The Duke's Quandary (20 page)

She shifted her legs, a slight whimper turning into a breathless, “Yes.”

“Like that, do you, my love?” He suckled hard, drawing a gasp from her that had his blood pumping, hammering in his ears.

The soft flickering candlelight illuminated the bed, casting parts of her body in shadow, teasing him with hidden delights. He released her breast and moved down, flicking his tongue over her belly, dipping into her navel.

Her breath hitched as he shifted downward, pushing her knees apart, widening her legs. Before she could stop him, he covered her crisp curls with his mouth, teasing, savoring, sucking on the nub. She tasted of honey and spice, the scent of her arousal almost driving him over the edge.

She clutched his head, twisting strands of his hair with her fingers. “Drake, oh goodness. Please. Don’t, don’t. . .stop.”

He smiled against her liquid heat and held her thrashing legs as she bucked her hips, a soft keening sound filling his ears. Once her movements eased to slight tremors, he rose above her and entered in one swift thrust.

His head rested against hers as he grasped her shoulders and pounded against her, their slick bodies slapping each other in rhythm. The cushioning welcome of her moist heat was as close to heaven as a man could get.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, again startling him with her response. His wife had an innocent, natural passion that never ceased to surprise him. Much too soon, his body tightened and he pulled her close, pouring his essence into her as he found his release.

After a few minutes he returned to himself and rolled to the side, gathering her body against his. The sound of heavy breathing and hearts thumping against each other lulled them into slumber.

His eyes flicked open, the chill in the air on his damp skin waking him. He eased away from Penelope and left her side, moving around the room as he extinguished the candles. She murmured his name when he returned to bed. Reaching down, he pulled up the blanket and covered them both. Her warm body immediately sidled up to him, and she threw her arm over his chest, settling her head on his shoulder. He smoothed her tangled curls and studied her face in the pale moonlight.

Her long eyelashes formed crescents against her ivory skin. A slight flush from their lovemaking remained on her cheeks. He bent and kissed her gently on the forehead, extracting a slight smile from her kiss-swollen lips.

Tenderness welled up within him at the sight of her snuggled against his side. She’d been trying so hard to learn the finer points of being a duchess that his mother had been teaching her. He chuckled, remembering the book on her head that had slid down and caused another mishap.

She would never be the “perfect” duchess he had assumed would be his life partner. The woman wrapped snugly around him would make mistakes, would defy him, and most likely continue to console distraught housemaids and feed stray animals. And probably continue with her scientific endeavors, despite his orders.

Just like his mother. Whom his father had loved with his whole being, making Drake wonder if that destiny loomed on his horizon as well.

Slowly, an idea grew in his mind, bringing a smile to his lips.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The day of the Linnean Society dinner had arrived. Penelope had spent the last half hour over the chamber pot. Her nerves had been so unsettled, she’d been sick for days now. Once she’d rinsed out her mouth and found her way downstairs, Drake was already in the breakfast room. He rose as she entered and pulled out her chair.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Morning.” She swallowed a few times, worried that she would have to race back upstairs.

He frowned. “Still not feeling well?”

She shook her head. “What time did they say the carriage would arrive to bring us to the dinner?”

“I notified them two days ago that you would not be requiring the services of their coach.” He waved the footman over. “Here, have some tea, my dear. It may settle your stomach.”

“I fear the only thing that will settle my stomach is having this blasted dinner over with.” She nodded at the servant as he placed the steaming cup in front of her.

“Oh, Penelope, please don’t distress yourself, it will be fine.” Marion took the chair across from her, a sympathetic smile on her face. “And besides, we will be there to support you.”

Although Penelope had planned to keep the entire matter just between Drake and her, it had been hard for Penelope to hide anything from her friend. Marion had managed to pry it out of her during one of their walks and within minutes after returning to the house,
she
had confided in the rest of the girls and their mother. The women then rallied around her, insisting they would attend as well.

“I still wish your mother and the rest of you would reconsider and not be there to witness my disgrace.”

“That’s enough,” Drake said. “It will be quite all right. I will accept the award, thank them, and we shall leave. No one will be the wiser.”

“Your Grace, a gentleman has requested an audience.” Stevens presented a calling card to Drake.

“So early?” Drake frowned as he read the card out loud. “Maxwell Fletcher, Reporter—
The Times of London
.” He turned to Stevens. “Have him wait. I’ll be there presently.”

Penelope’s hand shook as she lifted her tea cup. She knew this had something to do with the dinner. Why, oh why did she ever get involved in this subterfuge? She cleared her throat. “Perhaps this is in regard to tonight’s ceremony?”

“Maybe. When you are finished, my dear, we will both visit with Mr. Fletcher.” Drake wiped his mouth and set his serviette aside.

“You know, Penelope, even though Drake will be receiving the award on your behalf, it is truly a great honor they are bestowing on you.” Marion leaned forward, her eyes aglow.

