A liveried footman rushed over with a new bottle and a glass. He set them on the table and, with a bow, rushed off. “A toast is in order,” Barrett said, pouring himself a drink. He held it aloft. “To the beginning of a friendship.”
Nick choked mid-swallow and Chilton, his shoulders shaking in silent mirth, leaned over and slapped him hard between the shoulder blades. “If you’ll excuse me,” his faithless friend managed to squeeze out as he shoved to a stand. “Let me leave you two to your budding relationship.” Nick fixed a glower on the other man as he backed away.
And then he was left with Barrett.
“Really, rather good of you to save my sister and return her book,” the younger man said, commanding his notice.
“It is nothing I wouldn’t have done for anyone,” he said, automatically. Well, mayhap one. Soulless, brown eyes flashed in his mind. With stiff, jerky movements, he swiped the bottle and poured himself another full snifter.
Barrett layered his arms on the table and drummed his fingertips on the smooth, mahogany surface. “I shouldn’t say this,” he said. Then he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Scandalous stuff, to speak of one’s sister.” Nick’s ears pricked up and he went absolutely still. “But my sister did ask questions about you.”
Ah. He repressed the cynical smile that would alert this man to the true darkness in his soul. “Did she?” he asked, leaning forward and erasing the space between them.
The other man nodded and then yanked his lapels. “As her elder brother, I’ve come to see whether or not you have honorable intentions toward the lady.”
What would Barrett say to the absolute dishonorable ones he had for the whole of his family? “Given our…brief meeting, I cannot speak to any…feelings for the lady.”
Barrett’s face fell.
Nick leaned closer, still. “But I can say with a certainty, the lady has courage, wit, and beauty that any man would fight battles to win,” he said. The young man’s grin was back in place before the final word had left his mouth. He motioned to the felt tables about the club filled with men wagering away their fortunes. “A game of piquet, Barrett?”
The other man beamed and, downing his drink, shoved his chair back and promptly stood. “Splendid, Huntly.”
Nick stood and fell into step beside the garrulous dandy content to carry the conversation for the both of them.
Splendid, indeed.
Justina had spent the past months lamenting the absence of her mother and Phoebe. She might not have a mother or protective older sister at hand, but what she did have, however, was a de facto mother. Or to be more precise…two. The pair of young women, contrasting images in every way, who right now stood at the front of the library with suspicious gazes and determinedly squared shoulders.
“We heard of your encounter on Lambeth Street,” Honoria said without preamble, tugging off her gloves. With brown hair, brown eyes, and suspicious by nature, she could not be more different than the hauntingly beautiful Lady Gillian, who happened to share Justina’s romantic spirit.
She opened her mouth, but Gillian glared at the other woman. “That is hardly the way to go about asking if she was at all hurt.” Rushing over in a whir of pink skirts, she steered Justina to a seat and claimed the spot beside her. “Are you well?” Gillian asked on a rush. She wrung her hands. “I had it on the authority of my maid, who had it on the authority of Lady Jersey’s footman that you were nearly trampled by a carriage—”
“A horse,” Justina automatically corrected.
“And that you were rescued by the Darling Duke of Huntly.”
“The rogue,” Honoria muttered, coming over and settling herself into a nearby leather winged back chair. “We heard you were rescued by a rogue and that he paid you a visit.”
Yes, she’d heard whispers of him being a rogue and not much more. As one whose family had long been gossiped about, she’d never bothered with the scandal sheets or the words of busybodies. After meeting the Duke of Huntly, she wished she’d paid just a bit more attention to the most sought after gentleman—beyond that unrevealing detail.
Thrusting aside the questions, she elucidated for the worried pair. “A horse charged toward me. When I pushed a small child from the horse’s path, the duke knocked me out of the way.” And covered my body protectively with his own, like a warrior of old. In what was the singularly most romantic moment of her twenty years.
Gillian glowered at Honoria. “Did you not hear what Justina said? She was nearly trampled by a horse. Phoebe would never forgive us if we allowed her sister to be trampled by a horse.”
