Enchanting the Duke

by Patricia Grasso

  “We will marry,” John said. “My mother and—”

  “I cannot marry you,” Isabelle said, rising from the chair. “I want a husband who loves me, whom I can love in return.”

  “As you wish.” John stood and looked down at her. “Keep your distance from Grimsby.”

  Isabelle lifted her chin a notch. “William invited me to ride with him in Hyde Park.”

  “I forbid you to go anywhere with him.”

  “You forbid me?” Isabelle echoed, incredulous.

  “Grimsby is a dangerous man,” John said. “I don’t want you keeping company with him.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse what you want.” Isabelle walked out of the drawing room, down the stairs, and across the foyer. She didn’t bother taking the coach.

  * * *

  Isabelle rose earlier than usual the next morning in order to prepare for her outing in Hyde Park. She wore an ankle-length blue merino gown with a high neck and matching, hooded cloak and black kid slippers. Though wearing a hat would have been much more fashionable than a hooded cloak, Isabelle disliked anything sitting on her head because it made her feel like the limb of a tree playing host to a bird’s nest.

  All the while Isabelle prepared for her appointment with William Grimsby, the feeling of betraying her guardian grew inside her. She found the guilt oppressive.

  “Do you think I should beg off?” Isabelle asked the old woman, who still sat in the chair in front of the hearth. “I could feign another headache.”

  “Lying is a terrible sin.”

  “The more one lies, the easier it gets.”

  “I want you to remember that peacemakers are blessed and will be called children of God,” Giselle said, paraphrasing scripture.

  “You speak in riddles.”

  Giselle gave her an ambiguous smile. “Do I?”

  Isabelle touched her locket, stared into space, and pondered what the angel was trying to tell her. Then she rounded on the old woman. “I could use this opportunity to make peace between John and William.”

  “What a wonderful idea.”

  Isabelle gave the old woman a rueful smile. “And original, too.”

  “Run along, child. It’s already nine of the clock.”

  Isabelle reached the first floor just as Pebbles was ushering the Earl of Ripon inside. “Good morning, William,” she said, wearing a smile of greeting. “I am punctual, as you can see.”

  “What a delightful departure from the norm,” William said, taking her hand in his.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Ladies of the ton customarily keep gentlemen waiting.”

  Isabelle blushed. “Oh, I didn’t know.”

  “I am glad of that,” William said. “I guarantee that your radiant beauty will shame the freshness of this exquisite spring morn.”

  “Thank you for the pretty compliment,” Isabelle murmured, pleased. Becoming accustomed to men’s flattery could be easy.

  “I speak the truth.” The Earl of Ripon ushered her outside and helped her into his hooded phaeton drawn by two white horses. They started down the road toward Piccadilly.

  Isabelle sat back and gazed at her surroundings. She hadn’t been up and about like this since leaving Stratford, and she missed her morning walks.

  Nature had delivered the clear blue skies of March, month of rebirth and hope. In Stratford, migrating robins would appear this week to graze in the still-brown grass, while amorous starlings would serenade their ladies with courting songs. Crocuses would be breaking free of the thawing earth and opening their petals to the warmth of the sun.

  A tidal wave of homesickness surged through Isabelle. She longed for all that was familiar yet forbidden to her until the London season had ended.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Isabelle managed a faint smile for him. “I’m feeling homesick for Stratford.”

  “I understand,” William said, his tone sympathetic. “At times, I yearn for the solitude of my ancestral home in northern England.”

  Isabelle perked up at his words, which mirrored her own emotions. “We must be kindred souls.”

  Reaching the end of Piccadilly, William steered the phaeton right onto Park Lane. From there they drove into Hyde Park.

  “Isabelle,” a voice called.

  Looking around, Isabelle saw Lobelia riding with Stephen Spewing, Baron Barrows. She waved at her stepsister, but the smile of greeting died on her face when she spied the couple on horseback. John Saint-Germain rode with Amanda Stanley.

  “Yesterday, he rode with Lucy Spencer,” William said.

