Love Letters From a Duke (29 page)

She shook her head. “How could you? More to the point, why would you?”

“But it was, Felicity,” he whispered into her ear. “I can give you everything you desire, everything you ever deserved.”

Desire
. Oh, he had helped her discover her desires. And not just the kind from kisses and tumbled moments behind a curtain, but for the things she loved, like the fleeting joy of skating in winter, and the cozy, comforting warmth of a cup of Turkish coffee. That her life and travels and “odd notions” were to be celebrated, not hidden behind a proper veneer.

“Come with me, Duchess,” he offered. “Come with me, right now. Marry me.”

Felicity staggered back, out of his arms. “Wh-a-a-at?”

“You heard me. Marry me. Tonight. I know a chaplain who can obtain a Special License for us. We can be wed tonight and away from here on the morrow.” He closed the distance between them and swept her into his arms. “There will never be another man who will understand you like I do. Love you like I do. Who will make you feel like this—”

And without any more ceremony, he kissed her. He kissed her tenderly, passionately, and of course, he kissed her perfectly, his lips strong and firm, his tongue tempting her to open up to him, to yield…

Oh, everything she desired seemed wound up in this kiss. The freedom he held before her, a life of desires unchecked and happiness.

But just as quickly as his lips had captured hers, he released her, and she staggered back from him.

“Marry me, Felicity. I do have some money. Enough for us to live on. We’ll live by our own rules, our own choices. And we’ll skate every winter and drink your wretched coffee in bed every morning—”

“I thought you liked the coffee—”

He pulled a long face. “Horrible stuff, yet for you I would drink it every day if I must. But first you’ll marry me.”

She shook her head. “You know I cannot. I—”

“Don’t answer me yet, wait until tomorrow night.”

“The answer will be the same then as it is now. I cannot—”

He put a finger to her lips and stopped her. “Don’t say anything yet. I have every intention of changing your mind tomorrow night.”

He was changing it by standing so close, she would have told him, but she feared speaking. This is what he did to her—he stood too close, he was too tall, and he was far too improper.

A gentleman would have taken her at her word. But not Thatcher. Of all the arrogant, ill-mannered…

“Until tomorrow,” he was saying, leaning down as if he meant to kiss her.

Oh, that would never do. It would be her ruin. Felicity hastily backed away. “I will be at the Setchfield ball, so you needn’t bother calling. Really, Thatcher, how you can think such a thing is possible—”

“Nothing is impossible,” he told her. “Besides, I plan on attending the ball, if only to be with you. Oh, I nearly forgot. This is why I came to see you.” Carefully he opened his coat and pulled out a single orange blossom. “I brought this as a peace offering.”

The exotic fragrance and beauty of his gift nearly left her blindsided to his other plans. Nearly.

He thought to go to the ball?
“You can’t go to the duke’s costume ball,” she said. “You weren’t invited.”

“For you, I would find a way.”

His promise sent a shiver rippling down her spine, left her knees wavering beneath her. But didn’t he know the humiliation he would cause? The scandal? Yet, worst of all, she would have to refuse him. “I won’t have you there. You’ll be cast out.” Then she tried another tack. “I shall not speak to you, so don’t even dare come.”

He laughed and leaned forward, whispering in her ear. “Yes, you will, because I’ve a surprise planned for you.”

A surprise? Felicity opened her mouth to ask what it was, but then clamped her lips shut. She didn’t care what he had planned, she would have none of it. A surprise, indeed! Of all the supremely overreaching notions.

“I have no need of surprises,” she told him, even as her heart hammered with an unsteady beat that left her reeling. If she stood here much longer and listened to him any further, she knew she’d find herself wavering like some romantic schoolgirl. And that would ruin everything. “You needn’t bother, for I shall refuse you, mark my words.” Furious, more with herself because his promise sent a current of desire jolting through her, she whirled around and stormed past Tally and Pippin, marching for home, where she could order Mr. Rollings to load her pistol and bar the doors. Where she could be a proper lady and live the life she’d planned—with a proper, noble gentleman, she would add.

And yet when she glanced over her shoulder as she was
about to round the corner onto Brook Street, there he was, standing in the last vestiges of sunlight, so tall and proud and nearly noble that her heart made an odd, tremulous skip. For he might not be a duke or even a knighted merchant, but he was, as he smugly claimed, the right man for her.

Marry him
, a voice urged her.
Marry him.

Of all the impertinent notions! Marry him? Why it was ridiculous. Preposterous.

So why was it then, that by the time she reached her front steps she’d dissolved into a complete watering pot?

“Miss, are you well?” Rollings asked as she stumbled inside.

