Stolen Encounters with the Duchess

by Julia Justiss

  That resolution stayed with her as the Dowager bore her off to a rout given by one of her society friends, the Dowager Marchioness of Hargrave. To Faith’s chagrin, one of the attendees was the woman’s daughter, Lady Mary—who never let slip an opportunity to diminish Faith in her sweet, falsely sympathetic voice.

  ‘Dear Duchess!’ Lady Mary sang out, coming over to clasp Faith’s arm and draw her into her circle. ‘Are you in good health? You seem—uncommonly ruddy of complexion tonight. I hope you’re not sickening with something. Although I can imagine how difficult it has been to get over Ashedon’s sudden demise—and especially the manner of it.’

  Normally, Faith would have shrunk into herself, returning some monosyllabic reply. But at this moment, it struck her that Lady Mary’s remarks always focused on Ashedon and his women; might her malice stem from having once been one of them, and then discarded? How it must grate to have been displaced by others of lesser birth and consequence—and to know that Faith, whom she thought so meek and useless, had been able to hold on to him as her husband.

  ‘No, I am in the best of good health, after taking my boys to the Park today for some fresh air. And as we both know, Ashedon hadn’t been mine to lose for quite some time.’

  Mrs Pierce-Compton, one of Lady Mary’s cronies, exclaimed, ‘Took your sons to the Park yourself? Whatever for? Was their tutor riding in the curricle with Ashedon that day?’ she added with a titter.

  Fury boiled up in Faith—at the woman’s crass comment, at the very idea that she would allow someone so deficient in moral character to instruct her precious sons.

  Raising her eyes to meet the other woman’s, she stared at her, unsmiling and silent. After a moment, Mrs Pierce-Compton looked away, saying with a weak laugh, ‘It was only a joke, Duchess.’

  Without a word, Faith turned her back on the woman and walked away, head high, leaving the onlookers gaping. Not until she’d marched into the next room and grabbed a glass of wine from the tray offered by one of the servants did she realise she’d just inadvertently applied Lady Lyndlington’s ‘technique’.

  She had to smile to herself. You were right, my friend. It is effective, and my, how good it feels! Probably the best moment she’d had at a society party since the early days of her marriage, before her husband lost interest in her.

  Quite a banner day. First, a new perspective on the woman who’d been one of the banes of her life since her wedding day, and now stumbling into a way to dismiss those who tried to hurt her without resorting to meanness, a way that left her feeling powerful and in control.

  Thank you, Davie and Maggie, for helping me regain that confidence.

  To her amusement, as it turned out, it wasn’t only her behaviour that altered. After her cut of Mrs Pierce-Compton, for the rest of the evening, the other matrons who often congregated with her tormentor, piling on disparaging remarks, kept their distance. She was even able to have a halfway intelligent conversation with her host, Lord Hargrave, about the upcoming reform legislation.

  All in all, a much more pleasant evening than she’d been anticipating. And if the new degree of respect being awarded her tonight carried over to the other ton entertainments she was forced to attend, it would be a banner day indeed.

  If it didn’t carry over, she told herself, riding high on that new-found assertiveness, she’d just have to deliver a cut-direct to a few more detractors. When it came right down to it, she really didn’t care to speak with any of them. If that behaviour reduced the society invitations she received by half, she wouldn’t miss them in the least.

  * * *

  Her resolve to be pleasant to her mother-in-law was stretched almost to the breaking point on the carriage ride back to Berkeley Square, during which the Dowager reprimanded her for being impolite to Lady Mary and then went on at length about how poorly she was treated, by the daughter-in-law who embarrassed her with her uncivil behaviour and by her son, who cruelly disappointed her by not appearing at the rout she’d promised everyone he’d attend. It took a great deal of will to refrain from pointing out that, if the Dowager wished to see more of Lord Randall, she should be a little slower in handing him money to fund his gaming habits.

