UNCOMMON DUKE, AN

by BENSON, LAURIE

  Rising from his seat, Gabriel took his glass and strode to the door. ‘Come to my study on your way out, Andrew,’ he said, not waiting for a reply.

  * * *

  An hour later, his brother strolled into his study without even knocking. ‘Why do I feel as if you do not like me spending time alone with Olivia?’

  ‘Don’t be absurd. She considers you her brother.’ Gabriel sat back at his desk chair and watched Andrew walk to the table set with crystal bottles and pour two glasses of brandy. ‘How often do you dine here?’

  ‘You mean since Nicholas has been born?’

  Gabriel nodded and Andrew sighed, sliding the stopper back in the bottle.

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never counted. You should try it some time. She is vastly entertaining.’ He placed a glass of brandy in front of Gabriel and sank into the chair across from him.

  Gabriel leaned forward and narrowed his gaze. ‘What do the two of you talk about? I was never under the impression you had anything in common. Dear God...has she developed a love of gambling?’

  Andrew shook his head, laughing. ‘Our discussions are quite varied. Were you aware she recently began acquiring a repertoire of bawdy tales? They’re quite good.’

  Gabriel’s brain almost exploded. ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘I’m quite serious. Probably from that painter she has been spending time with.’

  ‘What painter?’

  ‘The one she is sitting for.’

  Gabriel wondered which painter Andrew was referring to. She knew so many and had been patron to a few over the years.

  ‘You do know she is sitting for a portrait, don’t you?’

  Did Andrew have to look so smug? Gabriel rubbed his lower lip and looked away. The idea his brother knew more about his wife than he did was beginning to bother him. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘I should hope so, considering the man has quite the reputation.’ Andrew sank back further into his chair.

  ‘Reputation for what?’

  ‘You really don’t know anything about her or her friends, do you?’

  ‘I do,’ he lied. ‘We live in the same house.’

  Andrew nodded slowly. ‘Well, in any event, I’m glad you came home when you did. I wanted to tell you in person our gunman has finally begun to talk. We were able to use the information Hart gathered to convince our Mr Clarke that if he cared at all for his family, he would tell us what we needed to know. It appears thoughts of his sickly mother helped him find his voice. He says he was contacted by a note left for him at the post about assassinating Prinny and he was told that he would find information on Prinny’s whereabouts in a book he was to check in each day at Hatchard’s bookshop on Piccadilly. He has no idea who leaves the information, just that when he completed his job, he would receive a thousand pounds. Since he has no love for our monarchy, he didn’t see a problem with profiting from Prinny’s death.’

  ‘I assume we have men at Hatchard’s?’

  ‘We do.’

  ‘Let’s hope that whoever was providing this information is not aware Mr Clarke is no longer in circulation. That is the only way we will find out who wants Prinny dead.’ Gabriel sat back in his chair and took a long draw of brandy, grateful they were one step closer to ensuring Prinny’s safety.

  There was a long, comfortable silence between the brothers before Andrew had to ruin it. ‘Five years is a long time to be apart from your wife.’

  ‘Your point?’

  ‘You still want Olivia.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  ‘So while you were in the dining room with us, not once did your mind turn to taking her?’

  No, he was thinking about running his hands over her sweet round bottom. However now, thanks to Andrew, he was thinking about much more. ‘It did not cross my mind.’

  ‘Liar.’

  Gabriel narrowed his gaze. ‘You are lucky we are family, or I might call you out at such an insult.’

  ‘Fine. Tell yourself you are not calling me out because I am your brother and not because I am a better shot than you.’

  ‘You are not. I bet I could shoot that taper by the window in half and you could not.’

  Andrew sat up straighter in his chair, the excitement of besting his brother evident in his expression. ‘What if I shoot the taper in half?’

  Gabriel removed a pistol from his desk drawer. ‘You won’t. But if you do and I don’t, I’ll buy you a new pair of Hessians.’

  ‘Hoby’s?’

  ‘Do you truly believe I would even consider purchasing anything else? And if I win, you tell me about your entire conversation with Olivia.’ What? What an idiotic thing to win!

  ‘That’s what you want?’ Andrew asked, as if he too couldn’t believe Gabriel’s stupidity.

  ‘Just go first.’ Exasperation was in his voice as Gabriel handed his brother the pistol.

  ‘That taper is much too close to make this interesting. I propose we try this in your ballroom.’

  Once they were settled in the cavernous room, Andrew loaded the pistol and took aim at the gilded candelabra in front of an open set of French windows. The shot rang out, and the top half of one of the tapers fell to the floor, splattering wax on the wood. With a satisfied smile, he handed the gun over.

  Gabriel reloaded it and took aim. Hoby’s would not be receiving an order for new boots from this house. He also cut a taper in two, but the top of his fell out onto the terrace. The sound of racing footsteps caused both men to turn towards the door.

  Bennett skidded to a halt just inside the threshold. ‘Sir, is everything all right?’ he asked through laboured breath.

  ‘Yes, Bennett, my brother and I were just settling a bet.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Bennett said still breathing heavily. ‘I will inform madam of it, in the event she questions if you are still alive.’

