The Corinthian Duke

by Emma V. Leech

  “Oh, that is a fix,” Oscar agreed, sympathetic to her plight. “Why are you out here, though?”

  “I left Jane in the tree house at the end of the garden and forgot until it was bedtime. Nanny said it was too dark to fetch her but… but I couldn’t sleep thinking of her down there, all alone… in the dark.” The last words were all but whispered as her wide eyes scanned the blackness of the night all around them.

  It occurred to Oscar that the girl had been terrified to come outside and fetch her doll but had done so because she couldn’t bear not to. All at once he remembered Ella at the same age and knew she would have done just the same thing. His heart gave an uneven lurch in his chest.

  “How brave you are,” he said, smiling at her.

  The girl mustered a little smile of her own, though it was less than convincing. “Not really. I was very frightened.”

  “That makes it all the braver,” Oscar replied, his voice firm. “What’s your name?”

  “Millicent Faversham,” she said, clutching her doll to her chest and shivering a little. “I’m eight.”

  “And you’re staying with Lady West?”

  She nodded, and Oscar saw how cold she was as her slight frame trembling under the nightgown.

  “She’s my aunt.”

  Oscar struggled out of his tight-fitting coat and passed it to the girl under the branches of the bush. “Here, put this on while I figure out how to get you back indoors.”

  “You’ll help me?” she asked, perking up at once and staring at him in wonder.

  “I will,” he said, nodding as he thought it over.

  “Oh, thank you!”

  Oscar stared at the little girl, wrapped in his coat, a trusting expression in her eyes as she waited for him to fix it. His throat tightened. Ella had used to look at him like that, as though he could have fetched the moon from the sky if she’d asked him to.

  “Why do you look so sad?”

  He looked down again to find Millicent staring at him with concern.

  Oscar shook his head. “Oh, nothing. It’s—” He stopped before some glib remark tripped off his tongue. Instead, he opted for the truth. “Actually, it’s because you remind me of someone. A dear friend of mine. I miss her.”

  “Is she the same age as me?”

  He laughed, shaking his head. “No, she’s… she’s not a child.”

  The words sank in as he remembered what else the scandal sheets had said, implying that she had Ranleigh dancing attendance on her. Was he her lover? The sick feeling in his guts intensified.

  “Why don’t you go and see her, then? If you miss her? You’re a grown up, you can do anything you want to.”

  Oscar took a breath and shook his head. “It’s not as simple as that and… and I’m not even sure if she would want to see me. I… I’m afraid I hurt her feelings.”

  Large, serious eyes stared at him and Oscar felt as though the child were looking into his soul.

  “But you’re sorry for it?” she asked, frowning.

  He nodded, the lump in his throat thickening as he realised just how sorry he was.

  “Well, then,” she said, rolling her eyes at him. “Friends forgive you if you’re sorry.”

  He laughed then and nodded. “Yes, that’s true, and she has been such a good friend. I’m not sure I ever deserved it, either. You know, you are very much like her, though. She would have said exactly that.”

  Millicent beamed at him, looking pleased with herself.

  “Now then, young lady. How are we to get you back inside, with your nanny none the wiser?”

  The little girl’s face fell as her attention returned to her own dilemma.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice faint.

  Oscar stood and regarded the back of the house with a frown. “Which window did you escape from?”

  “The kitchen window, but someone shut it. I bet it was Nanny,” she said with a bitter sigh. “She’s always worried about drafts.”

  “Whose balcony is that?” he asked, pointing at a little Juliet balcony where one of the glass doors remained ajar.

  “Oh, that’s the nursery,” Millicent said, crawling out from under the bush to get a better look. “The maid leaves the doors open to air it after she’s cleaned. Nanny will be after her for forgetting to shut them again, but I’d never dare to climb up there.”

  She brushed the dirt from her dusty nighty and cuddled her doll to her chest. Oscar’s coat hung to the ground from her narrow shoulders and looked a little the worse for wear already.

