A Duke, the Lady, and a Baby

by Vanessa Riley

  “That’s not what I want.”

  He pressed the key into the lock. “What? Is that a no? Fine, Max will help me tonight as I review testimony. He howls at injustice.”

  The door opened with a screech, and he lit the wall sconces. “See, nothing fancy. You can now run home. Your tour is complete.”

  Lady Lavinia wiggled inside. Her garnet-colored dress had a low plunging neckline. It screamed curvy and trouble, the kind of trouble he missed.

  “I’m not ready to abandon you, Daniel. You do remember when you enjoyed my company?”

  His thumb slid on the indentions of the brass key, some sharp, some worn with age. He might be lonely, but as a respectable widower of thirty-five, he wasn’t ready to court scandal, anything that could eventually hurt his daughter’s prospects.

  “Daniel, do you remember us, how we were?”

  Lady Lavinia was his first substantial affair of the heart, but a cub young in his law practice was not what the daughter of a marquess wanted. She had targets on the deeper pockets of peers.

  His next mistress would be discreet.

  That wasn’t Lavinia.

  Tonight, at Lady Bodonel’s party, Lady Lavinia was too friendly, mauling him while dancing, hovering, sitting almost on his lap at the awful dinner.

  He put away his key. “We’re both older and wiser. Why ruin our friendship?”

  “Daniel, you’re a peer now. We should celebrate with champagne and cherries. I know how hard your uncle fought to keep your elevation from happening. I heard the earl died spitting.”

  He set his key on his desk. “Rumors. I’d never toast my uncle or walk on his grave.”

  She started to giggle and wiggled to Daniel’s desk, popping up on top, her long legs crossing and uncrossing, showing off a hint of red lace on her undergarments.

  He hadn’t noticed that through Lady Bodonel’s dinner.

  Oh, he was out of practice.

  “I’ve rarely ever seen you finish a glass of wine. Your uncle, the late Earl of Ashbrook, loved his porter. Your father, too.”

  Daniel moved to the rear of his desk, groaning silently at her mention of both men.

  His father was a stew of all things, sad and disappointing. The man’s constant lack of control was a perfect warning for the need of alcoholic abstinence. “I don’t need to overindulge to enjoy my evenings, Lavinia.”

  She spun and lifted her silver slipper onto his chair arm. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I’ve watched you, Daniel, saw your rise in the courts. Though you are one of Prinny’s favorites, you worked twice as hard as your contemporaries to become one of the Crown’s top barristers.”

  The Prince Regent did claim favorites, Blackamoors of extreme talents like Bridgetower, the supreme violinist, and Daniel for his Socratic mind. We were his successes.

  Alas, it wasn’t Daniel’s legal skills making Lavinia cling to him all night, interrupting his dinner conversations with others, following him out to his carriage.

  “I hear you’re always working, my dear man. Such a waste to be so diligent and so stifled and handsome.” She stood beside him. Her fingers skirted his cravat and dipped into his shirt. “You know what they say about all work and no play, Daniel, darling.”

  He kissed her hand and moved it to his chair. “I think that has implications for a man named Jack. I, on the other hand, possess a different name and different ethics. Work is my play.”

  She crouched beside him and slid her hand again to his coat. He doubted she hunted for lint.

  “Daniel Thackery, the new Lord Ashbrook. Such a nice ring to it.”

  “Lady Lavinia, please. You promised to be good and to run along after you saw my office.”

  “I am good. I can be better, even when I’m not good.”

  Yes.

  This was true.

  Catching Lavinia between husbands had the makings of an indulgent time, but not when he had court in the morning or when his ascension held so much scrutiny, scrutiny that would befall his little girl. “Will your fancy be available later in the month? Or a year, perhaps? My schedule will be freer.”

  “Do you plan everything, Daniel?”

  He meant it as joke, but his humor had often been described as dry. “Lavinia, I have to be home soon for my daughter. I’m not interested in a social mistress, and you’re too dear to be a choice . . .”

  He looked at the clock on his shelf. The hands pointed to nine. “A choice for an hour.”

  “Much can be made with so little.”

  “Lavinia—”

  “Always so disciplined, Daniel. Have you thought of a social wife? You’re a peer, darling. A woman with connections could be of use. I know I could even help with the dull stuff, parties and such. We used to be a great deal of fun, before—”

  “Before what? Before you abandoned me for the Duke of Sal-don or before my marrying?”

  “Everything’s different. You’re now widowed, the widowed Lord Ashbrook.”

  Lavinia’s voice sounded so cold and sharp like a judge slamming his hammer, rendering a death sentence. He looked away and searched a drawer for his notes. “Tomorrow’s trial will be exhausting.”

  “I’m sorry. I forgot your heavy devotion to a woman you never met.”

  His Phoebe, Phoebe Dunn, his wonderful wife. For eighteen months, he’d actually grasped the fleeting emotion that some called love—all through exchanged letters and a sketch of a freckled face that set his pulse racing.

  Yet, it had been two years since her ship capsized in a hurricane.

  “Oh, my Daniel. You’re still in love with her?”

  Perhaps.