“I realize that, and I truly don’t want to seem ungrateful. I find myself wishing the entire thing had never happened. Or that it had not become necessary to involve all of you in this.” She pushed her cup away, her stomach roiling. She glanced at Drake. “I am ready.”

They made their way to Drake’s study. Mr. Fletcher was a short, rotund man with a large mustache and almost no hair. He rose when they entered the room, adjusting his spectacles. “Your Grace.” He bowed.

“Mr. Fletcher.” Drake nodded and settled Penelope on the settee. “May I present my wife, Her Grace, the Duchess of Manchester.”

Another bow, this one a bit deeper, and then the man took his seat after Drake sat next to her, weaving their fingers together. “How may I assist you?”

“Actually, I came to interview a Mr. L. D. Farnsworth, who I was told resides at this address, but when I requested him, your man at the door said I should speak with you.”

Penelope whimpered. Drake squeezed her hand. “What do you wish to see Mr. Farnsworth about?”

With a puzzled expression, the reporter opened his notebook and studied it for a moment. “I’ve been assigned by my editor to do an interview with him since the gent is to get some type of an award tonight at the Linnean Society.” He looked up, expectantly.

“That is true. However, I’m afraid Mr. Farnsworth is unavailable for an interview at the present time,” Drake answered smoothly.

Fletcher closed his book. “Well, I’m to represent
The Times
at the dinner tonight. Thought I could get this part of the story finished first.” He shrugged. “I guess I can talk to Mr. Farnsworth at that time.”

Drake rose, and motioned toward the door. “That is correct. You may interview him tonight. Now if you will excuse us, my wife and I have another appointment.”

The man scrambled to his feet and hurried to the door. “I was a bit surprised to find this was Your Grace’s residence. Is Mr. Farnsworth a relative, perhaps?”

“All your questions will be answered this evening.” Drake held the door open.

With no recourse, the reporter stepped through the door where he was greeted by Stevens, who handed him his hat and gloves, then led him the rest of the way out.

“
The Times
is sending a reporter to the dinner?” Penelope groaned and wrapped her arms around her middle. “What are we going to do?”

“Come. We will take out the phaeton and enjoy the lovely weather and discuss our upcoming move to the country.”

“Can we leave today?” Although she tried, her smile barely made it.

…

Several hours later, Drake handed Penelope into the carriage to take them to the Linnean Society and settled in across from her. Under the lamplight from inside the conveyance, her eyes were huge in her pale face, and beads of perspiration graced her forehead. She twisted her fingers in her lap and took deep breaths.

“Sweetheart, stop. It will be fine.”

“What I fail to understand is how calm you are. This entire thing might become a disaster. We will all be ruined. It will be my disgrace. There. I’ve done it. Finally. I’ve humiliated you all.” Tears sprang to her eyes.

Sitting alongside her, the dowager duchess took Penelope’s hands in hers. “My dear, you must calm yourself. Nothing terrible will happen. Drake will present himself as Farnsworth. You will sit with him during the interview to help him along. The award will be given, and we will return home.”

“The interview will be after the award.”

The dowager and Penelope both swung their gazes to him. “How do you know that?” his mother asked.

“I sent a note along to
The
Times
today.”

“Why?”

He waved his hand. “No matter. We are making too much of this. It will be a simple thing. Now let us speak of something that will calm my wife’s overset nerves.”

About half an hour later, the Linnean Society came into view. The building rose majestically before them, hundreds of candles lighting the entire area. The line of carriages waiting to discharge its passengers extended for a full block.

Slowly they crept forward. The carriage rolled to a stop once more, and a footman opened the door. Drake climbed out first, then turned to assist his mother and Penelope. His sisters were in the coach behind them.

“My goodness. Look at this place!” Marion hooked her arm through Penelope’s. “This is so impressive. And to think they are here tonight to honor you.”

“
Shh
.” Penelope glanced around.

Drake took his mother’s arm on one side and Penelope’s on the other, and then proceeded up the steps as the girls fell into line behind them. A footman stood at the door, requesting names.

“L. D. Farnsworth and family,” Drake announced.

Recognition lit the man’s face. “Yes, sir. Please step this way.” He signaled for another man to take his place at the door, and escorted them to a large room where tables had been set up. Between the footman and him, they got the women’s seats pulled out and everyone settled in.

Drake surveyed the room, then glanced at Penelope. She sat starry-eyed, taking in the stuffy-looking members and the various illustrations of plants on the walls. Despite her anxiety, she inspected the growing number of scientists with obvious longing on her face.

His muscles tensed at how frustrating it must be for her. To be so good in her field, yet locked out of it.

Did I treat her any better by forbidding her to continue?

“I will notify the committee that you have arrived, sir.” The footman bowed and hurried away.

Table after table began to fill up. All men. Most of them announcing by their mannerisms and dress that they were of a scholarly ilk. Scientists clapped each other on the back. Several cast a glance at their table, obviously being told that L. D. Farnsworth had arrived.

“Farnsworth!” Three men approached their table.