  “Do you think you could hold onto me if I climbed up there?” Oscar asked her.

  There was a thick wisteria vine scrambling up the back of the house and some wrought iron trellising. He thought he could get up there easily enough, if the girl was brave enough to hold on.

  Her eyes went wide as she stared from Oscar to the balcony and back again.

  “I… I… suppose I m-might,” she said, biting her lip and looking anxious.

  “That’s the spirit,” Oscar replied, grinning at her.

  “Would your friend let you carry her up there?” she asked, looking ever more dubious.

  “Yes.” Oscar nodded. “She’s the bravest person I know. Far braver than I am,” he added in an undertone. “And she’s not just my friend, she’s my wife.”

  “Oh!” Millicent said, surprised by this information. “Then you must certainly go home and apologise to her.”

  Her tone was severe as she looked at him and folded her arms over her doll.

  Chastened, Oscar nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yes. You’re right, I know you are. I tell you what…. If you are brave enough to hold on while I climb up there. I promise you, I’ll go home and apologise to my wife.”

  The little girl chewed at her lip for a moment and then gave a sharp nod. “Deal,” she said, holding out one hand.

  Oscar shook it, as solemn as she, before kneeling on the ground. “On you get, then. Oh, and give me Jane, or you’ll drop her.”

  He tucked the doll inside his waistcoat for safety and waited until Millicent’s arms wrapped tight about his neck, her legs clinging to his sides.

  “Here we go, then. Hold on, and don’t be frightened.”

  To his relief, it was an easy climb, though his already aching limbs protested a little. He stepped over the balcony and lowered Millicent to the ground.

  “Can you get to your bedroom from here?” he whispered.

  The girl nodded, beaming at him. “Yes, thank you so much.” She reached up and tugged at his neck and Oscar leant down to receive a kiss on the cheek. “You’re very gallant,” she said, grinning up at him. “Like a knight from a fairy story.”

  Oscar snorted and shook his head. “I don’t think that’s even close to being true, but I promise to try harder to live up to that ideal from now on.”

  He ruffled her hair and climbed over the balcony, finding his footing in the wisteria as he heard the unwelcome sound of the back-door opening.

  The footman, Smith, and Bertie appeared just as he jumped to the ground, and realised the doll was stuffed up his waistcoat.

  Ah.

  They looked at him as Oscar began a series of jumping jacks, to make it look as if he hadn’t just dropped from the side of the house but had, in fact, been exercising.

  The two men stared, open-mouthed.

  “What the devil are you playing at?” Bertie demanded, wide eyed with alarm. “Have you run mad?”

  “Mad?” Oscar repeated, praying the doll didn’t slip from beneath his waistcoat. He stopped his exertions as both Smith and Bertie looked at him askance. “No, no, just… big match coming up,” he wheezed, feeling exhausted. “Not a… a… moment to lose.”

  “So, you’re out here… exercising?” The scepticism in his friend’s voice was hard to miss.

  “Yes,” Oscar agreed, realising that his coat was still in the possession of a small girl. Well, of all the ridiculous….

  Bertie gave him hard stare, the
one he reserved for people he believed to be bamming him.

  “As you say,” Bertie replied, clearly believing him not at all. He gave a sad shake of his head. “Come along, Rothborn, you’re either foxed or touched in your attic and I don’t much care which, but I want to go to bed and I’m damned if I’m walking. Your carriage is waiting for us.”

  “Righty ho, lead on,” Oscar said, his tone jovial as he gestured to Bertie.

  Bertie narrowed his eyes and gave Oscar one last mystified look of suspicion before turning back to the door with Smith following, looking equally bewildered.

  Oscar turned on his heel and lanced the doll through the air where it landed with a clatter on the balcony just as his coat flew from the nursery door and landed on his head. Oscar snatched at it just in time to see Bertie and Smith turn back and stare at him.

  “Forgot my coat,” he said, holding the crumpled article out and flushing a little as he rushed past them and back into the building.

  Chapter 12

  “Wherein Ella’s star is in the ascendant.”

