Mad About the Duke (10 page)

At least, that was what he tried to tell himself it was.

A lapse in judgment that no one ever need know about.

And his second lapse was stealing a glance up at the ballroom windows.

For there he found nearly the entire party with their noses pressed to the panes—half of them trying to guess who this couple was and the other half most likely wagering that they already knew.

The devil take me!
He'd come out here to ensure that Longford didn't get his hands on Lady Standon and cause a scandal.

Which clearly had been avoided. James had made a cake of this all on his own.

“Oh, St. Maur,” she whispered, her voice purring with desire and her hands pulling him closer.

The wine had made her pot valiant and thoroughly willing.

James moved quickly, pulling her shawl over her head and hauling her into the back of the house, trying to come up with a plan.

But one ran right into him in the form of the other Lady Standon—Minerva.

“You are a rogue, sir!” she said, catching hold of Elinor and pulling her out of his grasp.

“Hello, 'Nirva,” Elinor stammered. “See who I found?”

“I didn't do this,” he told her. Well, not all of it.

“
Harrumph
!” Minerva snorted. “You've set the entire room abuzz speculating on who you are and who…” She glanced over at Elinor and her eyes widened as she realized the extent of Elinor's condition. “She cannot return to the ballroom—why, she'll be discovered immediately.”

“Yes, I had come to that conclusion as well,” he said, glancing down one hall, then another.

“St. Maur, I must get her home,” Minerva said.

He nodded in agreement and took another glance around. Remembering all the ways his brother Jack had snuck in and out of the house when he'd been in the suds, James led the way down the hall toward the kitchens.

“I could dance all night,” Elinor declared as they got to the kitchen, nearly toppling over.

“She's completely foxed,” Minerva whispered as James hoisted Elinor into his arms.

“I daresay,” he said, carrying her up the steps that led to the street.

Luckily the Setchfield town house sat on a corner, and the kitchen entrance let out on one of the side streets. Though it was crowded with carriages and the like, there weren't any guests milling about, as there might have been at the front door.

James waded into the chaos in the street, Minerva trailing behind him and Elinor humming a waltz—loudly and off key.

“You cannot mean to carry her all the way to Brook Street?” Minerva asked.

He laughed. “No, I don't think I could. Ah, here we go,” he told her, nodding to a hackney sitting at the fringes of the private carriages.

The fellow looked less than happy to gain this fare.
“She won't toss up, will she? That will cost extra if she does,” he told them as Minerva gave the directions and James settled Elinor into the seat.

Minerva climbed in, then glanced down at James. “Well, are you coming?”

“I didn't think—”

“No, apparently not. How am I supposed to get her into the house in this state?”

James cringed. He hadn't thought of that.

“I don't want to wake Thomas-William; he's as likely to shoot me if I come knocking on his door at this time of night,” Minerva continued.

James hadn't the least idea who Thomas-William was or why the man would be so dangerous, but he didn't argue the matter. Honestly, he was starting to wonder if he'd actually made a wrong turn at Bedlam when he'd entered the house on Brook Street.

“And if I try to get her up the steps, she's as likely to wake the entire neighborhood, and there will be no stopping the gossip then.”

Now that argument James could understand. There were times when he suspected Lady Cockram across the street kept a field glass in her embroidery basket just to keep a watch on his house in case one of them went suddenly mad.

“Yes, yes,” James said. “I'll come along.” He climbed in and settled down on the seat facing the ladies. Oh, he was getting mired into this night far deeper than he'd ever planned.

Of course, it hadn't been much of a plan to begin with.

Go to the Setchfields', make sure Longford didn't take any particular notice of Lady Standon or lead her into scandal.

No, James had done that all on his own.

And now he had to see the task finished.

The getting her home part, not the scandal…

Elinor dozed with her head on Minerva's shoulder, while that lady glared at James.

The carriage hit a rut and jolted them, bringing Elinor back to the present. “'Nirva, where are we going?” she asked groggily.

“Home.”

“But where is St. Maur?” Elinor's head lolled a bit as she focused on her friend. “He kissed me, you know.”

“Yes, I saw.”

“Ssshhhsshhh,” Elinor said, putting her finger awkwardly to Minerva's lips. “Don't tell anyone.”

Then she started to doze off again, but her eyes fluttered opened and then widened. “You too, St. Maur. Sssshshssh. Don't tell anyone.”

“Upon my honor, my lady.”

“You kiss divinely, sir,” she told him in all seriousness.

“Elinor!” Minerva scolded.

The lady wavered, then gazed at her friend. “You should try some kissing. It is just as Lucy said,
utterly divine
.” Then the lady passed out, her head falling back on the seat. She began to snore most indelicately.

