Daring to Love the Duke's Heir

by Janice Preston

  He had been waiting...hoping...that circumstance would intervene and that Liberty would find herself with child and she would have to marry him. A coward’s hope. Her words tonight had shattered that dream, but now, picking through the wreckage of the plan that had not even been a plan but a weak, vague hope that everything would turn out all right, he understood that Liberty’s news was a blessing.

  Now, she had provided him with the perfect way to prove he loved her. If she had been with child, she would never believe he wanted to marry her. She would always fear he had been, in effect, trapped into it. Now...now he was free to prove to her that he loved her and only her.

  With renewed vigour, he turned on his heel and went to find his stepmother. He had plans to make. Proper plans this time.

  Chapter Twenty

  It would be the ball of the Season. Everybody who was anybody would be there.

  ‘But you must attend, Liberty. Tell her, Hope.’ Verity looked from one of her sisters to the other. ‘It is the first ball the Duke of Cheriton has hosted since Lady Olivia made her debut five years ago!’

  The ball had been announced just four days before, much to the consternation of those members of the ton who already had evening events arranged for tomorrow night. They had bowed to the inevitable and many events had been cancelled amid speculation as to whether there might be a specific purpose to the ball...whether a special announcement was imminent.

  And people had nudged one another and cast surreptitious looks at the Marquess of Avon as they did so, convinced that he had finally chosen his bride and that the ball was to celebrate their betrothal. But not even the most incorrigible tittle-tattles could pretend they had an inkling of his choice. His Lordship went about his daily life as inscrutably as ever and not one of the young ladies believed to feature on his shortlist gave the smallest indication that she harboured a grand secret.

  Liberty had no more idea than anyone else. Dominic had continued to be friendly whenever their paths crossed and he continued to dance with her as well as with many other young ladies, including those on his shortlist. His provocative teasing had stopped, however, much to Liberty’s mingled consternation and relief.

  His behaviour to her was that of the consummate gentleman and hers to him was that of the perfect lady.

  Not even Olivia had let any information about the ball slip, although that, Liberty was fairly sure, was because even she did not why the ball had been arranged with such haste. All she knew, she had told Liberty crossly, was that her stepmother was rushing around like a whirlwind—for, as the lady of the house, the ball was under her jurisdiction—and that Grantham was being impossibly officious. Her father, she added, had brought in an army of additional servants to help get the ball ready on time.

  But Liberty’s entire family appeared unable to accept that she was happy not to attend the ball. Ever since the Stantons’ ball she had steeled herself for the announcement of Dominic’s betrothal and now, having been forewarned it was likely to happen tomorrow night, she would be a fool to put herself through such a trial in such a public setting.

  ‘You must attend.’ Hope added her voice to Verity’s. ‘Think how dreadful it would be for us to miss it.’

  ‘You do not have to miss it.’ Liberty put her arms around Romeo—seated beside her on the sofa—and kissed his head. ‘Mrs Mount and Gideon will be there. Nobody will even notice or care about my absence.’

  ‘Lady Olivia will be offended if you do not attend,’ said Hope. ‘You are friends—why on earth do you not want to go to her stepmother’s ball?’

  Really! Can they not see my heart is breaking?

  No sooner had that very unfair thought surfaced than it was swept aside by the reassurance that no one actually knew Liberty’s heart was shattered or that her life was over. She hadn’t felt pain like this since Bernard died. She simply could not summon the strength to stand there and smile and look happy for Dominic and the flawless Lady Sybilla and, even worse, to congratulate them and wish them happy together.

  She couldn’t do it.

  ‘I have no suitable gown to wear.’

  It was no lie. Liberty had worn each of her three new ball gowns at least twice and the ball of the Season surely warranted a new gown.

  ‘That is no excuse!’ Hope grabbed Liberty’s hand, forcing her to pay attention. ‘Gideon, Verity and I decided it was time to show you our appreciation for everything you have done for us and we ordered a new gown. Cinderella shall go to the ball!’