  Her high-flying confidence soared abruptly back to earth once the carriage arrived in Berkeley Square. As they walked up the entry stairs, Faith stiffened, instinctively girding herself for the possibility of encountering Lord Randall in the shadows of the stairway or the hall outside her chamber. But to her relief, he did not appear.

  Safely ensconced in some gaming hell or some doxy’s bed, she sincerely hoped as she latched her chamber door and dragged the chair in front of it.

  She fell asleep to dreams of her sons, shrieking with delight at the horses and clowns and acrobats of Astley’s. And the handsome, kind, powerfully attractive gentleman who’d given them that treat, whom she only wished she knew how to seduce.

  * * *

  Some time later, she came groggily awake, aware of light spilling over her bed. The dawn sun, she was thinking, when suddenly the sense of someone in the room pulled her into full wakefulness. Sitting up with a gasp, she saw Lord Randall at the foot of her bed, holding a candle.

  ‘How did you get in?’ she demanded.

  He chuckled, setting the candle on a side table and walking closer. ‘If you want to keep someone out, dear sister, you need to bar the door to the service stairs, too.’

  She’d told the staff she left the chair by the chamber door to keep it firmly shut against draughts from the hallway, which was at least plausible. Blocking the service entry would not be so easy to explain, alerting the maids and tweenies, coming to lay fires or bring up coffee in the morning, that something was amiss. ‘I didn’t think you’d stoop to using the servants’ stairs.’

  ‘Needs must, sweet sister.’

  ‘I don’t care how you got in, just go.’

  ‘I thought by now, you’d be ready to invite me to stay.’

  ‘Do you still not understand?’ she asked, exasperated. ‘My continuing mention of pistols ought to convey the clear impression that I will never invite you. I’m tired of your little game; it’s time that it ceases.’

  Fumbling in her bedside table, she brought forth the small pistol. ‘I don’t want to wake the house and scare everyone to death, but I really have no qualms about using it. And then telling everyone just why I had to.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think you will, sweet sis.’ He stepped closer. ‘You won’t use that pistol, and you won’t breathe a word. If you do, I’ll just say I was here at your invitation—and who do you think will believe your denial? My mother?’ He laughed. ‘That low-bred politician who’s been sniffing at your skirts? If you’re giving him any, or teasing him that you will, he’ll be only too ready to believe you’re handing it out to whoever asks.’

  She hesitated, stricken. She had invited Davie’s kiss. He told her he thought her the essence of purity. If Randall were to claim she’d lured him to her bedchamber—after she’d tried to tempt him—would Davie believe her a wanton?

  The thought of losing his good opinion made her stomach lurch.

  Randall took advantage of her distraction to move forward and seize the wrist of the hand holding the pistol. ‘I think you can dispense with this, my dear. Then you can show me all the little tricks you’ve been using with your Parliamentary lover.’

  She didn’t dare struggle, lest the pistol go off inadvertently. ‘The only thing I’m going to show you is the door.’

  ‘I think you’ll soon be ready to show me a great deal more,’ he said, his teasing tone turning harsh as his face set in angry lines, his eyes glittering with lust. ‘Put me out of commission for several days with that trick with your knee. You’re going to be using those knees to make amends, kneeling before me to kiss and stroke that poor injured part. I can’t wait to see how good you are with that sweet little
mouth.’

  He ran the fingers of his free hand over her lips. Too distressed and infuriated to remain still any longer, despite the risk, she batted that hand away and gave her imprisoned wrist a savage twist, extracting it from his grasp. Thankful that the pistol hadn’t discharged, possibly wounding her, she placed it down carefully on the coverlet, out of his reach.

  ‘Say what you will, I’ll never give you that.’

  ‘I think you’ll be giving me that, and whatever else I want. Because I can talk to more than Mama and society. What if I go to those trustees, the oh-so-concerned uncle distressed to reveal the painful fact that my brother’s widow is a wanton who brings her innocent boys with her when she meets her lover? A lover so far beneath her, those good gentlemen would be shocked and dismayed. How long do you think they would leave your precious sons in your charge after they learned how you were dragging your title in the mud, consorting with commoners and taking one to your bed?’