“A horse is far safer than a rogue, any day,” Honoria muttered under her breath, earning another admonishing look from Gillian. “Phoebe would never forgive us if we allowed Justina to show interest in a rogue.”
With the young woman’s suspicious nature, she would put shame to any recalcitrant lady’s watchful companion. And by the way she now studied her with narrowed, probing eyes, Justina would be that naughty charge. What would the other woman say if she knew the Duke of Huntly had passed his powerful hands searchingly over her? Or that he’d kissed her senseless? Justina’s heart kicked up its rhythm and she sent a silent prayer skyward that the ladies would not detect her blush.
In a bid for nonchalance, Justina plucked at the fabric of her skirts; a hungering filled her to know more about the stranger in the streets. “Is he really a rogue, though? I trust Society cannot truly know that.”
“The gentleman has acquired a reputation as a rogue, so Society can, in fact, know as much,” Honoria said, earning a frown from Justina. The woman forced imaginings of other young ladies who’d earned the gentleman’s favor.
Gillian waved her hand once more. “Well, according to my maid, that isn’t altogether true. Not anymore. The Duke of Huntly was a rogue, but he’s been quite…” She wrinkled her brow as though searching for her words. “Respectable,” she settled for. “And there have been whispers that he’s in the market for a wife.”
Justina’s heart jumped a beat. “Is he?” she squeaked.
“Not that I follow gossip,” Gillian said on a rush. An uncharacteristically hard glint lit the young woman’s eyes. “Nasty stuff.” As a lady whose family had been mired in scandal following her eldest sister’s failed wedding and then subsequent marriage years later to a notorious rake, the gossips had been as unkind to the Farendales as the Barretts.
Honoria scrunched up her mouth. “You are interested in the gentleman.” Her words were stated in a matter-of-fact manner.
“Of course not,” the lie tumbled easily from Justina’s lips. “I barely know him.” Beyond their shared, if brief, exchange over that copy of Evelina, and his rescue on the cobbles, and that dratted kiss.
“She’s blushing,” Honoria said, bringing her back to the moment. Planting her palms on her knees, she leaned forward to peer at Justina. “Why are you blushing?”
“I’m not blushing,” she said quickly, her skin going ten shades hotter.
“I’m afraid you are,” Gillian piped in with a nod. “As much as it pains me to agree with Honoria.”
There was something so very comforting in the friendship of these two women who’d taken her under their proverbial wings. Even if they were more overprotective than her mama, they were loyal and concerned, and that was a welcome kindness she would have traded her pinky fingers for to know from her own father.
Honoria landed her ever-narrowing gaze on the empty spot beside Justina. She followed Honoria’s stare to the faded black leather volume with its nearly indiscernible lettering. Nearly. Justina made a quick grab for the title. “And you are reading romance novels.”
“Poetry,” Justina amended. “I am reading poetry.”
“She is always reading romance novels,” Gillian correctly pointed out. She patted Justina on the knee. “Nothing wrong with a lovely romance novel.”
“There is everything wrong with a romance novel,” Honoria said tightly. “But,” she continue
d, holding a hand up. “That is hardly the cause for concern, but rather the blush…” She paused and folded her arms. “And your visit from the duke.”
“There is hardly anything to speak on,” she assured. Justina’s skin warmed all over again. Hugging her book close, she stole a glance at the doorway. “I dropped my book in the street and His Grace merely returned it,” she said, giving them the safest truth that didn’t reveal her personal hopes. The Duke of Huntly’s visage slid forward in silent testament to the lie of the other woman’s words. She bit the inside of her lower lip, willing her cheeks to remain cool. “Though, I thank you for your worrying,” she directed that piece to Honoria. “Nothing untoward happened. If he was here, Andrew could even attest to that.” Which he was not. For which she was immensely grateful. “Now can we please go?” she asked and made to rise. “I’ll be late for my lecture.”
“What could I attest to?”
The three ladies shrieked as the door swung open and revealed a grinning Andrew in the doorway.
