Evading the Duke

by Jane Charles

  Chapter 3

  Lady Jillian was the lady in the painting. Of that Samuel was now certain. First, she’d lost all color when he first mentioned it, but recovered rather quickly. When he grasped her hand for the waltz, she shook as if cold. The final proof was the birthmark on her right breast. It couldn’t be seen while they spoke, but now that they stood closer and he glanced down, it was there, just beneath where her bodice gaped. He should not have looked, but he needed to be certain.

  There was always the possibility that both the model and Lady Jillian possessed the same, crescent-shaped mark, but highly doubtful. And though she lied to him, Sam well understood why she had. If Society became aware, she’d be ruined, and it would be far worse than simply being caught kissing in the gardens, which is why he didn’t question her further. At least he wouldn’t in a ballroom full of people, but eventually he would learn the why and how that portrait had come to be.

  For now, the woman he had fantasized about was in his arms, and they were waltzing, and he didn’t give a damn whether His Grace approved or not.

  She’d also gone quiet the moment he complimented her, as if she were shocked. Surely that couldn’t be the case. Gentlemen had probably been throwing such compliments toward since her first Season. Well, unless all the gentlemen in London were fools, which was quite possible. She was old enough to have married, and she was the daughter of a duke, so why did she remain unattached? Not that he had any complaints, as it left her free for him to come to know better. But for now, he’d simply be content holding her as they waltzed from one end of the ballroom to the other.

  Not only beautiful, but graceful as well. He didn’t have to adjust his steps because they matched perfectly. Nor did he truly need to lead. It was if they were one, moving together, neither leading nor following. Would it be the same if he had her in bed?

  He shut that thought down immediately. Yes, he had fantasized about bedding the woman in the portrait, but now that he knew she was real, he’d need to go about this properly, which would be damned difficult when His Grace was her disapproving father.

  The waltz ended and though Samuel was reluctant to let her go, he took a step back. “Shall I return you to your father or brother?”

  Lady Jillian cast a quick glance to where father stood. His face, a sea of anger. “My brother, please.”

  He offered his elbow and then led her back to his group.

  “Thank you for the waltz, Mr. Storm.”

  “It was my pleasure, Lady Jillian, and I do hope to have the honor again.”

  She glanced down as pink spots blossomed on her cheeks. Why was she not used to compliments? What the hell was wrong with the gentlemen in Town?

  He relinquished her over to her brother, and the two bid them goodbye. Samuel watched as they made their way through the room, in the opposite direction of His Grace, who watched his daughter with a frown then turned and skewered Samuel with a look that would send a lesser man running.

  Bloody hell! He’d only danced with Eldridge’s daughter. One would think he tossed up her skirts in the middle of the ballroom.

  Thorn and Anna had moved on, leaving him alone with Felding and his wife. As he did not know them well, he was just about to take his leave and seek out his brother when Felding said, “Call on me tomorrow.”

  Was the marquess giving him an order?

  “We need to discuss the matter of a certain portrait that shall not be discussed here.”

  She needed fresh air and to gain control of her emotions. Panic, like she hadn’t experienced since Phillipa Johansen, Feldings’ youngest sister, showed her the painting two and a half years ago, nearly engulfed her. As it was imperative that she never show any emotion in the ballroom, Jillian pulled her brother out to the gardens as soon as they reached a door. Her father was already angry with her for dancing with Mr. Storm, of that she was certain, but if her expression changed even the slightest from the false, yet pleasant smile she’d long ago perfected, she’d never hear the end of it. She was a lady, his daughter, and did not suffer from the same hysterical weaknesses of other females.

  But Samuel Storm had a painting!

  “Sometimes I just want to run away. Change my name and start over,” Jillian said to her brother, as she settled on a bench at the back of the garden.

  “It’s not so bad, is it?”

  “That’s easy for you to say. You aren’t the only daughter of Eldridge.”

  “He only wants what’s best for you.” Henry settled beside her and took her hand in his.

  “No, he wants what’s best for him--connections. And each time I don’t land the gentleman he’s determined should be his son-in-law, he continually reminds me of my failings until another is chosen that I must win.” Jillian let her shoulders droop in defeat of what her life was to be. “It’s been nearly unbearable living with him since I failed to secure Roxburg. Had he married anyone else, it might not be so difficult, but the fact that Roxburg chose a Valentine over me has Father angrier than normal.”

  “Is there no one you have wished for yourself?”

  “I don’t allow myself to contemplate who I’d wish to have for a husband. Father will pick him, and I’ll need to make the best of it.”

  Henry turned more fully toward her. “I knew father was demanding, I just didn’t realize that he’d given you no choice.”

  Jillian laughed dryly. “I haven’t even been given a choice of what I’m to wear since I was sixteen.” She wasn’t surprised Henry had no idea how nearly every nuance of her life was controlled. There were seven years between them, and they’d never been close. He’d been sent off to school when she was barely out of leading strings, and his visits home were few.

  “Perhaps if you had friends these gatherings would be more enjoyable.”

  Tears welled in her eyes. “You don’t understand. I can’t afford to let anyone close. People will only use you if you do.”

