An Unsuitable Duchess
An Unsuitable Duchess
Laurie Benson
The scandal of the season!For American Katrina Vandenberg, the rules of London society are stifling. So, when a rare moment of solitude at a particularly tedious ball is interrupted, she’s disappointed…until she lays eyes on a very handsome stranger!Julian Carlisle, Duke of Lyonsdale, is destined for a dull marriage of convenience, and Katrina couldn’t be further from the docile, blue-blooded bride he needs. An affair would be scandalous, but could there be a way for this highly unsuitable woman to become Julian’s perfect duchess after all?
Secret Lives of the Ton (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
What Society doesn’t know …
Meet Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, Gabriel Pearce, the Duke of Winterbourne, and Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick.
In the eyes of the Ton, these three gentlemen are handsome, upstanding men who—mostly!—play by the rules. But what Society doesn’t know is that behind closed doors these three men are living scandalous lives and conducting sinfully scandalous affairs!
Read Julian’s story first in An Unsuitable Duchess
Available now
And look for Gabriel and Hart’s stories, coming soon!
Author Note (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
I’ve been interested in history since I was young, and that interest was fuelled by visits to many museums.
The idea for this story came to me while I was visiting Washington Irving’s home in Tarrytown, New York. I confess I have a bit of a historical crush on Irving, who was one of America’s first internationally acclaimed authors. For a time he lived in London, during the Regency era, and also served as a diplomat there in the last few years of the reign of George IV. While hearing about Irving’s time in London I began to imagine what life might have been like for the daughter of such a man. I’d also often wondered about the courtship of the first American woman to breach the walls of the English aristocracy. With these two thoughts in my head, this story was born.
While writing this book I used some creative licence, and I changed the name of the United States Minister to Britain who served in 1818 from Richard Rush to the fictitious Mr Forrester.
If you’re interested in learning more about some of the historical details in this book, please visit my website at lauriebenson.net and click on the link to my blog. You can search An Unsuitable Duchess for relevant articles. And while you’re there please subscribe to my newsletter for information about forthcoming books.
I hope you enjoy An Unsuitable Duchess, which is the first book in my Secret Lives of the Ton series.
An Unsuitable Duchess
Laurie Benson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning historical romance author and Golden Heart® finalist. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter, where she learned more than anyone could ever want to know about hot dogs and credit score reports. When she isn’t at her laptop, avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing in museums or taking ridiculously long hikes with her husband and two sons. You can visit her at lauriebenson.net (http://lauriebenson.net).
Acknowledgements (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
I’ll always be grateful to my wonderful editor, Kathryn Cheshire, for giving me this opportunity and for helping me bring Julian and Katrina into the world. Thanks for your guidance and support. You’re the best! And thank you to everyone at Mills & Boon Historical, especially Linda Fildew, Nic Caws and Krista Oliver, for all that you’ve done for me.
Thanks, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for having my back and for just being you.
To the history bloggers and the people who answered my historical questions—thanks for making research fun.
Lori V. and Lisa D.—this book might not have been written if it weren’t for the two of you. Thanks for encouraging me to put this story to paper and for not running the other way when I asked you to read it—a number of times. I love you both!
To Jen, Mia, Marnee and Teri—thanks for riding this rollercoaster with me and for being such great friends.
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. To my boys—you mean the world to me. Thanks for never complaining when deadlines have had me ordering takeout for dinner. And thank you to my husband for always believing in me and for proving that love at first sight really is possible.
Finally, thank you, kind reader, for picking up this book. I hope this story makes you smile, and that you enjoy this brief armchair vacation in Regency era London.
Contents
Cover (#u87a145d3-9723-5981-a805-e1507914af76)
Secret Lives of the Ton
Author Note
Title Page (#u6f1556ea-e842-5b68-bcff-aae0c340f8ee)
About the Author (#ue836e79c-63e9-5a61-9c28-3b1717699e74)
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
Mayfair, London, 1818.
Katrina Vandenberg had come to the conclusion that the ballrooms of London were rather dangerous places.
As she stood under a glittering chandelier in the Russian Ambassador’s ornate drawing room she rotated her sore foot beneath her gown. It didn’t help. Anticipating its tenderness, she held her breath and gingerly lowered her slipper to the red and gold rug.
