When a Duke Loves a Woman

by Lorraine Heath

  “I can’t continue to subject you to this disgusting display.”

  “I’ve seen worse from drunkards. We’re here now and might as well make the most of it.”

  “Right.” It wouldn’t be Lavinia, yet he was suddenly no longer in a hurry to make an exit, to lose the intimacy of this moment. He wasn’t even aware his hand had moved until it brushed along her chin and danced over the short strands of her hair. He could see why efforts were being made to shut these establishments down. With the improper talk and actions on the stage and the people around them joining in with their own renditions of bawdy words shouted and lewd actions pantomimed, how was a person not to send his mind rushing into the gutter, how was he not to imagine taking the first step on a journey that would end with him thrusting his own hips with a bit more finesse?

  She licked her lips, and he couldn’t help but believe that tasting them would cause the surrounding din to fade into obscurity. They were so incredibly close, so near, that it wouldn’t take much, only another inch or two of leaning in—

  Cries, shouts, whoops increased in crescendo, and he tore his gaze from what he wanted and directed it toward what he needed to focus on. They were at this god-awful place for a purpose. He couldn’t forget that or the importance of finding Lavinia. While he was still put out with her and disappointed in her, he felt a measure of responsibility for her and wanted to ensure she returned to the place she belonged.

  The hideous chaps were gone, replaced by a woman in resplendent red walking provocatively from the wings until she stood in the center where the pulpit had no doubt once been. Then she began belting out a tune—in a raspy, throaty voice—that a drunken seaman recently arrived in port might sing. The words, while not lewd, were certainly suggestive of a man bedding a woman in a coarse and ungentlemanly manner.

  “Is that her?” Gillie asked quietly.

  “No, thank God. Coming here was a colossal mistake. I’m not quite certain what I was thinking.”

  “You’re desperate to find her. Makes it difficult to think straight.” She looked down at the parchment, moving it until enough light hit it that she could read it. “There’s an act called the Dancing Angels. Does she dance?”

  “Nothing that wouldn’t be found in a ballroom.”

  “These ladies will probably be kicking up their skirts.”

  He couldn’t imagine Lavinia saying that as though it were an everyday occurrence, but then he was beginning to realize that Gillie sat in judgment of very little and was incredibly worldly. He didn’t want to consider how she’d come to know the things she knew. His stomach clenched with the thought that her experiences with men might be such that she believed the crudity to be normal. He had a strong urge to show her a man’s taking of a woman was nothing at all like what was being portrayed on the stage, whether by action or song. “Then they are hardly ladies, are they?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Perhaps we should sit through all the acts. There are only two remaining.”

  The next act was a gent who used a violin to mutilate music. Thorne assumed his purpose was to bring some class to the place. Then it was the Dancing Angels, who did indeed flash a good bit of leg, none of which was very impressive. He imagined Gillie up there on the stage. With her height, her legs would be longer than any of the others. And no doubt incredibly sleek.

  He closed his eyes. It was only because she was there with him that he was envisioning her prancing about, kicking a foot toward the ceiling, her skirt falling down her calf, past her knee, to her thigh. If Lavinia were sitting beside him . . . not once had he ever had a lascivious thought about her. Because she was a lady of the highest caliber. A gentleman did not have impure and improper thoughts about a genteel woman. Gillie on the other hand, a tavern owner—was so much more distracting.

  “We should probably leave,” she said quietly. “They’ll be clearing the place out before the next show, collecting another fee from those who wish to stay.”

  He could think of better ways to spend sixpence. He didn’t offer his arm, but simply took her hand and tucked it within the crook of his elbow. “So we don’t get separated in the mad rush.”

  She didn’t say anything, but neither did she pull away. Once they were outside, he said, “I need to walk for a spell, get the stench of the place off me.”

  Merely nodding, she kept her hand where it was and matched her stride to his. He’d be damned glad when the nuisance of a limp was gone.

  “There are other penny gaffs,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I’d forgotten how ghastly awful they are. She won’t have gotten herself mixed up in something like that. If someone tricked her into performing, once she realized what it was about, she’d walk out without hesitation.” Or at least he bloody well hoped she would. He kept taking what he knew of Gillie and layering it over his memories of Lavinia like a second skin. How could he have paid so little attention to a woman he was to marry? He was the worst sort of scapegrace. “You said you’d heard things about the penny gaffs, but based upon the absence of any abhorrence on your part, I’d have to say you’ve been to them.”

  “Before I opened my tavern, or even acquired the funds with which to purchase the building, my brothers took me to a few shows so I would be well aware that men under the influence could be arses.”

  “You weren’t put off?”

  “Penny gaffs are designed to encourage lascivious behavior. My tavern is not. I let it be known straightaway that if a man slaps one of my girls on her bum—or elsewhere—he’ll be shown the door. Anyone who acts in a worse manner will discover one of my brothers waiting in an alleyway. Certainly men get drunk and say things they ought not. Sometimes they even try to do things they ought not. I’ve actually had men, after sleeping off a stupor, come into the Mermaid and inform me they are deserving of a punch and offer their chin up in sacrifice.”

