The Accidental Duchess (6 page)

“My aunt Hortense is not my gaoler. I can move about town without her. I am a grown woman.”

“Indeed you are. I would never be planning how to bed you if you were not.”

Bed you
. That shocked her mind straight. She stared at Penthurst, trying not to imagine what that involved. Little flashes of pictures came to her anyway, of his handsome face rising above shoulders and chest that wore no clothes, and of that hand that rested on the table instead resting on her.

A new panic flushed through her, leaving her warm and confused and too aware of their current isolation. She felt terribly vulnerable to the masculinity he all but beamed like a lighthouse in her direction. She kept noticing peculiar things, like that hand, and his mouth, and the tiny golden lights in his eyes, and the scandalous way he managed to observe her. That gaze appeared discreet enough, but she almost squirmed from how his attention communicated the implications of what would happen.

“. . . I will arrange the rest,” he continued. “I expect it might be an inn, but I promise it will be a good one, and the proprietors very discreet. Although letting a house might be better. I will have to see what is available.”

“Surely there is no rush.” She wanted to sound sophisticated. Instead her voice rang with desperation to her own ears.

He cocked his head. The slightest smile formed, and it hardly reassured her. “I am not accustomed to taking markers.”

“I am not suggesting a marker as such, only—”

“Did you wager that which you do not have in your possession? Is that the problem?”

It took a moment to puzzle through what he meant. When she did, it only shocked her anew. “I am completely in possession of that which I wagered. However, a week—there is something else I must be doing this week.”

That vague smile again. “Ah. You only wish a delay. A small one, I trust.”

She nodded, dumbly.

“A fortnight hence, then, but I expect consideration for my patience.” He stood, and offered his hand to help her to rise.

She gathered her gloves and bonnet. She accepted his hand, too alert to the warm, dry sensation of his skin on hers. She turned to leave at once.

He did not release her hand. Even when she gave a little yank, he held firm. She looked back at him with curiosity. His eyes narrowed and he yanked in response. She spun back until she bumped right into him.

His other hand pressed the back of her waist. “You forgot the consideration. I meant it in the legal sense. I do something for you, and you do something for me.”

His voice, low and soft, sent a chill up her spine. She stared up at him, feeling even more a fool than before, trying to swallow her astonishment at being pressed against him in a most improper way.

“Something . . . ?”

“A small something. A gesture of goodwill, to promise you will not welsh on your debt.”

“You have my word that—” The rest caught in her throat as she realized what he meant.

His head lowered. Her eyes widened. Surely he could not think to—

He could. He did. The Duke of Penthurst had decided that a kiss was the consideration he wanted for delaying her deflowering by a week.

She saw it as if she sat in one of the paintings on the wall. She saw her own amazement even as she experienced it. Saw his dark head angling to claim her mouth. Watched while she helplessly allowed it, too shocked to move. A new shock claimed her, one of deep stirring within the confusion. More surprise then. The kiss moved her, when it was the last kiss that ever should.

It horrified her. Some presence of mind returned. She pressed back against his hand while she turned her head away.

He permitted it. She snuck one look at him while she walked away. That was a mistake. He watched her like a hawk might watch a scurrying mouse, with the same confidence that there would be no contest should he determine the mouse would make a good meal.

She almost stumbled in her hasty retreat. He did not laugh at her. At least not before she had left the room.

 • • • 

F
or a woman of the world, Lydia had not acquitted herself well. Penthurst recalled just how poorly while he drank some brandy. On the table beside him the queen and king of spades still lay face up.

Was she mad? To come here and demand he make good on that wager—the idea still amazed him, as did all that had transpired.

She had been sure she would win. There was half a chance she would too. And if not, she would finally lose big, the way her family hoped and wanted. That had certainly happened, hadn’t it? The shock she displayed indicated she had begun to believe in her luck more than was wise.

