Heart of a Duke 04 - Loved By a Duke

by Christi Caldwell

  “Will you slow down?” Daisy muttered at his side.

  Immediately repentant, he adjusted his stride and guided them to the edge of the ballroom floor. They took their place alongside the other couples. “Wessex, is it?” he asked, placing her hand upon his shoulder and his own along her waist. The orchestra struck the chords of the bold, still frowned upon, dance.

  Another red blush stained her freckled cheeks. “Wessex is what?”

  A muscle ticked at the corner of his mouth. Was the blush because he’d ascertained her interest in Lord Wessex? “Never tell me the romantic hopes you carry for a love match reside with Wessex?”

  A laugh escaped her full, bow-shaped lips. “I don’t imagine that is your business, Auric.”

  He lifted a single eyebrow. “Everything you do is my business, Daisy.” He’d made that pledge over Lionel’s lifeless body.

  A snorting laugh burst from her. “Why, I believe in all your ducal arrogance you actually believe that.” Then, this was Daisy and she’d never been impressed by his title as marquess and the promise of him becoming a future duke. She patted him on the arm. “I’ll assure you, as I assured Lord Wessex, I don’t require additional mothering.” He told himself the rush of relief had more to do with the fact that Wessex had like honorable intentions to see her cared for, and yet, why did that feel like a lie?

  “What if I were to tell you it is because I care, Daisy?”

  What if I were to tell you it is because I care…

  Daisy’s heart sped up with that question, an admission more than anything else. If she were to answer truthfully, her response would be “I’ve been waiting for you to notice me, forever…”

  Except, his words were not born of a man who carried a love for a woman. He didn’t love her. Not in the way she desperately wanted him to. She knew he cared. He’d likely lay down his life to protect her because of the connection shared between their families. But she wanted more of him than that.

  He applied a gentle pressure to her waist and warmth radiated out at the point of his touch. Thrills of awareness coursed through her. His firm caress invoked a familiarity that defied the mere bonds of their familial ties and spoke to her awareness of him as a man.

  Daisy wet her lips and dragged forth a suitable response. “I would say thank you,” she said simply. For even as he didn’t care for her in the way she wished, it mattered that he still remembered her existence when her own mother had forgotten.

  Auric searched her face. “I do care, Daisy. I’ve been deplorably remiss these past four weeks.” Three weeks and six days.

  The earlier warmth faded. She’d never been anything more than a responsibility. With his misplaced sense of obligation to her and her family, he’d insert himself into her life as another brother, failing to realize that his constancy would never replace Lionel. She tipped her chin up. “I appreciate that you visit my mother,” she began, because she did. His presence, though obligatory, brought much joy to the grief-stricken marchioness. “But you have duties that extend beyond my family.” The muscles of her throat worked. “In your effort to be loyal and devoted to Lionel’s memory, you fail to realize that you have to live your life for you, first.” And that is the only crime he’d been guilty of in the weeks he’d courted Lady Anne and committed himself to finding a duchess.

  Well, that and the crime of breaking her heart.

  The strong muscles of his arm twitched under her fingers, hinting at the tension in his frame. It did not, however, escape her notice that he didn’t issue any false protest to her words.

  She slid her gaze off to the dancers twirling about her. Her eyes collided with the grinning Lady Stanhope and her husband. The tall, blond gentleman whispered something that raised a blush on the lady’s cheeks. Even over the thrum of the orchestra and the buzz of conversation throughout the ballroom, she detected the woman’s husky laugh blended with the earl’s chuckle. Envy tugged at her breast. That is what she craved for herself, and yet studying the other woman in her golden glory, who was so perfectly pleasant and kind and warm, was it any wonder Auric had wanted her for his duchess?

  Auric followed her gaze.

  “She’s lovely,” she murmured.

  He did not pretend to misunderstand. “She’s married.”

  “Are you still hurt by her rejection of your suit?” She immediately wanted to call the words back. “Not that it is my business.” Then she gave him a dry smile. “After all, I’m not a duke and don’t have the right to ask such intimate questions,” she added in an attempt to divert him away from that immediate question that exposed her before him.