“I—I—I—” she sniffed. “I—I—I am perfectly fine.” But she wasn’t. She was miserable and anyone who looked at her could probably see that.

“Then I have something that will most decidedly cheer you up,” he said. Holding out the salver, a single card sat atop it in regal glory, engraved with the four words that, instead of righting her world, turned everything upside down.

THE DUKE OF HOLLINDRAKE.

Instead of following her sister, Tally turned and raced after their former footman, for there was no doubt after that completely improper kiss that Felicity was a tangled wreck. Tally loved a star-crossed romance just as much as everyone else, but this was her sister’s heart that was being broken.

Reaching inside her reticule, she plucked out the one thing she possessed that would bring this wretched charade to an end. She knew she’d made Pippin promise not to tell Felicity, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t discover what Hollindrake was doing—especially when it was so evident that her sister’s heart was being torn apart. “Your Grace!”

And when he turned to acknowledge the greeting, he found himself looking down the barrel of a small but deadly enough pistol.

Tally held it with steady assurance. “Now, Your Grace, you are going to tell me what game this is you are playing with my sister’s affections or I will—”

“Shoot off my ballocks?” he inquired calmly.

This took her aback. “Well, yes.” So much for the element of surprise.

He smiled at her. “So I was warned.”

The following evening, Felicity stood in the middle of the Setchfield ballroom feeling as if she’d been dropped into a sandstorm. The
ton
had turned out
en masse
, for everyone knew that Hollindrake was to make his bow tonight.

Oh, this should have been her triumphant evening. The culmination of all her plans and hard work. The duke would arrive, resplendent in some perfectly cut jacket—no costume for such a dignified person—and a regal mask trimmed in gold braid that marked his social preeminence even further. Then he’d request an introduction to the lovely Titania in the corner, and they’d dance the opening set. Her future—her very place in society—would be assured in just those few
minutes. Soon after there would be an announcement in the
Times
of their betrothal, and finally a grand wedding in the late spring at the duke’s Kent estate.

She’d had this entire evening mapped out for four long years, and now that it was here, she wished herself far from every speculating glance and sly comment.

Felicity took a deep breath and tried to tamp down the butterflies rattling about in her chest. But instead of composing herself as she intended, all she could think of was what Thatcher had offered her.

To live by their own rules, their own choices.

And passion. The passion of his kiss, the warmth of his body. His very heart.

What had she done? She’d run away from him.

If there was anything to be thankful for, it was her wide mask, for it hid the tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

“Miss Langley?” came an inquiry from amidst the crowded Setchfield ballroom. “Is that you?”

“Lady Rhoda,” Felicity replied as she turned to find the matron approaching her, a Diana and pair of young wood nymphs behind her. “You found me!”

“A battalion of French couldn’t have stopped us.” Lady Rhoda blew the feathers dripping down from her turban out of her eyes. “I took your advice,” she said, “and had the girls go see Madame Ornette for their costumes. I only wish I’d done myself the same favor.”

So did Felicity. She’d let Tally and Pippin choose her costume and they dressed her as the fairy queen, Titania, wings and all, though Cordelia in
King Lear
, might have been a more apt choice.

“Do you like our costumes?” Miss Eleanor Hodges, the youngest of the three, asked.

“Most excellent!” Felicity told her, admiring the trio. The
little known modiste had transformed the usually mousy trio into three striking young ladies. “When you are all brilliantly married, you should use Madame Ornette for all your gowns, for no one has a better eye for style and color. You will make her famous.”

Eleanor gasped. “Do you truly think so?”

“Decidedly,” Felicity declared.

“I understand your fortunes have reversed,” Lady Rhoda said softly. “I’m glad for it.” And from the ring of sincerity in her words, Felicity knew she meant it.

“Thank you,” Felicity said. She rather liked Lord Stewart’s sister. But then she glanced around and asked, “But where is your brother and Lady Stewart?”

“Alice is still unwell, and I convinced Stewie to stay home and keep her company.” The elegantly clad matron, dressed as Ceres, leaned forward and whispered, “I thought my nieces might get on better without their father loitering about and running off any likely suitors. I love my brother dearly, but he is a dreadful buffoon.”

Felicity smiled and let the obvious reply pass, for she felt a fondness for Lord Stewart—even with his outspoken bluster—but agreed that he could be…well, a bit overwhelming.

“I suppose you are quite nervous tonight,” Fanny said as she glanced around the room. She was, unfortunately, more like her father than her more discreet mother or aunt.

“Whatever for?” Felicity asked, trying to avoid the obvious.

Not Fanny Hodges. She dove in with both feet, just as her father would have. “Why Hollindrake, of course! It is on every tongue. He’s to make his first appearance tonight.”