  Despite her dejection, Liberty could not help but laugh. ‘Does that make you two the Ugly Sisters?’ Then she sobered. ‘But the ball is tomorrow night. There is no time. I shall send a note to Olivia explaining I am indisposed. The dress will come for another night...perhaps the Derhams’ ball next week?’

  Hope pouted. ‘I think you are being very mean, Liberty. What have you got against the Duke and Duchess?’

  ‘Nothing!’

  Other than that the Duke terrified her. She had met him just two days before, introduced by Olivia, and his silvery-grey gaze—so like his son’s—had swept over her, leaving her feeling as though he knew all her deepest, darkest secrets. Including that she was in love with his son and heir and had seduced him in the hope he might see sense. She shivered at the thought the Duke might find that out.

  ‘I simply...it will be too grand. I do not care for such huge occasions. Now, please, stop pestering me. You will be perfectly safe attending with both Gideon and Mrs Mount and once you are surrounded by all your fawning admirers you won’t have a thought to spare for me.’

  * * *

  Liberty spent the next day at home, even eschewing a ride in the Park. She could not face the growing excitement. It was just a ball, for goodness sake. What did the reason behind it matter? The Duke would no doubt announce the betrothal between Dominic and Lady Sybilla, and then the ton, in all its glittering, gossiping glory, would move on to the next shiny piece of news.

  Much ado about nothing.

  Except it wasn’t nothing. Not to her. Romeo was beside her on the sofa and she buried her face in his soft fur. He licked her ear. Although it tickled, she could not summon even a giggle. Everywhere felt so numb.

  ‘Miss Lovejoy?’

  Her head jerked up at the maid’s voice. ‘Yes, Ethel?’

  It was early evening and, having already dined, Liberty was alone in the drawing room, waiting to see the rest of the family, all dressed in their finery, before they left for the Cheritons’ ball.

  The maid looked flushed and flustered.

  ‘It’s Mrs Mount, miss. She’s had the megrim come on.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Liberty stood. ‘I shall go to her at once. Ask Mrs Taylor to prepare some willow-bark tea, if you will. That may help.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’

  When she reached Mrs Mount’s bedchamber, Hope and Verity were both in attendance and Mrs Mount herself was in bed, the covers pulled up to her chin and a damp cloth draped across her forehead.

  ‘My dear Mrs Mount.’ Liberty went to her bedside, ushering her sisters out of the way. ‘You must tell me if there is anything I can do to help.’

  Mrs Mount moaned softly, her eyes shut. ‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘I just need peace and quiet.’

  ‘Of course.’ Liberty scanned the room. The curtains were drawn, blocking out the light, and there was a glass of water on the bedside table. ‘I have ordered willow-bark tea and I shall send one of the maids up to sit with you, in case you require anything. Come, girls...’ she waved Hope and Verity towards the door ‘...let us leave poor Mrs Mount in peace.’

  Once on the landing, she said, ‘Why aren’t you dressed for the ball? I thought the carriage was ordered for half past?’

  Verity pouted. ‘How can we go now? We have no chaperon. Mrs Mount is indisposed and you have refused to go.’

  ‘It’s the ball of the Season,�
� Hope wailed, ‘and we shall be the only ones not there!’

  ‘Oh, good grief.’ Liberty thought quickly, but could see no alternative. ‘I... I must accompany you, I suppose. I can hardly expect Gideon to watch over you both.’

  Verity flung her arms around Liberty and kissed her cheek. ‘Oh, thank you. You are the best sister.’

  Her heart expanded, knowing she had made her sisters happy. But what about her? She would have to face Dominic and, probably, endure his happy news. It was the last thing she wished to do. And yet...by staying away, would he not guess the reason why? She thought she had managed to hoodwink him so far, acting as though she could not care less, but he was no fool. Her absence would scream the truth more loudly than her stoical attendance.

  Perhaps this was for the best. It would be but a few hours of her life. She had endured worse and coped. She would survive this.

  ‘I suppose it will have to be the violet silk again,’ she said. ‘But no matter—no one will be looking my way, after all.’

  ‘Oh! I forgot to tell you!’ Hope’s blue eyes sparkled. ‘You won’t need your violet silk. Do you recall that new gown I told you about? It was delivered this afternoon, but Lizzie stupidly put it in my bedchamber, thinking it was mine! She will bring it to you and she can help you with your hair, for mine is already done.’