Even in the dark of the carriage, Minerva Sterling's cheeks glowed bright red.

James coughed slightly to keep from laughing.

For the lady had been right. The kissing part had been something close to divine. He'd never meant to kiss her at all, but there she'd been, in the garden in that heavenly gown, all starry-eyed and passionate.

He supposed it could be argued that he'd taken advantage of her state of intoxication, but he'd only started kissing her fingertips to show her how easily
a lady could be deceived by a rake such as Longford.

And then…Oh, good God, this was a mire!

He didn't know what he feared more, facing Elinor on the morrow or Jack.

For how many times had he, James, chastised his madcap brother for such a peccadillo?

When the carriage pulled to a stop, Minerva hurried up the steps and got the door open. Once the driver was paid, James hoisted Elinor back into his arms and began carrying her up the steps.

Egads, she felt as if she'd gained a stone. But up the steps he went and came face-to-face with the stairwell that led up to her bedroom.

Her bedroom?

Minerva must have seen his expression, for she echoed it out loud. “You cannot take her up there, it would be unseemly.”

More so than kissing her in front of every gossipy member of the
ton? he nearly asked.

“I would suggest putting her under the dining room table and letting her sleep on the floor,” Minerva said, her tone implying that it would serve Elinor right, “but I would hate for Tia to discover her so.”

“Then up it is,” he said, already starting for the steps.

Minerva made a huffy sigh that said she didn't approve, but what else was there to do?

Up the stairs they went, Minerva hurrying around him at the landing to lead the way.

Elinor's bedroom was dark, but a bit of moonlight led the way to the small, narrow bed. The furnishings were sparse, as they were throughout the house, and James had to wonder what Hollindrake had been thinking banishing the widows to such a mean estate.

He laid her down inside the sheets, and Minerva placed the coverlet over her, then placed the bedpan close at hand.

For a moment, Elinor stirred. Her eyes opened and she gazed up at him. “St. Maur, is that you?” Before he answered, she reached out and patted his bare chest. “Ah, yes. It is you.” She sighed and rolled over, sound asleep.

Her touch had been so innocent, so trusting, that it took his breath away more than her kiss had.

But there was no time to mull the wonder of it over, for Minerva nodded curtly toward the door, in a hurry to get him out before the night turned into a complete ruin for them all. The Standon widows were already on thin ice with Society and the Duke of Hollindrake with their antics—no need to add more heat to the fire.

James stole one last glance at Elinor before Minerva closed the door on him, and only one thought rang through him.

However am I going to find you a husband now?

Y
ou ordered my carriage without my permission?” Jack said in what could only be described as an angry bark.

James turned and glanced up at his brother, who was hurrying down the stairs in his dressing gown as if such an act was worthy of this hasty display.

“A bit high-handed, Parkerton, to take a man's carriage and horses without his permission,” Jack continued to complain.

James cocked a solitary brow. “And how many times have you borrowed my cattle without asking?”

Coming to a halt, Jack had the good sense to color a bit. “Point well taken. But I must say in my defense, I always raided your stables with the most honorable of intentions and had the decency to do so behind your back.”

James grinned up at him. “I'll remember that next time. Of course I am not going to be racing curricles in the pursuit of a bit of muslin.”

Jack finished his descent down the stairs. “Yes,
but that is the problem and the main difference between us.”

“Which is?”

“I wouldn't drive the lady into the ditch,” Jack said.

“I can drive,” James said, his shoulders going taut and straining the seams of Jack's jacket until there were the telltale sounds of threads popping.

His brother heaved a sigh. “And when am I going to get my jacket back?”

“When I am done with it. Didn't Richards bring you several choices for a replacement?”

“Yes, he did. But I like that one.”

Oh, good heavens, James had offered his brother a choice of Weston's finest creations and he wanted this poorly cut piece, hardly worthy of the rag bin.

Not that James was about to take it off.

“I assume you have an engagement with Lady Standon,” Jack said, glancing out the open door and obviously taking stock of the state of his horses and carriage. “So early and on Sunday? Whatever are you about, Parkerton?”

“I don't know. The outing was her idea. Some nonsense about working out my bill in trade.”

Some very enticing nonsense.

Sir, what would you say to having your bill paid in a way other than cash?

“Do you think she'll be up”—Jack glanced over his shoulder at the servants loitering in the wings and lowered his voice—“after last night's performance?”

This gave James pause. He hadn't considered that. He'd been so intent on keeping his appointment with her that he'd nearly forgotten that she may well be a bit indisposed this morning.

Or had gone into hiding.