“I hadn’t heard,” she lied, trying to act nonchalant about the entire situation, for however could she come face-to-face with him now? She’d sat up most of the night reread
ing his letters, trying to discover a spark of what had made her so certain he was the perfect man for her, and had found nothing. Not a single line that made her heart flutter as it did when that wretched Thatcher just walked into a room.

“Oh, Fanny, leave Miss Langley alone,” Margaret Hodges chided. The oldest of the three girls, Peg was a sensible and unflappable young lady. “Leave such chatter and gossip to those it better suits.”

As if on cue, a Pocahontas and a Queen Elizabeth wandered by, and the long, disapproving glances they tossed at Felicity and her party left no doubt as to who was behind those masks.

The sight of Miss Browne and Lady Gaythorne was enough to prod Felicity back into action. While she no longer needed the Hodges coal, she’d given her word to help the sisters, and after enduring another of Miss Browne’s slights, she was ready to settle the score.

“As I said before, I believe Lord Lumby would make a brilliant match for you, Miss Hodges,” she told Margaret. “Now, for Frances and Eleanor, you two would do well considering Lord Dalderby and Lord Sprotley.”

“You’ve still got your sights set on an earl for our Peg?” Lady Rhoda shook her head. “Seems a bit top lofty for a gel who”—again the voice lowered—“prefers a day in the country riding, and if she can, a bit of fishing.”

“I think you’ll find Miss Hodges and Lord Lumby are well-matched.” Of this, Felicity was certain, for the countess had bemoaned that her son would never find a bride when he spent most of his days out riding and fishing.

Tally and Pippin came rushing through the throng, having scouted out the room for her.

“Ho there, Duchess,” her sister called out.

Tally had chosen to come in full Turkish costume, having badgered Jamilla into opening her trunks and loaning one of
her more exquisite gowns. Pippin wore a Grecian-inspired robe with a mask that evoked all the symbols of Circe, a golden sun rising over her blond hair. Thankfully, Felicity had talked her out of finding a small pig to bring with her.

“We found Lumby—he’s dressed as Robin Hood. Dalderby is a harlequin—” Tally shuddered. “I do believe his mother chose it—he really needs to send her to a dower house somewhere in Scotland.” Taking a quick breath, she added, “And Sprotley is dressed as Hamlet.” She leaned forward and whispered, “Are you sure you want to remove him from the list by casting him in Nelly Hodges’s direction? He’s quite well-favored.”

Felicity smiled, for her sister was always falling in love with a handsome man without any thought as to how he might suit. “You’d stand in the way of true love?”

Tally’s mouth pursed, but she was far too romantic by nature to stand in the way of something dictated by the Fates.

With that settled, Felicity turned her attention to the Hodges. “Ladies, if you were listening to my addlepated sister, you know who you are looking for—Robin Hood, Hamlet, and unfortunately, a harlequin. The Duchess of Setchfield told me yesterday that the waltzes are to be lady’s choice, so you must make sure when a waltz is about to begin that you are in the position to ask your future husband to dance.”

“Ask him?” stammered Margaret, suddenly loosing her usual self-assurance. “Oh, I couldn’t do that!”

“Oh, Peg, don’t be such a ninny!” her sister Fanny said. “Didn’t you hear what Miss Langley said the other day? Lumby rides
and
fishes.”

That was enough to renew her sister’s courage, for with her quiver in hand, Margaret Hodges now scanned the crush like the huntress she’d chosen to portray.

Felicity had no doubt that by the end of the evening Lord Lumby would be well struck. But not to leave anything to
chance, she added, “I hear tell that Lumby Park sports a fine trout pond, and that the earl just bought Lord Vere’s best hunter.”

“Tiburon?” she gasped.

“Yes, I believe that is the beast. He might even be inclined to let you ride him; that is, if you can catch his eye.” Felicity looked up and waved Jamilla over from where the princess stood nearby. “And I know exactly how to do it.”

“Darling girls, how pretty you look!” the princess said with a great flourish of her manicured hands. She had come dressed in a regular gown, disavowing a costume as so very distracting and…unnecessary. Truly, Jamilla stopped men by just walking into a room.

“Jamilla, they are here to meet their future husbands,” Felicity told her, “their true loves, and I thought you might share a secret or two as to how to catch a man’s eye. To seal their fates, as it were.”

The princess preened. “But of course! For the friends of my little Duchess, I will show you how. Come with me…” She rose up on her high-heeled shoes and spotted an alcove. “Yes, over there. Come, this will but take a moment, and for the remainder of your lives you will have these men in your thrall.” With that, Jamilla had the Hodges sisters bundled off.

