach. The raw, unfiltered glimpse into Sunderford’s private life made her regret declining Dowding’s offer of a bath. Just watching the prurient tableau before her made her feel as if she needed a good scrubbing. Not that she could ever flush these lurid images from her memory.
Then she caught sight of him, and her heart moved riotously in her chest. Sunderford was sprawled on a stuffed chair with a woman in his lap. He was fully clothed, his muscular legs encased in buff leather breeches and gleaming black boots with smart tassels. He wore no cravat. His white linen shirt bared the strong column of his throat and a dusting of dark hair on his chest.
His companion moved suggestively on the duke’s lap. She was a beauty with emerald eyes and auburn hair that might very well be natural, and abundant breasts on full display. Sunny’s large hand absentmindedly toyed with the strumpet’s pale bosom, but his attention was fixed on the women cavorting atop the billiards table. Sunderford’s companion bent to kiss him as she undulated against his strapping body.
Isabel backed away, her eyes filling, nausea swirling in her belly. The stew she and the girls had eaten earlier while the horses were being changed threatened to reappear, sour and acrid at the base of her throat.
She slid along the wall, deeper into the shadows of the corridor, and forced a deep inhale to gain control of herself. She took several more breaths to calm her body—and her racing mind.
She did not blame him. How could she? The duke had never lied about who he was, had never pretended to be something he wasn’t. Sh
e’d known precisely what she was getting into when she’d engaged in the carnal act with him. Unfortunately, that acknowledgment didn’t make her feel any better. She still felt like her heart was being slowly wrenched from her chest.
But she was glad she’d seen it with her own eyes, that she’d witnessed the reality of who he was and the manner in which he chose to live his life. In her experience people didn’t change; they just became more of who they were.
This evening, she’d glimpsed the man Sunderford had always been, still was, and would likely be in the future. It smashed any hopes she might have harbored deep down, dreams she’d never acknowledged, even to herself, that there might be something more between the two of them. Here was the true state of Sunderford’s world, and she’d be foolish to ever forget it.
It was well past time to put aside any illusions and do what must be done to secure not only the children’s future, and her own, but also to free the duke to live his life as he saw fit.
She saw clearly now that he had made a genuine attempt to put aside his natural inclinations to do right by the girls. However, the current state of affairs was untenable for everyone involved, and it was up to Isabel to set things to rights.
“Izzy?”
Patience’s voice pulled Isabel out of her woolgathering. She looked down to find the child looking up at her. “Darling, what are you doing awake?”
“I woke up.” Patience rubbed her sleepy eyes. She still wore her rumpled travel clothes. “I want to tell Duke that we’re here. Won’t he be ever so surprised?”
Panic rippled through Isabel. The girl stood perilously close to the half-open door of Sunderford’s playroom…and an unfettered view of the unspeakable things taking place within.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea, poppet.” Isabel hastened over to pull the door shut before Patience, in all her inquisitiveness, could steal a glimpse of the party. “His Grace is entertaining. We mustn’t disturb him.”