Which is probably what he should be doing, con
sidering the state of affairs that had greeted him last night.

After leaving Lady Standon's, he'd returned home to find Jack, Miranda and Arabella all waiting for him.

“Well, Parkerton, you've gone and created quite the
on dit,”
Jack declared from the same spot by Harry's chair that James usually took when he had to take some errant family member to task.

James glanced at his brother. “You didn't divulge…that is to say, no one knows…”

“Of course not,” Jack told him. “Thankfully no one knows who you are, or the identity of your armful.
Yet.”

“They won't hear it from my lips,” Arabella said, arms crossed over her chest.

James waved them off. “My behavior is hardly worthy of such—”

“You were kissing her, Father!” Arabella said. “Everyone saw it.”

Oh, so it was as he feared. So much for his hope that the garden had been too dark to discern much.

“This is utterly mortifying,” Arabella continued. “Haven't you a care for any of us? Dragging us into a scandal like this?”

“No one knows it was me,” he said in his defense. Having never been on this side of the fence, it was like standing on thin ice. A rather disconcerting feeling, to say the least.

“No one knows yet!” Arabella said, shaking a finger at him. “I would think a man of your age—”

His age?
James glanced up at his daughter. He wasn't that old.

She shuddered and made a loud
“harrumph.” “
Really, Father!”

“Now see here—,” he began.

“No!” Arabella told him. “No more. I will not be ruined by some madness of yours.”

“I am not mad, I am just trying to find the lady a husband.”

They all three looked at him with the same question in their eyes.

By kissing her in front of a good portion of the
ton?

“Perhaps you should leave finding Lady Standon a husband to us,” Miranda suggested.

Leave it to them? James shook his head as a possessive streak coursed through his veins. Leave finding another man for Lady Standon to his efficient and mercantile sister-in-law?

Good God, never. She'd have the task completed before the week was out.

Then Elinor would be effectively lost to him forever. And he wasn't quite ready to let go of her…not just yet.

“No,” he told them, trying to appear sensible and dependable. Which he was. Usually. “This matter is my responsibility.”

“Then no more kissing the lady,” Jack said. “It will be her ruin. She's a respectable widow now, but if you drag her name into some scandalous…” He glanced over at Arabella and then continued by saying, “…situation, how do you propose to find her a good and decent man willing to take her?”

James nodded reluctantly. How could he argue with Jack? On this subject Jack was the expert. Hadn't he ruined Miranda by kissing her?

But his brother wasn't done. “Parkerton, you can hardly hand the lady off in good conscience if you've gone and…” For decency's sake, Jack didn't finish that sentence, but there was no doubt what he meant.

Taken her into your bed.

Oh, that was a tempting notion. For when James had laid Elinor down in her narrow bed and she'd placed her slim hand on his chest, so warm and trusting, he'd nearly gathered her back up and brought her home with him…and…

“Demmit, Parkerton! Are you listening to me?”

James glanced up. “Yes, of course.”

“Then what did I just ask you?”

“If I had any experience driving in Town?” he guessed. And a lucky one at that.

For Jack looked quite disappointed that he'd gotten it right. “Well, do you?”

“I've driven in Town.” Not London per se. Did the village near Parkerton Hall count? He glanced at Jack's skeptical expression. Probably not, but he'd manage well enough.

“Then I suppose you can borrow my carriage,” his younger sibling conceded.

“Thank you, Jack.” James bounded for the door, gloves in hand.

“You're welcome.” Though Jack hardly sounded pleased. “Do you know what you're doing?” he asked as he followed James to the door.

James turned to his brother and saw naught but concern in his eyes.

It struck him that in the last two days, something had shifted between them.

As if Jack had become the upright member of the family and James had been demoted to family disgrace.

“No,” he admitted. “But I suppose you of all people would understand.”

And then he was off, into the curricle and down the street.

About halfway down the block he realized he was going the wrong way. He made a mad turn, then hurried back past Jack, who stood in the doorway, shaking his head.

“I loved that carriage,” Jack muttered as he turned around to return to the warmth of his bed.

But that wasn't to be, not just yet, for there stood Richards, Winston, and Cantley, the duke's butler, as well as Mrs. Oxton, the housekeeper, blocking his way. And they all wore the same horrified expressions.

“You let him go?!” Mrs. Oxton sputtered. “Whatever were you thinking, Lord John?”

It had been the housekeeper who had roused him with the news that Parkerton had been sneaking out with Jack's carriage. And here Jack had always assumed she lived merely to tattle on him.

Must have been quite dull for the old girl since he'd reformed, Jack mused.

Winston glanced at his comrades, then cleared his throat. “Lord John, don't you think the situation warrants some concern?”

