“Nothing of any importance, Your Grace,” she said brightly. “I was simply telling Mr. Stratton how very close I am to my grandmother. She is, indeed, my greatest confidant.” She gave her escort her sweetest smile. “I tell Grandmamma everything. In fact, I can’t wait to tell her all about meeting you today. I’m sure she’ll be vastly pleased to hear I’ve made a new friend.”
He winced, but quickly recovered. “Quite,” he said, joining his wife. “Nothing like making new friends, eh, my love?”
When Lady Letitia took her husband’s arm, Gillian fancied he winced under a grip that looked rather painful. “Indeed.” Lady Letitia directed a sly smile at the duke. “Almost as delightful as reviving cherished relationships with old friends, wouldn’t you say, Charles?”
“I suppose it depends on the circumstances,” Leverton replied. “And the friends.”
“Well, we must be off,” Lady Letitia said, obviously taking the hint. Gillian had to give her ladyship credit—her smile never faltered. “Miss Dryden, please convey my best regards to your mother. I’m sure we’ll be seeing you again very soon.”
“I look forward to it, Miss Dryden,” Stratton said. “And I hope to meet your grandmother soon, as well. She sounds delightful.” Then he winked at her. Clearly, he was not a man to be easily discouraged.
Gillian glanced at Leverton, but he’d half turned away to talk to his coachman. Stratton might be a cad, but he had the brains to conceal his pathetic attempts at flirtation from the duke. He obviously didn’t feel the need to modify his inappropriate behavior in front of his wife, however, which was rather odd.
Then again, nothing about aristocratic bad behavior shocked Gillian anymore.
With a final smile and wave, the Strattons set off along Piccadilly. Leverton returned to scowling at Gillian again. She was beginning to wonder if he deserved his reputation as the politest man in London, but whatever he was going to say was forestalled when Mamma joined them.
“Well, that was a delightful outing, was it not?” Mamma said. “Gillian, did you enjoy your stroll with Mr. Stratton?”
Gillian shrugged. “He was all right. A little too chatty, if you ask me.”
“I certainly hope you didn’t tell him so,” her mother said.
“No, Mamma. I was very polite.”
“Cousin Julia, would you object if your daughter and I walked home?” Leverton said abruptly. “It’s such a fine day, and I’m sure Miss Dryden would enjoy a little more time outdoors.”
Her mother cast a worried glance at the cloud-riven sky. It was anything but a fine day, but Gillian didn’t mind walking a bit more. It was very nice of the duke to make the offer, since she was sure he had better things to do.
Then again, perhaps he intended to deliver another lecture or scold.
“It’s fine, Mamma,” she said. “I’d much rather be out than cooped up indoors.”
“Very well, but don’t linger. It looks like rain.” As if to underline her point, a gust of wind swirled around them, kicking up their skirts.
The duke helped Mamma and Maria into the carriage, then turned to Gillian and took her hand, settling her beside him. She noticed how much taller he was than Stratton, and how muscular his arm was under her fingertips. She supposed she couldn’t blame Lady Letitia for giving the duke sheep’s eyes since Leverton was such a handsome, well-built man.
“Miss Dryden, I have something I must ask you,” he said.
A scold it is. Only a dolt would have missed his disapproving tone.
“Go ahead,” she said, resigned.
“What the devil did Stratton want you to keep secret?”
Chapter Seven
“Even more to the point,” Leverton said, “what did you say to him that encouraged such liberties?”
Gillian jerked her hand away and came to an abrupt halt. “For someone with your vaunted reputation, I find such an unjust accusation quite rude. You’re not exactly living up to your nickname.”
Anger turned his gaze to a cold blue flame. Gillian tried to cross her arms over her chest as she glared back at him, but got tangled up with her dratted muff.
“I asked you a question, Miss Dryden,” he said. “I expect an answer.”
She was tempted to storm past him and make her own way home, but he blocked her way like a brick wall. Besides, she wouldn’t put it past him to grab her if she did try to stalk by, and wouldn’t that be a nice little display? They were already attracting the attention of fashionable young ladies out for a stroll and shoppers hurrying about their business. Gillian didn’t truly care, but her grandmother would be displeased if her troublesome granddaughter called yet more gossip down on her head.
She gave him a wolfish smile instead. “Are you in the habit of demanding accounts of other people’s private conversations, sir? Then let me give you a bit of advice—just eavesdrop. It’s much more efficient.”
He ignored her taunt. “May I point out that it’s highly improper for a young lady to be engaging in private conversations with a man she’s just met?”
She widened her eyes at him. “At what point is a young lady allowed to have a private conversation with a man, especially when her own mother is nearby? And at the risk of being overly punctilious, are we not having a private discussion?” She made a great show of looking about. “And I no longer see Mamma.”
When he stared at her in disbelief, Gillian simply smiled. It was rather entertaining to poke fun at the infernally proper Leverton, trying to ruffle his imposing demeanor. Grandmamma always said that poking the hornet’s nest was Gillian’s fatal flaw, but the duke posed an irresistible temptation.