  “With whom my guardian rides is of no interest to me,” Isabelle said. “In fact, I can hardly wait for my brother’s return so I can be rid of the Duke of Avon.”

  “I cannot fault you for that.”

  Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the children of God. “His Grace isn’t so bad,” Isabelle said.

  “The devil does possess the power to assume a pleasing shape.” William gave her a sidelong glance.

  “Would it be possible for John and you to settle your differences and set aside your anger?”

  “What is done cannot be undone.”

  “What do you mean?”

  William halted the phaeton along the side of the lane and stared at her for a long moment. “John Saint-Germain murdered my sister.”

  Isabelle felt as though she’d been kicked in the stomach. The rosy color drained from her face, and shock made her breathing come in shallow gasps.

  “Are you ill?” William asked, leaning close, concern etched across his face.

  Isabelle raised her hand in a gesture for him to stay back. She regained her composure slowly and then defended her guardian. “My lord, you are mistaken. His Grace does behave disagreeably at times, but would never—”

  “John Saint-Germain married my sister, Lenore, and forced her into an early grave.” His eyes radiated hatred for her guardian. “I intend to exact my own brand of retribution for her untimely death.”

  She’d had no idea. Why hadn’t John explained the reasons for the animosity between Grimsby and himself?

  “I am unwell,” Isabelle whispered, shocked by the startling revelation and the unholy gleam in the earl’s eyes. “Please return me to Montgomery House.”

  “I never meant to mar our morning,” William said, regaining his own composure.

  “I understand, but I need to go home.” Her head pounded with a real headache.

  William inclined his head and turned the phaeton the way they had come. They rode in silence the short distance to Berkeley Square. Reaching Montgomery House, William moved to get down and assist her, but she stopped him.

  “Don’t bother.” Isabelle leapt in the most unladylike manner out of the phaeton and hurried up the front stairs.

  “Isabelle,” William called.

  Ignoring him, Isabelle flung open the front door and slammed it behind her. Trying to calm her rioting emotions, she closed her eyes and leaned back against the door in an effort to let the solidness of the sturdy oak soothe her nerves.

  “My lady, are you ill?” Pebbles asked.

  “I am dizzy,” Isabelle answered, opening her eyes.

  “Let me help you upstairs.”

  Isabelle shook her head and then regretted the movement. On trembling legs, she crossed the foyer and climbed the stairs to the third floor.

  “Trying to make peace was the worst thing I could have done,” Isabelle cried, stepping into her bedchamber.

  Giselle looked over her shoulder. “What is wrong, child?”

  “John Saint-Germain murdered William’s sister.”

  “Sometimes, you astonish me,” Giselle disappeared faster than an eye could blink.

  “Don’t leave me,” Isabelle cried, turning in a circle to see where her angel had vanished. “I need you.”

  “You need time alone to think.”

  * * *

  She refused to receive visitors for a week.

&n
bsp; On the morning of the last day of March, Isabelle sat in one of the chairs in front of the hearth in her bedchamber. Her only companion was her troubled thoughts. She raised her flute to her lips in an effort to banish them, but did not have the heart to play. If only Giselle hadn’t chosen to abandon her in her hour of need.

  Isabelle set her flute on the floor beside the chair and took a deep breath. For the past seven days, she had tried to escape those disturbing thoughts. Perhaps, she should confront them.

  Had William Grimsby spoken truthfully that day in Hyde Park? Did the Duke of Avon murder his wife and then elude justice because of his position in society?

  Isabelle couldn’t believe John capable of murder. That William Grimsby believed John guilty was the important thing here. In spite of her continuing discord with her guardian, Isabelle knew she owed him a debt for saving her from marriage to her stepmother’s nephew. She needed to warn John that Grimsby was plotting revenge against him.

  “Now you are thinking more clearly.”

  Isabelle saw Giselle sitting in the chair beside hers. “You’ve finally returned to me. Where have you been?”

  Giselle shrugged. “So, you believe His Grace incapable of murder?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  “Never doubt yourself, child.”

