Love With an Improper Stranger (36 page)

“Shut up.”  Sheldon turned the weapon on his collaborator in nefarious enterprises, and Blake uttered a prayer, as Lenore stood directly in the line of fire.  “Else I will kill you, myself.”

“You heard him threaten me.  You are my witnesses.”  The coward maintained his grip on Lenore, as a shield.  “And he is a murderer.”

“
Silence
.”  Sheldon took aim, and Blake waited for the opportunity to strike.

“I will testify that he poisoned General Teversham with arsenic, after bayoneting Snowley at Barrouillet.”  The as yet nameless associate dragged Lenore toward a stack of boxes.  “He has debts, he sired a bastard, his father disowned Sheldon, and he decided to steal the Teversham estate.”

“And who are you?” Sir Ross inquired.

“I am John Harris.”  The rogue glared at Sheldon.  “A lowly foot soldier, a by-blow of the Earl of Waddlington, and a half-brother to the illustrious Lord Sheldon.”

In that instant, Sheldon fired the pistol, and Harris and Lenore dropped to the ground.

For Blake, his world collapsed, and everything went black.

Acting on instinct, he dove for Sheldon.  With one hand, Blake seized the criminal by the neck and pinned him to the dock.  Fueled by fury that scorched every fiber of his being, time suspended, as crimson shaded his vision, blinding him to reality.  The raw emotion roiling inside him merged, coalescing into a single powerful torrent, which drove him to the brink of insanity.  In search of an outlet, the seething wrath undulated through his arm, and he damn near strangled Sheldon.

As usual, Blake’s saving grace was Lenore.

“Blake, can you hear me?”  At first, her voice traveled to him as if from afar, echoing in his brain, but it worked on him as the finest brandy, unraveling the rage, and cooling the internal blaze that threatened to consume him.  “Blake, it is Lenore.  Let him go, my love.”  Little by little, her lilting tone eased the torrent wreaking havoc on his insides.  “Blake, please, come back to me.  I am scared and cold, and I need you.”

The simple plea comprised of three simple words, pedestrian in independent meaning, but taken together as a whole manifested his purpose in life.  He jolted to the present, released Sheldon, stood, pulled Lenore into his arms, and kissed her in front of everyone.  “Are you truly all right?”

“I am now that you are with me.”  She favored him with a lopsided grin.  “Do not be vexed with me, as did as you bade, but he caught me as I walked to the coach.”  She sniffed.  “The instant he spoke to me, I recognized him as the man who helped Sheldon move Lucy and I from the inn.”

“Sweetheart, I could never be vexed with you.”  Then he assessed her bruised flesh.  “I am so sorry he marked you, but at long last, it is over.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tucked in the
luxuriously appointed ducal coach, which made the circuit in the park, and straddling Blake’s lap, Lenore relished an amazingly thorough kiss from her husband and then rested against his chest, as he fondled her bare bottom.  Never would she complain about her sea captain’s salacious hunger, when she reaped the rewards of his voluptuous talents, but his lovemaking had become possessive in the wake of the day’s unpleasant events, and she was more than happy to assuage his baser appetites.

“We are late for the ball.”  Blake pounded on the side of the cabin, and the equipage lurched forward and gained speed.  “Yet we are not far from St. James’s, and the presentation line is usually long, so we should sneak in without notice.”

“Must we attend?”  The rig struck a rut in the road, which rocked Lenore in more ways than one, given their bodies remained joined, and she tensed.  “I would much rather go home, lock ourselves in our suite, and make love until dawn.”

“Sweetheart, you make me forget my duty.”  He hummed, as she suckled his ear lobe.  “Yet I am a servant of the Crown, and I cannot ignore a royal summons.”

“Are you sure I cannot persuade you otherwise?”  She thrust her hips, and he hissed.  “I will play the Dussek.”

“As always, my duchess tempts me.”  To her dismay, he lifted her to the squabs and secured the fall of his breeches.  “But this is your night, the Prince Regent requests your presence, and all of society awaits your entrance, so we will persevere.”

After a brief ride, the coach came to a halt, and the footman opened the door.  Adopting an air of refinement, well, as refined as possible while sporting a rapidly blackening eye, she lifted her chin and descended to the pavement.  At an arched doorway, the Royal Guard stood at attention.  Blake retrieved his credentials from his elegant coat and displayed the documents to the agent, who nodded.

“Well, Your Grace, it is a rare opportunity afforded to few individuals, but you are to make your coming-out at the most prestigious address in all of London.”  Blake led her to the drawing room, where the Brethren gathered.  “And I could not be more proud of my duchess.”

“Where have you been?”  Caroline gasped as she scrutinized Lenore.  “What happened?”

“Jennings said you departed with Sir Ross.”  Damian shook his head and frowned.  “But he knew not your destination.”

“I will tell you all about it, later, during the ball.”  Blake rolled his eyes.  “But you should fortify yourself with a healthy dose of brandy, as it will turn your hair white, and I am not yet recovered.”

“Oh, Lenore.”  Cara’s mouth fell agape.  “Your sleeve is torn at the shoulder, and your tiara is crooked.”

“Alex, have the butler fetch a needle and thread, and bring it to the ladies’ cloak-room, posthaste.”  Caroline clutched Lenore’s wrist.  “Hurry, as there is little time.”