Besides, it was beastly for him to assume it was she who’d misbehaved, not Stratton. Men generally liked to assume the worst about women, often dodging responsibility for their own bad behavior.
Leverton reached for her, clearly intending to take her arm, when a stout woman, loaded down with packages, almost ploughed into him. He caught a small box that tumbled from the stack in her arms and handed it back with a polite smile. “Forgive me, madam, the fault is mine for not paying attention,” he said.
“Bloody right it is.” The woman resettled the packages in her arms and stalked off, muttering something about bleedin’ toffs.
To Gillian’s surprise, Leverton simply shook his head. “It would seem I owe more than one person an apology. Miss Dryden, forgive me. I had no business biting off your nose like that.”
She eyed him warily. In her experience, men didn’t generally apologize to a woman unless they wanted something. But Leverton appeared to be genuinely contrite.
“Apology accepted, sir,” she finally said.
When he continued to study her with a thoughtful expression, Gillian had to resist the urge to shuffle her feet or swing her muff. She almost preferred to have him annoyed with her. At least then she felt on equal footing.
Then his mouth curved into that dazzling smile of his, and Gillian forgot about feeling awkward.
“I think we’ve provided quite enough entertainment for the locals, don’t you?” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to continue our stroll.”
When he held out his arm, she took it. “Very well. I do need to find my way home sooner or later. But no more lectures in the middle of the street. I don’t think Grandmamma would like it.”
“I will try to refrain,” he said dryly.
He guided her across the busy thoroughfare, briefly pausing on the other side to give a coin to the grubby little boy who’d swept vigorously in front of them. The urchin’s eyes went round as plates, and he stuttered out his thanks before darting back into traffic to return to the other pavement.
“I hate to see children forced to earn their living in such a dangerous way,” Gillian said, glancing back after the boy. “It’s a wonder some carriage hasn’t run over him already.”
“One probably will at some point,” Leverton said, sounding grim. “Unless he can find better employment, which doesn’t seem likely.”
>
“There are so many children like him in London. It’s heartbreaking. I just wish something could be done for them.”
“Some of us in Parliament try to alleviate the worst of the conditions, but the situation seems intractable.”
They turned onto Carrington Place, leaving the bustle of the shopping district behind as they moved into the quieter streets of Mayfair. He glanced down at her. “You saw such poverty in Sicily, did you not?”
“Yes, Palermo has more than its share of beggars. It’s not always as evident in the country, though, and certainly not on my stepfather’s estates. He was very attentive to the welfare of those under his care.”
“A most estimable gentleman,” Leverton said. “I’m sure you and your mother miss him a great deal.”
Gillian was unable to speak around the sudden constriction in her throat, so she nodded instead.
“You must have been very sorry to leave Italy,” he said, “since it has always been your home.”
“Yes, but I suppose it was time.” Her heart rebelled against the painful admission.
“What with ruthless brigands trying to kill you, and such.”
Gillian waved her ridiculous muff, setting the feathers fluttering. “My mother and grandmother exaggerate the dangers. But that’s not what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“It’s just not the same since Step-papa died.” She realized how inadequate that sounded. “I mean, of course it’s the same in many respects, and his heir was very kind to us, but . . .” She trailed off, finding it difficult to explain.
Her stepfather’s title and estates had passed to his nephew, a decent enough fellow who had the grace to treat Gillian and Mamma with respect and generosity. Still, Mamma had insisted they pack up their belongings and move into the elegant Marbury villa in Palermo. It was a wrenching good-bye not only to the only home Gillian had ever known, but also to the loyal Paterini servants who’d all but raised her from infancy. Only Stefano and Maria had gone with them. Stefano had been Gillian’s bodyguard and mentor since she’d been a little girl. He’d taught her how to fight, shoot, and take care of herself, and he’d steadfastly refused to leave her side.
Eventually she’d been forced to say good-bye to Stefano, too. To be virtually exiled from his own country would have been too much for the old man. Gillian would never forget their leave-taking on the docks of Palermo. She’d wept so many tears then, knowing she might never see her old friend again.
“I think I understand,” Leverton said. “When your stepfather died, you lost both your loving parent and your protector. His death made your situation more precarious.”
She glanced up, startled not so much by his acumen but by his willingness to discuss her position in society.
“Although you did have Lord Marbury’s protection, at least,” he added.
“Yes. Though Grandfather never really approved of me, he was frightening enough that no one dared be impertinent. But he passed only a year after my stepfather, and then . . .” She tried to think of a way to put it without sounding vulgar.
“People dared to be impertinent with you?” Leverton gently suggested.
“That’s one way of putting it.” It had actually been much worse than that, but Gillian would die before she ever shared that with anyone.
The duke paused to draw her aside as two elderly matrons, dressed like crows in black bombazine, passed by. They all exchanged nods, the ladies murmuring polite Your Graces while staring curiously at Gillian. With her deeply tanned skin and lanky figure, she supposed she looked rather odd and anything but fashionable compared to most English girls.
Leverton picked up where they’d left off. “I thought as much. That brings me back to our original discussion. I promise not to bark at you again, but I do need to know what Stratton was quizzing you about.”