Justina swallowed a groan. “Andrew,” she muttered as Honoria and Gillian rushed to their feet and offered the requisite curtsies. “We were just—”
“Discussing Justina’s perilous trip down Lambeth.”
He dropped a sweeping bow and motioned the ladies to sit. “Please, please,” he urged, closing the door behind him. “I expect you were also discussing a certain duke.” He looped his hands at his back and strolled over with lazy movements.
Honoria gave her a pointed, more than faintly accusatory look.
Justina buried her head in her hands.
“I also would wager,” Andrew ventured, “you were daydreaming of a certain duke.”
Bloody hell. Justina held Andrew’s gaze and willed him to silence.
Honoria and Gillian exchanged looks, and then urged the cocksure youth on with their stares.
At the attention trained on him, his grin widened, and he continued sauntering over. “But you did not deny it.”
Her cheeks blazed. “I wasn’t thinking of the duke,” she gritted out, glancing over at Honoria who watched her closely. She resisted the urge to stamp her foot in a childlike display.
Andrew winked. “Oh, no?”
“No,” she said in perfectly modulated tones that earned a snort from Gillian. Justina patted the back of her loose chignon. “I was attempting to leave so that I can visit my lecture which is vastly more entertaining than any tale you’re telling,” she said, shoving to her feet.
Alas, her two traitorous friends retained their seats.
Her brother stalked slowly around the sofa. “So, you wouldn’t be at all interested if I told you,” he lowered his hands quickly to the back of the chair and leaned close, “that I’d taken drinks with the gentleman?”
She gasped. Her mind racing… What…? Why…?
Andrew shoved away to a stand and strolled with an infuriating languor around to the leather winged back chair beside Honoria. He fell back in the seat. “Know a bit of a thing about love myself,” he added, earning giggles from Honoria and Gillian.
And at any other moment, in any other time, Justina would be wholly fixed on the look of longing in her brother’s eyes that indicated he very well did know about that grand emotion she’d desperately longed to experience. Alas, but a single mention made by her brother commanded her attention. Of the gentlemen whose company her brother kept, all fellow dandies he’d only mentioned in passing, never had she heard mention of him sitting down for drinks with the Duke of Huntly. Nor did the powerful, faintly roguish gentleman who’d rescued her in the streets strike her as a gentleman who’d be friends with her flashy brother.
“Why were you taking drinks with the duke?”
Gillian buried a laugh in her hand, quickly concealing it as a cough.
A slight, annoyed frown marred his lips. “Come, is it really such a surprise to learn Huntly and I are chums?”
“Yes,” she said with an emphatic nod. “Yes, it is.”
“Hmph,” Andrew said with all the petulant annoyance of a troublesome child. “Very well, then.” He released a long sigh and came slowly to his feet. “Then, I shan’t tell you what the gentleman may have said about you.”
Justina jumped to her feet and moved in a noisy rustle of skirts. “Don’t you dare leave, Andrew Algernon Alistair Barrett,” she warned. Grabbing his arm, she steered him into a seat. Her brother properly ensconced in his previously abandoned spot, she stood over him, hands on hips.
“Do back up.” He gave a flick of his hand. “You are hovering.”
Not allowing her already gloating brother further victory, she slid into the seat across from him.
“Well,” Honoria urged, when Andrew stretched the silence.
“Lost a bit at the tables today,” he said in an abrupt shift. “Not too much coin. But enough that a chap will certainly feel the pinch.”
Gillian rounded her eyes like an owl startled from its perch. “Are you…is he…bribing you, Justina?”
Yes, he was utterly shameless.
He and Justina spoke at the same time.
“No.”
“Yes,” she said and he shifted in his seat the way he had when their mother had lectured him for his naughtiness. “Or he is attempting to, anyway.”
Over in her seat, Honoria muttered something in low tones that sounded a good deal like, “You ladies refuse to believe that gentlemen are shameless…”
Andrew frowned at Honoria. “Hardly wrong to share coin with one’s brother.”