‘Why does Lord Boreham continue to ask me to dance?’ she groaned as her foot began to throb. ‘Each time we do he stumbles through the steps and blames it on me being American and not knowing the movements. This time he stepped on my foot so many times I stopped counting.’
‘Perhaps he is enamoured with you,’ replied Sarah Forrester, the daughter of the American Minister to the Court of St. James.
‘Perhaps he’s waiting for me to issue a war cry in the middle of the dance floor and wishes to have an excellent view.’
The friends laughed and a number of the finely dressed gentlemen and ladies looked their way. One of them was their hostess, the Russian Ambassador’s wife, Madame de Lieven.
‘I suppose you could wear boots under your gown to protect your feet from clumsy partners,’ Sarah whispered, hiding her amusement behind her fan. ‘Although it would not be very fashionable.’
‘I do not believe even that would help. But perhaps I could pretend the orchestra is too loud and I cannot hear them speak. Then maybe I could avoid listening to them boast about how important they are or prattle on about some ancient relative’s great accomplishment.’ Katrina nodded towards a group of gentlemen. ‘One day I wager one of them will show me his teeth in an attempt to impress me. London would be lovely if it weren’t for the men.’
When they laughed again Madame de Lieven narrowed her eyes and gave them a chastising shake of her head.
Katrina took a deep breath and shifted her gaze. ‘I do believe our hostess is attempting to inform us that ladies in London do not laugh out loud during entertainments such as this.’
How she wished there was somewhere she could go to avoid the constant scrutiny. And that smell! Had someone forgot to bathe?
She rubbed her forehead and a drop of wax hit the embroidered forget-me-nots on her white silk glove.
Evenings like this were always so tedious.
* * *
This evening could not become any more tedious.
Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, didn’t know how Lady Morley and her daughter Lady Mary had cornered him. And that bloody chandelier! He was certain his valet would have an apoplexy when he saw how much wax was falling onto his new black tailcoat.
Tonight’s crush was so great it had become difficult to raise his glass of the Russian Ambassador’s fine champagne to his lips. If he tried he might inadvertently brush his hand over the front of Lady Mary’s dress. It would be interesting to see her mother’s reaction to that. Most likely Julian would find himself embroiled in the scandal of the evening, with a wife he did not want.
He would stay thirsty.
‘And so I told her,’ continued Lady Morley, ‘that if Madame Devy moved back to Paris we simply would not know what to do. She is the best in London. She makes all of Mary’s dresses. Not that she needs any help to show as well as she does. Has the bearing of a duchess, I always hear.’
Thirty-three. Thirty-four. The peacock feather in Lady Morley’s turban bobbed with every nod of her head. Julian continued counting. The unique sound of soft feminine laughter floated from behind him and he wished he were part of that conversation instead of this one. He made a conscious effort not to sigh.
Before he could school his features into his usual bored expression he wrinkled his nose. What was that smell? It reminded him of his gardeners in the heat of summer. A man’s sweat should not be mixed with an abundance of flowers and sold in a bottle.
Julian managed to down the remainder of his champagne in one gulp. The bubbles tickling his throat were a welcome distraction. ‘I understand cards are being played across the hall. Is that where your husband is this evening?’ he asked, with no real interest.
Lady Morley blinked at his sudden interruption. ‘Oh—oh, yes, I believe it is.’
‘I’ll be off, then.’
Both ladies curtsied to Julian, and he began to attempt a shallow bow. He bumped into something soft. As he turned to excuse himself high, soft breasts met his hard male chest.
A startled woman with pleasant features and a pair of deep blue eyes looked up at him. Then her gaze travelled slowly down to his waistcoat and back up to his face. When her white teeth tugged at her lower lip, he had a strong urge to lick and soothe that lip. Mentally shaking himself, he tried to gain control of this unexpected yearning.
Her eyes widened, and a faint blush swept across her cheeks. ‘Please forgive me, my lord,’ she murmured.
Nine years had passed since anyone had addressed him simply as ‘my lord’. Everyone knew he was the Duke of Lyonsdale and should be addressed as ‘Your Grace’—even if he didn’t care to know them. ‘I assure you no apology is necessary. I believe the fault is mine.’