  “Look.” Isabelle made a sweeping gesture with her hand. The chamber was a garden of violets and forget-me-not bouquets.

  “Perhaps that flower girl will knit you a shawl someday.” Giselle chuckled. “John Saint-Germain purchased all of that unfortunate girl’s flowers and sent them here.”

  “How do you know where he bought them?”

  “I’ve been watching and listening.”

  “I haven’t seen you.”

  “Would a guardian angel abandon the mortal she’s promised to protect?”

  “You’ve been at Montgomery House for all of this time?” Isabelle asked.

  “Does the fact that you can’t see me mean I’m gone?” Giselle asked. “You can’t see or touch love, yet it exists.”

  Isabelle nodded in understanding. “As does hatred,” she added, thinking of William Grimsby.

  “Peace is found only when you concentrate on love,” Giselle told her. “I’ve appeared today because you are thinking clearly, and I want to advise you about what to do.”

  Isabelle stared at her.

  “Early tomorrow morning you must go alone to Saint-Germain Court and confront His Grace about what the earl told you.”

  “I can’t do that,” Isabelle said. “Visiting a gentleman would ruin my reputation.”

  “No one will see you early in the morning,” Giselle said. “Besides, tomorrow is the first day of April when misrule is accepted. The fool’s festival commences at dawn and ends at noon.”

  “I don’t know,” Isabelle said. “What if—”

  “Why are you mortals so foolishly inconsistent?” Giselle interrupted, obviously irritated. “When I remain silent, you plead for advice. When I offer advice, you tell me you can’t accept it. Have I ever led you astray?”

  Isabelle shook her head. “I apologize for being so difficult and will defer to your divine wisdom.”

  “Thank God for tiny miracles,” Giselle mumbled rolling her eyes heavenward.

  At precisely eight o’clock the following morning, Isabelle opened her bedchamber door a crack and listened for footsteps. All remained silent. She peeked out the door and verified that the corridor was deserted. Glancing back at her old friend, she whispered,” Wish me luck.”

  “Enjoy your adventure.”

  Stepping into the corridor, Isabelle hurried toward the servants’ stairway in the rear of the mansion. Dressed in a hooded black cloak and black boots, Isabelle looked like a peasant girl on her way to market. She wore a light-weight woolen skirt and a white linen, scooped-neck blouse beneath her cloak. Appearing too rich while walking London’s streets could prove dangerous, or so Giselle had advised her.

  Isabelle walked into the kitchen, startling the household staff, and gave them a sunny smile. “I couldn’t sleep and decided I needed fresh air,” she said, brushing past them.

  Outside, Isabelle pulled the cloak’s hood up to cover her blond hair and hurried to the stairs that led to the street. She left Berkeley Square and walked briskly down Piccadilly, which intersected Park Lane, where her guardian lived.

  Fifteen minutes later Isabelle stood outside Saint-Germain Court. She glanced around, but the street was deserted. Racing up the front stairs, she reached for the front knocker and banged it as hard as she could. She hoped to get inside before any passerby noticed her.

  The door swung open to reveal the majordomo.

  “Dobbs,” she said, relieved.

  “Mistress Montgomery, what are you doing here?”

  “I must speak with His Grace.”

  Dobbs stepped back, allowing her entrance. “Hurry, my lady, lest someone see you.” He shut the door behind her.

  Isabelle glanced around the foyer, but extreme agitation prevented her from noticing its understated opulence. The only thing she focused on was her good fortune in arriving undetected and, more importantly, what she had come to tell the duke.

  “His Grace hasn’t come down yet,” Dobbs informed her. “Would you care to wait in the drawing room?”

  Uncertain of what to do, Isabelle worried her full bottom lip with her white teeth. Delaying this interview could result in discovery for her.

  “Which chamber is his?” she asked, marching across the foyer toward the marble staircase.

  “Mistress Montgomery,” Dobbs said in a scandalized voice.

