“Yes, my love, but she’s not here now, nor the mistress, and I won’t waste time in this creaky old room. I do believe you promised me a kiss, Ben.” The girl sounded impatient now.
“Aye, that I did!”
“Then come away from there, and let’s on our way.”
With a last uncertain look around the dark room, Ben did as his young lady instructed and the two intruders were once again all alone in the dark.
Holly buried her face in Strathavon’s lapel to stifle what appeared to be an onset of giggles.
He wondered if she was suffering a bout of hysteria brought on by nerves.
“Imagine. Saved by the amorousness of a trysting footman,” she whispered, when she had regained some of her composure.
“Yes, well. I daresay we had better leave before someone else comes along.”
Reluctantly, Holly stepped out of the circle of her duke’s arms.
“It’s alright, we can always pretend we’re another trysting pair – you’ve crumpled my cap enough that it will be very believable,” she said, in a low voice that implied things the duke felt she really oughtn’t have known to imply.
With a sigh, he followed her out of the room.
They made it back to the scullery without further adventure, though the duke came close to knocking over one of the stocking-airers that hung along the wall.
When they had cleared the fence and the undergrowth to find their horses just where they’d left them, Holly threw her arms around the duke.
“Oh, wasn’t that just perfect! What great fun. I knew we’d come about!”
“Certainly a very memorable night. But I do not see why you had to leave the replica.”
“Easy enough! It was so that Lady Charlotte knows she’s been had, of course.”
“I’m afraid I do not follow.” Strathavon wondered if he would ever fathom the mysteries of the female mind.
“It’s very simple. The real emeralds will go back to Avonbury and his aunt will wear them to the opera next week, for all of London to see. She may even mention to her particular friends that these are her sister’s as her own are being cleaned.”
“Do go on.”
“You see, if we had simply taken the stones, it would have looked like a plain old burglary, and that’s no fun at all. But as it is, Lady Charlotte will come back and one of two things will happen. If she is shrewd, as I suspect she must be to play her vindictive game, she will notice that her emeralds are paste, where they were the genuine article before. Ladies are very good at noticing a fake. She will know that if she wears them, she will look absurd for owning an imitation of the Avonbury stones, because other ladies will know them to be paste too. But she will hardly be able to complain about the real ones, because that would sound even more contrived. All the while, she will know that she was outfoxed.”
“And if she doesn’t notice?”
“Then she will wear them and look ridiculous – and learn her mistake soon enough. Either way, it will be a victory,” she finished, going over to untie her horse.
Avonbury chuckled darkly at her. “You are a veritable devil, my dear. The mind boggles.”
“Come on, then. We’ve a whole park to explore.” Vaulting into the saddle from a nearby tree-stump, she took off again.
The duke leapt into his own saddle to follow. It all felt like a peculiar dream.
At last, Holly hopped off her horse and secured the reins to a low branch on the shore of the Serpentine. A second later, the duke followed suit.
Holly gravitated towards an empty pavilion and looked out over the little river.
“It’s rather a lovely piece,” she said, producing the necklace out of her fichu, to examine it again.
“It is a very old thing,” Strathavon agreed. “They say the emeralds were given to the family by the Conqueror himself and remounted early in the eighteenth century. I wonder what Charlotte will make of your little prank.”
“She will be livid, my dear Sylvester. You can be very sure of that. There is nothing like wearing a replica of someone else’s jewels for absolute social mortification.”
If there was a note of dark glee in Holly’s voice, the duke chose wisely not to comment on it.
“And do you often indulge in such midnight masquerades?” the duke asked with a studied carelessness.
“Alas, this was my first adventure of this nature.”
“Ah. I would never have been able to tell,” he said, in a surprisingly warm tone of voice.
She basked a moment in the unmistakable compliment that had been paid.
“It’s fortunate that the rumours of your attachment to Lady Charlotte are unfounded, else you would be the greatest cad for breaking into her house.”
“Rumours,” the duke said dryly. “That is absurd. By no means have I ever considered myself as an attaché to her.”
“I am glad.”
It was in that moment that His Grace the Duke of Strathavon knew without the least shadow of a doubt that he yearned for nothing more than the love of his duchess. It was truly a terrifying thought.
And yet, it was impossible to feel any indifference towards the lovely, vibrant woman before him. If he were honest, Strathavon did not even bother making the attempt.
He found that, despite his better judgement, he neither could nor would desert her banners – Holly seemed to know it too, and take amused delight in it.
*
When they got home, they found that neither one of them could bring themselves to go up to bed just yet. There was something breathless and unspoken lingering between them, and they were both trying to pretend they hadn’t noticed it.
Having put the emeralds securely into the drawer of his desk, the duke took a seat and regarded her quietly a moment. She was still wearing the frightful black dress, and yet it did not in the least detract from her charm.
“Well, my dear, you can drive a carriage like a reckless youth, you don’t mind dragging stray cats and people into the house, and you haven’t the least qualms about pilfering emeralds and impersonating housemaids. What other dreadful secrets have you been harbouring?”
