Stolen Encounters with the Duchess

by Julia Justiss

  Thinking the day could hardly have been more perfect, she closed the nursery door softly behind her and descended the stairs to her chamber. Humming to herself, she was walking down the hallway towards her own door when the voice emerged from the dimness behind her.

  ‘If you’re ready for a cicisbeo, you needn’t resort to some low-bred politician. I’m quite ready to accommodate you.’

  A shiver of shock, anger, and unease rippled through her as she turned to face Lord Randall. ‘Vastly obliging of you, but that so-called “low-bred politician” is a friend of long standing. Which you are not. Goodnight, sir.’

  She resumed her walk, but moving with cat-like speed, he slipped in front of her and crowded her up against the wall, one arm raised to prevent her passing him. ‘Not now, maybe. But I could be. I could be a very...intimate friend. Show you some things that farmer’s whelp could never imagine.’

  ‘Learned in the most expensive brothels in London?’ She looked down at his arm blocking her progress. Never show weakness, never show fear. ‘I believe this conversation is over. You’ll remove your arm, please.’

  ‘Of course. After I’ve had a little taste of this.’ Trapping her against the wall, he forced her chin up and kissed her.

  Furious, she resisted the tongue pushing at her lips, trying to part them. Though she twisted and turned, she wasn’t able to wriggle out of his hold.

  Struggling only increased the tightness of the grip that was bruising her arm, so she changed tactics, letting herself go limp instead. He gave a mutter of satisfaction as she raised a hand, as if to stroke him through his trousers, and eased his hold, moving back a fraction to give her access.

  It was just enough. With all the strength she could muster, she brought her knee up and slammed it into his groin.

  With a howl, he released her and backed away, clutching himself. ‘You little bitch! You’re hardly better bred than he is! Daughter of a bankrupt gamester, the only reason you caught a duke was the extravagant dowry Englemere furnished you.’

  ‘I may not be better bred than he is,’ she retorted, ‘but I’m better bred than you—who would try to seduce your own sister-in-law! I expect you’ll remember for some time how I am good with a knee. Don’t give me reason to show you how much better I am with a pistol.’

  Turning her back on him, she walked into her chamber and slammed the door behind her.

  She turned the latch and leaned against it, shaking, but this time Lord Randall stomped off without whispering any further provocations through her door. She hoped his private parts pained him for a week.

  How had he known that Davie had escorted them to Sarah’s? she wondered—before she recalled the room his mama had assigned him looked out over the back garden, towards the mews. He must have seen them return this afternoon.

  She shivered a little, remembering the strength of his grip. After all the experience she had arm-wrestling with her brother Colton growing up, he an adventuresome boy just a year older, she a pest of a tomboy always tagging at his heels, she’d thought she’d be able to break free of dandified Lord Randall.

  As her anger faded, the concern engendered by their previous confrontation intensified. It appeared he did not intend to leave her alone. She was still confident of her ability to wing him with a pistol in whatever part of his anatomy she aimed at—assuming she had enough notice of his intent, and her weapon at hand.

  She rubbed her fingers over the lock of the latch. Would it be sturdy enough to keep him out—or loud enough, if he forced it, to give her time to react?

  He was a bully, and like most bullies, only picked on those he thought weaker than himself. Tonight she’d showed him she wasn’t easy prey. Would he slink away and leave her alone now? Or would he, with his overweening sense of masculine superiority, still believe she was easy enough? Had her getting back some of her own only angered him and strengthened his resolve to have his way with her?

  There wasn’t any point complaining about him to his mother. She’d immediately assume Faith had tried to entice her son; if she even bothered to ask him about it, Lord Randall would certainly claim the same.

  Maybe she should take the boys and go stay with Sarah until she could figure out a way to evict Lord Randall. But she’d hardly begun to re-establish her ties with her family. Sarah would think it extremely odd if she were to suddenly appear on her doorstep with her children in tow. Faith wasn’t a very good liar, and the idea of confessing what had happened to her was so shameful and mortifying, she knew she couldn’t do it. Just thinking about Lord Randall having his hands on her, trying to force his tongue into her mouth, made her feel soiled.