  A half-grin turned his lips at the corner and her breath caught. “What you are and are not supposed to do have never stopped you before.” His smiles, once so easily given, were now mere fleeting glimpses of mirth he then buried under his practiced ducal expression and aloofness. This brought her back to the young man who’d willingly schemed with her as a girl.

  She found herself smiling. “No, this is true.” Daisy wanted their waltz to go on forever and steal more time with Auric, and yet the closing strands of the orchestra indicated the end of the set. The dancers drew to a stop, clapping politely about them as they shuffled from the floor.

  They lingered a moment, studying one another, and then remembered themselves at the same time. She dropped a hasty curtsy and allowed him to guide her from the dance floor over to her mother’s side.

  As they stopped beside her melancholy mama, the woman’s eyes lit with eagerness. “Auric.”

  He smiled. “Lady Roxbury.”

  Her heart pulled. He was ever so patient with her mother’s humbling displays of emotion. For a moment, a glimpse of the teasing, vivacious hostess from their youth was restored. She clasped Daisy’s hand and gave a squeeze. “I told my Daisy you didn’t merely feel a sense of obligation to her, isn’t that right Auric?”

  Oh, God.

  The ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “Indeed, not. It is, of course, an estimable pleasure to claim a dance with Daisy.” Any other lady would surely be simpering and swooning at such high praise from the young duke.

  Then, she’d never been just any lady where Auric was concerned. She winked twice. For, if this didn’t merit some manner of salvation, she couldn’t determine what else would.

  He laughed and then buried that sound behind a cough. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said once more.

  Mother shot a bold hand out and wrapped it about his forearm. “Do promise you’ll come ’round more frequently, Auric. We do so miss your presence.”

  Ashamed of her mother humbling herself so, Daisy gently chided her. “Mama, please.” She stole a glance about at the curious lords and ladies taking in the marchioness’ audacious gesture.

  Auric caught Daisy’s eye, both a gentle reassurance and an understanding in his warm, blue gaze. “I pledge to visit more frequently,” he murmured.

  And she remembered all the reasons she’d fallen in love with him in the first place. He sketched another bow and made his excuses once more, before taking himself off to the opposite side of the ballroom. To Lady Leticia. She frowned. Daisy openly studied the couple they presented with the same interest as the members of the ton present. Society had begun taking wagers the moment she’d made her Come Out that Daisy Meadows would find herself the Duchess of Crawford. They’d based that fool, erroneous decision off those faithful visits and his loyal attendance at Almack’s and every other event she was unfortunate enough to attend. All such rumors were quashed when she’d come out of mourning two years ago, with no offer forthcoming from the Duke of Crawford. That had, in fact, proven there was nothing remotely romantic about the duke’s relationship with Daisy. Nothing at all.

  Now, the busybodies of London wondered who would be the duchess in waiting, since it would not be Lady Stanhope.

  Auric guided Lady Cordelia, another golden haired, flawless, English beauty, upon the dance floor and another fool sliver of her heart cracked. She curled her hands
into tight fists. Even through the fabric of her fine gloves, her nails marred her flesh.

  “He will realize you’re there, Daisy.”

  She stilled, staring wide-eyed out at the couples performing the intricate steps of a country reel. For a moment she imagined she’d merely thought those words in her head, or worse spoken her private thoughts aloud as she too often did.

  Her mother settled a hand at her waist and gave a gentle squeeze. “He will,” she repeated, soft, for her ears alone.

  She wanted to remind her mother that this certainly wasn’t the place, and assuredly not the time, to discuss her hopes, dreams, and love of Auric, the Duke of Crawford. And yet…she removed her gaze from the perfect tableau presented by the dancing couple and shifted it to her mother. How did she know? How, when she’d ceased to see Daisy these past seven years now?

  The older woman gave her a knowing look. “Mothers know everything, Daisy.” She gave one slow, deliberate wink. “Someday you’ll discover that on your own. Lady Harrison is motioning to me.” Tension settled in the lines of her mouth. At one point, once upon a lifetime ago, Mama would have eagerly trotted off to gossip and titter like so many of the other matrons present. Now, she moved painfully and awkwardly through most exchanges. “Would you mind if I went and spoke with her?” For a moment, Daisy suspected her mother secretly longed for her daughter to issue some form of protest.