  Hareton House had once belonged to the Abbey of Bury St Edmunds. The original medieval dwelling had been demolished at the beginning of the eighteenth century and the current marquess’ ancestors had begun construction of the new and astonishing building before them. Heavily influenced by Italian design, it was unusual, elegant and, right at this moment, filled to the brim with the shining stars of the art world.

  “Heavens,” Patience said, the word more than a little stunned as she echoed everything that Ella was feeling.

  For just a moment she quailed, knowing at once why her father had forbidden her to attend the affair when he’d got wind of her plans. Ella had felt a little thrill of victory at ignoring him. He had no say over her behaviour now, and her husband wasn’t even here to tell her no, so they could both go to the devil. Yet the nervous niggle of doubt that her father may have had a point remained.

  There was a rather excitable air to the assembled company as the usual manners of a ball went out the window under the discreet concealment of swirling dominoes and masks, and a garish display of costumes of all varieties.

  Fortune tellers jostled with shepherdesses and goddesses. Priests and nuns and Turkish sultans rubbed shoulders with Harlequins and hermits, tinkers and kings from all centuries. The music and the chatter and swirling colours were daunting, and somewhat overwhelming.

  “You are not to dance with anyone unless I’ve identified him first,” August said to Ella, looking as though he regretted allowing his wife to talk him into attending at all. “Your grace,” he added in a rush, realising he was giving orders to a woman who far outranked him.

  Ella nodded her agreement. The poor man was in a difficult situation, he really had no authority over her, yet if anything happened to her in his care the duke—one of his best clients—would hold him responsible. As it was, Ella was happy to stick to him and Patience and soak in the experience.

  She pulled the red silken hood of her domino a little further over her face, though the matching silk mask covered most of her face. Her dress beneath was a simple white muslin gown, startlingly innocent against the blood-red silk that covered it.

  A deep voice resonated behind her, sending shivers coursing down her spine. “Well, well, Little Red Riding Hood. How perfectly charming.”

  Ella looked up as an imposing black domino towered over her. Dark eyes glittered behind a black mask and she blinked up at him, recognising the voice.

  “Ranleigh, is that you?” August asked as the man turned to him.

  “In the flesh,” Ranleigh replied with a rueful smile. “Am I so easy to distinguish? Here I was believing I was ripe for a night of debauchery with none of the consequences.”

  August laughed and clapped him on the back.

  “I am sorry to disappoint you, your grace. The air of a duke shines through even that impenetrable disguise.”

  Ranleigh gave a sigh of disgust and tutted at August’s words. “I knew I ought to have gone for a Roman emperor,” he said, sounding so ridiculously dejected that Ella couldn’t help but laugh, which was, of course, his intention.

  Pleased with himself he held out his hand.

  “Care to dance with a wolf?” he said, giving her a smile that showed too many teeth in an obvious attempt at a wolfish grin.

  “Yes,” Ella replied, enjoying herself. “I rather think I do.”

  Ranleigh guided her into the crush, shielding her from the worst of the enthusiastic partygoers as they made their way to the dancefloor.

  He made a sweeping bow, looking elegant and rather mysterious in his black silk cape and mask. Ella curtsied and allowed him to move her into the dance.

  For just a moment she forgot about Oscar, about her guilt and her fears, her worries about gossip and the future and simply lived in the moment. The music swelled about them, the air alive with laughter, and Ella was transported away from her every-day cares, delighted as the duke spun her around, her hood falling back to reveal her hair.

  Too soon the dance was over, and they halted, Ella laughing and breathless as she stared up at the duke. His dark eyes were on hers, suddenly intense.

  “My word, duchess. Your husband really is a fool.”

  She flushed at the tenor of his words, at the force underlying them, knowing he was making her aware of his interest, but hardly daring to believe it.

  “Don’t look so appalled,” he said, laughing a little, a self-deprecating smile hovering about his mouth. “I know where your heart lies, and I would bring Rothborn back to you rather than play the villain. I cannot pretend I’m not tempted to send my conscience to the devil, however.”