  How could he not be, reading her letters every night. Imagining the conversations they would have about her daughter, Charlotte, and how they’d both love and care for that little girl.

  “Daniel, you look as if you’ve eaten a lemon.”

  He pushed at his lips, then wore the smile he saved for impotent judges. “Some charity, Lavinia. I’m sure you cared for at least one of your three husbands.”

  “But I had each of my husbands. You have letters.”

  That cut a little close, too close.

  Lavinia rubbed at his shoulders then set a whisper to his neck. “I’m teasing, Daniel. You’re always so serious, so careful. When does Daniel ever play?”

  It was scandalous to be in this office, his work office, with a woman known to be scandalous, one who could be ruthless.

  Daniel walked to the door and opened it. “Mrs. Dunn and I met a thousand times in letters. I remember every jot, every spirited word. I think you’ve amused yourself enough at my expense. Good night, Lady Lavinia.”

  She sauntered over and slammed the door, then she put her arms about his waist. “Words. You love them, but from what I recall, you do your best work in silence.”

  “That was a young man. Now, I’m an old one with responsibilities.”

  Her nails clawed at the tense muscles of his back. “The right wife can help.”

  “Watch my waistcoat. The threading is fragile.”

  “Then we should take it off.”

  “No, Lavinia. And no, I need no wife. And you have too much of a personality to be a mere mistress. It’s best we stay friends.”

  “A convenient title, a child from a lost wife, all has made Daniel a very dull boy, very dull. Let me liven you up. I’m sure we can blur your stance on mistress and wife.”

  She kissed at his ear, even attempted to push him toward the sofa.

  His amusement at her attempts dimmed. She was trying to get him worked up. He clasped both of her hands. “Now, now, my lady. I was always dull. I like dull.”

  “Just out of practice.”

  There was venom in her tone. Had her own disappointments turned her into one of those black widows, the spiders that ate their partners after they copulated?

  “I’ll remain dull, Lavinia. That’s what’s required of a good, dependable father. My little Charlotte will be able to count upon me. I won’t court
scandal. Let me walk you to your carriage so I can get work done.”

  “I’ve upset you. I didn’t mean to tease you too much.”

  From her pouty frowns, he saw false testimony. He pushed up his thin rimmed spectacles. “Please, Lavinia.”

  She folded her arms about her rather large bosom. “I think you must become my new mission, Daniel Thackery, the new Lord Ashbrook. I’ll make you indulgent for your own good, and I haven’t had a delighted earl in a while.”

  Persistent—a plus. Immodest—a negative. Beautiful with her dark hair and voluptuous figure—plus, plus. “You make an appealing argument, counselor, but I’m new at being an earl, not at being a fool. You should track down less seasoned prey. Make a meal of them.”

  “I want you, Daniel, and I want you to marry me.”

  Lavinia had charmed her way into marriages with wealthy men never peers. She didn’t take her widowhood any more seriously than her silk fans, but the woman in front of him sounded very determined.

  He shook his head to her open invitation. “You’re trouble. Too much is at stake. My child needs every advantage to be welcomed in society. Mulatto children, as I can attest, need to be damn near perfect to be accepted by the ton. Being your newest trinket or cuckold husband wouldn’t bode well at all.”

  He opened the door and held out his arm. “I think it’s best we say good night.”

  “Daniel, are you too good for dear old Lavinia?”

  Too loud and too indiscreet was the problem. There was nothing more problematic than a loud woman setting her sights on him. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “You’re hunting for one of those young misses in white. Some virginal thing that wouldn’t look twice at you because you weren’t a gentleman of leisure. This is most upsetting.”

  He cocked his brow and stared. “I’m very much the same, but if I were to need companionship, it would be an unassuming, scandal-free mistress, not a wife. Not again.”

  Lavinia returned to his side and threaded her pinkie under his cravat, stroking his Adam’s apple. The look on her beautiful face, pure trouble.

  “You’re different, Daniel. Or shall you demand I say Lord Ashbrook? You’ve taken on airs since your elevation. I’m not good enough.”

  She worked at his neck and shoulders until she conjured up a growl. “See, Daniel Thackery, the Earl of Ashbrook, I haven’t lost my touch, even if you have gained airs.”

  “You want to call me an uppity barrister?”

  Her lips pressed tightly together but he dared her to mention the things he taught all his friends to be off-limits—his race, his father, and now his daughter.

  Lavinia started to laugh; the notes vibrated against his chest. He relaxed and joined in. “Good night, Minx.”

  “Uppity earl, Daniel, darling. To be more precise. I know you married to make me wild with jealousy. It worked. Come on, Daniel.”

  “Isn’t there someone waiting for you at home, Lady Lavinia? A poodle, another husband, a riding instructor?”

  She put her hands into his short-cropped hair and claimed his mouth.

  Lavinia was good, irresistible and Daniel was losing this argument. He was lonely. There was something nice about a woman knowing what she wanted.

  Such a scandal to lock the door, scoop her up and have her on the sofa.

  Yes, it would be. This was out of the question.

  Her hand slipped to his waistcoat.

  Maybe. But . . . hands.

  She mauled him again, fully teasing him with her lips, begging him to take control.