That would end now. He would let her worry about his intentions for a day or so, then let her out of the bad bargain. By then she would have thoroughly learned her lesson.

His mind drifted to that kiss, as it had several times already. He wanted to say it had only been one more part of that lesson, but that was not entirely true. He could be excused for pressing his advantage a little, however. Considering the situation she had created, she was lucky it had stopped at a kiss. A woman should not allow a man to have her within his power of possession unless she did not mind him considering her in that light.

Consider he had. Rather explicitly. Poor Lydia had sat there, gaping in shock, while he pictured her naked on a bed. He doubted she had guessed that. She had been too distressed to imagine where his mind might be going. In the days ahead she might, however.

Damn right, he had kissed her. Partly out of curiosity, partly out of arousal, but mostly because he already knew it was all he would ever get.

He checked his pocket watch. With a sigh he set down his glass, and stood. He gazed again at the cards.

No, she was not mad. She had come for a reason, and it had not been to toy with him. Something important caused her to assemble the courage to dredge up that old wager, and meet with him alone in order to coerce him to follow through on it.

He flipped the two cards over and returned them to their deck. Money. She wanted the ten thousand. Badly enough to risk herself like this. He wondered why she wanted it. Or needed it. Whatever the reason, she had concluded there was nowhere else to get it. That meant she could not turn to her brother, or her friends, or her aunts.

Evidently, this had not been the first big loss after all. He should have quizzed her on her gambling debts, instead of succumbing to the baser urges her little game had provoked.

He left the library and went below. The butler caught his eye as he descended the stairs, and angled his head toward the dining room. Penthurst changed directions and aimed there.

“My apologies,” he said upon entering. “You are so often late coming down that I assumed you would not mind if I dallied over some brandy while I waited.”

His aunt’s head tilted back so she could look down her nose. She stood as tall and straight as possible for the full ducal effect. That pose had made her formidable and frightening when he was a boy. It still indicated she was not pleased.

“I wonder if our hostess will understand as well as I do,” she intoned.

“Our hostess will await our arrival even if we are two hours late, so should not mind at all that it will be less than thirty minutes. Shall we go?”

Working her mouth like she chewed on words that resisted being swallowed, she accepted his escort out of the dining room. “You were not only drinking some brandy. You had company. A woman.”

Hell. “Did you see her leave?”

“Of course not. Upon seeing her maid, I made myself scarce in the dining room. Why was Lydia here?”

He ushered her out of the building and toward the waiting coach. “She has a cause that she hopes I will use my influence on.” He preferred not to lie to his aunt, but that did not mean he never did.

She stepped up into the coach. “She came here to request that? She has not had a civil word for you in years, as best I have heard. She treats you like a stranger, and suddenly you are to be her friend because you once offered her transport to her brother’s party? Bold girl.
Bold
.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he muttered as he sat down across from her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“I trust her cause is not the slave question. You have worn out your welcome there, even with Pitt.”

“As a politician and minister, Pitt is constrained by practicalities in ways I am not, but we are still of like mind on that and many other things. However, Lydia’s cause is not that.” Lest she pursue just what it might be instead, he changed the topic. “We must have a right understanding about tonight. One dinner and an introduction to Lady Barrowton’s brother, and that is all. If I am invited again, I will decline. When I meet her niece—”

“Do not be ridiculous. The girl is not out yet. She will not attend.”

“You and Lady Barrowton have cooked up some ruse so I meet her all the same, I am sure. Understand that I will not call on this girl, and I doubt I will even ask her to dance if we are at the same ball during her first season.”

“I accept your agreement.” She gave him a coy look. “Of course, you will be free of it if you choose.”

“I will not so choose. I am only doing this because you rashly promised Lady Barrowton that I would dine with her brother. Do not commit me like that again. I will not have it.”

“I know. It was bad of me. I am justly chastised. I will not interfere in the future.”

Of course she would. But after tonight, not for a few weeks.