  Gabriel wondered if it would even matter to her.

  Andrew strolled to the windows and peered out into the darkened garden. ‘We should have checked to see if anyone was out there.’

  ‘If anyone is skulking about in my garden at night, they deserve to be shot,’ replied Gabriel, shooing his butler away.

  Perhaps if he plied Andrew with enough brandy, he could still manage to get his brother to tell him what made Olivia laugh.

  Chapter Five

  Morning sunlight streamed through the large windows of Mr John Manning’s portrait studio directly into Olivia’s eyes, forcing her to keep them closed.

  ‘Are you certain no one will recognise me?’ she asked from her reclined position on the crimson divan.

  The artist took a long tendril of her dark unbound hair and adjusted it over her gown on the swell of her breast. ‘I assure you, with your head turned this deep in profile, no one will know it’s you unless you tell them.’

  She felt a pull near her hip at the grey satin gown he had given her to wear. ‘It is to your credit that I trust you as I do. I feel quite foolish lying here like this.’

  The pressure from his warm hand moved her left leg. ‘You look sinful.’

  She wished she could swat his hand. ‘That is not helping.’

  He laughed. ‘But it’s true. Any man would kill to have you in his bed.’

  Now it was Olivia’s turn to laugh, knowing just how false his statement was. ‘How often do you suppose you have said those words to the women who sit for you in this very room?’

  ‘Not as nearly as often as I’d like.’ He retreated back towards his easel. ‘Many women require thought to discover what is beautiful about them, but you will make my canvas sing without much effort on my part. Thereby, your allure will help me create a masterpiece all of London is sure to talk about.’

  ‘I already agreed to sit for you for this experiment of yours. Yo
u have no need to work your charms on me.’

  ‘I only speak the truth.’ He was back by her side again, his warm fingers tilting her neck up just a bit more. When she squinted up at him, his dark brown eyes were smiling down at her and his unfashionably long black hair had begun to come loose from the leather tie that held it back from his face. His unpolished appearance was a sharp contrast to her husband’s fastidious grooming habits.

  ‘I am relieved you do not expect me to remember this exact pose each day,’ she said, taking note of the position of her arms.

  His grin widened, and he moved a strand of hair away from her face. ‘My sketch guides me. You are always quite accommodating with all my poking and prodding. Once we are finished for the day, you may jerk my body into any complex tangle of your choosing.’

  That created an amusing image and she closed her eyes again. ‘What a capital notion! Now if you don’t grant me the breaks I require, I will devise painful retribution.’

  ‘My, what a bloodthirsty duchess you are.’

  The sound of his chalk scratching as he drew eased some of her tension. ‘Are you certain I do not appear large to you?’ she asked, trying to imagine what the sketch looked like.

  Chuckling, he continued to draw. ‘You are far from large. Although even if you were, it would be of no concern. Men enjoy curves on a woman. It gives us something to hold onto when we are in the throes of passion.’

  ‘Then I believe I have so many places for a man to hold onto, he would be at a quandary where to begin.’

  He laughed again. ‘I know where I would begin.’

  How she wished she could turn her head and peak at his expression. ‘Where?’

  ‘I am sketching it right now.’

  ‘Well, that was not very forthcoming.’

  ‘No, it was not.’

  Olivia began to laugh.

  ‘Do not move,’ he commanded.

  He adjusted the folds of the silk by her thigh. She bit her lip and prayed he didn’t notice the catch in her breath at the unexpected contact.

  ‘You have the kind of body that tempts men to steal a touch.’ He moved her left arm a fraction of an inch.

  Olivia opened one eye to study him. They had known each other for more than a year. Not once, in all that time, had he exhibited any form of inappropriate behaviour with her. Even now, she knew he saw her only as an object in his painting. He must be attempting to make her feel at ease, since she was sprawled out over his divan in a most unrefined pose. She was well aware what her body looked like and, as she had discovered from her recent encounter with Gabriel in her bedchamber, tempting was not how she would describe it.

  ‘So what exactly is one to interpret from this pose?’ she asked, fighting the urge to scratch her nose.

  ‘It is the pose of a woman who has just reached complete fulfilment,’ he replied as if discussing the weather.

  Olivia raised her head and stared at him aghast, unable to voice a response.

  ‘You must stop moving,’ he yelled. ‘This will be a masterpiece of movement and light. But each time you shift, you force me to readjust the folds of your gown. I cannot sketch you in a timely manner if I have to continually walk over there.’

  She rested her head back down and tried to move her head into the exact position he had placed it. Manning readjusted it a fraction of an inch and then adjusted the hair cascading over her breasts.

  He raised his eyebrow at her and pointed his chalk at her in warning. ‘Do. Not. Move.’

  ‘Fine, but I honestly do not believe anyone would be interested in seeing how I look after...well, after...’ Olivia was certain she could not blush any deeper than she was. ‘I am not the best subject for this. You should have asked someone younger. Men would find that much more enjoyable to look at.’

  ‘You believe you know us that well?’ The sketching resumed.

  ‘There are many beautiful girls you could have chosen.’

