by Reid, Stacy
Oh, papa, you wretched lout! She swiped at the tear that rolled down her cheek. Please do not die. The idea of losing him in such a permanent manner felt unbearable.
“I will not go,” her mother said, her voice rough with pain. “How dare she ask it of me? How dare he ask for me…after…after what he has done. I do not care that he is in a sick bed!”
The memories swirled between them, of watching her father pack his various valises, precious books, and journals from the library, and even a few paintings from the ancestral gallery. It had felt so frightening and permanent. Pippa had sat on the top of the staircase watching as her mother abandoned her dignity as she'd rushed behind him crying and demanding to know what he was doing. Pippa would always recall the petite brunette who had sat in a parked carriage and waited as a husband and father left his family without explanations.
“I do not know if I should go,” she said softly. “What if he should die…what if papa dies?”
Her mother straightened her shoulders. “You should go to him.”
“Mamma?”
"I can see that you want to, and I shall not resent you for it. He's your father. He loves…loved and cared for you for fifteen years. The pain of his leaving cannot replace all those wonderful memories." Her mother took a bracing breath and continued, "It is cruel of me to say this, but if your father dies, I will be free to marry the man I am falling in love with.”
Pippa's hand flew to her throat, and she stared at her mother.
“You…you love the viscount?” she demanded, wholly taken aback.
“I do,” mamma said quietly. “I believe I do and I am not afraid of such sentiments again. We are very discreet for I would never forgive myself if…if I hurt your chances with the Duke of Carlyle."
Pippa could not help smiling, but she said very earnestly, “Mamma, I have no chance with a duke! A man such as Carlyle will marry only for power and connections. I would be silly to lead my heart to hope beyond my expectations. You worry for naught, I assure you. But I will always urge you to be careful with your heart.”
Her mother’s lips set in a stubborn line. “The duke has taken a marked fancy to you, and even the scandal sheets have made mention of it. Our invitations have soared, and not because of my dear friend's patronage. It is because of the attention the duke has shown you. Today flowers were delivered here for you. Several bouquets of roses, and lilies.”
Pippa had seen them, but flowers delivered courtesy of gentleman callers were commonplace at the countess's townhouse. “I…thought they were for Miranda.”
“No,” her mother said triumphantly. “They were all for you, from gentlemen who had hardly taken any notice before. The duke paying attention to you goes a far way to restoring your reputation. There is a reason for the duke's interest, and we must not discount it.”
“Perhaps he wishes me to occupy another position in his life. Like Harriette Wilson for the Duke of Wellington.”
“Pippa!” her mother cried eyes wide with distress. “That is the ghastliest thing to suggest. You are a young lady of good standing and…and…”
"Forgive me, mamma. I did not mean to upset you." She stood, made her way over, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "I am overwrought by the news of papa. However, it is no excuse; I should have minded my tongue and been more ladylike in my thoughts."
Her mother nodded graciously, and after a few more minutes of discussing the situation of her papa, Pippa excused herself and retreated to her room. Still, Pippa devoted the better part of the afternoon to the composition of a letter to Miss Calvert after reading the entire letter. Pippa informed her father’s mistress she would visit New York post haste, but Lady Cavanaugh would not be traveling with her. Miss Calvert had already planned for passage, and Pippa was to depart for New York aboard Maiden Anne in two weeks.
There was a return ticket dated almost two months from today. The lady’s action was audacious to assume the length of visit Pippa would be able to commit to. But she did not quibble, for once she saw her father, she would book a return passage immediately. Or perhaps she would stay till the pre-booked date and learn about her siblings.
A pang tore through her heart. She had a brother of five years, a sister of two years. And Miss Calvert was now with child. Three siblings that would have no connection with her mother but who would always be a part of Pippa’s family. What could she possibly say to them? She could not imagine what she would feel upon seeing her father again. Sorrow? Joy? Relief? Anger? Unable to bear thinking of it all anymore, she crawled into her bed, closed her eyes, and let all the uncertainty drift away with the oblivion of sleep.
Chapter 12
A few hours later, Pippa sat before her vanity, disinterested in the masquerade ball which had been heralded by the newspapers as the event of the season. She had daringly decided to dress like a gentleman of leisure and had propositioned Miss Tilby to attain the clothing. Pippa was now garbed in dark trousers which fitted her rounded bottom too well. Knee-high boots encased her calves, she wore a matching dark jacket, a snowy white undershirt, a cravat that had been painful to tie, and a wine-red waistcoat. And she'd topped off her ensemble with a short dark wig and a dark mask which covered her eyes and face. The final touches were the beaver hat perched rakishly atop her head and an ebony cane.
The idea had seemed naughty and adventurous when she’d first conceived it, only now, Pippa did not think she appeared like a boy at all. Her curves were too richly pronounced, her breasts evident beneath the waistcoat. Nor was she thrilled to mingle with the crowd, listening and noting the latest scandals to excite society as Lady W.