“Worry not, Lenore.”  Sabrina snorted.  “I held my first fete as the countess of Woverton with a similar mark, and here I am, the epitome of feminine deportment.”

“And if you believe that, I have some oceanfront property in the heart of Mayfair I should love to sell you.”  Cara giggled, as she spun her magic.  “My powder worked wonders, and the bruise is all but invisible.”

“Here is the needle and thread.”  Alex rushed into the room.  “Loosen the bodice, and I will tack it from underneath, as the sleeve is ripped at the seam, to our advantage.  And if we shift the ducal riband a tad, it will conceal the damage.”

As Alex made a makeshift repair, Caroline and Rebecca fussed over Lenore’s hair and restored the tiara to its place.  Ensconced in the protective custody of the Brethren wives, Lenore heeded their advice and tutelage, as never had she mingled with royalty.  Her performance would reflect on the entire family, and she would die before she disappointed them.

“Lenore, you must come, now, as you have been called.”  Elaine paused, then took Lenore’s hands and splayed wide her arms.  “You look beautiful, and we are thrilled for you.”

“Ladies, let us escort her, as the prince waits for no one.”  Rebecca clapped twice.  “Sabrina, mind the threshold, as you stubbed your toe and took a tumble, on our last visit.”

“And never will you let me forget it.”  How Sabrina elicited fond memories of Lucilla, and Lenore longed for her younger sister.  “But we have a much better story, as who could fail to recall the black-eyed duchess of Rylan?”

“Stop it, as Lenore is nervous enough without your teasing.”  Cara humphed.  “And mind your manners.”

In the reception hall, Blake spied her and smiled the sensuous smile that always inspired a delicious shiver.  Garbed in a stunning black coat festooned with gold braids about the edge of the sleeves, lapels, and hem, a gray waistcoat, black knee breeches, and white stockings, her husband was devilishly handsome.

“Ready?” he inquired, with a wink, and extended an arm, to which she rested her palm.

“As ever.”  She inhaled a deep breath, as they approached a double-door portal, where a pair of footmen set ajar the oak panels and bowed.

At the edge of the red carpet, a proper butler perched upright.  “The Duke and Duchess of Rylan.”

And then there was silence.

It was a long walk across the presence room, which featured an allegorical fresco ceiling and majestic pastoral tapestries.  At center, the Prince Regent sat in a lone chair, amid a red damask backdrop and canopy, boasting the royal coat of arms.

As they neared the throne, Blake whispered, “Now.”

He stepped to his left and bowed, and Lenore curtseyed.

“Our Nautionnier Knight is late.”  The Prince Regent stood and approached, and Lenore gulped.

“I apologize, Your Majesty.”  Blake drew her to his side.  “It was an unavoidable emergency.”

“Her Grace is injured.”  The Prince Regent chuckled.  “And our servant appears to have engaged in fisticuffs, as his knuckles are swollen.  I expect a full accounting when next we play billiards, and if His Grace lets us win again, we shall strip him of the duchy.”

“Yes, sir.”  Blake dipped his chin.

“One more thing.”  The Prince Regent stared at Lenore, and she feared she might swoon.  “If Her Grace can manage, we would request the honor of the first dance.”

“On the contrary, the honor is mine,” she replied.

“She is charming, Blake.”  The Prince Regent inclined his head.  “You are dismissed.”

Had her husband permitted it, she would have sprinted down the hall, under the arch, and straight to their coach.

“Lenore, you were magnificent.”  Blake steered her down a narrow side passage and into a dark alcove, where he kissed her—and kept kissing her.  The usual fire ignited, fanning the flames of desire, yet his stubborn refusal to escalate the tryst kept her at a slow burn, and soon she relaxed in his embrace.  In a low voice, he asked, “Better?”

“Much.”  The rapid pounding of her pulse slowed, and she sighed.  “How do you always know what to do to put me at ease?”

“Sweetheart, you were made for me.”  Even in the dim light, she sensed his cocky grin.  “And I can read you like a book.”

“But I prefer it when you play me as a finely tuned instrument.”  She nipped his chin.  “And you do play well, impossible man.”

“Ah, I love it when my duchess flirts with me.”  He smacked her bottom.  “Let us adjourn to the ballroom, and tonight, when we return home, I will play you till dawn.”

She scored her fingers to the back of his neck, and clutched the hair at his nape.  “Is that a promise?”

“My unutterably charming wife, you may depend upon it.”  Her knight kissed her hard and fast, and then he escorted her to a breathtaking chamber.

Gathered in the shadows of crystal chandeliers, the Brethren offered their congratulations.

“The first dance is always a minuet,” Rebecca explained.  “When the Prince Regent is ready, he will walk to the center, and you will meet him there.  Curtsey, and then he will lead.”

“Oh, I am so nervous.”  Lenore squeezed Blake’s fingers and whispered, “Can you take me back to the alcove?”  To wit he burst into laughter.  Just as he made to reply, the court orchestra, from their perch in the music gallery, performed the march from Handel’s
Judas Maccabeus
, which signaled the Prince Regent’s arrival, and the crowd made their obeisance.

As Rebecca predicted, the prince strolled into position.  Without hesitation, Lenore walked to her place and curtseyed, and the musicians transitioned into Bach’s
Minuet
in G Major.  Executing a series of perfect
pas menus
, she glanced at Blake, who smiled from ear to ear, baring his teeth.  And as the dance progressed, she gave herself to the notes and soared.