Instead of retiring for tea, Beatrice and Theo left for their own home in Belgravia, and Lord Fairfax disappeared into his library, leaving Ava quite alone with her thoughts. Feeling restless, she padded from room to room, until at last, she settled herself upon a comforting armchair in the drawing room, to think.
Instead of the circumstances of her birth, however, Ava's mind now rested on what Beatrice had said about the duke. Kilbride would make a good father, Ava decided, as she recalled how attentive he had been with Georgiana, during his visits to Mr Hobbs'. He was serious, that much was true, and if one took him on first impressions, he also seemed rather cold and distant—haughty, even.
Ava, however, had seen past the duke's cool facade, and had found a man struggling with grief and the burdens of a title he had not wanted. His heart, as much as he tried to hide it, was good, as evidenced by his avowal to take up the cause of the climbing boys. The duke was, Ava knew, hopelessly and utterly lost, and probably as lonely as she.
Which was why she had to try harder to push him away. She was not Emily, she could not, in good conscience, allow what was developing between them to continue—for there was something between them, she could feel it. The startling feeling of understanding, every time their eyes met, was not just affecting her. She had seen it in his eyes yesterday, and worse, she had seen a flicker of hope there too.
That flicker had sent Ava into a spiral of guilt and despair—for she knew only too well what it felt like, to hope and wish for someone to love, someone who felt like home.
"Are you still up, dear?"
Lord Fairfax stood in the doorway of the drawing room, a candle in hand. The evening had quickly given away to night and Ava was startled to find that the fire in the grate had died away.
"I am just about to retire, Papa," Ava replied, standing and giving a cat-like stretch, "I was thinking and lost track of the time."
"As was I," the marquess replied sadly.
Ava glanced over at him, and saw that his face was drawn into a sad frown. Catching her eye, the marquess gave a reluctant laugh, and reached out his arm to draw her into a paternal hug.
"I am a sentimental old fool," Lord Fairfax said with a shaky laugh, "I was thinking back upon when you were all children, and how happy your mother and I were."
"You will have a grandchild to dote upon soon," Ava replied, "Think of how exciting it will be, to have a new person in the family."
"Indeed, you are right," Lord Fairfax said, as he placed his arm around Ava's shoulder and guided her toward the stairs, "And what a lucky life I have led, to have loved so many people. I only hope that you will know the same, my girl."
"As do I, Papa," Ava replied in a whisper. For, just like the duke, Ava's soul yearned for a place to call home, though no matter how she wished it, she would not find it with Kilbride.
"If I didn't know any better," a low voice whispered in Ava's ear, "I would swear that you were trying to avoid me."
It was Friday evening, and Ava had been standing in the parlour room of Kilbride House, where the dowager duchess had gathered a large crowd for her musicale. Ava had been leaning, in a rather unladylike way, against the far wall of the room, which was as far away from the pianoforte as she could manage. It had also acted as a hiding place from the duke—not that she was going to tell him that.
"I am not avoiding you," Ava lied with a shrug, "I am trying to avoid hearing Miss Huntington's warbles."
"An excellent plan," Kilbride whispered, moving to stand beside her.
His close presence put her nerves on edge, but Ava kept her eyes fixed forward on Priscilla, who was singing off-pitch, as her sister—mercifully, a rather gifted musician—accompanied her on the pianoforte. Ava could not look at Kilbride, for if she did, she was afraid that her resolve to be rid of him would falter, and so she kept her posture rigid and her face turned, resolutely, away.
The gathered crowd, which included Lady Eunice, were politely watching the Huntington sisters' performance. The fixed grins and glazed eyes that Ava observed, told her that the audience found Priscilla's falsetto as grating as she did.
"Bravo," one man called out loudly, as Priscilla finally finished her singing. That the gentleman in question had obviously cried out in relief, and not admiration, seemed to go over Miss Huntington's head, for she preened prettily before her audience.
"Perhaps another?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Oh, no dear," Laura called, bustling forward with a strained smile upon her face, "We could not impose on you any longer. A voice like yours must be rested, lest you damage it."