When she hesitated, he sighed. “Miss Dryden, surely you realize that your grandmother would never ask for my assistance unless she felt sure I would never betray or embarrass you. You can trust me.”
She didn’t bother to hide her skepticism. He was right to say that Grandmamma trusted him, and that Gillian could as well. But deep inside it felt impossible to let down her guard. After all, she’d spent years building it up, precisely because of men like him.
They stood on the quiet street, locked in a silent contest of wills. Gillian half expected him to begin lecturing her again. Yet his gaze warmed with understanding—and sympathy.
“I am not the first man to ask you to trust him, am I?” he asked.
She winced. “Blast. Is it that obvious?”
He started her forward again, for which Gillian was grateful. It would be easier to discuss such an embarrassing topic if he wasn’t looking at her.
“I put two and two together,” he said. “And, as a reminder, I would suggest you refrain from using terms like blast when in polite company.”
“All right, but only on the understanding that I can say whatever I want to immediate family.”
“I suppose I can’t really stop you, can I?”
“I doubt it. Some things are just bloody difficult to change.”
“You can’t shock me, you know. Although I think I must drop a word in your brother’s ear, all the same.”
“Ha. That’s not much of a threat. I was using bad language long before I ever met Griffin.”
“No doubt.”
Gillian pretended to ponder for a moment. “Perhaps if you write down all the words I’m not supposed to say, I can commit them to memory.”
“I’m quite sure you know exactly what you should and shouldn’t say,” he said.
Gillian couldn’t help giving him a little smirk.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll leave the language lessons for some future date. We have again been diverted from our main topic, which is—”
“Mr. Stratton.” The duke clearly wasn’t going to let it go, so she might as well get it over with. “From your reaction, I imagine you already have a good idea of what he said.”
“Did he insult you or importune you?” he asked in a hard voice.
“Mr. Stratton would be walking with a limp right now if he had. Or not walking at all, depending on my aim.”
Leverton made a slight, choking noise, then cleared his throat. “Then what did he say, exactly?”
“He asked me to meet him for a walk or a drive in the park.”
“By yourself? And without telling your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“Bastard,” Leverton muttered.
She couldn’t resist. “Language, Your Grace. But don’t worry. Why would I want to go driving in the park with a married man? I’m supposed to be finding a husband, not larking about with ineligible men.”
“You’re not to be engaging in such behavior with an unmarried man, either. Not unless you have the express permission of your mother or grandmother, and only after they’ve met your escort.”
“I’m not a half-wit, nor am I naïve. I know exactly what men like Stratton are after. I’m quite familiar with the type.”
That silenced him for half a block. “I’m sorry you even have to worry about that,” he finally said.
“Grandmamma warned me some years ago what to expect.” After Pietro. Because of that gentleman, Gillian would never be naïve again. “I have no intention of allowing myself to become a member of the demimonde. I would not enjoy such a life.”
“I should bloody well hope not,” Leverton said.
Gillian feigned astonishment. “Sir, I am truly shocked. Perhaps I should draw up a list of words for you.”
“I would ask for your apology, but I doubt very much that I offended you.”
“Of course not. I’m as tough as old boots.”
“No, you’re not. And you’re as deserving of respect as any young woman. I regret that we even need to have this unfortunate discussion.”
She couldn’t help smiling. “I know you’re trying to help. And I don’t mind
at all. Truly.”
“You should mind,” he said. “But back to Stratton.”
Gillian groaned. “Must we?”
“I need you to understand that he might well not be the only cad who tries to take advantage. I want you to be well armored against that possibility.”
“Of course. But Mr. Stratton is harmless, you know.”
He shook his head. “He’s exactly the type you have to worry about.”
Gillian heard something in his voice that gave her pause—an undertone of bitterness. This was more than a well-intentioned warning. It sounded personal to Leverton. “I’ll be careful, Your Grace.”
“You’re to come to me or to your grandmother if you have any concerns of this nature at all.”
“Yes, I promise.”
He let out a reluctant laugh. “Now you’re patronizing me. Or behaving as if I’m a fussy old maid who sees a rake lurking behind every tree.”
“No, you’re behaving like someone who cares. But why are you doing this?”
“Warning you about bounders like Stratton?”
She tugged on his arm. “Now you’re being deliberately obtuse.”
“Perhaps just slightly evasive,” he said with a wry smile. “But now let me ask you a question. Do you want this little experiment your grandmother cooked up to actually work?”
“You mean teaching me not to swear, and how to curtsey without falling on my ear?” she asked in as innocent a voice as she could muster. Sadly, Gillian didn’t do innocent very well.
“Those things are simply a means to an end, and you know it. Your family wishes you to find a suitable husband, and I’d like to know if you want that too.”
Confound it. “What girl doesn’t?”
He snorted. “You, I suspect.”
“And I suspect that you are quite wrong.” Dodgy, but at least it wasn’t an outright lie.
He stopped her again. Reluctantly, she looked up to meet his searching gaze. “Miss Dryden, what is it that you fear? Do you think you will be laughed at, or somehow punished for trying to make a respectable marriage?”
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