  With her booted foot on the bottom step, Isabelle said over her shoulder. “I must leave in a few minutes lest my absence from Montgomery House be discovered.”

  “His Grace’s apartment is located on the third floor, the first door on the right.”

  Isabelle raced up the stairs and didn’t stop until she reached the door. Insecurity and doubt made her pause for a long moment. Through sheer force of will, she raised her hand and knocked on the door.

  “Enter,” she heard the duke call from within.

  Isabelle opened the door and stepped inside, but nearly swooned at the sight that greeted her. Her guardian wore only dark trousers and a black silk bedrobe.

  “I thought you already laid out my clothing, Dobbs,” John said, wiping soapsuds from his face.

  Isabelle stood there and said nothing.

  John turned around slowly. Shocked anger registered on his handsome face, and then he tossed the towel on the floor.

  “What are you doing here?” he demanded, crossing the chamber toward her. “You must leave at once.”

  “I have a matter of importance to discuss with you,” Isabelle told him, stubborn determination stamped across her delicate features. “I am staying where I am until we speak.”

  “If anyone knew you were here,” he said, “your reputation would be ruined beyond repair.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s arse about my reputation.”

  “Wait for me in the drawing room.” John said, the hint of a smile touching his lips.

  “You are wasting time,” Isabelle said. “My stepmother doesn’t know I’ve left Montgomery House.”

  John inclined his head, deferring to her wishes. He gestured toward the elegant Grecian couch in front of the hearth. “Let us sit down and discuss what is so important.”

  Isabelle glanced from her guardian to the Grecian couch and then wet her lips, gone dry from sudden nervousness. She walked past him and sat down on the edge of the couch, but struggled against bolting off when he sat down beside her.

  He sat so close she could feel the warmth of his thigh against her own. A thousand airy butterflies took wing in the pit of her stomach. Never had she been so intimately close with a man.

  Lifting her gaze to his, Isabelle felt as if she was drowning in the black, fathomless pools of his eyes. She couldn’t seem to find her voice. “Thank you for the flowers.” />
  “You are welcome,” he said, giving her an easy smile. “What is so important you need to endanger your reputation?”

  “William Grimsby is spreading poisonous gossip about you,” Isabelle told him, a frown troubling her features. She hesitated and then pressed on, “He insists you murdered your late wife.”

  “Do you believe what he says?”

  “Don’t be a pebble brain. You could never harm anyone.”

  John smiled at that.

  “Grimsby’s belief endangers you.”

  “Do not trouble yourself about William,” John said. “My former brother-in-law is a harmless gossipmonger and inept in his efforts to ruin me.”

  “The earl wants retribution for his sister’s death,” Isabelle said. “I’ve seen the hatred shining in his eyes when your name is mentioned.”

  “You risked your reputation to warn me?”

  “Something like that.” Isabelle dropped her gaze to her lap.

  John lifted her hand to his lips and gently forced her to look at him. “Lenore Grimsby died miscarrying our first child.”

  “Oh, John, I’m so sorry.” Isabelle placed the palm of her hand against his cheek.

  “Thank you for risking your reputation by coming to my rescue,” John said, and placed a kiss on the palm of her hand. “I’ve tried to keep my distance from you.”

  Isabelle stared at him in fascination as his face inched closer. The sight of his lips descending to hers made her heart beat faster with anticipation.

  She closed her eyes. Their lips met. His mouth felt warm and gently insistent on hers, and his masculine scent of mountain heather intoxicated her senses.

  The persuasive feel of his mouth slashing across hers made Isabelle weak. His strong arms encircled her and drew her against the solidness of his body as her arms encircled his neck.

  Isabelle reveled in these new, exciting sensations and returned his kiss in kind. When he flicked his tongue across the crease of her mouth, she parted her lips for him like a flower blossoming in the heat of the noonday sun. His tongue invaded her mouth—probing, exploring, tasting its incredible sweetness.

  Isabelle shivered in his embrace and surrendered to his possession. Losing herself in his drugging kiss, she followed his lead and stroked his tongue with her own.