A few laughs were hastily turned into false coughs and Laura cast her eyes around wildly, looking for someone else to take the stage.
"Lady Emily," she called with relief, as her eyes settled upon Ava, "It's your turn."
"I couldn't possibly," Ava began, but to her horror, people began to murmur in earnest.
"I once heard her play Mozart's Piano Concerto number twenty-one," Ava heard one man whisper loudly to his companion, "And it was as though the man himself were playing through her."
Ava paled; evidently, her sister was quite the talented musician if she could play one of Mozart's pieces that competently. Unfortunately, Ava was not as accomplished as her sister, but now was probably not the best time to reveal that fact.
Dozens of faces turned toward Ava, staring at her expectantly. It was, Ava decided, a little like a living nightmare. She oft used to have vivid dreams when she was younger, in which she would turn up for work at Mr Hobbs' and realise, once people started to point and laugh, that she had forgot to dress herself. True, she thought, as she smiled wanly back at the crowd, at least she had clothes on, but that would not soften the humiliation that was certain to come.
"I could not possibly follow Miss Huntington after that wonderful performance," she said, grasping wildly at an excuse, "Perhaps my dear friend can be persuaded to sing again?"
Priscilla beamed from where she stood, though her smile faltered as Ava's words were met with much grumbling and dissent.
"No need to be modest," Laura trilled, making her way through the crowd to where Ava stood, taking her hand and forcibly dragging her to the front of the room, "We're all simply dying to hear you play."
Oh, dear. Ava now stood at the top of the room, facing a sea of expectant faces. Ruddy Emily, she thought sourly, and her ruddy piano lessons. The only lessons Ava had ever had, were domestic ones, though it wasn't likely that the Duke of Hemsworth would require Emily to demonstrate any of those.
An image of Emily wrestling with a dozen chamber pots flashed before Ava's eyes, and she had to bite her lip to stop from bursting into nervous giggles. Her eyes flew around the room, hoping that something, anything, might save her from humiliation, and then she saw it; a wine glass, half filled with water, left discarded upon the mantelpiece.
Phillip, Mr Hobbs' assistant, had once taught her a trick, that he swore could charm the birds from the trees. That Philip was more interested in charming ladies than birds was no matter, for his trick was all that Ava had in the way of musical accomplishments.
"Could I trouble you for some empty wine glasses and a jug of water?" Ava asked one of the footmen, who was standing discreetly by the door, "Six glasses should do."
"Indeed," the footman scurried away, leaving Ava alone with an audience, who now looked more curious than anything else.
You are going to be a duchess, you will set fashions, not follow them.
Kilbride's words echoed in her mind, soothing Ava's frayed nerves. Indeed, she thought with a smile as she glanced around the room and spotted not one, not two, but three young ladies wearing ostentatiously large silk roses upon their heads, he was right.
The footman returned with the tray of glasses, which he set down upon a teapoy for her. Trying to hide her nerves, Ava gave the room a smile.
"I know you're all probably wondering what this is about," she said cheerfully, as she set about filling the wine glasses with
different levels of water, "But allow me to show you..."
Ava dipped her finger into one of the glasses to wet it, before running her finger around the rim. A low note filled the room, a little too low for Ava's liking, so she took a sip of water before she tested it again.
"Perfect," she said, before checking and adjusting the other glasses. Once she was confident that the glasses were tuned as well as they could possibly be, she began.
"Alouette," she sang nervously, as she ran her finger around the first glass.
The room stared back at her blankly. From a corner, Ava heard the distinct sound of someone tittering and she was afraid that her audience would burst into convulsions of laughter, until—
"Gentille alouette," a deep voice sang back at her.
Ava looked up to see the duke, his face both amused and concerned, standing on the periphery of the audience.
"Alouette," Ava continued, moving up a note on her make-shift instrument.
"Je te plumerai," Kilbride sang back, this time with a note of enjoyment in his deep voice.