  * * *

  The gown was perfect. If Liberty could have chosen a gown for herself, without consideration of cost, it was just what she would have chosen—a high-waisted gown of blush-pink crepe over a satin slip, the skirt decorated with two festoons of pink rosebuds at the hem. The bodice—with scattered seed pearls and tiny rosebuds stitched to the fabric—was cut low over the shoulders, in the current fashion, with short sleeves held up by narrow satin bands. Lizzie pinned her hair on top of her head, threading a string of pearls through her locks and leaving a few curls to frame her face. Her mother’s single strand of pearls was clasped around her throat and matching pearl eardrops hung from her lobes.

  Her sisters’ gasps when she appeared at the head of the stairs were balm to Liberty’s soul. She straightened her shoulders and raised her chin as she descended to where they waited in the hall. Gideon came in the front door.

  ‘The carriage is waiting.’ He let out a low whistle as he caught sight of Liberty and he walked to meet her and kissed her hand. ‘You look like a princess.’

  * * *

  The line of carriages waiting to deliver their occupants to Beauchamp House stretched all the way around Grosvenor Square. As they waited, the evening dry, the sky spangled with stars, Liberty remembered the very first time she had called at Beauchamp House: the heavy rain, the thunder and lightning, the footman with the umbrella. And Dominic. The very first time they met. Little did she imagine then how she would come to feel about him. Little did she imagine he would break her heart. She swallowed, forcing down the aching mass that invaded her throat.

  I will not disgrace myself. I am braver...stronger...than that.

  By the time the Lovejoys entered the front door Liberty’s nerves had wound so tight she could barely hear a word said to her as she climbed the magnificent marble staircase with Gideon, Hope and Verity, and then stood in line to be greeted by their host and hostess.

  The Duke was resplendent in severe black evening clothes and the Duchess looked lovely in lemon gauze over a cream underdress. As they waited their turn, a quick sweep of the surrounding area revealed no trace of any of the rest of the Beauchamps and, for that, Liberty was grateful. One step at a time. Get the formalities out of the way and she could hopefully lose herself in the crush—and it truly was a crush. As they reached the Duke—Gideon bowing and she, Hope and Verity sinking into curtsies—Liberty caught a glimpse of the crowded ballroom, down a short flight of stairs. How on earth anyone would manage to dance was beyond her although, no doubt, the elders would soon disperse to the card rooms and salons, leaving the ballroom free for the dancers and their chaperons.

  She rose from her curtsy to find herself being regarded by a pair of friendly golden-brown eyes.

  ‘We have heard a great deal about you from Olivia, Miss Lovejoy,’ said the Duchess. ‘Thank you for being such a good friend to her...she puts so much pressure on herself to be the perfect mother to the twins, even though we keep telling her not to be so hard on herself, is that not so, Leo?’

  Gideon and the girls had moved on, waiting now at the top of the flight of steps down into the ballroom, and the following guests had not yet moved forward, leaving Liberty in limbo with the Duke and the Duchess. She sucked in a sharp breath in an attempt to quell her nerves as the Duke’s penetrating silver-grey gaze studied her unhurriedly.

  ‘Indeed.’ He smiled at Liberty, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and suddenly he did not look as intimidating. His gaze did not swerve from hers. ‘It is a pleasure to meet you again, Miss Lovejoy. We are honoured that you accepted our invitation.’

  Liberty managed a smile in return, even as she wondered at the strange phrasing used by the Duke. She joined Gideon and the girls at the head of the stairs.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  ‘The Earl of Wendover; Miss Lovejoy; Miss Hope Lovejoy; Miss Verity Lovejoy.’

  Their arrival was announced by Grantham—very erect and clearly relishing his role as Master of Ceremonies—in resonant tones. They descended the stairs into the ballroom. Liberty rested her hand on Gideon’s arm as Hope and Verity followed behind, and aimed her gaze resolutely above the heads of the crowd. As they reached the foot of the stairs, Gideon slipped his arm from beneath her hand.