  There wasn’t anywhere else she could go.

  She’d not leave Berkeley Square—not yet. Not unless things progressed to the point where she no longer had any confidence that she could protect herself.

  Suddenly she was conscious of her stinging lips. Licking them, she tasted the metallic edge of blood, and a noxious mix of tobacco and strong spirits that could only be Lord Randall. Revolted, she rushed to the washbowl on her dressing table, poured in water, dipped a rag in it and gently scrubbed her mouth and lips.

  How much different Davie’s kiss had been! Tender, gentle, his passion controlled, taking the kiss deeper and harder, but at the pace she invited. His caress made her feel cherished, rather than defiled.

  Tears stung her eyes, and angrily she brushed them away. She would not let Lord Randall make her feel like a victim. This was her house, not his. And he would be the one who must leave it.

  Even if, as yet, she had no idea how she was going to make that happen.

  Chapter Eight

  The following Thursday night, Davie stood in front of his glass, knotting his cravat in preparation for walking to dinner at the Lyndlingtons’. He smiled at his image, recalling the scornful predictions of his fellow Hellions that, now that he had income and a position, he would get himself a proper valet and turn into a veritable Macaroni.

  ‘No, my friends,’ he’d answered. ‘At heart, I will always be a simple farm boy.’

  As Faith would always be a duchess.

  And there they were.

  Sighing, he completed the knot and shrugged into his coat. Those unalterable facts might not have changed, but neither had his resolve to seek out—in a more restricted environment—and enjoy her company for as long as he could.

  Which would make the inevitable parting even more wrenching, the voice of prudence warned.

  So be it, he answered. You don’t refuse to hang a borrowed Rembrandt in your study just because you can’t keep it for ever.

  Catching up his hat and walking stick, he set off. A stroll through the cool night air would calm him, let him distance himself from the complex and tedious business of managing the reform legislation and concentrate instead on the anticipation of spending time with Faith.

  * * *

  Giles was in the drawing room to greet him when he arrived, once again unfashionably early. Handing him a glass of wine, he said, ‘Did I mention this was to be mostly a family party? Maggie’s father, Lord Witlow, and her great-aunt, the Dowager Countess of Sayleford, are coming—and also Ben and Christopher.’

  Davie stifled a groan. ‘The very friends who have most strenuously urged me to forget “the Unattainable”. Do they know I’ve been seeing her again?’

  ‘Not unless you’ve told them. That’s your business, and I try not to meddle. Though I did recommend you let them know before they found out some other way.’

  Davie shrugged. ‘Then they’ll find out tonight. I only hope they will behave themselves.’

  ‘I don’t think you need to fear any embarrassing disclosures at table. But when we meet for our usual conference tomorrow morning at the Quill and Gavel—I can’t predict their response, but if I were you, I’d be prepared with answers to some
hard questions.’

  Davie smiled wryly. ‘I only wish I had some.’

  Giles hesitated, then took a sip of his wine before saying, ‘Are you sure seeing the Duchess is wise?’

  ‘I’m sure it is not,’ Davie replied. ‘But, having unexpectedly been handed the opportunity to do so, I’m also sure there is no way I could have refused it. And I do think I can help her.’

  ‘As long as you emerge from it with a whole skin.’

  ‘I gave her my heart long ago. There’s nothing more I can lose.’

  ‘I only hope you’re right,’ Giles said cryptically before the butler announced the arrival of the next guests, Benedict Tawny and Christopher Lattimer.

  Having been forewarned, Davie wasn’t unsettled by the appearance of their fellow Hellions. In fact, in the few minutes between learning of their impending appearance and their actual arrival, he’d decided to take Giles’s advice and tell them about Faith straight away, before the rest of the party made its entrance.

  ‘Just a convivial dinner tonight—we’ll save the politics for another time,’ Giles said as he handed each a glass of wine.