  Thrown into dismay and confusion by Randall’s threat, Faith had no reply. She knew the Dowager, and most of society, would disapprove of her friendship with Davie. Would Lord Randall be persuasive enough to convince the trustees she was a wanton, so abandoned she took her children to trysts? Would even the fact that she ‘consorted with commoners’ be enough for the trustees to consider taking her sons away?

  There would be any number of witnesses who could testify that they had all been together at Astley’s.

  ‘Yes, consider it, sweet sister. If it came to my word against yours, who do you think society—and the trustees—would believe? The son and brother of a duke, living all his life in the most select ranks of society? Or a woman everyone knows as inept and ineffective, never rising to successfully fill the high position to which she’d been elevated?’

  He snatched again the wrist he’d seized and yanked her hand over, forcing it to the front of his dressing gown. Shock and fury pulsed through her as her fingers connected with the hard outline of his erection.

  ‘Ah, yes, this is going to be very good. But I can wait. Let you ponder the situation. You may be a failure as a duchess, but you are intelligent. You’ll soon realise the truth of it. When I come back next, you’ll be ready.’

  He leaned over and gave her a quick, hard kiss on the mouth. Then, strolling nonchalantly across the chamber, as if they’d just had a pleasant little chat, he moved the useless chair blocking the door and let himself out.

  Scrubbing at her lips, Faith leaned back against her pillows, shaking with revulsion and dismay.

  A turmoil of thoughts tumbled around in her head. Though she couldn’t remember, from the chaotic episode of the reading of the will, who Ashedon had named as his sons’ trustees, she found it hard to believe any would be so high in the instep as to consider her an unfit mother simply for having a well-known, well-respected Member of Parliament as her friend, particularly one with close connections to her family. But a claim that she had made such a man her lover, and brought her children along on her rendezvous with him, could well be damaging enough to make them question her fitness.

  Sickness churning in her gut, she remembered the housekeeper turning out two maids who were found to be increasing. Though she was almost certain the poor girls had made no attempt to attract her husband’s amorous attentions, it was the females who paid the price for that immorality.

  With Lord Randall making the accusation, it was highly likely the trustees, drawn from the same rank of society as her brother-in-law and knowing her not at all, would believe him—and not her counter-accusations. Especially since society commonly believed that a man wouldn’t make advances unless a woman encouraged him.

  Sarah wouldn’t believe it—but she was a woman, without any power. Would Englemere believe in her innocence?

  And Davie? She had been trying to entice him; indeed, she’d halfway convinced herself to make an all-out attempt to seduce him. Would Randall’s assertion that she’d been trying to entice him, too, so shock and disgust Davie that he wouldn’t believe her denial, either?

  Even worse, she realised that Lord Randall had just checkmated her plan to go to the trustees about him. If she were to accuse him now of making inappropriate financial inroads upon the estate, he would simply claim that she was trying to discredit him because he had refused her advances.

  If Sarah couldn’t help her, and she couldn’t count on Englemere or Davie to believe her, how was she to thwart Lord Randall and keep her boys?

  She took a deep, slow breath, forcing her frantic pulse to calm. Just because, at this moment, she had no idea how to do it, she didn’t intend to panic.

  She’d endured nine years of marriage to a man who’d used and then ignored her. She’d vowed, after his death freed her, that she’d never allow herself to be used or manipulated again. She was not about to let Ashedon’s despicable reprobate of a brother coerce himself into her bed and make her break that promise.

  There’d be no more sleep for her tonight, at any rate. She might as well spend the rest of the hours before dawn trying to come up with a plan to prevent him.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the afternoon two days later, Davie hopped down from the hackney at Giles and Maggie’s town house, where they were hosting a meeting between officials from the Lords and Commons and some influential representatives of society. At Lord Coopley’s behest, they intended to invite those society leaders to encourage their representatives and peers to attend the meetings and the crucial vote soon to come over the Reform Bill.

