My American Duchess (9 page)

On the basis of that skill, Trent had purchased a commission for him in the Queen’s Regiment of Light Dragoons—a
waste of money, for within the year Cedric was unceremoniously discharged for drunkenness and sent home.

That led Trent to thinking about what it would be like once Cedric married and moved to another house.

He reckoned it would be heaven.

Pure heaven.

But . . . not if Cedric’s wife was Miss Merry Pelford, American from Boston.

T
rent woke the next morning with a devil of a headache and an even worse temper. Merry Pelford was in love with his brother.

The end.

Full stop.

It was just as well he was going to Wales. For one thing, he shouldn’t think of her as “Merry,” although she had given her permission. She belonged to his brother, and he had to stop thinking of her altogether.

“The traveling coach has been made ready, Your Grace,” his valet informed him, as Trent was toweling himself off after bathing.

He nodded. “Tell Woods I’ve one errand in London first, and I’ll go from there to the Holyhead Road. No need to tire the horses with London streets; I’ll take a hackney.” He’d like to be off for Llanberis immediately, but there
was one pressing item that he had to see to on his way out of the city.

Lord Malmsbury had a freehold apartment in the Albany, which Trent knew about because he’d tried in vain to interest his brother into moving into one of the sumptuous gentlemen’s apartments.

Trent had a vague idea that Malmsbury was in demand as a single gentleman. He was a doughy fellow who was all smiles, flattery, and pale eyes, just the sort whom Trent had no time for, the kind who made up the numbers at a dinner party and could be counted on to dance with one’s wallflower second cousin.

And who took a fondle of the girl’s rump as payment, apparently.

It wasn’t long before the hackney drew up in front of the Albany. He told the driver to keep the horses standing, as he wouldn’t be more than ten minutes, if that.

Cedric always complained that Trent had no manners, but Trent reckoned he had just enough. Since he
was
polite, he waited until Lord Malmsbury’s man left the room before he pulled off his coat.

“Your Grace?” Malmsbury stuttered, as Trent tossed the coat onto a chair.

Trent strode forward, caught the rogue by his neck cloth, and slammed him against the wall. “I gather that you amuse yourself by touching young ladies in ways unbecoming to a gentleman.”

“Never!” Malmsbury gasped.

“You never groped a woman, let’s say, at Lady Portmeadow’s ball last night?”

The man’s eyes shifted; Merry was right about him. Trent slammed him against the wall once more.

Malmsbury said something unintelligible, but then, it’s hard to make yourself clear when your air is cut off.

“You’re developing quite a reputation for pinching young women, you disgusting bucket of lard,” Trent stated. He let Malmsbury drop to the ground.

Things got no better once the man found his voice; he started spluttering something about how Elisabeth Debbledon was no better than she should be. Debbledon? Trent knew of his advances upon Merry and the swooning Miss Cernay. Miss Debbledon made it three ladies in one night . . . at least.

Trent’s fist smashed into Malmsbury’s jaw, spinning the man about and sending him into the wall with a thud. Trent leaned in. “If you ever again touch any lady—no, any woman—who isn’t your wife, you may expect another visit from me.”

“I don’t have a wife!” Malmsbury squealed, clutching his jaw, where a red patch signaled a bruise to come.

“Then you have no one to grope, have you?”

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Trent was surprised by the way he was responding to the idea that this scoundrel had touched Merry.

But mostly he was enjoying himself.

“If I even see you within ten yards of Miss Pelford, I’ll find you and I’ll touch
you
, Malmsbury. After which, you’ll be singing soprano, if you understand me. Men never touch ladies without permission.” He bared his teeth like a feral dog. “I shouldn’t have to teach you that lesson.”

“I won’t touch her,” Malmsbury blubbered. “I won’t touch her. I never touched her.”

“Good,” Trent stated, pulling down the cuffs of his linen shirt. He retrieved his coat and shrugged it back on. If he adhered to Cedric’s ideas of fashion, he would never have been able to land a punch like that, because his coat would have been too tight to remove without a valet’s help.

Malmsbury had his hand cupped over his jaw and was
taking in sobbing gasps. A young maid entered with a tray holding glasses and a decanter and stopped, mouth hanging open.

“I don’t have time for a drink,” Trent said as he passed her. “But thank you nonetheless.”