I
t took Lydia two days to recover from the disaster at Penthurst’s house. Her pending doom occupied her thoughts and dreams. She debated all sorts of schemes to get out of making good on that wager. Calling upon his honor seemed the best choice.

If that didn’t move him, she could always beg him to release her from the debt, but the notion of begging Penthurst for anything appalled her. She could hear the self-satisfied lecture he would give her if he agreed. She would prefer to simply refuse instead, only that would announce that
she
had no honor, either as the daughter of an earl or as a gambler.

On the third day she forced herself to set that problem aside. Penthurst should not be her biggest concern now. Trilby’s deadline would arrive before any trysts on the coast were arranged. Her time to find enough money to appease her blackmailer was running out.

She could think of only one other way to get her hands on a lot of money. Unfortunately it was not a plan she could execute on her own.

She needed an accomplice.

That afternoon she walked across the square to call on Cassandra. She found Ambury with her. When she entered the library they both gave her peculiar looks—the kind people give when they had been talking about you in their last breaths.

“I trust all is well across the way,” Ambury said. “Is Emma still radiant with delight that she is in the family way?”

“She is, although if my brother does not stop doting on her, she will forget how to walk. Last night there was some discussion at dinner that indicated he has proposed she avoid the auction house the rest of this year.” Emma played a secret role still in her family’s business, Fairbourne’s auction house. As best Lydia had determined, Emma played the
main
role as well.

“I doubt she took that well,” Cassandra said.

“Not well at all. There was not an argument as such, just evidence that no matter what she has been saying, he has not been listening. You know how men can be.”

Cassandra shot her husband a sideways glance. “I know how some men can be, that is true.”

“Since I am probably one of those men, now would be a good time for me to take my leave,” Ambury said. “Then you ladies can bemoan how men can be at your leisure.”

Cassandra sparkled at him. “You never give yourself credit, darling. By some men, I meant others, not you. You are the reason I insisted it is only
some
to begin with.”

“What a pretty lie. But I will believe it, since I would rather not imagine being the subject of your talk.” He left them on that.

Lydia sat next to Cassandra on the sofa.

“He will come around,” Cassandra said.

“Ambury?”

“Southwaite. With Emma. He is still in the first throes of both excitement and worry. She will negotiate more movement and freedom in a few weeks.”

“I do not see why she should have to negotiate anything. She is not some child. She took care of herself well enough before they wed. She can even make her own way if she needs to, which I greatly envy. My brother should not be able to change her habits and interfere with her pleasure on a whim.”

Two years ago she never thought she would have to make this speech to Cassandra, of all women. Cassandra had been the freest unmarried woman she knew back then. She had both envied and admired her, and tried to pattern her own freedom upon that example.

Not that she had ever gotten far in doing that. Someone always interfered. Her brother. Her aunts. Her own fears and lack of confidence. Cassandra possessed a lush beauty that encouraged a boldness of vision that captivated everyone, even if they did not agree or approve. When Lydia gazed in the looking glass, she saw a somewhat ordinary female lacking distinction, who could never pull it off.

Cassandra laughed. She reached over and plucked at an errant curl and tucked it back into place in Lydia’s coiffeur. “You will go on about how the world should be, instead of accepting how it is, Lydia. As I said, your brother will come around. Emma will see that he does. We women are not without our weapons in such skirmishes.”

She wondered what those weapons were, and what their limitations might be. Neither Cassandra nor Emma appeared oppressed, but that had a lot to do with Southwaite’s and Ambury’s characters, rather than any feminine weapons. If married to different men, they would both be disarmed.

“At least you do not have to wait for negotiations,” she said, broaching the topic that had brought her here. “You at least still dance to your own tune sometimes. Ambury would not object if you went out some night alone, for example.”

“Is there any particular place you think I would want to go?”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Only because I know you so well.” She bent closer, like a conspirator. “What are you plotting?”

“In a word, revenge. I am finally ready to give the cheating knave who robbed you his due.”