She had decided to leave for New York, and in two weeks, she would set sail away from whatever was burgeoning between her and the duke. There it was again, that unfathomable ache whenever she thought of leaving and never understanding all that she felt for Christopher. Though she had decided on a course of action, Pippa’s nerves would not settle. Following the impulses that were beating in her heart for the last hour, she departed the countess's townhouse, and daringly strode through the rapidly darkening streets until she saw a hackney to hail.
Her guise as a young man was successful, for no one accosted her or glanced at her oddly. The journey from Russel Square to Grosvenor street was a blessedly short one. Evidently, her nerves would have deserted her if she had traveled any longer. She felt breathless and uncomfortably hot. Upon exiting the hackney, she took the familiar path through the side gates and made her way around the gardens to the window leading to the library.
Sense and propriety would not convince her to turn away and attend the masquerade ball only a few houses away. Pippa tested the window and smiled to see that it was unlatched. Had he been expecting her? Though she’d been prepared to use her trade tricks once again. She hauled herself up and slipped into the duke’s library. Pippa realized immediately he had anticipated her presence. The chess board rested on the lush blue and silver Aubusson carpet in the center of the room, and all the sofas had been pushed out of the way, creating ample space for them. Several cushions littered the carpet in wild disarray. It was clear he intended for them to play there, sprawled on the rug and pillows. How indecent and quite lovely!
A smile tugged at her lips. The low table was the only furniture near their play area, and it held several crystal decanters of liquor. Different types since their colors ranged from amber, red, and dark brown. Her gaze scanned the room, searching for the duke. When she found him, Pippa pressed her hand to her chest, wondering at the fast yet delicate way it pounded. The duke lay on the carpet near the merrily crackling fire, several cushions behind his head and shoulders, and atop the man was about five wolfhound puppies. Pippa could not credit her eyes. Stranger still, the duke seemed to be sleeping. A few of the puppies slumbered, and two danced over the muscles of his chest, nipping at his chin and licking his face.
Pippa giggled when he grabbed one of the puppies and bit him back. The puppy took that as a sign for more vigorous romping and tail
wagging. She had never seen such a sight! The duke’s eyes snapped open at her low laugh, and upon seeing her, a smile curved his lips—one of sin and decadence.
“Walking on the wild side, are we?”
Something wicked, heated, and undefinable stirred inside her then. She stumbled back, almost scared at the intensity of feelings.
Love…is this love? This need to fling myself in his arms and kiss him without reservations, to lay atop him as the puppies did? To tell him of my day and ask him about his?
He pushed the puppies off him and settled them one by one in the center of a few cushions. The care he touched them with indicated a deep love. He scratched one of the puppy's belly, and it flattened its ears and lolled its tongue out gratefully. The duke laughed—the rich, low sound striking her heart with a weakening blow, and at that moment, Pippa fell in love with Christopher Worth, the Duke of Carlyle. A sensation she had never felt before wrapped itself around her heart, before invading it with pure warmth and happiness.
Acting on impulse, she went over, knelt, and scooped up the furry little creature, hugging it close to her. "I've never had a pet before! How adorable they are." The pup wriggled from her arm, and with a delighted laugh, she let it go.
The duke stood and held out his hand, assisting her up.
“I’m leaving for New York,” she blurted, unable to understand why that was the first thing she said.
The duke had faltered into stillness, a denial flashing in the piercing silver of his eyes. “When?” he asked softly.
They stood too close, and she took several steps toward the window she’d climbed through. “Fourteen days.”
He considered this before asking, “And will you return?”
“Yes…but I do not know when. Perhaps a month or more.”
They stared at each other in the silence that settled in the library. He took a deep breath, and to her mind, there was a hint of forlornness in the sound.
Why did she feel so horribly vulnerable? “Did you…” she spread her arms wide to encompass the room. “Did you know I would come?”
"I hoped. My library has been in this state for days," he said gruffly. "Do not leave. I must wash my hands." He gathered the wriggling puppies, and then with clipped strides, he exited the room closing the door behind him softly.
Oh, what am I doing? She had hurtled herself impetuously to his home, and now she was confounded as to why she was truly present. Pippa turned toward the window, but her retreat was halted by the return of the duke. This time when the door closed there was a distinct snick. “I’m not sure why I am here,” she said.
“To play chess of course.”
She looked helplessly at him. Then Pippa removed the beaver hat and rested it on the desk with her cane.
“The wig too, I want to see your glorious hair.”
He shot a challenging look at her, which she met with a faint smile. But she slowly removed the wig, resting it with her other things. Appreciative warmth lit in his eyes, and she held herself still while he came over to her. He touched her cheek with the tips of his fingers, and for a moment, she savored the wonderful caress. How was it possible to reach the age of two and twenty and never felt such delight from simply touching another?
“You are very beautiful, Pippa.”
She deeply breathed in the warm, scented breezed that wafted gently in through the window behind her, hoping to settle her composure.
“Come now, my admiration and sentiments cannot be unknown to you.”
“And what sentiments are those?” she asked bravely.
He stepped back, giving her breathing space she hadn’t realized she needed.
