The Charmer (2 page)

In the interests of modesty he had lowered her into the water still clothed, but the wet silk adhered like a second skin and created an image much more erotic than mere nudity. The duchess had thoroughly quashed his sexual reactions by regaining consciousness upon submersion. She half came to, absorbed her situation, and then awoke with a roar.

At which point she had gotten sick.

Yes, this was turning out to be quite a night.

Two of the mastiffs assumed positions of submission at his feet, but the third refused to budge, bow, or blink. Adrian intensified the contest while his memory perused the last hour's events, pausing longer than it should on various images of Sophia Raughley soaked, in
dishabille,
or bare-breasted.

The duchess's angry voice could be heard, threatening the sack to one and all. Charles shot Adrian a beseeching glance.

“You may leave. You know what to do,” Adrian said.

The last hound broke and lowered his tail. Adrian permitted some friendly sniffing, then gestured for the animal to lie. He poured some of the wine brought in for his refreshment, stretched out his legs, and waited.

chapter
2

S
ophia cradled her spinning head in her hands. She had drunk a glass or two more wine than normal tonight, but nothing to deserve this misery.

“Is he still there?”

Jenny cracked open the door and stuck her nose to it. “Yes, sitting by the hearth like he has a right to be here.”

Sophia gestured to the two women mopping up the water around the tub. “Leave now and go to bed. The rest can wait until morning.”

Lisette and Linette bustled to the door. As they slipped out, Sophia caught a glimpse of the man sitting amidst her hounds.

Adrian Burchard. She knew of the Burchards. Randall Burchard, the Earl of Dincaster, had been a friend of her father.

The only thing that she knew about this particular Burchard, however, was what she had learned from Jenny. He was here on an errand from the King, no less, to bring her back to England.

“Send him away.”

“I do not think that he will go. He said that he would wait until you were well enough disposed to speak with him.”

Sophia pushed Jenny aside and stuck her own nose to the crack. Adrian Burchard drank her wine, gazed at her fire, and scratched Yuri's ear. It was a wonder he had not removed his shoes. He cut a stunning figure with his dark tousled hair, dark eyes, and black evening dress. Many women would not mind finding him ensconced in their chambers.

He possessed a compelling presence that affected her even in her pitiful condition. Still, he struck her as somehow fraudulent. The cut of his clothes and the manner in which he lounged, announced his Englishness. He exuded an English aristocratic breeding that could not be faked. But . . . his face, yes, that was it. There was something suspiciously un-English about his face.

He did not resemble the fair-haired Earl of Dincaster. This man had thick, wavy, black hair, and very dark eyes, deep-set and shaped the way they are in Mediterranean countries. The contrast with his fair skin created a slightly unnatural appearance. There was something foreign about his mouth, too, a hard definition that gave it a cruel aspect.

She could not shake the impression that if he changed his clothes, demeanor, and a few physical details, Adrian Burchard could pass for a Spanish prince much more successfully than that rapscallion Stefan passed for a Polish one. Which was peculiar because while Stefan might not be a prince, he most certainly was Polish.

The more she peered, the more familiar Burchard looked in ways that uncomfortably pricked at her recollections. She tried to brush aside the thick clouds that obscured the events of the night. It was extremely disconcerting to realize that several hours of your life had passed without your awareness of them.

Jenny held up some stays for her attention. “Will you be feeling well enough to dress now, my lady?”

“I have no intention of getting fully dressed again to greet him. Fetch my violet undressing gown, do something with my hair, and throw a shawl over my shoulders. If he is shocked, I do not care.”

“Oh, I do not think you could shock him,” Jenny mused while she pulled open doors of armoires. “After what he has already seen, it would be peculiar if he was scandalized by a perfectly respectable undressing gown, wouldn't it?”

Well, now, that depended upon what it was that he had already seen.

“What do you think of him, Jenny?”

Jenny glanced to the door. “He is very formidable. He does not frighten the way your father did, but there is something to him that makes one want to put things in his hands, because he is sure to make it come out as he intends. And he is every inch a gentleman. Charles said that while he carried you up here you were partly exposed, and not once did Mister Burchard look.”