Holly was perched on the settle, occupied with examining a travel guide to English Ruins, which had arrived from the circulating library just that morning.
She looked up at him innocently.
“Secrets?”
English ruins were a subject which Holly found to be surprisingly relaxing. She was intrigued at the thought of visiting a few in the summer.
Verity had waxed poetical about Corfe Castle especially, calling it a place of high romance.
Just then, though, Holly’s attention was all on Strathavon, his lean body stretched out in his armchair like a waiting panther.
“Yes, secrets. For one, there is the matter of your maid. I am given to understand she has a colourful past, yet you made a spectacle of appointing her to the post.”
This was said with perfect impassivity, but Holly was supremely tired of hearing people abuse poor Lucy over something that was not her fault.
She faced him squarely. “Colourful past? And why is that, my lord? Because she is a woman, and a poor one? She was seduced by that vile cad Myles Wooley, yes, but no one deprecates him! And even if he hadn’t turned out so deplorable a creature, why should she be derided for following her passion? In the eyes of society, he may descend to any caddish levels of skulduggery he pleases, but she must be cast out and reviled, unable to find a respectable position anywhere in London. Lady Louisa is accepted because she is rich and highborn, but Lucy is to be trampled into the ground because she is neither. I do not care if that is how the world is, it is vile and I won’t accept it. If that means that I must forfeit your good opinion, then so be it.”
He had never seen Holly in such a temper before. It was like encountering a squall on a calm sea.
It’s women like she who, in another world, led revolutions and rebellions, he thought, watching her eyes flash and her mouth set with determination. So caugh
t up was he in breathless admiration of her beauty and tenacity that it took him a moment to gather himself to speak.
“You helped the girl, though she came with scandal attached. There are not many would have done as you had.”
She looked at him as though she considered him a strange and foreign thing – and not entirely a pleasant one. “I think you will find, Your Grace, that kindness costs very little.”
Strathavon sighed, because he had not meant to insult her and yet he often got the words absolutely wrong where Holly was concerned. It made him feel like an adolescent blunderer again.
“You are mistaken. I think you conducted yourself admirably,” he told her, his voice husky.
“And to think, when you began, I assumed you were about to make a fuss over my new carriage.”
“Did you? I do not mind that either, so long as you resist any urge to race it in Hyde Park.”
Holly endeavoured to look affronted. “Certainly not. Racing in Hyde Park would be infamous. Besides which, I doubt if we will have much in the way of good racing weather this winter.”
Sylvester looked at her in mute astonishment a moment, before deciding that it was not worth it to say anything further on this subject.
Instead, he threw all caution to the wind, rising to his feet, and offering her his hand.
Setting aside her book, ruins forgotten, Holly rested her gloveless hand in his, and felt the unspoken strength in his sure touch.
Suddenly weak at the knees, she looked into the duke’s eyes. She sought the reflection of her own heart in his blue gaze, and was satisfied by what she saw.
Holly hesitated a moment as she watched him and Strathavon seized the opportunity to sweep her up into a kiss. She had been about to speak, but his kiss stole all words from her, and what was left of her poor self-control. Her suddenly-sensitive bosom was pressed firmly against his strong chest and the took shameless enjoyment at the sensations that exploded in her blood at every point where their bodies touched.
The duke broke away a moment to take in her expression. Holly thought she would melt at the slow smile he gave before leaning in a second time.
Strathavon claimed her lips with equal parts passion and tenderness, and Holly felt herself respond instantly.
For a moment, she wondered if she would die of the sheer thrill of it all. Possibly, it was just the pent-up desire finally being set free like a dam bursting, but his kiss was sheer perfection, the most indescribable bliss imaginable.
Her fingers sought purchase in the fine fabric of his coat and tangled in his hair, while his hands roamed the slender expanse of her back. She arched with pleasure at his tender touch.
She might have written the whole episode off as a particularly delicious and cruel dream, only no dream could ever hope to contain so much surging feeling.
When their kiss broke at last, out of a most unreasonable need for air, Strathavon’s eyes blazed down at Holly with wild desire.
Bold and confident, Holly took a step towards him, the fire in her eyes perfectly matching his. For a long time, they just stood there, basking in their smouldering nearness.
Then, in one smooth movement, the duke swept Holly into his arms, and carried her up the stairs into her bedroom, which was lit only by a small fire. She could feel the pounding of his heart against hers.
Surely there had never been so perfect a moment in all the history of the world. She shuddered with relief and pleasure at being held so firmly in his arms, then sighed and leant her head against his shoulder. Her arms were draped languorously around his neck, and her fingers played in his dark hair.
The duke took in her flushed skin, her slightly-parted lips, so soft and pliant. Was she really so very innocent? He wondered. But yes, she was. And she was all his.
Maddened with his need for her, he tore her fichu away from her throat. The next thing Holly knew, his hot mouth had descended upon her trembling skin. The intoxicating press of his mouth against the tender flesh of her throat would soon drive her mad…
Had her room always been so hot? Holly wondered dazedly.