He paused at the door, and looked back at Malmsbury. “If I ever hear that a woman has been pinched on the ballroom floor or anywhere else, I shall know whom to look for.”

“I haven’t.” His voice came out in a ragged whine. “Damme, you’ve broken my jaw!”

The maidservant didn’t say a word, but the satisfaction on her face was unmistakable.

Trent couldn’t think of any real reason to tell Merry about what had just happened, but he found himself directing the hackney to the Pelford residence in Portman Square anyway.

He had the idea that Mrs. Pelford had been affronted by his manner the night before. The sight of Merry on his brother’s arm had been a blow; he’d barely stopped himself from ripping her away. But he refused to play out some childish competition with his brother.

He would stop by the Pelfords and clarify to everyone concerned that he was very happy that Cedric had found such a lovely woman to marry. He might as well inform his future sister-in-law that Malmsbury would never again offer her the smallest affront.

What’s more, he had made up his mind that Merry must take back the ring. For one thing, the estate was thriving and he could easily afford to buy his future wife a brand-new ring.

And for another, Cedric was indisputably right. The late duchess had adored her younger son, and she would have been happy to see her ring on Cedric’s wife’s finger.

His mother’s blatant partiality had caused him some
pain during his childhood, but from this distance, he had decided that her favoritism had been a positive thing. It taught him early not to be dependent on a woman.

That lesson would enable him to use rational criteria to choose a wife. Obviously, he had responded so strongly to Merry because it was time to marry; he and Cedric were once again in tandem.

He could find a lady of her temperament. Besides, she might be overly emotional for his tastes. His last mistress, Elsa, had been entirely pleasant during the liaison’s earliest months, but after a time she’d become maudlin and tearful, and began hinting about wedding rings.

When he had declined, Elsa had wept bitterly, although the terms of their agreement had been established at the outset. He gave her a ruby as a farewell gift, but the memory still pricked at him, as if he’d betrayed her somehow.

He didn’t want another mistress; ergo, he had to find a wife. A wife who wouldn’t throw that sort of scene. Merry said that London was thronged with Americans, so it shouldn’t be hard to find another woman who was independent, opinionated, and straightforward. And beautiful, of course.

Trent strode up to the Pelford townhouse, resolved to get this over quickly and be back on the road.

The sight of Merry jolted his body with the searing power of a lightning bolt.

She was seated beside her aunt, wearing a gown that was more demure than that she wore the previous night. It was pale pink, nothing special, but even so, her breasts almost spilled over the bodice, as luminous and white as the best sugar.

Sweet, like sugar. He’d like to—

He must be losing his mind. He should probably take
a mistress as soon as he returned to London, just until he found the right lady to marry.

“Mrs. Pelford,” Trent said, bowing. “Miss Pelford. I hope you will forgive me for coming upon you unannounced. I am on the verge of leaving for a trip to Wales, but I wanted to pay respects to my future sister-in-law somewhere other than in a crowded ballroom.”

“Your Grace,” Merry said, with a lovely smile. “What a pleasure. Please do join us.”

He hadn’t realized how plump her lower lip was. He needed an American with lips like that. And breasts.

Nothing else would do.

Trent lowered himself into a chair, keeping rigid control over his expression to ensure that he had an affable and pleasant air. Sure enough, Mrs. Pelford was regarding him cautiously, as if she found herself entertaining a crocodile.

“A happy surprise,” she said, not entirely convincingly. “May I offer you some tea, Your Grace?”

Trent never took tea. Daylight hours were short, and at this very moment he should be well on his way to Wales. But he found himself accepting a cup as well as a crumpet, though he wasn’t hungry.

“We have been talking of our gardens in Massachusetts,” Mrs. Pelford told him. “My niece has designed all nature of charming aspects on the estate.”

“Are the gardens very large?” Trent asked, wondering what she would consider an estate. The gardens at his country seat, Hawksmede, covered nineteen acres.

“Oh yes,” Mrs. Pelford said. “Quite large.”

She did not seem inclined to specify, so Trent turned to Merry. “May I know something of your designs?”

“Last summer, I made two little terraces at the end of the great walk, raised twelve steps each,” Merry said. She
started waving her hands and talking about climbing roses and trellises and a gazebo with Ionic columns.

“My husband was not happy with that gazebo,” Mrs. Pelford put in. “Two hundred dollars for a structure that won’t even keep out the rain!”