  ‘True—however, I am not interested in girls. Their innocence colours their sensuality. A woman with experience in the activities of the bedchamber has an innate sensuality that is apparent to any man over the age of sixteen.’

  ‘I am not sensual.’

  ‘Of course you are. It’s in the way your body moves and the way your eyes acquire a wicked glint, as if you know the secret of bringing a man to his knees.’ His voice was so calm and nonchalant.

  ‘So you really prefer women of my age?’

  ‘And older, but if you tell that to any of the young women that sit for me, I will deny it.’

  Managing to laugh without moving a muscle, Olivia considered what he said. She had spent years after their estrangement wondering what Gabriel found attractive. The notion of what other men preferred never entered her mind.

  * * *

  When he finally broke the long stretch of silence, it felt as if hours had passed. ‘I am almost finished with my preliminary sketch. Have any parts of you lost all sensation?’

  ‘My right arm is beginning to grow numb. This really is an indulgent pose. I believe I may have dozed for a few moments.’

  ‘I believe you did. Your breathing became quite rhythmic.’

  He approached her side, then rubbed her right arm. The warmth and pressure felt heavenly.

  ‘What the bloody hell is going on here?’ bellowed a deep, angry voice from the other end of the room.

  Olivia jerked her head towards the doorway and closed her eyes, pretending her husband was not standing there looking as if he wanted to toss them both out the window.

  Manning groaned at her movement and stared daggers at the imposing man who had interrupted their sitting. ‘Who are you to intrude in my studio, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘I am her husband. Now take your damn hands off her.’ Gabriel’s voice was commanding with no room for negotiation.

  Manning backed away, raising his hand in surrender. ‘I am simply adjusting her body for the portrait.’

  ‘I know of no respectable portrait that requires such a pose.’

  She would not move her body to inconvenience her friend. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Gabriel’s fiery gaze shifted to her. ‘I had an appointment not far away. I thought I would escort you home.’

  How could he possibly have known where she was? And, why in the world would he want to escort her home?

  ‘I believe your sitting is over for the day, Duchess,’ Gabriel commanded.

  ‘Nonsense, there is still more to do. Isn’t that correct?’ She turned her head towards her friend, who appeared pale.

  He shifted nervously. ‘There isn’t much more to do. You are welcome to stay until I am finished for today.’

  She was not about to allow that to happen, but before she could voice her opinion Gabriel walked to the easel, crossed his arms and studied the sketch.

  ‘Continue,’ he said with a nod.

  ‘I will have to touch her to adjust her form.’

  ‘He does not care,’ Olivia murmured.

  But the artist’s eyes were fixed on Gabriel, who nodded his consent and watched as Manning went back to the easel to study Olivia’s pose. He approached her and hesitantly moved her neck and arm. Very carefully he adjusted the folds of her gown.

  The sketching resumed and Olivia could hear Gabriel move towards the chair near the door. Suddenly the pose she was in was not as relaxing as it had been a short time before. Why had she ever agreed to sit in this ridiculous position?

  * * *

  Although it probably only took fifteen more minutes of sketching in silence, to Olivia it felt like hours. Finally she heard him toss his chalk onto the table and she picked up her head to gauge his reaction. His grin was infectious.

  ‘You’re pleased?’ she asked, smiling back at him.

  ‘E
xceedingly so. I’ll need you to come back to begin painting.’ He walked to the divan and held out his hand to help her up.

  Gabriel rose abruptly. Both Olivia and Manning turned his way.

  Immediately, her friend dropped her hand. ‘Will you be able to arrive before eight? I would love to capture the early morning light on the folds of the satin.’

  She rolled her shoulders to relieve some of the stiffness. ‘Yes, I believe I can.’

  Manning walked to a cabinet and began removing bottles of pigment. She was about to enter the dressing room when she paused at the sight of Gabriel approaching his side.

  Her husband picked up a dish with something brown resting in it and held it out. ‘You smoke while my wife sits for you?’ Gabriel asked, arching an intimidating brow.

  ‘No, I would never.’

  ‘See that you do not.’

  Olivia shook her head as she walked into the dressing room, wondering why it should even matter to him. A short while later, she emerged wearing her very proper bonnet and cinnamon-coloured walking dress with Colette at her side. As her maid walked towards the door, Olivia approached the easel, curious about the composition. What she saw surprised her.

  Her face was turned away from the viewer so only her neck and the outline of her left cheek were visible. Her hair was fanned out around her with one dark curl sloping down her neck and gliding over her breast. The fingers of her left hand appeared relaxed as if they had no strength left in them. True to his word, no one would know who the subject was.

  ‘Well?’ Manning asked, approaching her side.

  ‘I do not even recognise myself.’

  ‘I told you to trust me. It will be breathtaking when I am finished. Mr West will be begging me to exhibit it.’

  She hoped for his sake that would be true. The man was a highly skilled artist. The more people exposed to his work, the more commissions he would receive.

  There was a distinct clearing of a throat from the doorway where Gabriel stood, looking down at his watch. If he was so impatient to leave, he could do so without her. For years he had completely avoided her and last night he interrupted her dinner with Andrew. Now he wanted to escort her home. What was he about?