Dusky Duke and the Gypsy Pirate Princess (2 page)

“Is your name Jane?”

She laughed again. “Not hardly.”

“You really have no intention of telling me your name.”

“Of course not, what is the point of a masque if one goes around telling who one is.”

The fairy lights twinkled in the candle holders placed along the path. The music from the ballroom faded in the background. They rounded a bend in the shrubbery to interrupt two figures locked in a passionate kiss.

“Oh, dear, I am so glad we found you first- your mother is hunting everywhere for you.” Greyson’s young lady explained to the young girl in the embrace. The two lovers quickly broke apart and dashed back along the path toward the house.

“You know her?”

“Haven’t a clue who she is,” stated his companion. She started walking again. Grey chuckled.

“Give me a hint,” Grey returned to the subject of her name.

She ignored his comment and walked up the bridge that crossed a small manmade lake. The air was filled with the sound of night frogs. The candle light reflected on the water creating a fairy tale setting. A lantern was hung from the center post, lighting up the area so it could be easily seen from anywhere in the garden.

“No,” she said airily, “If I were to reveal my name then you would be forced to tell me who you  are - including that you are a Lord, or at least second cousins to an earl, or worse yet, a duke, or some such silliness - and expect me to be duly impressed. When it becomes evident that I have no intention of being impressed, the evening will be ruined.”

The young lady moved so that her back was to the high stone railing of the bridge. Bracing her arms on the stone supports, she attempted to gracefully jump up to sit on the railing. Greyson moved quickly, and placing his hands on her waist, assisted her up. Once she was seated securely, he released her waist, and then placed his hands on either side of her against the stone railing. This put their faces on the same level only a foot apart. Greyson reached up and pulled off his mask. He didn’t want anything to block his view of this lovely creature.

“What makes you think, I am not a duke?” Greyson’s voice held a hint of humor.

“Well,” her voice held the same humor, “Dukes do not usually hold court with the buckflowers. . . Although, you do have a certain arrogance about you.” She put her hand on his chest and pushed him gently back as he leaned forward.

They both knew that he was standing on the line of proper behavior. His hands and everything else were kept to himself, and he was not touching her, but his closeness was questionable. They both knew she could not get down off the wall without making an issue of it. He smiled; her hand lay warm against his heartbeat. He leaned back giving her space.

“You have no desire to meet a duke and have him fall madly in love with you at first sight?” Greyson teased, he was sure she was playing with him at this point. She had after all recognized him in the ballroom.

Her hand fell away from his chest. Greyson leaned closer and the hand returned to its place against his heart.

“Heavens, no,” she gasped. “Why that would make the whole situation unbearably complicated. I should hate to break the poor man’s heart.”

“You would turn him down?” Greyson laughed in disbelief.

“Why does everyone think that a girl would marry someone simply because he is a duke? I, myself, cannot imagine being married to a dusty old duke. Besides, he would not have me,” she stated as a matter-of-fact.

“Why would you say such a thing?” Greyson’s voice held his unbelief at her words. He could not imagine anyone not being drawn to this charming lady.

She considered his question. “I am not duchess material. I do and say outrageous things. I think the rules of polite conduct are silly at best. I shan’t like the idea of governesses raising my babies, or sending my children away to boarding school, or my husband having expected mistresses. . . ” and then she laughed in delight again. “We have only known each less than an hour, and already we have me married and committing murder on some poor fictional duke.”

Greyson dropped his eyes to his boots. His mind tried to wrap around what she was saying. She acted like she did not know who he was. “Why did you ask me to dance?” His eyes moved back to her face.

She adjusted the hand she had laid on his vest uncomfortably and pushed to back him up a bit more. “I saw you dancing with the lady in yellow. You seemed to be an excellence dancer.”

Greyson realized she was talking about his sister. “And that was the only reason?” he prompted.

“Well,” the young lady blushed slightly under the mask, “You were the perfect gentleman and not ogling her bosom.”

Greyson threw back his head and laughed; the sound came from deep in his chest and rolled merrily across the pond and the garden surrounding them. She smiled at him in response. “This is a problem you often have?”

The young woman adjusted her seat self-consciously and nodded, “It is worse because I am too tall.”

Greyson’s eyes could not help but slid toward the aforementioned area of discussion. He quickly pulled his eyes back to hers. She was indeed nicely endowed. Greyson smiled to himself, he would have noticed earlier if he wasn’t so taken by the laughter in her green eyes.