Drake stood and extended his hand. “Good evening gentlemen.” He turned to the ladies at the table. “May I present my family? My mother, the Dowager Duchess of Manchester, my sisters, Lady Tunstall, Lady Abigail, Lady Sybil, Lady Sarah, and Lady Mary.” He took Penelope’s hand and drew her up. “And this is my wife, the Duchess of Manchester.”

“Your Grace!” one of the men exclaimed, pumping Drake’s hand. “We had no idea you were L. D. Farnsworth.”

Drake acknowledged the man’s surprise with a slight tilt of his head.

“May I make known to you our award committee, Your Grace.” Another man, portly and ruddy-faced, gestured to the other two. “This is Lord Melbourne and Mr. Aimsley. And I am Sir Addison.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen.”

“I must say we look forward to perhaps seeing more of you now that we have finally met. Your reports have been nothing short of brilliant, and we could certainly use your expertise on a regular basis.” Sir Addison glowed.

“Well that is, indeed, something to consider,” Drake said.

“We must be off, Your Grace. It is growing close to the time for the award. We wanted to be sure to make the acquaintance of such an esteemed scientist before you are swept away with congratulations.” Lord Melbourne nodded in the women’s direction. “Hopefully tonight’s activities won’t prove too boring for the ladies.”

“Oh, I doubt very much if they will be bored.” Drake took his seat, and clasped Penelope’s hand under the table. Then he turned and winked at her.

…

Penelope was so excited she could barely sit in her chair. She was finally in the revered Linnean Society building. All around her were the men whose names she’d read over and over in the newsletter published by the organization every quarter. Oh, if she could only meet them, talk with them, put a face to a name. Then she chastised herself. No woman had ever gotten even this close. She should be grateful for that.

Since the introductions had gone so well when the committee had approached their table, she had relaxed a bit. Drake seemed calm, and his initial reticence about doing this seemed all but forgotten. His hand still tightly clasped hers as he spoke with one or two gentlemen who visited their table. Who knew her stiff-necked husband would be so good at deception?

Eventually, the gentlemen were seated and Lord Melbourne rose from his seat and moved to the front of the room. “Tonight we have the great honor of welcoming into our group a man whose study of botany has been outstanding. His reports parallel none.

“Since last year’s publication of our Swiss-French colleague’s newest volume in his renowned plant encyclopedia, nothing has excited our Society more than Farnsworth’s discovery of an unclassified plant that spurred this award.

“So it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you Mr. L. D. Farnsworth, this year’s recipient of the Linnean Society Outstanding Achievement Award.” He gestured to Drake, who rose and moved to stand beside Melbourne to the sound of polite applause.

His stride was purposeful and confident. His broad shoulders, in a well-fitting evening coat, along with snug breeches and thin shoes, stood out against Melbourne’s stockiness. He swept aside the lock of hair that fell on his forehead. His hazel eyes sought hers, and he smiled, sending butterflies dancing in her stomach.

The men shook hands, and Melbourne handed him a plaque, then indicated that Drake should speak to the crowd.

“Good evening gentlemen. And ladies.” He nodded in the direction of their table. Numerous men in the room swiveled in their chairs to regard the women, some obviously not having seen them before and seeming surprised to see their sanctuary breached by the females.

Penelope recognized the reporter, Mr. Fletcher, writing away in his notebook.

Drake cleared his throat. “I am honored and pleased with this award the society has deemed to bestow upon Mr. Farnsworth. You have no idea how proud I am.”

Penelope’s eyes filled with tears as he stared pointedly at her.

“However, I am not worthy of this recognition, and I am not merely being humble. I simply speak the truth.” As he spoke, he slowly headed toward their table until he reached Penelope, and taking her hand, drew her up.

She attempted to tug her hand away. “What are you doing?” She hissed.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and tugged her gently forward as he continued in a loud voice. “You see. I am not the L. D. Farnsworth who you are so excited to meet this evening. The person you have selected for this honor, who is esteemed in your eyes, and who has made such outstanding achievements in the field of botany, is none other than my beautiful and brilliant wife, Her Grace, the Duchess of Manchester.”

A roar of displeasure rose from the crowd. Heads turned to each other, men shouting back and forth, keeping the din going. Fletcher sat slack-jawed, before he abruptly shut his mouth and began scribbling furiously in his notebook. Penelope covered her mouth with her hand, the tears rushing to her eyes. What was he doing? Didn’t he realize what a disgrace this was?

“Drake?” She barely got the word out.

He placed the plaque in her hands, and took her by the shoulders. “I have never in my life been so proud of anyone as I am of you. Not just tonight, but every night, and every day. You are my perfect duchess, and I love you very much.”

As if God had sent a deluge of rain to her eyes, tears streamed down her cheeks. “And I love you so very much, too. You are my perfect duke.”

And right there in front of all the respected members of the Linnean Society of London, the Duke of Manchester pulled her, his perfect duchess, into his arms and kissed her senseless.