“What situation, Winston?” Jack asked. His only thought was returning to his bed. To his wife.

“About His Grace,” Mrs. Oxton blurted out.

“What about my brother? He went for a drive.”

“That isn't on his schedule,” Winston said, holding out the daily listing of the duke's commitments. “He's gone off without consulting us in the least.”

“And wearing that coat,” Richards shuddered.

“My coat,” Jack pointed out.

This did nothing to appease his brother's exceedingly fastidious valet.

“And he didn't take Michaels or even Fawley with
him,” Richards complained, referring to the duke's ever-present footmen. “He's gone out alone. And this isn't the first time.”

Mrs. Oxton glanced at her male counterparts and let out a breathy sigh, as if to say that if they weren't going to get to the point, then she would. “We think he's gone off.”

Gone off?
Jack glanced at her.

“You of any of them would know what I mean,” she said. “
His Tremont blood.
”

They all nodded, their expressions filled with grave concern.

Jack bit his lips together to keep from laughing. They thought Parkerton had finally gone mad like so many of their Tremont forebears?

“Now, not one of us would mind overly if he turned out like the seventh duke and ordered us to set the table so his rabbits could eat with him,” she began, the others nodding in agreement, “but Lord John, His Grace has turned
unpredictable
.”

Unpredictable? That was the worst they could come up with? That was more ramshackle than the 7
^th
duke and his entourage of rabbits—all named, much to the mortification of the family, after the various members of the royal family.

Really, this was James they were discussing. Up until Clifton had chopped him in the middle of White's, Parkerton had lived a life of perfect order and ritual.

He was more predictable than a mail coach.

So Jack decided to set them all straight and put their minds at ease.

“If you must know, my brother has gone a bit mad—”

Mrs. Oxton gasped and the others took a wary step back.

“No, no,” he told him. “It isn't so worrisome as you think. He's merely fallen in love with a lady.”

“In love? With a lady?” Mrs. Oxton whispered, her hand on her brow.

Richards did the horrified lady one better and collapsed into a chair. “Oh, this is dreadful.”

Jack glanced around at them and realized that the notion of their master madly in love was hardly the answer they'd been looking for.

Perhaps he should have gone with a more likely tale about rabbits.

 

In an alleyway at the end of Cavendish Square, three figures slipped out of the shadows.

“That's 'im?” the largest fellow asked.

“Yes. That's the one.”

“And you want us to follow him?” the second fellow asked.

“Yes. According to my source, he's on his way to Brook Street to pick up Lady Standon.”

The pair nodded.

“Follow him, and if you get a chance, determine what it is he is doing with her.” A heavy purse was passed over to one of the men.

He gave it a heft, then grinned as he tucked it inside his patched jacket.

The larger fellow with the barrel chest cracked his knuckles with great zest, his eyes never leaving their quarry. “Oh, aye, We'll get 'im for you. We'll take care of 'im.”

 

Tia and Elinor waited for Mr. St. Maur on the front steps of the house on Brook Street.

Shivering in her long pelisse, Tia surveyed the long block with a critical eye. “He is late.”

“Only by a few minutes,” Elinor replied, doing her best not to open her eyes too far for fear her head would split open.

This is what comes of having more than two glasses of wine,
she scolded herself. Now, much to her horror, the night before was a dreadful muddle. She'd gone to the Setchfield ball…danced with Longford…and then…it descended into a haze of memories, some too scandalous to believe.

“And why can't we wait inside? Bad enough you insisted we be up early and be ready a good half an hour before he was due to arrive.”

Elinor ignored Tia's complaints. She could hardly explain to her sister that the reason she'd been up before the servants was because she was afraid to face them. That, and she'd been sick as a cat. At least this chilly morning air had a way of settling her stomach.

If only it would settle her other concerns. Like how the devil had she gotten home last night? Or, for that matter, up and into her bed.

She could hardly share these worries with her younger and impressionable sister, so instead she pointed out the obvious. “Is it really that much warmer inside? Besides, the fresh air is good for you.”

Her sister gave a short snort that made her sound four and sixty, not merely four and ten. “Whatever did you and Minerva and Lucy do to vex the duchess so as to deserve all this?” Tia shot a baleful glance at their new home.

“I don't suppose it matters much now,” Elinor said, not wanting to go back over the past. After
years of bickering between the three Standon dowagers, fighting over settlements and the use of the various Sterling houses, the Duchess of Hollindrake had brought all three of them—Minerva, Elinor and Lucy—together in this house as punishment.

But oddly enough, instead of killing each other as most had predicted, the three widows had formed an alliance.