  “Not at all,” she said softly. However, she would not truly be helping if she allowed her mother to remain inside the shell of a person she’d become. The marchioness hesitated and then, with a sigh, sailed off in a sea of sapphire blue skirts, the closest, appropriate color to the black mourning attire she adopted at home. Daisy stared contemplatively after her. How much her mother had seen through the years and how little credit Daisy had given her. There was something painfully exposing in discovering before an entire crowded ballroom that she was not as invisible as she’d believed all these years.

  She looked out at the dancers once again, scanning the crowd, but only caring about one—a tall, powerful gentleman and his unworthy dance partner. Daisy found him with her gaze, all the while thinking on her mother’s handful of words that had, in effect, tossed everything Daisy had believed for seven years into upheaval. She’d believed herself invisible. Convinced herself that her mother and father didn’t see her or the hopes she carried of her very much alive soul. She had been so wrong about her mother failing to see her. If she’d been wrong of that, perhaps she’d also been wrong where Auric was concerned. Mayhap he, in fact, saw more of her than she truly believed.

  Just then, he glanced over the tops of the heads of the dancers performing the steps of the country reel. Their gazes collided.

  And he gave her two, slow winks.

  Chapter 5

  The next morning, Daisy peered out the carriage window at the passing London streets. The fashionable streets gave way to the crowded shopping district of North Bond Street and continued rolling past the fashionable lords and ladies on toward Gipsy Hill. Auric, as he’d been last evening, grinning and winking and so kind to her mother, was the sole focus of her thoughts.

  She released the curtain. Since Lionel’s passing, which was the only way in which she allowed herself to think of his death, the grinning Auric, thoughtful young man of their youth had been replaced by a more somber…well, duke. She drummed her fingertips on the comfortable leather squabs of the carriage. He’d grown into the role of duke and it suited him to perfection.

  Not in a good way.

  Sometimes, she allowed herself to believe the man she loved was nothing more than a memory, but then when he visited and when he winked twice as he’d done last evening, she caught glimpses of the true man buried beneath propriety and proper, ducal obligations. She didn’t love Auric for the title he possessed. She loved him for a million different reasons—the least of which had to do with the silly, blasted title.

  She sought the pendant, which would earn her Auric’s heart. The tiny pings of rain struck the carriage windows and made a mockery of her efforts this day. She’d not allow gray skies to deter her on this day.

  “My lady, perhaps this might not be the best day for us to shop.”

  “Oh fiddle.” Daisy peeled back the curtain and peered out at the dark sky. Thick gray-white rain clouds rolled overhead. “Why, it is a perfectly splendid day to shop,” she assured the nervous maid. Rainy streets meant empty streets. Blessed solitude was just what she required. Solitude and a lack of notice from polite Society. Not that Daisy was frequenting the fashionable North Bond Street shops where she’d be more likely to be viewed by said polite Society members.

  The carriage lurched to a halt. In a bid to stem the reservations on her maid’s parted lips, Daisy shoved the carriage door open then hopped to the ground. Her slippered feet sank into a deep puddle. With a sigh, Daisy drew her foot out of the murky waters and shook it off. Slippers had been a deuced, bad idea. Without waiting to see if Agnes followed, Daisy hurried down the streets lined with gypsies hawking their wares.

  In spite of her earlier dismissal of the rain, cold wracked her frame and she drew her cloak close to shield herself from the chilly, spring day. She weaved between various passersby while picking her way through the cobbled streets littered with refuse and touched a scented kerchief to her nose, as the smell of rotted vegetables and sugared treats melded into a sickening blend. The things a lady will do for love. She edged out of the way just as a shopkeeper hurled a bucket of slop water from the doorway of his shop. Brown water sprayed the cobblestones and marred her skirts.