“Andrew.” Justina’s warning tone raised the color in his cheeks. “I’m not giving you any additional coin.” And certainly not as a bribe to obtain information about the dashing duke who’d rescued her at Gipsy Hill.
“You’re certain you can’t part with—”
Honoria and Gillian spoke in unison. “She’s certain.”
“Very well,” he mumbled under his breath. He brushed a speck of imaginary lint from his shoulder. “As I was saying about my chum, Huntly.” Justina rolled her eyes at that gross exaggeration. “Toasted the gentleman to his bravery, and he said…” Her breath froze in her chest. “…that he’d have done the same thing for anyone.”
All the air left her on a swift exhale as disappointment flooded her being. “That is what he said?” she asked dumbly. That’s all? What did I think he would say?
“See,” Gillian offered far too cheerily to Honoria. “It is as Justina said, nothing untoward happened, and there is and was nothing more to their exchange.” Nothing more. Justina’s heart dipped. And yet, there had been something gloriously dizzying in his low-whispered words and his unwitting embrace.
“Honorable fellow,” Andrew added.
Yes, a gentleman who’d so leap to the aid of anyone was to be commended and, yet, in the hours since his rescue, she’d allowed her whimsical musings to take root and grow. Tamping down her foolish regret, Justina sighed. “Now, may we go?” she asked the other two ladies.
And this time, they stood and made their way to the door.
“Oh, Justina?” Andrew called out when she reached for the handle.
What now? “Yes?” she asked, glancing around at him.
“I did want to mention the part where Huntly said you have courage and beauty that any man would fight battles to win.”
Honoria gasped.
“He said…?” Justina fluttered her hands about her chest.
“I wager that information was worth a pence?” He winked.
“And certainly more interesting than a scholarly lecture,” Gillian put in.
A hopeful glimmer lit Andrew’s eyes. “If the information was more valuable—?”
“No, you may not have any additional coin,” she said, marching from the room. Honoria and Gillian trailed close behind.
A smile pulled at Justina’s lips. Mayhap there was more to hope for in terms of the Duke of Huntly, after all.
Chapter 6
The information Nick had received over the months dur
ing his assignations with the Baroness Carew had proven crucial in his plans for Lord Rutland.
He had learned Justina Barrett had a silly fascination with bonnets. She had a love of gothic novels and romantic tales. She was wistful and fanciful. And she’d taken to visiting The Circulating Library.
That particular detail about the lady’s interests accounted for his presence at the back of said circulating room. Standing in the small lecture hall, Nick folded his arms and assessed the visitors scattered about the neatly arranged chairs. Five dandies, three ancient lords. He zeroed his gaze at the second to last row. And one unattended lady.
Miss Justina Barrett, to be precise.
The generously curved siren sat perched on the edge of her chair, hanging on the lecturer’s words as though he were handing down a lesson on the meaning of life. Of course, the hopeless romantic, she’d be here listening to readings of those great poems. The same ones he’d once pored over in the dead of night until his candlelight flickered out.
Giving his head a cynical shake, Nick started quietly down the thin, makeshift aisle and paused at the second row. “May I claim this seat, Miss Barrett?”
The young lady shifted her attention from the reader to him. She flared her eyes.
Nick winged an eyebrow up.
“Of course,” she said quickly, her words thundering in the quiet.
They earned reproachful stares from the reader, who stumbled over his verse, and the other poetry devotees. Justina blushed, her cheeks turning a stunning crimson hue.
Unapologetic, Nick slid into the vacant chair as the graying man with thick side-whiskers, resumed his reading. Justina sat stiffly at his side; her narrow shoulders tense. Tugging off his gloves, he stuffed them inside his jacket, and then deliberately pressed his thigh against her, crushing the fabric of her yellow satin skirts. The faintest intake of air escaped her lips and a surge of masculine triumph went through him at her body’s natural awareness to him. “You are also an admirer of Shelley’s work?” he asked softly.
To Enchant a Wicked Duke Page 8