“When is someone going to teach me that look?” Pippin complained.

“I daresay you don’t need it,” Tally remarked.

The two girls shot each other furious glances and Felicity flicked off their odd behavior as more of their artistic temperament.

“Are they safe?” Lady Rhoda asked as she watched her nieces being led off by the exotic and questionable lady.

“Perfectly,” Felicity assured her. “Oh, and there is Lady Lumby.” She pointed at a lady dressed in a Spanish mantilla. “Might I suggest, Lady Rhoda, you begin forging a more
practical bond between your two families? I believe you will find her very amenable to a possible alliance.”

“Thank you, Miss Langley,” Lady Rhoda said, taking one last speculative glance in Jamilla’s direction.

“I wish your nieces all the best,” she replied before Lady Rhoda made her way to Lady Lumby’s side. Then she swiped her hands together and looked about the room, her gaze eventually settling on her sister and cousin. “Now that we have that done, I have names for both of you—”

Tally and Pippin groaned, but Felicity was immune to their protests.

“I would think you have enough to do tonight without worrying about us,” her sister said.

“Yes, Felicity, please don’t go to any trouble over me,” Pippin added. “But do promise me, when you meet the duke, you will give him a chance—”

“I thought you wanted me to fall in love with Thatcher,” Felicity said, crossing her arms over her chest. Really, her cousin was turning into a regular scatterbrain.

“I do,” Pippin said. “It’s just that—”

Tally nudged her and again there was a series of furious glances back and forth.

Felicity had seen enough. “Really, whatever has you two at odds, you need to settle it, immediately.”

“But Felicity—” Pippin began.

“Cousin, you fret too much,” she told her. “I have every intention of meeting Hollindrake and falling completely in love with him. Why wouldn’t I? He has done so much for us, how could I not?”

“Aubrey,” the Duke of Setchfield called out in greeting. “Good to see you, old friend. Or should I say, Captain Thatcher?”

Thatcher laughed. “And you as well, Temple,” he said, using
the duke’s old nickname. “I must assume you’ve seen Jack.”

“Seen him?” Temple shook his head. “He raged at me for over an hour at White’s last night as to how you were playing the little Duchess false. Made me promise to be his second if he had to call you out.”

“Well, I intend to marry the chit, so there is no need for Jack to get in a lather.”

Temple held up his lorgnette and studied Thatcher’s plain costume. “Still incognito, I see.”

“Yes. And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t announce me.”

“Done, but I’ll have you know that if it is discovered that I concealed you this evening, I will most likely be found hanging from Tyburn in the morning, having been lynched by every marriage-mad mama in London.”

Thatcher shook his head. “I prefer to remain this way until I’ve gained Felicity’s consent.”

“Not quite the usual courtship, I’d say.”

“Not the most usual of ladies,” he replied.

Temple laughed. “Excellent! You’ve discovered the little gem that shines beneath that determined exterior.” He bowed to a countess who had just arrived and waited until the lady passed to say, “Diana is in alt over Felicity. When the little chit came over yesterday and demanded to see the guest list in order to ensure that she could make matches for Stewie’s daughters, I declare she had my usually unflappable wife bowled over—happily so, for Diana has a soft spot for Stewie as well, and was touched that Felicity would befriend his daughters when so many others have snubbed them.”

“Speaking of wives, what’s this about you and Lady Diana Fordham?” Thatcher asked. “Wasn’t she engaged to that rapscallion cousin of yours?”

“Danvers? Well, yes. But she had a change of heart,” Temple told him, with a proud, sly grin on his lips.

“Quite a lady, your wife,” Thatcher continued. “Demanded I call on her yesterday and then spent a good hour outlin
ing how she thought I should steal away my bride tonight.”

“My wife? Meddling? Preposterous.” Temple laughed, and said, “If anyone knows a thing or two about stealing away, it is Diana. Follow her advice to the letter and you shall win the little Duchess.”

“If only I had your confidence. I still wonder if she will let herself find happiness by giving her heart to a footman.”

“Is the test necessary?” Temple asked, sounding more like Jack. “Why not just tell her?”

“Because I want her to realize that she is worthy of the same love she seems determined to find for everyone else.”

Temple nodded. “Then I see you have discovered her frailties as well, and for that I am thankful. The Duchess is loyal through and through—by her word and deeds—but I’ve always worried that her top-lofty aspirations would leave her little but a shiny coronet. She deserves a measure of happiness.” He paused. “But you do know she will most likely shoot you when she discovers the truth.”

“So I’ve been warned. Besides, I’ve already had a run-in with her sister and Lady Philippa.”

Temple laughed. “That’s well and good, but remember, Felicity is the better shot.”