Sophia's unsettled stomach kicked in outrage. Through some bizarre misadventure, this stranger had seen her partly undressed.

“And he can be very gentle, my lady,” Jenny continued while she tried to tame Sophia's curls with combs. “He carried you to the bath like a baby, and when you got sick he assisted and showed no dismay.”

Sophia felt her face burn. Suddenly
that
memory broke through the mist. Sloshing water. Masculine hands holding her chin and forehead over a porcelain rim. Yards of ruined, soaked red silk.

Jenny pinned her curls back and encased them in a thin net. Sophia rose to don the violet satin sack gown.

Gathering the tattered shreds of her dignity around her, she made as grand an entrance into the next room as circumstances permitted.

The effect, if any, was wasted. Adrian was bent over Yuri's prostrate, panting form, giving a good scratch to the stomach slavishly begging for attention.

Sophia waited. He had heard her entrance but was pretending he had not. He planned to make this a contest. She really was not in the mood, even if his dark looks left her mouth dry.

He finally acknowledged her. Rising, he snapped his fingers and pointed Yuri back to his place by the hearth. Sophia did not miss the symbolism.
Your household is already mine to command,
the gesture said.

He gave her a sharp assessment with those wonderful eyes. His expression implied that he expected to find the next conquest quick work too.

He advanced and she presented her hand. He bowed over it. “Under the circumstances, perhaps we should start at the beginning and repeat the introduction, Duchess. I am Adrian Burchard. You are feeling better? I took the liberty to ask that some food be brought up. It will help if you eat something.”

Tea and cakes waited atop a table. He guided her over, sat her down, poured her tea, and settled himself several feet away. Masterfully.

“Please eat something.” It wasn't a request. Not really.

She reached for a cake in spite of herself. She nibbled and drank a bit of tea under his watchful approval. A silly, still-inebriated part of her wanted to glow with delight that he was pleased.

A different, sensible part, the part that had developed a gargantuan headache, knew what he was doing. He was taking her in hand, as if she was some dimwit.

“You are one of the Earl of Dincaster's sons, are you not? I met your parents, years ago.” She was amazed that she got the words out. He was so handsome that she couldn't concentrate. She had to force herself not to stare at his face. Close like this, she found it astonishing in its severe beauty.

He possessed a square jaw and defined cheekbones and his eyes positively glowed in the candlelight. His black hair fell carelessly about his forehead and face and collar, but not in the carefully mussed styles seen in drawing rooms these days. Rather it seemed to really grow that way because nature decreed it be a little wild.

Tell me, Mister Burchard, as I have always wondered. What is it like to be so beautiful that hearts skip when you pass by?

“I am his third son, after my brothers Gavin and Colin.”

Third son. After the “heir and a spare.” Lady Dincaster had been as fair as her husband, Sophia recalled. She examined Adrian's dark, foreign appearance with new interest.

“You have a letter for me, I believe,” she said, barely swallowing a tactless query regarding his legitimacy that wanted to blurt out.

He extricated a small missive from inside his frock coat. Sophia noted the royal seal.

“What does it say?”

“The King was surprised that you did not return to England upon your father's passing. He summons you at once. It would be his pleasure to welcome the newest peer to her position.”

It appeared that they were going to talk about sad, complicated things. She found him a tad less attractive all of a sudden.

“My father was dead. Attending his funeral would not bridge the gulf that we found impossible to cross during his life. As to His Majesty, I expect that he wants his lords to enjoy the joke of a peeress in a country ruled by primogeniture. Let them find their amusement elsewhere.”

“Your situation is unusual, but it is not a joke. Nor will you be alone. As you know, there are other women who have benefited from traditions of inheritance in their families as you have.”

“Two hundred years ago an ancestor convinced a king to permit a daughter to inherit his title, and I am now forced to play the duchess.” She leaned toward him. “I do not want this. I will not do it. A steward can manage the estate. I intend to stay here in Paris.”