“If the gazebo had walls, they would obstruct the prospect,” her niece replied, clearly not for the first time. She turned back to Trent. “You can’t imagine how splendid the view is. It overlooks the orchard, and beyond that, the forest and the river. There is no other spot on the estate so well situated to an open structure.”

Trent was getting the idea that the Pelford estate might well rival his own. He tried to think if there were any “prospects” in his gardens, but nothing came to mind.

One thing he did know was that the townhouse he had deeded to Cedric had no more than a forlorn patch of ground in the rear. Perhaps they would buy a house in the country.

“You’ll have to forgive me my chatter,” Merry said sheepishly, handing him a plate with a thick piece of gingerbread. “It’s springtime, and so of course I find myself thinking of the gardens. I have an apricot tree that has never bloomed; I had hopes for it this spring, since I had a wall built to shelter it.”

“‘Come then and see this lovely Seat
,’” Mrs. Pelford recited out of the blue. “‘
So healthful, happy, and complete!’
”

“My aunt is a poet,” Merry said, with a practiced air. “Her specialty is commemoration.”

“A lovely couplet,” Trent said. “I should be happy to hear the rest.” He had eaten the crumpet without noticing, so he started on the gingerbread.

“In that case, do have another cup of tea, while I fetch
the entire poem,” Mrs. Pelford said, jumping up and beaming at him. “I shall return directly.”

Of course, Merry and Trent rose as well. The moment her aunt left the room, Merry turned to him with an adorable wrinkle of her nose. “You must change your mind directly and leave,” she whispered. “My aunt’s poetry is not for everyone.”

“I can spare a few minutes,” he said, thinking that he should not. At this point, it would be well past dark before he reached the inn where he planned to spend the night.

“Her poem addressing my gazebo is more than seven hundred lines long! Don’t worry, I can make your excuses.”

“I paid a visit to Lord Malmsbury this morning,” Trent said. Even as he spoke, he remembered that ladies didn’t appreciate talk of fisticuffs. His mother had paled at the mere suggestion that he and Cedric had fought, although there were years when they pummeled each other daily.

Her eyes widened. “Is he a friend of yours?”

Trent tried to think how to phrase his account delicately. “Lord Malmsbury is merely an acquaintance. After our exchange this morning, he won’t be eager to deepen the association.”

Merry gave him a delighted grin. “Please tell me that you punched him?” At his nod, she clapped her hands. “Bravo! He’s such a little weasel. I thought later that I should have poked him harder with my hat pin. I should have drawn blood.”

American ladies, it seemed, had no qualms about fisticuffs.

“He will never touch you again,” Trent vowed, and a bit of the steely anger he felt at the thought leaked into his voice.

“I daresay, not after being drubbed by a duke.”

“An elegant turn of phrase,” Trent said, feeling that unfamiliar smile on his lips again. “Do you rival your aunt in poetic prowess?”

“I have no such aspirations.” She took his arm and began to draw him toward the door. “You truly ought to leave, Your Grace, before my aunt returns. She will be so happy to have an audience that you may well be unable to stir for an hour. And Lord help you if she decides you would also appreciate her poem describing the entire park.”

“Very long?” Trent inquired.

“Over one thousand lines.”

He was unable to suppress a groan.

“In couplets!”

“As it happens, I am leaving for Wales on matter of urgency,” he said.

Her smile sparkled. That was a silly way of putting it, but it was true.

“I think your brother said you own a mine there?”

“Yes, I own a slate mine near Blaenau Ffestiniog.”

Merry repeated the name, her soft voice mangling the Welsh characters. “Welsh is such an interesting language. What will you do there?”

“I’m not satisfied with the safety conditions,” Trent said, wondering why he was coming out with details that no lady—

“Of course, there was that terrible accident in Yorkshire a few months ago,” she said, nodding.

“In Barmby Furscoe,” he confirmed. “Some reports put the deaths at thirty pitmen.”

“What causes an explosion like that?”

Her eyes were bright and interested. If Trent had mentioned the disaster to Cedric, he would have received a blank stare. “That colliery was sunk by the Low Moor
Company,” he explained. “From what I’ve heard, they didn’t set proper rules, and someone brought an unprotected flame below.”

“So you’re going to establish regulations about the kind of lamps allowed below ground?”