There was a good deal of amusement in his eyes as they rested on her face. “I like you,” he said. “Now let’s play chess.”
She tried to speak but dared not trust her voice. Instead, she lowered herself onto the carpet before the chess board. He sat opposite her and poured drinks into two glasses. She took the one he offered. "Whisky again?"
He smiled. “Bourbon.”
She took a tentative sip. A sweet aromatic flavor washed over her tongue, but she could not name the taste, and she was unsure if she liked it. “Are you not appalled by my unladylike qualities?”
“The opposite,” he said warmly. “Your adventurous nature is quite appealing. I find prim and proper tedious at times.”
Biting back a smile, she leaned forward and assessed the chess board. “You put in our moves.” All the ones they had done mentally and jokingly had been inserted by the duke.
“Of course.” He leaned forward as well, watching the board, and she was conscious of the intimate closeness of their heads.
“I am happy you are here, and not at Lady Appleton’s masquerade ball,” she said softly.
Pippa felt the touch of his eyes against her skin, but she did not take her eyes away from the chess pieces.
“I’m glad you came. Though I wonder what prompted you.”
“I was scared, and somehow when I am with you…. I just knew I would not feel scared anymore.” The words were out before she could prevent them.
A finger nudged under her chin. The slightest pressure was exerted as he lifted her face to his. “What scared you?”
There was a watchful, ruthless air about him, and suddenly Pippa knew he would not take kindly to anything that threatened her. The knowledge wrapped around her, filling her with indescribable emotions. “It scared me that I may love my father still,” she admitted, the ache in her heart growing wider.
Christopher pushed a wisp of hair behind her ear and then lowered his arm. “And that is terrible?”
She felt bereft of his touch and wanted to lean into him but mastered the desire. Pippa picked up a piece and toyed with it, the game forgotten, as the need to share her doubts and agonies overwhelmed everything else. "What kind of person am I to love someone who has hurt my mother and me so horribly. How can I still care for him? How can I be so weak?”
Pippa took several sips of her bourbon.
“It takes courage to love someone who has hurt you before. The weakness would be bitterness and a cold, unforgiving heart. It is easier to be angry. It takes an unfathomable character to love and forgive. Do not think you are weak for still loving your father, Pippa. Never that. I only see a strength to be admired.”
The honesty in his gaze pierced Pippa deeply. “That is how you see me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, desperately wanting to hug him, kiss him even.
“You have my only bishop. Please put him back,” he said with light humor. “I believe before you go home, Miss Cavanaugh, we should discuss matters of the heart. Wouldn’t you agree?”
With a smile she said, “My heart has an annoying tendency to act wayward”—she leaned over to make a very deliberate move, hoping to entice him into moving his king— “and is easily deceived. Not sure there is much to discuss there.”
“Ah, mine has always been still.” He considered her with an almost bemused frown. “Until you. Now it beats. Now it wonders. Now it aches. And that is all because of you, Miss Cavanaugh.”
They were so hopelessly ineligible that it had never dawned in her mind that he would ever think to consider her with sweetly intimate wonder. What did she have to offer him other than her wit and humor? Perhaps he jested or offered empty flattery, but there had been a note of sincerity in his voice, and his smile was a tender caress against her senses. Pippa’s heart ached with wants and needs she had long suppressed. “We would not suit,” she said chidingly, taking another sip of her bourbon. I want you so, her mind and heart cried.
“You possess qualities I admire most ardently—kindness, loyalty, and simmering wickedness. You meant to bring me down because of your love for a friend. Me…the Duke of Carlyle. Laughable indeed but admirable.”
The mock outrage in his expression pulled a light laugh from Pippa. “How freeing life is for a duke…or is it so for all gentlemen?”
He tip
ped his drink to his head and finished in one long swallow, before resting his glass on the rug. “The denial of self is very painful.”
“You speak from experience I suppose,” she said archly.
“Has there been anything you’ve wanted to do that was improper?”
Everything I do with you.
He must have seen the answer in her eyes for he continued with, “It feels terrible, does it not, to refuse your heart what it hungers for? Most often this denial is because of other people’s expectations.”
“My presence here easily establishes my impropriety,” she said repressively. “Yet everyone says you are so very proper…the Duke of Saints.”
Pleasure lit in his eyes. “Ah, Miss Cavanaugh, surely you know my wicked heart by now?”
Incorrigible! When she made no reply, he leaned in closer.
“What’s going on in that beautiful mind?” he mused.
“The heart can be deceiving,” she said softly, hinting at the fears and uncertainty of falling too deeply into him. Because she wanted him more than she cared to admit.
Knowledge burned in his gaze, and she recalled he had been a witness to the humiliation and hurt rendered by Mr. Nigel Williamsfield.
"I've been waiting for you, Pippa,” Christopher said with all sobriety, and his silver gaze steady on hers. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Chapter 13
So many sensations tumbled through Pippa, she felt her heart was breaking with the intensity. As if the duke sensed she had no words, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and her breath hitched. His mouth drifted along her cheek, and she wanted to rub against him like a cat.