  ‘No politics?’ Ben rejoined. ‘What, you would have us miss an opportunity to continue pressing—very politely, of course—Lord Witlow on moving forward with the Reform compromise?’

  ‘I would. I want my father-in-law to relax and enjoy the company. There will be other females present besides Maggie, so the two of you start thinking of something that could be considered acceptable conversation for a lady’s dinner table.’

  ‘One lady attending is someone you won’t be expecting,’ Davie said. ‘The Duchess of Ashedon.’

  Both Ben and Christopher turned to stare at him. ‘“The Unattainable”?’ Ben asked. ‘But how—why?’

  Quickly Davie summarised the events that had brought them together, and his intentions for the immediate future. ‘She should be arriving any moment. I didn’t want her presence to take you by surprise—’

  ‘Leading us to make some...inappropriate remark,’ Ben inserted.

  ‘Like calling her “the Unattainable” to her face,’ Christopher added.

  ‘Yes, that,’ Davie said, having a hard time not snapping back, though he knew his friends were trying to goad him. ‘Or tasking her about her intentions, now that Ashedon is dead, or referring in any way to the...unfortunate circumstances of his passing.’

  ‘Were they unfortunate?’ Ben asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘How so?’

  ‘Later,’ Davie ground out.

  ‘Actually, she’s not so “Unattainable” now,’ Ben remarked.

  ‘A widowed duchess?’ Christopher said. ‘Of course she is, halfwit.’

  ‘Only if Davie has marriage on his mind,’ Ben said, giving Davie a sly look. ‘Whereas, after worshipping her from afar for so many years, the Saint might just be ready for something a little more car—’

  ‘Pray do not transfer your lustful ambitions to me,’ Davie said, holding on to his temper with an effort made more difficult by knowing there was more truth than he’d like in Ben’s assessment. ‘Unlike you, I don’t feel compelled to seduce every woman I meet.’

  ‘Be a sight more affable if you did,’ Ben shot back, unrepentant.

  At that moment, the butler announced the arrival of the rest of the party. Giles’s wife walked in on her father’s arm, following by her great-aunt, Lady Sayleford, who was chatting with the Duchess.

  ‘Can’t wait to meet your paragon,’ Ben murmured as Giles walked over to take his wife’s arm, then turned to make the introductions.

  ‘Just make sure you behave yourself,’ Davie muttered.

  ‘Oh, around ladies, I always do.’ Ben flashed him a smile.

  Knowing what his friend always did around ladies, Davie stifled a curse. Ben loved females, and they returned the favour, responding to his practised charm and tall, lithe, handsome form with universal gratification and approval.

  Whereas Davie, who confined most of his conversation to politics, had never developed the art of strictly social conversation. On the few such occasions he had joined his friends, Ben’s flattering attentiveness and clever wit with the female guests made him feel like a large, backward, doltish farm boy.

  The idea that Ben might try to captivate Faith made Davie want to wrap his hands around his friend’s throat and throttle him. Surprised at the intensity of that reaction, he made himself take a deep breath. Ridiculous that he should be jealous of his friend.

  Fortunately, Ben was only barely more suitable a match for a widowed duchess than he was.

  Then Faith stepped out from behind the Dowager Countess, and smiled at him, and every other concern slipped out of mind while his whole being responded to her. She looked glorious, as always, gowned tonight in dark grey overlaid with a silver net that seemed to twinkle and glow as she moved in the candlelight. Small diamond drops winked at her ears, and something equally sparkly was threaded through the curls pinned atop her head. She looked like a chef’s iced confection, good enough to eat.

  He wasn’t aware of walking towards her, but suddenly he was at her side. To his annoyance, so too was Ben. ‘Duchess,’ his friend drawled, ‘I’m so delighted to make your acquaintance at last. Davie has sung your praises on innumerable occasions over the years.’

  Faith smiled at his friend. ‘Mr Smith has told me about you, too, Mr Tawny. You served in India, did you not?’

  To Davie’s relief, before Ben could launch into one of the amusing army stories that always delighted female listeners, the Dowager Countess said, ‘Shall we go in at once, Witlow? I’m famished, and it’s not good to keep an old lady waiting. Might faint dead away.’