  Why resist her?

  Hadn’t his father taught him to never deny a lady’s request? Surrender was a matter of honor.

  He returned her kiss, backing the willing woman toward the tufted, padded sofa, the thing that he’d spent a fair number of nights on preparing for trials.

  Lifting his head, he could see the desire staining her eyes making them stormy lapis.

  She worked off his coat, even pulled at his shirttails, but he focused on the prestigious books on the shelves and the notion of how tawdry it was to seduce or be seduced in his office, the place he worked so hard to gain a seat.

  Groaning, he pried free. “You must go home.”

  “Tonight was the first time in months you came to an outing. I’m opportunistic, and I know you’ve been quite alone mourning. For a man who was quite popular before he wed, it’s disappointing.”

  Before he married, Daniel enjoyed the finest things London could offer a discreet man with money. Many pleasures. Many women. But he gave all of this up to be a husband, his notion of an honorable one. “You make me sound like a shut-in. I’m far from that. I’m—”

  He adjusted his spectacles, readying to again decline, but stopped when he noticed the additional legs to the sofa.

  Two bore slippers.

  “Daniel, what?”

  Slippers with buckles.

  Scandal. A witness.

  He shoved his shirttails back into his breeches. “There’s surprise evidence, Lavinia. We must say good evening, now.”

  “Daniel, how can you be hot and cold so fast?”

  “New information.” He pointed his friend to the slippers; one’s he’d seen before when he’d been drawn into one of his aunt’s missions. “Scandals are discovered and righted here, not made. I apologize for changing my mind.”

  Lavinia nodded.

  He walked her to the door. “We’ll continue this discussion later.”

  “We will, ducky? Or will someone else be on your diary schedule? Feet have a tendency to multiply.”

  “My dear, we’ll definitely go over the intimate nooks and crannies of your situation at a later date. Such tactical plans we’ll make. I’ll be in touch.”

  “You better, my Lord Ashbrook, you’d better.”

  She left, and he could imagine her hips swaying down the stairs. All of that wonderful woman would be bundled up into her carriage. He waved the still air at his hot face.

  Daniel opened the window and watched for Lavinia, waiting for her to leave. Before closing the glass panes, he yanked down a dangling rope and wrapped up the metal hook anchored in a branch above. Once again he covered for the Widow’s Grace, but this secret organization burglarized his office. Why?

  A sigh steamed from his nostrils, clouding his lenses. He dropped the tools to the floor. It made a weary thud. The noise matched his soul. He tired of covering the antics of his aunt and her Widow’s Grace.

  Bottling his outrage, he locked the window and plopped onto his desk.

  “We’re alone now, miss. You can make your presence known.”

  Jemina St. Maur sprang from hiding, her shiny brass buckles gleaming on her worn yellow slippers. The pretty woman, with red hair spilling from her chignon, stood inches in front of him. Then she reared her arm back and slapped him, hard.

  Wasn’t quite the reunion he expected, but Aunt’s women were unusual. This one particularly so.

  A deceptively meek lady whose mouth held a deep cupid’s bow, one that could set him in awe until she asked too many questions, until her voice rang loud, three octaves too loud. How dare she always challenge his advice, his wisdom, his skill at navigating the world . . . and be so adorable while doing it.

  “You’re impossible, Daniel Thackery.”

  Nodding, he agreed to things being impossible such as a weakness for freckles.

  “You look lovely this evening. Burglary suits you.”

  Mrs. St. Maur’s cheeks flushed, her moss-colored eyes grew wider, her mouth slightly parted, panting.

  “Why are you smiling, Barrister? You should be apologizing.”

  Rubbing his jaw, he sighed. “I think I prefer Lady Lavinia’s company, but I sent her away because of you. I feel slighted.”

  “Well, if you think I’ve come to take her place, you are sadly mistaken.”

  “Slaps are not the type of human contact I wish. Why did you strike me? Jealousy over something two consenting adults were considering doesn’t beco
me you.”

  “Didn’t sound like much considering. Sounded sort of definitive. But that’s not why.” She waved a piece of paper at him.

  Creased, yellowed by two years—he knew exactly what it was, the torn page of Jamaica’s main newspaper, the Cornwall Chronicle. In smudged ink, it listed the colonists who boarded the doomed ship, the Minerva.

  “Well, Mr. Thackery? Admit what you’ve done?”

  He bit his lip, as he often did to keep from blurting out the obvious—that he’d hidden facts and that he knew by heart every name on the page, including his late wife’s, Phoebe Dunn, and the heated Jemina St. Maur.

  He should’ve burnt the paper.

  Everything was at risk, because he was a sentimental fool.

  Still, he said nothing and stared into this avenger’s glorious, furious eyes.

  Photo courtesty of the author

  Fascinated by the Regency and early Victorian eras, Vanessa Riley made time for Renaissance fairs and period novels and films while obtaining her PhD in mechanical engineering from Stanford University. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, Specialty RWA Chapters: The Beaumonde, and the Georgia Chapters, as well as the Historical Novel Society. Vanessa also juggles her military hubby, mothering a teen, and speaking at women’s events. Visit her at www.vanessariley.com.