He realized she was holding her breath waiting for his response. “You are not too tall, you are perfect,” his voice was a caress. Their eyes locked and the moment held.

The young lady abruptly jerked her eyes from his, and pushing forward moved him away while at the same time jumping nimbly to her feet on the bridge. “We should be getting back, now,” she stated her voice a little breathless.

Greyson nodded, and went to take her hand, but she pulled it away.

Grey approved of her actions even as he disliked them. He was glad she didn’t let strangers hold her hand in moonlight, summer gardens, but on the other hand he felt the need for contact, an assurance that she wasn’t a dream.

“I should like to see you again.”

His mystery lady shrugged, “The season is at an end.”

“Tell me you do not plan to leave tomorrow, surely.”

“No, but by the end of the week most likely,” her voice was trying to discourage further contact.

“Then there is still time.”

“We need to go back, now.” Her voice was soft, but firm.

“Of course,” They walked in silence for a minute. Greyson racked his brain trying to think of a way to detain her, to find out her name, to secure an invitation to tea, anything. Dance, he would ask her to dance again, another perfect waltz.

As they reached the foot of the balcony stairs, Greyson turned to ask when the expression on her face stopped him. She was staring with rapt attention at two figures on the balcony. Greyson looked up to see the young girl in pink wrestling in the arms of a man.

His mysterious, young lady was gone in a second, racing up the stairs in a flash. After a startled second, he followed, but as he came to the top of the stairs, all he found was the young man lying on the porch floor. Both girls had vanished.

Greyson strolled up to the moaning gentleman. Rolling him over, Greyson recognized him as Lord Towell, Earl of Suxess. Greyson frowned down at him, and then looked around. No one had seen the incident, but him, and, of course, the two girls. The Earl was quite clearly drunk off his feet. Greyson moved to the ballroom and found a butler to help the dandy to his carriage.

Greyson spent the next three hours searching the house to no avail. She was gone. And Greyson still did not know her name.

Grayson waited impatiently for his grandmother to appear downstairs late the next morning. He appeared at her side as she settled herself in her favorite chair in the formal parlor.

“Grandmother, I find myself in need of your guidance.”

SarahBeth Buckingham looked at him with speculation. She could not remember the last time he had asked for her help. “What have your sisters done now?”

She watched him pace back and forth. “No, no, this has nothing to do with them.”

His grandmother tilted her head and waited.

“I . . .I met someone at the ball last night.”

His grandmother’s face reflected her surprise at this announcement and a smile of delight rapidly followed, “Well, we shall invite her and her family to tea.”

Her grandson paused to lean against the hearth, “Yes that would be the plan if I knew the young woman’s name.”

“What?” SarahBeth’s mouth formed a perfect ‘o’.

“She didn’t tell me her name, and I don’t know who she is.” Some of his disappointment leaked out into his tone.

“Well, surely you know something about her?”

The duke considered for a moment. “She is this tall,” he held a hand to his chin. “She has dark hair, and bright green eyes. She laughs like Christmas, and she smells like vanilla, and she has a wicked sense of humor.”

The duchess laughed.

“That doesn’t help us much, does it? We have to find her before the end of the week. . .that is when she said they were leaving.”

“To go where?”

Grey raked his hand through his hair in frustration, “I don’t know.”

♣♣♣

Grey stood against the back wall, willing no one to notice him. This was the fourth ball he had attended in as many days. He had such high hopes when his grandmother had said that he should just attend the remaining functions of the season until he ran into her again. Night after night he had searched, but she had not appeared. He had actually stood still to be formally introduced to each and every young eligible. But none of them was her. He raked his hand through his hair again. He wanted to leave, but there was a chance she could still make an appearance. He felt the sands of time slipping through his fingers. The week was almost over.

He lifted a glass from a passing tray. He had attended the closing events of the season, had asked the young bucks at the clubs. He had not seen a hint of Lord Byron, or Miss Prudence or his mystery lady since the ball four nights prior. He grimaced; he couldn’t even run through the streets calling her name. Greyson tossed back the contents of the glass in one gulp.

What was he doing here? More importantly, what was he going to do? He couldn’t believe no one had seen the beautiful, green-eyed lady. Everyone he questioned had looked at him in puzzlement, searching their mind, to no avail. He knew she wasn’t a figment of his imagination. She should have been the talk of the ton this season, but no one seemed to know who he was talking about. He had been led on several searches to find young ladies of various names with green eyes and dark hair, but none had been her.