  Lord Witlow laughed. ‘If you like. Although I’d wager you possess as much vigour as all of us put together. Duchess, if you’re ready?’

  ‘Certainly, Lord Witlow. I’m sure we will talk more later, Mr Tawny,’ Faith said, before going over to take her host’s arm. Giles led in the Dowager Countess, Maggie took Davie’s arm with a smile, and they all followed, arranging themselves as directed. To his delight, Davie was once again seated adjacent to Faith, while Ben and Christopher flanked Maggie at her end of the table.

  ‘Duchess, I’m pleased to see you looking so well,’ Lady Sayleford said to Faith. ‘My niece tells me you have an active interest in politics, which the late Duke did not share. How fortunate that you can now attend events that may provide more stimulation than the usual society party. I must warn you, though, politics is somewhat of an obsession with Maggie and my nephew. Given the least encouragement, she will have you riding to the hustings with them.’

  ‘I can’t think of anything more vital to the well-being of our country,’ Faith replied. ‘Lord Coopley urged that more society ladies encourage their relations and acquaintances to take an active part, and I shall certainly do that. If I could be of any use on the hustings, I’d be happy to assist.’

  ‘I’m making a note of that offer,’ Maggie warned from her end of the table. ‘I shall certainly call on you when the time comes!’

  ‘You’re in for it now,’ the Dowager Countess said with a chuckle. ‘Maggie is a force as powerful as one of those new steam locomotives when some political business needs to be done. But don’t I recall that you began debating politics with Mr Smith some years ago, when he was secretary to your cousin, Sir Edward Greaves?’

  ‘Why, yes—but that was quite long ago, before I made my come-out,’ Faith said.

  Maggie laughed. ‘Aunt Lilly knows everything about everyone—or soon finds out. So, gentlemen...’ she looked over to Ben and Christopher ‘...if you have any secrets, beware.’

  Faith blushed a little, and Davie wondered if she were remembering that forbidden kiss. A timely reminder that nothing in society ever remained secret, providing helpful reinforcement of his intention to be more prudent in
future.

  Conversation became more general, a smattering of politics interspersed with some of the stories Ben was induced to tell about his army days in India, which led to a lively discussion of the relative merits and peculiarities of society in England and the subcontinent. Davie was content mostly to watch Faith, but as the evening went on, that enjoyment became tempered with concern.

  To Davie, it seemed that she was somewhat...withdrawn, for though she smiled, and answered any questions put to her, she made no attempt to initiate conversation. When the conversation was centred elsewhere, her smile faded and a quiet, almost troubled look took over her countenance.

  What could be causing her unease? Surely not some gossip about their lapse at her sister’s earlier this week—something that scandalous would be so volatile, Giles would have heard of it and warned him.

  Some confrontation at her home?

  ‘You seem preoccupied tonight,’ he said quietly, under cover of the larger conversation. ‘Is Carlisle giving you trouble?’

  To his relief, she brightened. ‘Oh, no! As I was planning to tell you, that interview went off very well. I was firm, and purposeful, and didn’t let him get in a word of response. Very duchess-like! Even better, he vacated the house yesterday. Until I finish reviewing the dossiers Englemere sent and choose someone to replace him, I’ll have the boys all to myself.’

  ‘That’s wonderful! Where do you mean to take them?’

  ‘We went to Green Park today, watched the milkmaids with their cows and bought some fresh milk. Tomorrow, if the weather is fair, I may take them to the Tower of London.’

  ‘They should enjoy that! Especially if you embellish the visit with stories of the famous inmates, mentioning scaffolds and beheadings.’

  She laughed. ‘Yes, the more bloodthirsty the story, the better.’

  Dinner concluding, Maggie stood. ‘This being a family party, we’ll not leave you gentlemen to port and cigars, but all go in to tea directly.’ Waving them to the salon, she took her husband’s arm. Lord Witlow walked with his aunt, allowing Davie to claim Faith.