  ‘I see Emily over by the window. I shall see you later.’

  He melted among the crowd, lost to sight within seconds. Liberty didn’t even know which window he might be heading for—there were five sets of French windows along the far wall, but she had been so determined not to catch sight of Dominic or Sybilla that neither had she seen Lady Emily, or where she stood. She turned to Hope and Verity, but they were already surrounded by young men eager to reserve dances.

  Liberty rubbed her upper chest, feeling the hollow swoop of her stomach as she did so. This had been her worst fear. Being alone, in the crowd, waiting for the axe to fall. She peered around anxiously, and froze.

  Dominic. Two paces away, handsome and debonair in black evening clothes, a dark sapphire pin in his neckcloth. His gaze steady. On her. She swallowed and forced a smile. She would not evade this meeting. Her actions had been her own, the decisions her own. She had gambled of her own free will and it was not Dominic’s fault that he still believed in duty over love.

  ‘Good evening, Liberty.’

  His rich voice sent shudders of helpless desire through her, as did the look of intent in his silvery gaze. He moved closer and she could smell the spicy, musky cologne he favoured. When she closed her eyes at night, it was that remembered scent that started the memories rolling through her head. She blinked, forcing her mind out of her feelings and into the practicalities of coping with this meeting without making a complete idiot of herself.

  ‘Good evening, my lord.’ Love—pure, despairing, eternal—squeezed her heart, catching at her breath. How could she bear this? But bear it she must. ‘It is...it is a crush tonight, is it not? Your stepmother must be pleased with the success of her ball.’

  He smiled. Tenderly. She blinked again, too accustomed to him blanking his emotions to believe her own eyes. But she was not mistaken. That tender smile was aimed directly at her. It reached his eyes, too—no opaque silver coins tonight, nor even mirrors reflecting the world back. For almost the first time since she had known him—other than that night—he appeared to be inviting her in. Inviting her to see the real man inside.

  ‘I am sure she is.’

  Her heart beat a little faster. That vice constricting her heart eased a fraction and hope stirred as Dominic extended one hand. As though in a dream she placed her own hand in his. His fingers
closed strongly around hers, warm, comforting, safe. Tears stung her eyes and she desperately swallowed her emotions down. She could not cope with comforting. Or with safe.

  Her heart began to pound. Disjointed questions ricocheted around her head. What...? Why...? How...? Her knees trembled and her mouth dried, and all coherent thought scattered, as out of reach as the stars in the sky.

  Dominic captured her other hand, bringing their joined hands together, between them, at chest height. Then, in a gesture that stole her breath, he opened his fingers leaving his hands side by side, palm up, almost in supplication. Her own hands lay on his, palm to palm, but she was not controlled in any way. She could remove her hands. She could move away, if she chose to. But she would not...could not...move. Her mind had ceased to control her body. She stood, helpless, waiting to hear what he might say. Dreading and yet hoping...yearning...praying.

  He smiled into her eyes.

  ‘If you do not want this, Liberty Louisa Lovejoy...if you do not want me...please tell me now and we shall say no more about it.’

  She could not grasp his meaning, so she picked on the familiar.

  ‘How do you know my middle name?’

  One corner of his lips quirked up in a half-smile. ‘Verity told me.’

  Her gaze skimmed past him, to where she had last seen her sisters. Hope and Verity, beyond Dominic’s right shoulder, were watching her, wide smiles on their faces. She wrenched her attention back to Dominic.

  ‘V-Verity? Wh-why did she tell you that?’

  ‘I asked her.’

  ‘Oh.’ Her throat ached unbearably. She still could not allow herself to hope...to believe...what his words meant. ‘Wh-what is this? What are you doing?’

  He ducked his head close to listen to her whispered question. His ear, his dark hair curling slightly over its rim, was tantalisingly close to her lips. He was so close she could see the texture of his skin, the faint shadow of his beard, even though he was freshly shaven. He raised his head again and she saw the glisten of his tongue as it moistened his visibly dry lips. She slid her palms over his and her fingertips found the pulse in his wrist. It pounded even faster than her own.