Ava concentrated on the glasses before her, as she attempted to master the flurry of notes for the chorus.
"Je te plumerai la tȇte," she sang, and—to her delight—the whole room began to sing in unison.
"Je te plumerai la tȇte,"
"Et la tȇte,"
"Alouett,"
"Oh!"
The whole room appeared to be thoroughly enjoying themselves, so Ava launched into a second verse, which ended in raucous laughter from the men, and flushed giggles from the ladies.
"Oh, that was simply wonderful," Laura cried, rushing forward to embrace her, "I haven't had that much fun in years."
"It wasn't exactly Mozart," Ava replied with a humble smile.
"It was better!" Lord Fairfax called from his seat, "And to think of all the money I wasted on piano masters over the years..."
The guests were in high spirits after their impromptu sing-a-long and soon the room was filled with the sound of chatter and laughter, rather than music. Sensing an opportunity to slip away and compose herself—for her nerves were still in tatters—Ava took her tray of glasses and slipped from the room.
The layout of Kilbride House was quite similar to the house in Grosvenor Square. Ava hurried down a dark corridor, then down a flight of steps, which led to the kitchens.
"Thank you," she said to a startled scullery-maid, who ran over to take the tray the moment she spotted that Ava had entered the servants' domain. "How do I get out to the gardens? I'm feeling rather flushed."
The scullery maid directed Ava back up the stairs, to where—in the library—a set of French doors led to a secluded terrace. The gardens of Kilbride House were still, silent and cast in shadows. The moon above was but a sliver, and Ava watched it for a moment, wondering if her sister was perhaps looking at the same moon.
"I wish I could paint," a voice called from behind her, "For I've never seen a more beautiful scene."
"The sky is lovely," Ava replied mildly, turning to face the duke who stood at the French windows watching her. How she had managed such a blasé reply, she did not know, for her heart was beating a tattoo so loud, that she was certain it could be heard in Cornwall. Kilbride's face was half hidden by dark shadows and he looked, to Ava's eye, rather dangerous.
He is dangerous, she told herself sternly, as she felt her body go weak with desire. And what was even more dangerous, was being alone with him in a secluded garden.
"I was not speaking of the sky," Kilbride replied, his sensuous mouth curling up into a smile, "I was speaking of you. You're bewitching in the moonlight, did you know?"
"What could be more flattering to a woman than near darkness," Ava quipped, in a feeble attempt to break the simmering tension between them.
"You are too modest," Kilbride said, as he stepped toward her.
Run, a voice in Ava's head shouted, run away as fast as you can. She could not, even if she had wanted to, she could not, for she was paralysed with the most delicious type of fear, as she watched Kilbride stalk toward her. This must be what a mouse feels like when it is cornered by a cat, she thought with a giddy thrill, as Kilbride closed the space between them in three long strides.
"Far too modest," he repeated, as he looked down at her, "I have never known a woman as beautiful as you."
The retort on Ava's lips died away in an instant, for Kilbride reached out with one hand and drew her toward him, before his mouth crashed down upon hers and claimed her very first kiss.
Chapter Nine
Kissing Lady Emily was far better than Raff had imagined it would be—and he had spent plenty of nights imagining this moment.
The woman in his arms was a heady mix of innocence and passion. It was obvious that no one had kissed Lady Emily before—a fact which made Raff want to roar with pride—but what she lacked for in experience, she made up for by being completely and utterly alluring.
Her scent, her skin, the taste of her lips; everything about his betrothed sent Raff's senses tingling with desire. His need for her was all consuming, and any thoughts of chivalry or propriety faded from his mind as Emily melted against his chest with a contented sigh.
You are to be wed, a wicked voice whispered in his ear, what harm is there in taking liberties?
His body wholeheartedly agreed with the wicked devil and he pulled Emily closer to him, so that he could savour the feel of the softness of her curves pressed against him.
He was close to losing control, a state that he had fought tirelessly against for a year, but he didn't care.
Just one more second, he told himself, then let her go...