Greyson’s attention was drawn to a flash of red-hair. Making a beeline for the young lord, Greyson heaved a sigh, finally, a substantial lead.

“Young Lord Byron, I presume,” Greyson stood in front of the young man blocking his progress.

Lord Byron blinked at him in confusion and then looked over his shoulder to see if the tall duke was talking to someone else. Greyson frowned. How many men here did the young man expect to be called Lord Byron? Then Greyson thought ruefully, he had the same problem immediately after his own grandfather had died. Being called the Duke of Devonshire had always thrown him.

Lord Byron was blinking at him. Greyson pulled his thoughts together. “Several nights ago at the Duchan’s masque, you danced with a young lady – Miss Prudence?” Lord Byron’s unfocused stare became guarded.

“I know Miss PPPrudence.”

Greyson sighed. “I should like an introduction to Miss Prudence, if you don’t mind.”

Lord Byron shook his head, “I…I… don’t see…. Why..you… woulddd… be …. Interesteddd… in…such… a….lllladyy.” he stammered.

Greyson noted several things at the same time. Lord Byron had a terrible stutter and red hair, and slightly bucked teeth. The only thing he had going for him was the title. No wonder he was still on the back wall with the other buckflowers. Also, he could tell from the young man’s tone that he was interested in Miss Prudence, and would rather not introduce her to a duke if he could help it.

Greyson was thinking of how to politely insist, when province smiled down on him and the young lady in question was dragged through the parting crowd by her mother.

“Oh, Lord Byron,” the matron gushed, never taking her eyes off the duke. “We have been looking for you everywhere.”

Miss Prudence shot the young Lord a bashful glance and twittered into her fan.

“Oh, please introduce us to your handsome friend, dear,” the matron continued.

“ Duke of  Devv…..shire, mmmay I introduce….. Mrs. Williamms…. And her…….lllllovellly...ddddaughter Pppruddence Williamms, your Grace.” That Lord Byron was uncomfortable with this turn of events was apparent to all.

Greyson bowed over the matron’s hand and then Miss Prudence’s. The young lady snatched hers away quickly and rubbed it against the side of her skirt as if to wipe away his touch.

“I am most pleased to make your acquaintance. I was just begging an introduction to you from the good Lord Byron. I chanced to see you earlier in the week and have been looking forward to meeting you ever since.”

The matron beamed, Lord Byron scowled, and Miss Prudence looked stricken. She ducked her head and stared at the floor as though she wanted it to open up and swallow her.

Mrs. William started in on a monologue about the balls they had been to, and Lord Byron moved closer to Miss Prudence in a clumsy attempt to shield her from the duke’s attention. Greyson gritted his teeth. He just needed her alone for one minute.

“Miss Williams, would you do the honor of dancing with me.” Greyson cut through the talk and asked abruptly. Mrs. Williams and Lord Byron gasped. It was common knowledge that the duke never danced with anyone, but family. Prudence squirmed, but he held out his hand just as the orchestra began a waltz. He was not accepting no for an answer.

As he pulled her into his arms, he grimaced. She was as stiff as a board and her feet seemed to have forgotten how to move. Her eyes were glued to their shoes. Greyson kept the steps to the simplest form and tried to move them around the floor. For several minutes, they danced in awkward silence.

“Miss Williams, as I mentioned, I saw you the other night at the masque.”

If it were possible, Miss Prudence stiffened even more in response to his statement. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Her voice quaked, and she stared in desperation in the direction of her mother.

She jerked her eyes down, but not before Greyson saw the terror. “Please don’t tell my mother.” Greyson thought she might be on the verge of tears.

“Tell your mother what?” Greyson was truly confused now.

“That I was at the masque.” Miss Prudence whispered into her chest. The words barely reaching Greyson as the music came to an end.

Miss Williams pulled out of his arms and almost ran back to her mother’s side. Greyson followed her. He wasn’t giving up that easy. Just as he reached her side, Lord Byron swept her onto the dance floor and out of his reach.

Greyson stood next to the girl’s mother and watched the two danced away. He noted that Miss Williams did not seem to be having trouble dancing with the young lord.

“Thank you for dancing for my daughter, Your Grace,” Mrs. Williams laid a familiar hand on his arm. “She has had such a hard time this season coming out of her shell. . .  Just a bit shy, but once she gets to know a person she warms up. She is indeed an exceptional young lady.”

Greyson politely smiled at yet another mother’s sales pitch for their marriageable young daughter.