  He turned more fully toward her. “These emotions have nothing to do with Father or the gentleman he may or may not marry you to.”

  She blinked at him and wiped a tear.

  “Do you fear Storm has a painting?”

  Humiliation washed through her. She’d been so stupid and blindly trusting then. And, she had learned a hard lesson that nobody could ever be trusted.

  “It may only be a resemblance,” Henry offered.

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do.”

  “What do you intend to do?”

  She had no answer. It wasn’t as if she could come right out and ask Mr. Storm. Then he’d know for certain that she’d posed.

  “Sometimes I wish I was a Valentine.” Jillian sighed. “They don’t care who Father is. They have confidence and, despite their circumstances, have thumbed their noses at Society.”

  “Then beg their forgiveness and perhaps a friendship might form.” He leaned in. “As Lady Felding already knows your most protected secret, chances are, her siblings do as well.”

  The idea of anyone knowing of, or having viewed any of those paintings made her ill. “I did tonight, when I spoke with Lady Felding.” Jillian crumbled the handkerchief in her hand. “She was kind. Kinder than she should have been, but I can’t hope that any of them will ever befriend me.”

  Her brother stared at her for a moment and then sighed. “Very well. Forget friends. If you could have your pick of husband, without Father’s interference, who would it be.”

  “I don’t know any gentlemen well enough to know if I wish to be married to them. Though, the ones Father has suggested hold no interest for me.”

  He nodded. “Then, who has caught your eye that you’d be interested in furthering an acquaintance?”

  She blinked at him.

  “If you could have your pick of who you’d like to court you to see if an interest, affection, or even love developed, who would it be?”

  “Samuel Storm,” she said without thought, surprising even herself. She couldn’t trust him. He might have one of the
paintings, and he could completely ruin her. Yet, there was something about him that intrigued her. It was more than a handsome face, but the sincerity and kindness in his emerald eyes.

  “I knew Storm in school. He wasn’t sure what he intended to do with his life, being a younger son, but he’s a worthy gentleman.” Henry smiled at her. “We shall see how we can make that occur.”

  “Fairy dreams, Henry. The moment he calls on me, if he were so inclined, Father will have him removed.” Jillian stood and swiped a tear from her cheek. “I cannot dream so large. Father will decide on my husband, and I will do as ordered and land the lord by whatever means I have at my disposal. It’s my lot in life, and conversations like this only make me wish for what I can’t have.”

  Chapter 4

  Samuel pulled a cheroot from his pocket as another gentleman stepped outside and joined him in the shadows. Following the fellow was Lady Jillian and her brother, though neither one of them glanced in his direction to note he was even there. Soon, their voices drifted to them, and he stilled.

  The painting was of Lady Jillian. Whatever possessed her to sit for such a risqué portrait in the first place?

  The question would gnaw at him until he had the answer.

  He twirled the cheroot in his fingers, not ready to light it because he didn’t want them to smell the smoke and know that they were not alone.

  Why did she have to beg forgiveness of the Valentines?

  A smile pulled at his lips when his name was mentioned. He would like very much to court her to find out if an interest, affection, or even love developed.

  At least he now had some understanding as to the emotions that flickered in her eyes, and if anyone bothered to watch, they’d see it too.

  The brother and sister stood and walked back in their direction. Samuel turned his back to the walk out of respect of Lady Jillian to save her the embarrassment of knowing she’d been heard. The gentleman beside him ducked further into the shadows, and Sam assumed it was for the same reason.

  As soon as the pair disappeared inside, Samuel lit the cheroot and blew a ring of smoke in the air as the other gentleman stepped out of the shadows and held out his hand.

  “Benedick Valentine.”

  Samuel shook his hand and nodded to the area in which Lady Jillian had been sitting with her brother.

  “Yes, one of them.”

  “Samuel Storm.”

  The man grinned. “Well, the best of luck to you because her father is a royal bastard.”

  Sam chuckled. “Why does Lady Jillian need your forgiveness?”

  Mr. Valentine shook his head and smiled sadly. “It’s not for me to say, and truthfully, only my sister, Lady Felding, knows the full extent of what happened.”

  “Is there hope that she’ll gain it?”

  He chuckled. “As for me and my brothers, we’ve moved past the incident, even though we don’t know the depths. My sisters, I’m not sure, but I’ve seen little animosity expressed toward Lady Jillian other than a lack of trust.”

  Sam wanted to ask if Valentine knew about the painting but held his tongue. He assumed Lady Jillian’s most protected secret was the portrait, but what if it was something else entirely? “I would appreciate your discretion in this matter and that you not mention to anyone what you overheard.”

  “Of course.” Mr. Valentine dropped his cheroot and ground it out with the heel of his boot. “I wish no ill will toward Lady Jillian, and after overhearing her conversation with Broadridge, I rather feel sorry for her.”

  “As do I,” Samuel admitted before Valentine walked away. Her relationship with the Valentines, whatever it was, really shouldn’t be a concern of his. However, it did speak to her character, as did the wish for forgiveness and friendship. Anyone who can look at past mistakes and admit they were wrong and wish to rectify the matter was to be respected, not shunned.