Cassandra leaned away abruptly. “Robbed me? Lydia, what are you talking about?”

“You told me that you lost a huge amount at the tables because a scoundrel cheated. Don’t you remember? I said I would turn my mind to how to extract justice.”

“Darling, that was long ago. Almost two years, surely? I had all but forgotten it. Since that financial quandary led to my alliance with Ambury, I do not even hate the man anymore.”

“Well, I do. He is a cheat. He has kept at it all this time too. I figured out who it is and I have been watching him for months, when I can. I even had someone teach me sleight-of-hand tricks, so I could decipher just how he pulls it off.” Hopefully Cassandra would never learn how badly that had turned out. That someone had been Trilby and it was how he came to know her better than he might have otherwise. “I am ready to bring him down.”

Instead of cheering, Cassandra appeared vexed. “You have been watching him for months? He only plays at the worst hells these days. Do not tell me that you have been a regular visitor of such places.”

“I could hardly study him if I never went where he plays cards.”

“Good heavens, Lydia.”

“I do not know why you are so shocked. I told you I was going to do this when you first described the dilemma he created for you. It is why I learned the games in the first place, and practiced with cards so hard.”

“Are you saying you only picked up this . . . entertainment, so you could catch him at his tricks? Pray, never tell your brother that. He will forbid either you or Emma ever speaking to me again.” Her eyes narrowed critically. “Nor can you claim that was your only reason for gaming. I have seen how much you enjoy it. The first step may have been taken for this purpose, but you were only too happy to skip along after that, for your own pleasure.”

This was not going as she had planned. “I am not blaming you. I do not think there is cause to blame anyone. I am only explaining why on an evening soon I need to visit a gaming hall less refined than Mrs. Burton’s, and why I thought you would want to come with me when I do.”

“You were wrong. Nor are you going. It is not fitting.”

“That is an odd command coming from you. You used to go, when you were a woman of the world, and not a dutiful, meek bride.” She regretted snapping that out in response as soon as she said it.

Cassandra looked like she had been slapped. They sat in silence. Lydia considered whether bringing Sarah would work. She could dress Sarah up to appear her companion, and sit her at the table, and—

“You are determined?” Cassandra asked.

“I am. I will do it alone if you think aiding me compromises you in some way.”

“It isn’t that.” Cassandra took her hand and patted it. “I was hoping you would have learned from my mistake, that is all. I suppose that almost never happens, however. I will accompany you so there is not too much talk. However, you only get one shot in this duel, Lydia. Be sure your powder is dry before you aim.”

 • • • 

O
n returning home, Lydia received the news that Emma had taken ill.

She rushed to her brother’s apartment. He sat beside Emma’s bed, lines of worry etching parentheses on the sides of his eyes. Emma sat up in bed, propped on many pillows. She read a book by the waning light of the day. She greeted Lydia brightly.

“I heard you were ill,” Lydia said.

“I was never ill. I only had a moment of light-headedness.”

“She almost fainted,” Southwaite said.

Emma patted the side of her bed. “Sit a moment. Darius, why don’t you take this opportunity to go to the garden and take some air.”

“I do not need air.”

Emma regarded him indulgently. “Lydia will be here, and there are two servants waiting in my dressing room should I need them. It would not do for me to worry about your health more than you worry about mine.”

Reluctantly, Southwaite stood. “You are to call for me at once, Lydia, if she— That is, if anything—” He bent and kissed Emma’s crown, then left.

Emma cocked her head, listening for the door to close. When it did, she sank back on her pillows with a deep sigh. “Thank you for coming so I have some relief. He watches me so closely that I measure every breath.”

“Did you really almost faint?”

“I only had a moment of dizziness when I rose from my chair in the library. Unfortunately, he was there and—” She gestured to her bed. “He will sit here all night, I fear.”

“I will offer to do so instead, if you prefer.” The plans with Cassandra would have to wait.