As their desire twined around them, it was as though the rest of the world had faded out of mind and memory.
Their lips met again and again in an eternal, passionate dance of fire and flesh, as he lowered Holly to her feet and proceeded to slowly peel off her dark dress.
As his duchess stood before him, her very soul blazing with love and desire, the duke admired her perfect, timeless beauty: the gentle curves of her lovely figure, her dark chestnut locks, tousled against her pale skin.
Holly looked her fill too, wondering if she would get to have him after all, all hers at last. She ought to have been nervous, but she was not. How could she be, when she had seen the love in his eyes, felt it in every impassioned touch?
She admired his lightly-muscled chest and his broad shoulders, delighting in the feel of his skin against hers as he pushed her onto the silken sheets. Divested of all clothing, there was nothing but the heat of their skin between them. Her legs instantly circled his hips, and she delighted in his gasp of pleasure at this new contact.
The slight weight of him above her awakened something ancient and primal, which only fed the wild urges that suddenly consumed her being as his mouth travelled down her slender neck and towards the eager globes of her breasts.
She let her hands roam free across his heated skin, thrilled at the reactions she elicited, the wonderfully wicked power she could command over him, with just her touch.
Then his hands trailed down her soft body and she was utterly lost.
Later, as she lay warmly ensconced in the arms of her Sylvester, listening to his soft breathing, Holly felt as if there could be no greater happiness for her in all the world – no greater sense of completion and fulfilment, than just to be with him.
She looked deep into his eyes in the pale moonlight and knew that, though he had yet to say the words, he had felt every second as strongly as she had.
“When I was a little girl,” she told him quietly, “all I wanted was to fall in love and to have my own grand adventure. But now I see that love is the grandest adventure of all.”
Her words felt like a confession and a promise. They felt as though she were presenting him with a part of her soul, Strathavon pulled her deeper into his arms, and made his own promise with a gentle kiss.
“And how do you feel about having married a notorious rakehell?” the duke murmured into her hair, when they had broken apart.
“I do believe I can live with your particular kind of rakehellery,” Holly replied wryly.
“I think perhaps you are mocking me.”
“I think perhaps I am.”
“I was moderately infamous in my day,” the duke defended. “Though I think it is very much time that I ceded that title to some other green rascal.”
“I think you were never as bad as you claim, and most assuredly not so bad as you believe. Furthermore, I think,” said Holly teasingly, “it is most commendable that you manage to be a good man despite your questionable friends.”
“So you think Avonbury is questionable, do you?” His eyes glittered with amusement.
“Certainly, very questionable. He’d be flattered to hear that, no doubt. And Bettenhall, of course, though his mother would never believe it.”
*
Still caught up in her bubble of joy, Holly went to Lady Graham’s card party without Strathavon the next evening, partly because he had other business to attend to, and partly because she wanted to prove to him that she could.
After all, just because she had given him her heart did not mean she intended to be shackled to him every moment of her life.
The card party was a muted affair held in Lady Graham’s elegantly panelled card room, and it did not promise much in the way of excitement.
Holly had already greeted Lady Louisa, who had gone on to join her partner in a game of whist, and she was contemplating whether she cared to play a game of piquet.
Sir John stood next to her, surveying the company, though she could tell his mind was off with Verity at the Chenefelt townhouse.
“I trust Verity is on her way to a full recovery?” Holly asked wryly.
“Yes, she is – your pardon, Holly. I am being very poor company.”
“I will forgive you – it’s justified, this time,” she twinkled at him.
“I take it you have gone back to read to her?”
“I have. I shall tell you that I am to dine there tomorrow, by invitation of Miss Dacre’s mother.”
“Then it seems that you have snagged every success, Sir John,” said Holly, feeling genuinely happy at this felicitous outcome.
“All thanks to you. I shall never forget the happiness you have brought us.”
“Nonsense! It was hardly my doing that you took such good care of Verity after her fall.”
“But it was you who caused us to meet again and again, and who told me how I was to go on – without your counsel, I would still be trying to find the words to request a dance!”
“I expect you would have found them, Sir John. I believe in you wholeheartedly.”
“And that is what makes you so very dear, Holly. Shall I bring you a glass of negus?”
“That would be most kind.”
Holly moved to the side of the room where she might best observe the games, but her respite was a brief one, for she was presently joined by Lord Myles Wooley, who wore an expression of unmistakable dislike.
“Lady Strathavon. All alone, I see? Ah, but no – there is Sir John, doubtless enjoying his triumph.”
“I beg your pardon, Lord Myles. His triumph?”
“Don’t play the fool with me, Your Grace. We both know that you artfully orchestrated the whole, snatching the promising Miss Dacre right out of my hands.”
“What foolishness. If Miss Dacre saw the truth of your character, that is hardly my fault.”
“No? Nor the fact that the servant girl, dismissed by my brother’s wife for her salacious ways, now works under your roof?”
“I shouldn’t think that hiring a person in need is a fault at all. And we will leave the debate regarding salaciousness alone, I think, because it is not fitting for this party.”
Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess Page 25