  “And you forgive them.”

  “Hell, no. I punch them.”

  His laughter rang out, filling the street, echoing between the buildings, creating a sense of relief in him that he hadn’t felt in a good long while. “You are a remarkable woman, Gillie Trewlove.”

  “Not really,” she said, smiling. “But I keep my promises. If I promise a punch is what you’ll get if you misbehave, a punch is what you’ll get.”

  He wondered what she might promise him if he kissed her. But based on what they’d seen indoors a few minutes earlier, why would any woman ever want to be touched by a man? The sting of envy pricked him as he imagined another man being granted the right to touch her intimately. And if she’d never had a gent, he felt a need to reassure her.

  “What they were pantomiming in there—it was exaggerated into something crude and unappetizing. What actually transpires between a man and a woman . . .” Dear God, he thought he might be blushing. He cleared his throat. “It can be quite remarkable.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Odd that he had no wish for her to keep it in mind with anyone other than him.

  He seemed preoccupied as they traveled back to the Mermaid in his coach. He’d spoken very little since his laughter had floated on the air and circled about her. She’d liked the sound of it: deep, rich, and full.

  She wondered if he’d laughed more before he’d been abandoned at the church, before he’d begun his quest to find this woman who obviously didn’t appreciate him. It made no sense that a woman would find him lacking.

  Earlier, when he’d touched her cheek and then her hair, the way his gaze had wandered over her face before meeting her eyes and dropping to her lips had led her to believe he might kiss her. She wouldn’t have objected, even as she knew it wasn’t a proper thing to do when he was searching for the woman he was to marry. But the lady wasn’t about, might never be found, so where was the harm in giving in to a whisper of temptation?

  She nearly scoffed aloud. How many women had thought the same only to find the whisper turning into a roaring shout and nine months later a crying babe? Bes
t to keep every part of her person tightly locked up.

  When the coach came to a halt in the mews, he opened the door and climbed out, not waiting for the other fellow, then reached back in and offered his gloved hand. She put hers in it, quivering slightly when his fingers closed tightly around hers as he handed her down.

  “Do you need to go into the tavern?” he asked.

  “No. It’s closed and I trust Roger to have locked it up properly for the night.”

  “I thought his name was Jolly Roger.”

  “I don’t think I can call him that any longer now that I know he’s so jolly because of the things he’s doing with my cook in the cellar.”

  He chuckled. “Tonight seemed to be a night for discovering a good bit of naughtiness.”

  “I’m sorry we didn’t find her.”

  “The odds weren’t in our favor. Perhaps we’ll have more luck tomorrow.”

  “You’re going to keep searching.”

  “Yes. I know it probably makes me appear the fool, but I have to know she’s well, and if at all possible, return her to her brother.”

  Not a fool, she wanted to say, but quite possibly a man who didn’t realize he did indeed love the woman. Or perhaps he was merely a very decent sort.

  “I’ll see you to your door,” he said.

  “You don’t need to be climbing the stairs with that leg. I can see my way up.”

  “I’ll watch you go, make certain you get safely inside.”

  She nodded. “Tomorrow then?”

  “If that is agreeable to you.”

  “After midday.”

  “Good night, Gillie.”

  She sensed he wasn’t merely speaking to her but was communicating something to himself as well. She climbed the stairs to the landing, all the while feeling his gaze on her, wondering how she could be so aware of him. Reaching into her reticule, she pulled out the key, unlocked the door, shoved it open, turned back, and waved at him.

  His only movement was to touch his fingers to the brim of his hat. So he wasn’t going to leave until he saw that she was truly inside. Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door and leaned her back against it, listening for the rumble of the coach leaving. It was several long minutes before she heard the clatter of wheels and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves.

  She wondered why he’d been in no rush to leave.

  Chapter 12

  If she was going to spend so much time in the company of a duke, she was going to have to get some new clothes. The shirt and skirt she wore today weren’t as fine as the ones she’d worn yesterday, and tomorrow’s would be even less fine than today’s. But as she stood behind the counter pouring beer for one customer after another, trying to determine when in her schedule she might be able to arrange a trip to the dressmaker’s, she realized she wasn’t going to change herself for him. While her coffers were far from empty these days, she didn’t need a lot of fancy clothes for work, and once they found his bride—which could be this very afternoon—she’d not be seeing him again, so why spend precious coins on clothing that wouldn’t be worn for long when the silver could be put to better use?

  Although it was quite possible that his bride had already been found or returned home since he had yet to make an appearance and it was already half an hour later than he’d arrived the day before. Not that she was looking at the clock that stood against one wall and watching the minute hand move with maddening regularity without a duke walking through the door.

  “Thought you had plans to go out for a bit this afternoon with your gent,” Roger said.

  “He’s. Not. My. Gent. But, yes, we were going out. However as he’s not yet here—”

  “He’s in the kitchen.”