“He will never allow it. I expect him to return soon and banish you until tomorrow.”

“I suppose he is worried about the child. It could be his heir.”

Emma could capture one totally with her gaze, with a frank penetration that could be unsettling. She did that now. “It is partly worry for the child that has him so protective and concerned, of course, but mostly he is tortured by worry for me.”

“If you say so, I must believe you, because you know him much better than I do.” There were days when she did not understand Southwaite at all, nor he her. “If he remains like this, however, I fear you will do him grave harm before the child comes.”

Emma giggled and they laughed together. “Oh, he will not be so impossible after a week or so. Why, he left just now, did he not? Thirty minutes here, two hours there—I am weaning him away from my side. Eventually I will have a life that approaches what I normally know.”

“Normal enough for your family’s auction house?”

Emma’s brow puckered. “I think so, but not quickly enough. I confess that I have had to resort to a little deception on that.” She cocked her head again, listening, then fluttered her hand toward her dressing room door. “Go, quickly. In my dressing table drawer there is a letter. Bring it here.”

Lydia entered the dressing room. Emma’s lady’s maid and another female servant sat there sewing, waiting to be called. She plucked the letter from the lap drawer of the dressing table.

She handed it to Emma, who scanned its contents. “Would that I had more time to write this, and could be more detailed. This will have to do, however.” She began folding it. “Will you post this for me, to Obediah at Fairbourne’s? He wrote asking some questions that I needed to answer regarding the next auction.”

Lydia took the page, now folded small enough to fit in her palm. Obediah Riggles was Fairbourne’s auctioneer. “You are still managing things there, then?”

“I am not managing. He asks for advice, and I give it. That is not managing.”

“How did you write this letter, with my brother hovering?”

“I convinced him to allow me to bathe without his help.” She laughed. “He stayed in here. You should have seen me, scribbling away while my maid splashed to make water sounds. Fortunately I really was in the bath when my lengthy ablutions caused him to look in to make sure I was not in need of his assistance.”

“Maybe he just wanted to see you naked.”

Emma leveled that gaze at her again. “You do have a talent for astonishing comments, Lydia. It is not so much what you say, but the everyday manner in which you say them that makes Cassandra and me wonder about you.”

“I hope you do not wonder too much. I regret to say that the only extraordinary thing about me is my talent for inappropriate comments.” She bent and kissed Emma. “I will go now. I think he is standing right outside your door, trying to appear as if he is still sane. I will post this, and come tomorrow to find a way for you to have enough time to write again to Obediah, if you need to.”

Southwaite indeed stood outside the door, arms crossed, taming for a while his fear for his lover. No sooner did she step over the threshold than he strode in.

He probably would spend the whole night there. Which meant he would be unaware of where she had the carriage take her tonight.

 • • • 

T
he library beckoned. Attended by his hounds, Penthurst aimed there, planning a silent night of reading after a day marshaling all his faculties to argue against the foolhardy idea of invading France.

Such plans were proposed at least once a fortnight, but this one, put forward by a general who should know better, had taken wing and flown around Whitehall like an eagle, instead of the tiny, wounded sparrow it was. At least three ministers had convinced themselves the farmers and merchants of England would throw down their hoes and lock their shop doors in order to serve in the army.

He understood the desire for action. For anything, really, that might bring years of war to an end. Britain could not field an army large enough for invasion, however, especially now that Napoleon had begun conscripting his own people. Several voices had been insane enough to suggest Britain do the same. As if Englishmen would accept such a thing.

After choosing his books, he settled down in his favorite chair. Caesar sprawled at his feet. Cleo sat near his right side, her head positioned for any scratches he might absently reach over and give.

The table on which a losing queen of spades recently lay still stood beside him. He looked across at the other chair, and remembered Lydia’s shock when she saw the king.

He had almost felt bad for her. Almost. He hoped that she was good and worried about that wager.