  With a gasp Daisy yanked back her already hopelessly sullied hem. Alas, irreparable damage had already been done to her green muslin cloak. She drew the garment closer about her and continued, each step being fueled by the memory of those two winks last evening and her and Auric’s dance. Oh, he’d asked her to dance any number of quadrilles and polite, country reels but never a waltz—until last evening. Granted, with her mother’s insistence, Auric couldn’t very well have not asked her to dance. However, he could have chosen a more polite, less intimate dance. And yet, he’d chosen a waltz. Surely, that signified something where the duke was concerned? Sporadic raindrops touched her skin. She brushed away a bead of moisture from the tip of her nose.

  “My lady,” her maid called after her, her tone fairly pleading.

  She paused and spun back around. The wind tugged at Daisy’s skirts. “Agnes, we have a good number of shops and carts to search. I’ll not be out of your sight, but if I’m to have any hope in finding this particular necklace, I require your help.”

  Agnes sighed. “My lady, the marchioness will sack me if she discovers I’ve left your side.” She skimmed her troubled gaze over the cobbled roads of Gipsy Hill. “In these streets of London, no less.”

  Daisy patted the girl comfortingly on the shoulder. “Oh, Agnes, she wouldn’t. I promise,” she added, in some attempt to mollify the young woman’s worries.

  When mother was in one of her moods, which was more often than not, she wouldn’t notice if Daisy hiked her skirts above her knees and hopped on one foot through the corridors calling out her name. After Lady Harrison’s ball last evening, the marchioness had withdrawn into her chambers and retreated with one of her familiar megrims. Though Daisy had long suspected there were really no headaches and more a desire for solitude so she could be alone with the memory of the son she’d lost. No, indisposed as she was, mother wouldn’t know, nor likely care, if Daisy was only a handful of carts away from her maid while shopping on Bond Street. Even if it was the unfashionable parts of Gipsy Hill.

  Agnes studied her and then sighed. “Very well. It is a heart, you say?”

  Pleased to at last have some help in this madcap scheme she’d crafted, Daisy nodded excitedly. “Yes. A heart. I’ve been told it is this big,” she gestured with her fingers. “And gold with faint etchings.” Troubling her lower lip, she glanced up and down the street littered with vendors peddling their wares. “I
imagine we’ll be more effective if we move on the opposite sides of the street.” She took Agnes gently by the shoulders and steered her toward the column of carts. “Now, off you go.”

  Agnes hesitated a long moment and then, muttering under her breath, allowed herself to be propelled gently forward.

  Not wishing to risk that Agnes changed her mind and clung uselessly to her side as a rather weak chaperone, Daisy lifted her hem a bit, keeping the fabric from the thick, muddied puddle and stepped over the murky water. As she made her way to the gypsy carts, she recalled Lady Stanhope’s words last evening of an old woman by the name of Bunică. The gypsy with graying hair was, in fact, the rightful owner and the last to hold the heart pendant. What were the chances that some young woman had already found the gypsy and been given the heart pendant? Furthermore, what lady would even be in search of that bauble?

  She came to a stop on the busy sidewalk. “Every woman in the blasted kingdom,” she mumbled to herself.

  A nearby vendor, an older man with a shock of white hair tugged a black cap from his head. “Beg yer pardon, ma’am?”

  Heat slapped her cheeks. “Er, nothing.” Bothersome business of speaking to herself. She really required a confidante or friend. There was nothing else for it. She gave her head a clearing shake, coming back to her purpose in being here this day—and it wasn’t to wax melancholy about her circumstances. The gypsy turned to his cart littered with fabric and an array of small fripperies, drawing her attention to his goods. She wandered closer and ran her fingers along the edge of the large, wooden wagon with heavy nicks and dents. The wind carried the gentle sprinkling of rain and splashed her cheek. With the tips of her glove-encased fingertips, Daisy wiped away a drop and moved slowly around the side of his cart.

  A small, round piece of glass, smattered with raindrops caught her eye. The delicate piece gleamed from the beads of moisture giving Daisy pause. Leaning across his eclectic array of items, she picked up the small, glass piece and with the tip of her finger, brushed the rain off the smooth glass.