  She stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I saw him a while ago when I popped my head in to give Hannah a wink.”

  “How in the world did I miss all this flirtation the two of you do?”

  “No idea, Gil.”

  Not that it mattered, but it was a bit irritating when she’d always considered herself to be so alert, but most of her attention had been on troublesome customers, not bothersome employees. “All right then. I’m off. You’re in charge.”

  “Have fun.”

  She almost explained that it wasn’t an excursion designed to be fun, but even so she was looking forward to it. She pushed open the door that led into the kitchen, walked through—

  And could not have come up short so quickly, so unexpectedly, if she’d been hit by a team of oxen.

  Wearing his spectacles, Thorne was sitting at the oak table, pointing to something in a book that was open in front of Robin. The sight made her heart do all sorts of funny flips inside her chest, and not just because his clothes, his spectacles, his freshly shaven face, his hair without a strand out of place created a portrait of a devastatingly handsome man, but because he was giving time and attention to Robin.

  The lad looked up, his eyes bright, his smile one of the largest he’d ever given her. “Gillie, look! He brung me a book with pictures drawn in it. Of animals. All sorts of animals. Not just dogs and rats and horses. And he said it’s mine to keep! And not ’cuz I saved him. Just ’cuz. No reason at all.”

  “Did he?” She didn’t know why the words came out sounding as though she’d been struggling to find them or why two little words should sound so breathless.

  Robin bobbed his head so fast and hard that his dark locks flapped his forehead. Then he shoved on Thorne’s arm. “Show her the graft.”

  “Giraffe.” He carefully flipped back a few pages, showing utmost respect for the book. Then he stopped, lifted his gaze—that dark liquid gaze, the darkest stout—to her and every speck of air seemed to have been sucked from the room, sucked from her lungs, leaving her feeling light-headed and warm and confused.

  “Look, Gillie. It’s the tallest animal ever! It’s taller even than this building!”

  “I don’t think it’s quite that tall,” Thorne said, humor laced through his voice.

  Taking a deep breath, regaining her equilibrium, she eased up until she could see the odd creature. “Quite extraordinary.” Then she looked at Thorne, wondering why all those confusing sensations hit her again, why he was such a feast for the eyes. “I didn’t know you were here. You didn’t come in through the front.”

  “I could tell from the crowd gathered outside you were busy. I didn’t want to disturb you, so I came in through the back. And I wanted to give Master Robin the book.”

  “Can I keep it, Gillie?” the boy asked.

  “Yes, of course.”

  Very, very slowly Robin turned a page. “You have to be ever so careful so you don’t tear the paper,” he explained.

  “You keep looking at it. The duke and I have to run some errands.”

  Lost in the drawings, Robin merely nodded.

  Removing his glasses and slipping them into his jacket pocket, Thorne stood and reached for his walking stick and hat.

  Once they were outside, she said, “That is an extremely nice book.” She’d noted the leather binding, and all her forays into the lending library had taught her the value of books. She still paid the yearly fee to have unlimited access to thousands of tomes, although now she would occasionally purchase one if it caught her fancy. “It was very kind of you to go to the trouble to get it for him.”

  “It was in my library. I noticed it this morning when I was looking for something else, so I simply plucked it off the shelf. No trouble at all.”

  “But now your library is short a book.”

  “I’ve always felt books were meant to be read—or in the case of the one I gave Robin, looked at. If they are simply sitting on a shelf, in danger of not being perused anytime soon, perhaps they’d find joy elsewhere.”

  “Well, you made him very happy.”

  “Which made you happy.”

  She couldn’t deny her pleasure that he’d taken time from his quest to give some attention to a lad who very much appreciated it. “It
might have lightened my attitude so I’m not quite so put out at having to spend time wandering around on an errand that is unlikely to ever meet with success.”

  “I’d not pictured you as such a pessimist.”

  “Look around us, Thorne, truly look around us. You’re searching for a needle in a haystack.”

  “I’m well aware, but I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t keep trying. If you’d rather not offer your assistance—”

  “I simply don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “I was left high and dry, standing at the altar with no explanation. I’m already disappointed.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” She sighed, hating that he’d been humiliated in front of his peers.

  “So where are we off to today?” he asked. “Inquiring at more lodgings?”

  “Maybe later, but it occurred to me that if she ran from the church, she was quite possibly decked out in her wedding finery.”

  He nodded. “That would be a logical guess. I hadn’t seen her, of course, as that’s not allowed before we actually meet to exchange vows on that day, but I have attended other weddings where the bride was naught but a froth of silk, satin, and lace.”

  “Which means, she’d have not been dressed for blending in to these environs, so her first order of business, no doubt, would have been to find something less noticeable to wear.”

  “Then we should make inquiries at shops or a dressmaker’s.”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of a mission, where they might be offering clothes, shelter, and food.”

  Standing inside the small wooden building, watching as people sorted through piles of rags searching for something serviceable to wear, Thorne hoped to God that Lavinia had enough money on her to go to a proper shop. “She’d have not taken anything from here.”