  Ella snorted and took the arm he proffered. “I think you do a fine job at bolstering my confidence, and for that I thank you.”

  She went to move out of his hold as the music had long since stopped and another dance was about to begin, but Ranleigh held her firm in his embrace, frowning at her.

  “Good Lord,” he murmured, sounding rather astonished. “You still doubt my sincerity?”

  She laughed, truly believing he said such things to make her feel better. “I think you enjoy flirting and would capture the interest of any woman, sixteen to a hundred, simply because you can.”

  The arm beneath her hand tightened, the muscles flexing as he stared down at her. Ella felt a flush creep up her neck, so hot it no doubt matched the scarlet domino. Before she could gather her wits and realise the man had meant every word, he’d leaned down and kissed her.

  His large hand captured her face, his thumb stroking her cheek as his mouth pressed against hers. Lips as soft as her own stole her breath with ease and just as quickly drew back.

  Ella stared up at him, stunned into silence.

  “I swore to be your friend, Ella,” he said, his voice low. “So, you have my vow that will never happen again, but don’t be so damned foolish as to believe men do not desire you or that you have no power here. Rothborn may be blind to what is under his nose, but I can assure you, the rest of us are paying great attention.”

  He moved on, guiding her back through the crowd as if nothing had happened. Ella, however, felt dazed. Her first kiss! That it hadn’t been Oscar who had given it to her made her heart ache, but Ranleigh’s words gave her hope. If she could gain the interest of an experienced man like the duke, perhaps her own husband wasn’t such an impossible task.

  If Patience noted the flush to Ella’s cheeks when she returned to them, she did not remark upon it, much to Ella’s relief. Whether or not it had been his purpose, the duke’s flattering attentions had done wonders for Ella’s confidence and she began to look at the world with fresh eyes. To her astonishment, Ranleigh was right. There seemed an endless line of prospective dance partners anxious for a moment of her time, all vetted rather severely by an increasingly harried Lord Marchmain. Not only that, the admiration in their eyes had been marked and rather intriguing.

  The rest of the night passed in something of a daz
e as Ella danced and laughed and had a rather wonderful time. As August was so strict in sending off anyone he thought unsuitable, there was no danger to her, yet the masks and the rather clandestine and scandalous edge to the evening made everything mysterious and exciting and dreadfully romantic.

  At last, they conceded defeat. Patience swore her feet would never be the same again, and Ella had to admit to exhaustion. It had been the most wonderful night.

  Arm in arm, the two ladies made their way outside to find their carriage. August guided them and did his best to pick a path without exposing them to what appeared to be a bacchanalian scene being enacted in the moonlit gardens. All the darkest corners appeared occupied, and Ella could not help but see couples locked in embraces, and still others disappearing further into the darkness. She suppressed a little sigh of regret that she might never know what it was to be kissed in the moonlight but refused to be downhearted or allow the thought to diminish the joy of a delightful evening.

  As they moved on, she saw the familiar figure of George Jones, a footman from her father’s estate. What on earth was he doing here? The guest list might be wide-ranging, but even so. She almost went to raise her hand and call out to him when she remembered she was supposed to be discreet herself and held her tongue. As she watched, however, he ducked under a shadowy archway and she realised he was meeting a lover.

  Ella smiled, feeling more than a little envious at the romantic rendezvous, as she glimpsed slender arm, encased in a long white silk glove as it reached for him. A bracelet caught the moonlight, the unusual diamond-and-pearl design glittering and sending shock charging through her like a bolt of lightning. She gasped.

  “Ella?” Patience asked, looking at her with concern. “Whatever is the matter?”

  Ella swallowed and shook her head, keeping her eyes on the path ahead.

  “Nothing,” she lied, willing her heart to stop beating so fast, as it made her feel sick. “I… I trod on a stone. The soles of these slippers are not made for gravel paths.”

  Patience agreed and noted the appearance of their carriage ahead with a sigh of relief.