"Please," Lady Emily pulled back from him, her voice breathless and shaky, "Please, Your Grace. I cannot. We must not."
Blazes.
Raff let go of her, allowing his arms fall to his side, instantly feeling bereft at the loss of her warmth. What had he done? The woman before him was shaking—from need or fear he could not tell—and her eyes were wide and frightened.
"I cannot," she whispered again, turning her face away from him.
Lud.
Raff took a shuddering breath, hoping that it would steady him. A crashing sense of guilt hit him as he observed Emily's rigid posture and shallow breathing. What had he done to her? He had lost all control and frightened her silly.
"I beg your pardon," Raff said stiffly, "I got carried away."
"Please," at last Emily turned to look at him, her green eyes veiled and unreadable, "Please do not apologise, Your Grace."
Was she angry with him? It was impossible to tell, for her face had taken on an impassive expression, that gave little of what she was thinking away. What did other men do in this situation, Raff wondered, and then it hit him.
"I shall tell your father that we have decided upon a date for the wedding," he said smoothly, glad to have seized on a plan of action, and doubly glad to have regained some sense of control, "After all that, I think a quick marriage is highly appropriate."
"W-what?" Emily stuttered, her mask of indifference slipping away, replaced by a look of abject horror, "Your Grace, we cannot. I cannot."
"You cannot what?" Raff queried, cold ice filling his soul as he waited for her answer.
"I cannot marry you," Emily replied, her voice low and uncertain.
"If it has anything to do with tonight," Raff replied, nerves making his voice harsher than usual, "I can assure you that it won't happen again. Not the kissing—Lud if we are to be married I shall want to kiss you every day—but my boorish behaviour. I love you, Emily, you will make a perfect duchess."
"What is it about me that makes me such a perfect choice?" Emily asked, turning curiously toward him.
"Everything," Raff said desperately, as that familiar feeling—the breathlessness, the tightness in his chest, the sheer panic—seized him. A deafening roar filled his ears and he fought valiantly against the tide of fear that threatened to drown him. He was vaguely aware that Emily was watching him,
waiting for a list of reasons as to why he thought her the perfect candidate to be his duchess. His mind, unable to form the words he wished to say—namely that he loved her, her sweetness, her innocence, her freshness—instead recalled his conversation with Coachford in White's.
"Your impeccable pedigree," he said wildly, his breath catching in his throat as he spoke, "You will provide me with sons who can trace their lineage back to the Normans."
"My pedigree?" The instant that Lady Emily replied, Raff knew that he had hit the wrong note. Her voice, usually sweet and lilting, was raised in anger. "You must forgive me for not finding comparison to a broodmare a compliment, Your Grace."
"No, I didn't mean that," Raff began, but before he could continue—not that he could, for he was near collapse—Lady Emily turned on her heel, flounced past him and disappeared through the French doors.
Lud.
Raff let out a long, shaky breath. He could not go after her; not now, not like this. His breathing was laboured and it felt as though—despite the large gasps of breath he was taking—that there was no air in his lungs. Blindly, Raff stumbled through the doors to the library, making a bee-line for the drinks cabinet and the brandy within.
Not even bothering with a glass, Raff took a large swig from the bottle, savouring the blessed warmth of the drink as it made its way down his throat. The instant the brandy hit his stomach he felt mildly better, though his heart still hammered loudly in his chest, so he took another deep drink, and then another, and another, until finally, his treacherous mind had calmed. A woozy, hazy, pleasant feeling overtook him, and when Raff made to take another drink from the bottle, he was surprised to find it was empty.
"Lud," he said aloud, frowning at the bottle. He could open another one, but the sound of the pianoforte, drifting from the drawing room into the library, reminded him that there were still dozens of guests within Kilbride House.
Best escape somewhere more discreet, Raff decided, making for the hallway and calling for a footman to fetch his coat and hat.
"I'll walk, I'll ruddy walk," he said belligerently to Howard, the footman, when he suggested to call for one of the carriages.
The Duke's Bride in Disguise (Fairfax Twins Book 1) Page 10