  As much as she tried to enjoy the rest of the ball, it was nearly impossible. First, Mr. Storm might have one of her portraits, which she prayed was just a likeness of her and some other model, but she feared the truth. Then her father glowered at her all evening, and she was certain it had been because she waltzed with Mr. Storm. He’d railed against her all the way home and told her that she must never speak with Mr. Storm again.

  Jillian had nodded and promised and went straight to her chamber so she could think. Thinking turned into worry and then panic, and even though she tried to sleep, she constantly woke.

  What if Felding’s sister had sold the painting? Phillipa had promised never to do so, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t suffered a change of heart. Until Jillian knew for certain, she couldn’t relax, and by the following afternoon, with her nerves on edge, she made the decision to call on the marquess under the guise of calling on his wife. She offered her maid five pounds above her earnings to never breathe a word of this visit to her father.

  Trusting a servant did not come easy to Jillian, but she had no other choice. She must speak with Felding today.

  Instead of being led to the sitting room or parlor as expected, the footman had shown her to the library where she found Felding leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest. It’s as if he’d been expecting her, which further convinced her they’d done the one thing they promised they’d never do.

  At that moment, all panic bubbled to the surface and she stormed into the room. “You promised. Your sister promised to never sell that painting, and if she decided to do so, it would be to me.” Tears welled but she blinked them back. “Does your family hate me so much?”

  He straightened and came forward. “We do not hate you, Lady Jillian.” His words were kind, but they’d still sold the painting.

  “But why?”

  “We didn’t sell it. It’s still in Philippa’s collection.”

  “There is another?” She grasped the back of the chair for support when her knees nearly gave way.

  “Apparently, I happen to own it.”

  She whipped around to find Mr. Samuel Storm standing by the settee. She hadn’t even seen him when she came in the room.

  Humiliation engulfed her. He now knew that it was her. Not only was she embarrassed that he owned one of those horrid paintings, but he now knew that she’d lied to him last night.

  Why couldn’t the world just open up and swallow her whole?

  “Mr. Storm was just explaining to me that he purchased that painting nearly three years ago,” Felding said.

  Her stomach churned and Jillian prayed she didn’t toss up her accounts in the middle of Felding’s library. “Three years?” They were all supposed to be gone, with the exception of the one Felding’s sister owned. Would they continue to surface for the rest of her life? How many had Nico painted?

  She couldn’t contemplate that now but had to manage the current situation. She lifted her chin and would face this head on as she had in the past, or at least as her father had. Jillian looked into Mr. Storm’s green eyes with cold determination, ready to negotiate. “What do you want?”

  Mr. Storm’s brow furrowed. “Want?”

  “Name your price to keep this quiet.”

  He drew back and anger spiked in his eyes. “I want nothing.”

  How was that even possible? Everyone wanted something and used whatever means to get it. Her father had taught her that well enough.

  “I simply wish to continue enjoying the painting.”

  “I wish for it to be destroyed.”

  Humor lit in his eyes, and the side of his mouth tipped up. “I can assure you, Lady Jillian that is never going to happen.”

  Maybe it was one of the earlier ones. When her clothing remained modest. She could only pray that it was.

  “Where is it?” she demanded.

  “At my home.”

  “In Barbados?”

  “Yes.”

  “Has anyone else seen it?” Maybe it was a private collection, and her humiliation was limited only to him.

  “A few, close friends.”

 
He grinned as if he found humor in this situation, and she wanted to box his ears. Didn’t Mr. Storm know how serious this was?

  She studied him and despite his smile, there was a serious edge in his eyes. He knew. Of course he knew, yet he didn’t care.

  It was bad enough that he had seen the painting, but she needed to know who else. What if it was someone in society and they mentioned it? “Anyone I would know?”

  “Roxburg.”

  Her world just grew darker. His Grace would return to Barbados with his new bride, who happened to be a Valentine, the family who hated her for good reason. Once Bianca saw it, nothing would keep her from writing home and telling everyone. If Lady Felding hadn’t already told her siblings about the portrait’s existence, then Bianca certainly would.

  Jillian moved around to the front of the chair and sank down, her knees unable to hold her up any longer. “As you will not give up the painting, I beg one favor of you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Please, never show it to Roxburg’s wife.”

  “Bianca would never say anything,” Felding assured her, not that it did any good.

  “You don’t know that,” she snapped. “They hate me. All of the Valentines do, and for good reason.”

  Felding shook his head. “I can assure you that they don’t. You are making far more out of the circumstances than they ever would.” He came forward. “And, I can assure you, if they hated anyone, which they do not, it would be your father. He is responsible for most of the grief they suffered.”

  “Yes, but I was not much better than him not so long ago,” she said quietly.

  “Water under the bridge, Lady Jillian.”

  Tears stung her eyes and she wished it were true, but she had learned long ago never to trust anyone.

  “I can understand why you don’t wish for anyone to view the painting,” Mr. Storm began. “I can assure you that it will never be shown to anyone ever again.”