  Excited as he was to see their efforts finally come to fruition, Davie admitted he was looking forward most to seeing Faith again.

  It was foolish, and most likely, sooner or later to be the source of anguish, but in every moment not focused on his committee work, his mind was preoccupied by her. And his dreams—ah, in his dreams, she’d completely replaced any strategising about government reform.

  In those hazy moments between sleep and wakefulness, his mind and senses were flooded with images of her—the gold of her hair, the precise blue colour of her eyes, the shape of her shoulders, the contours of her cheeks under his hands. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, the silk of her hair under his cheek, the velvety fullness of her mouth, the taste of her.

  He would come awake hard, throbbing with anticipation, desire and tenderness—only to realise the images, the touch, the taste, were all an illusion. Surprise and disbelief would bring him fully awake, leaving a twist of anger in his gut as passion faded and bitter disappointment settled in its wake.

  Conscious, reasonable, he could talk himself out of the disappointment and anger, but in his half-dreaming state, the idea that he could not claim the woman he loved increasingly made him burn with a fierce determination to turn those illusions into reality.

  It had become more of a struggle, even when awake, to yield to the hard realities of their world and repress the conviction to claim her that haunted his dreams.

  Which was why this afternoon was so precious. In a salon full of other guests, he could see her, talk with her, but with so many witnesses present, have an easier time keeping a tight rein on the growing compulsion to throw caution and principles out the window and make a full-out attempt to win her.

  Not as just his lover. As his wife.

  Only the harsh truth that marrying her would be a selfish act that would hurt and diminish her allowed him to keep that reckless desire in check. He might have made a place for himself at the tables of political power, but a farmer’s orphan could only rise so high.

  Handing over hat and cane, he mounted the stairs to the salon, from which emerged a babble of voices. He halted on the threshold as the butler announced him, scanning the crowd for the one face he desired to see above all others.

  He spied her at once, standing by Maggie at the hearth, her glance lifting to his as the butler intoned his nam
e. Along with the zing of attraction and the wash of admiration he always felt as their gazes met, he noticed that her eyes looked tired and there were faint lines of strain on her forehead, so fine that anyone who hadn’t memorised her features as minutely as he had probably wouldn’t notice them.

  Whatever had been troubling her that day they went to Astley’s had not been resolved.

  Which resolved him to somehow carve out a few private minutes this afternoon and find out what it was.

  He made himself complete the rituals of politeness, going over to greet his host and hostess and the senior members of Parliament before returning, like a lodestone to the north, to the person whose presence drew him most. ‘So glad you were able to attend, Duchess.’

  ‘Very good to see you, too, Mr Smith. I was hoping you’d be present.’

  He smiled. ‘I was counting on seeing you, else I’d not have attended.’

  Her cheeks pinked at the compliment. ‘I hope to learn enough to be able to speak knowledgeably about the bill, so I may convince any gentleman I encounter at dinners and routs next week to involve himself in the discussion. Lyndlington and Coopley were telling me they believe the bill will be read in within the fortnight, and will surely pass the Commons.’

  He nodded. ‘I agree. Which means it will come to the Lords soon after. Anything you can do to encourage attendance at so vital a vote will be appreciated.’

  ‘I will do what I can. I did manage to get a few words in about it to my host, Lord Hargrave, at the dinner we attended two nights ago.’ She chuckled. ‘I’ve spent so much time at society events with my head down, trying to remain silent and impassive in the face of snide comments, I believe he was astonished to realise I was capable of intelligent conversation.’

  ‘He can’t ever have spoken with you before, and thought that.’

  ‘I didn’t generally converse with gentlemen. Or anyone, if I could avoid it, for if I did, I was sure to be treated afterwards by a lecture from the Dowager about what I should or shouldn’t have said, or belittling comments from my husband, if he chanced to be present. It was easier to say nothing.’