“You must return. Certainly you know what is occurring in England. The French journals describe it, and English visitors surely report it.”

“I do not associate with English visitors much, but yes, I am aware of what is occurring.”

“Then you know that Parliament has been dissolved and elections are being held. A movement to change the representation in the House of Commons has swept the country, pitting class against class. If an act of reform passes the next Parliament, it will change how England is governed as no war ever did.”

“Perhaps it is time for some changes. I myself wouldn't know. I will let others decide.”

His eyes flashed. Magnificently. Goodness, he was handsome.

“There are those who want revolution rather than reform. The power of Everdon cannot sit this out in France.” He caught her gaze and held it with his compelling own. “I have come to bring you home, and if I have to carry you slung over my shoulder to the coast and across the channel, I will do so.”

He maintained an utterly cool demeanor while he made his threat. No pomposity at which to laugh. No posturing to puncture. He laid out the facts in a quiet, firm voice.
This is how it is,
he said.
This is what will happen.

“As a woman I cannot sit in Parliament. I inherited no political power along with the title and estate.”

He examined her thoughtfully. “I cannot decide if you are truly as ignorant as you claim, or if you have adopted the pose in the vain hope that it will make a difference.”

“You come very close to insult, Mister Burchard.”

“Forgive me. Allow me to explain the situation in broad terms. As Duchess of Everdon you control twelve members of the Commons. They come from boroughs under your control in Devon and Cornwall.”

“Rotten boroughs.”

“Mostly. Your nomination is required to return them to the Commons in this election. Your direction on their votes, once elected, will also be needed. Every vote will matter. So, while you cannot participate directly, you still hold significant power.”

It was accepted tradition that hundreds of seats in the Commons were “owned” by peers sitting in the upper house. She had no idea that Everdon controlled so many, however.

Very suddenly she experienced complete, horrible sobriety. It was going to be much worse than she had feared. Her situation promised to be terribly precarious.

“You were sent by the King. Who else?”

A spark of approval flickered in his dark eyes. “The Duke of Wellington, and other men of influence in the Tory party.”

“We both know that these men have no intention of leaving the power that you describe in my hands. They need to find a way to dictate to me, and the surest way to do that with a woman is through her husband. So I ask you, who is the man who has been chosen for me?”

His hard mouth quirked with quiet amusement. He appeared extremely charming like that. “If I had to venture a guess, I would say Mister Gerald Stidolph.”

Oh, Lord, not Gerald.
Anyone
but Gerald.

Fury and fear flashed like lightning through her aching head. It sought a destination and Adrian Burchard was the closest one available.

“Why were you chosen to bring me back? Why did they send you instead of someone else?”

“I knew your father. I am the M.P. from Stockton in Devon. It is one of your boroughs.”

“Don't you fear alienating me with your interference in my life? Tell me, what would happen if I did not nominate you for this election?”

His lids lowered and he quirked another smile, less amused and friendly this time. “I expect that the party would find another seat for me to stand to. If not, I would be forced to pursue my other interests.”

“So you are an important member of the party, and not just a back bencher.”

“Not especially important, but useful.”

“No wonder they sent you. You are not too beholden. You serve me, but only to the extent it suits your true masters. For this meeting to be complete, shouldn't you be giving me something. A ring or seal?”

She said it to goad him. The last thing she expected was for him to reach into his pocket and indeed withdraw a ring. She recognized it as her father's, with the crest of Everdon raised on its jewel.

He held his hand out for hers. She glared at that ring. A chill shuddered through her, trembling out of time and memory. He reached down and raised her hand from her lap.

His hand holding hers felt incredibly comforting, so much that she almost embarrassed them both by asking him not to let go right away. He slid the circle of heavy gold on her finger. It looked ridiculous on her.

His touch fell away and she was left to support the ring alone.

“Since it was not clear how long you would be indisposed, I took the liberty of giving Charles instructions for your journey.” He looked at her impassively. She was a problem to be managed, a difficulty to be cleaned up.