“I am sure she is . . . May I be permitted to call on her tomorrow morning?” Greyson knew how this invitation would be received, but he had a strong feeling that neither Miss Williams nor her young buck was going to allow him a second alone with her again tonight. Even if he could, it wouldn’t be worth the trouble. Enough eyebrows would have been raised by the first unsuccessful dance; another would likely be seen as a declaration of his intent to marry the chit.

Mrs. Williams gushed her excitement and acceptance as she gave him directions to the townhouse they were staying at.

Greyson then found a place to hide where he could watch the two young people without being observed, but his mystery lady never appeared.

♣♣♣

Standing on the stoop of 34 Toppens Street the next morning promptly at 11:00, Greyson wondered at the lengths he was willing to go to find his mystery lady. Surely he had just imagined the connection between them. She did not seem to be as moved by the experience as he had been. He grimaced; she had not even wanted to know his name. Greyson shifted on his feet as the door was swung open by an older servant.

He stepped inside and handed his top hat and card to the woman.

The entry hall was papered in a faded blue. A decent house, but certainly not one for the richer and more established of the fashionable ton. The housekeeper showed him into the parlor.

After spending several minutes examining the clean and serviceable, but unimpressive furnishing of the room, Greyson moved to the empty fireplace and kicked lightly against the stone hearth in frustration. Why was his only lead a young, silly eligible? This whole situation was making him crazy. Miss Williams had to tell him what he needed to know. He was determined to stay here until she did.

Greyson’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a multitude of feet thundering down the stairs in the entryway, the sounds of the stomping herd were joined by the laughter and giggles of a large number of children. Young boy’s voices arguing over who was to sit in the front and small girl’s voices demanding equal rights. The view of the activities in the hall was blocked by the closed door of the parlor. Greyson moved to the window as the group in the hall moved out the front door. Greyson’s view was again obstructed by a hired carriage and the window’s angled view of the street. He tilted his head to get a better view as the parlor door opened to admit Mrs. Williams and her daughter Prudence. Greyson pulled his eyes away from the activities in the street, and greeted his hostesses.

“We are so glad you could join us today, Your Grace. I hope we did not keep you waiting too long,” Mrs. William beamed.

Greyson bent over each extended hand, and gave that he had not minded waiting, which, of course, was a polite lie.

Mrs. Williams carried the conversation as the three settled into the sofas and refreshments were served by the elderly housekeeper.

Greyson watched Miss Williams. She steadfastly refused to meet his eye, and only nodded at the places her mother’s voice indicated were expected. The mother was to the name dropping phase of marriageable daughter selling.

Greyson swallowed his tea with difficulty and contemplated how to bring the topic of conversation around to the one he needed.

“As I mentioned to Miss Williams last night, ‘one of my friends’ is very interested in knowing the name of one of her friends, the one in the blue dress. He met her at a,” Grayson paused to clear his throat, “…recent event and is most interested in knowing more about her.”

Miss Williams’s eyes jumped from her lap to his. Greyson could see she understood that he would keep quiet about the event only if she told him what he wanted to know. Her eyes jerked from his and skittered around the room like a frightened animal looking for a way out.

Mrs. Williams looked at Prudence in surprise, completely missing the undercurrents of the conversation. “Oh, what friend would that be?” her mother asked in curiosity.

Miss Prudence dropped her gaze to your lap again, “ahh, I . . . . I think the duke is referring to,” she twisted her fingers in material of her skirt, “to Miss Jane Thompson.” Her eyes refused to meet his and her face flushed with slight color.

Greyson sat up. Jane Thompson. He remembered her requesting that he pick a name for her, something besides the unimaginative Jane. His heart sang.

Mrs. Williams sat forward in her seat. “Didn’t the Thompsons’ return home several days ago? Such a shame that your friend missed an introduction to Miss Thompson. I do believe they plan to return next season. If, of course, that lovely Mr. Scott doesn’t offer for her hand. Her mother told me, she was sure that he would and is secretly planning a Christmas wedding. Such a lovely couple.”

Greyson’s heart slammed against his ribs. Engaged. Not possible. His Jane -Jane didn’t seem to fit her at all - was not going to marry someone else.

“Where do the Thompsons live?”

“Oh,” Mrs. Williams paused, trying to remember. “Connershire, no, no, Ethanville. I can’t really remember. Do you remember, dear?”

Miss Williams shook her head, still staring at her lap.

The topic moved on to other subjects and soon Greyson was able to retract himself from the visit without seeming rude.