She bobbed a shallow curtsey and turned away from him. As he watched her make her way through the crowd something inside him shifted. Suddenly he was striding across the room, not even aware of the parting of finely dressed people before him.
* * *
Stepping onto the terrace, Katrina closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh night air. For a brief time, at least, she would not have to be conscious of her every action.
The amber glow of candlelight, shining through the tall windows and doors of the large brick house, streaked this outdoor haven. In the far corner was an unoccupied area that called to her. It would be an ideal place to escape inquisitive stares and pointed whispers.
The stone of the marble balustrade felt cool against her gloved hands and was a welcome contrast to the warm crush inside. Peering out into the dimly lit garden, she gradually began to relax, enjoying her first bit of solitude all evening. It was wonderful to finally be alone.
‘We are fortunate the evening air is so pleasant and there’s no rain,’ rumbled a deep voice to her right.
Resisting the urge to push the intruder over the railing, Katrina held back a sigh. ‘Yes, we are quite fortunate,’ she said, in what she was certain was a bored tone. She kept her eyes fixed on the landscape below, hoping it would discourage further conversation.
‘The quality of the Ambassador’s garden is well noted. Have you walked through it yet?’
‘No, I have not. Fortunately for us there are lanterns placed along the pathways so we can enjoy the beauty from up here.’ He would soon learn she was not a woman who dallied in the shrubbery. Perhaps he would move on.
When Katrina glanced over at him, she was surprised to discover the handsome gentleman she had clumsily bumped into a few minutes before. He was standing tall, facing the garden, in formal black evening clothes, with the moonlight shining on the waves of his neatly trimmed dark hair. She studied his profile with its chiselled features and square jaw. He must have noticed, because he turned his head towards her and their eyes met.
It happened again. The ground seemed to shift, and this time their bodies hadn’t even touched. Deciding it was best to focus on the flowering shrubs and manicured lawn, she diverted her attention away from the man at her side.
* * *
Julian closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Was he actually reduced to discussing the weather and gardening with this woman? When had he become this dull? And he was certain she had just dismissed him. No one ever dismissed him.
For the first time in his life Julian felt the need to capture a woman’s attention. ‘Are you new to town?’
In whose world was this captivating conversation?
‘I suppose. I have only been in London for a few weeks.’
‘Your accent escapes me.’
She crossed her arms under that pair of lovely small breasts and turned towards him. ‘I’m American.’ When he remained silent, she tilted her head and studied him. ‘Pardon me, but have we been introduced?’
He shook his head, amused at her candour. ‘Not that I recall—and I am fairly certain you are not someone I would forget.’
‘Then speaking with you would not be proper.’ She glanced at the French doors, as if she expected to see someone. ‘Did you follow me out here?’
Julian never followed women, and he never acted improperly. He had needed to get away from Lady Morley, and that smell had been unbearable. There had been no reason to consider it further.
‘We must have had the notion to step outside at the same time.’
‘And you just happened to find yourself standing next to me?’
He shifted under her sceptical expression. ‘It appeared to be a pleasant spot.’
She narrowed her eyes momentarily before she turned her attention back towards the garden and began to drum her fingers on the stone.
Below them, a figure walked in and out of the shadows, along one of the garden’s gravel paths, as the flames inside the lanterns flickered. Julian traced the figure’s movements. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be hiding from someone, now, would you?’
She looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘When a woman as striking as you is alone at a ball teeming with men, one must conclude that her solitude is by choice. Are you attempting to avoid a foolish suitor?’
Her lips twitched. ‘What makes you believe I have foolish suitors?’
‘Ah, I said suitor. Apparently there is more than one.’
‘Perhaps I was simply seeking a breath of fresh air.’
‘Then I would say any man who wasn’t wise enough to accompany you out here to take the evening air was foolish.’
The silk of her ice-blue gown shimmered in the moonlight as she turned her body to face him. ‘And why is that?’
He had the strongest urge to step closer. She smelled like lemons. ‘Because in this secluded spot he has left you free to be charmed by another man.’
‘Are you attempting to charm me?’
‘Do you find me charming?’
‘Not in the least,’ she replied, even though her expression said the opposite.
‘Then I suppose your suitor is safe in his position of favour.’
A soft laugh escaped her lips before she quickly pursed them together.
‘Or perhaps not,’ he amended, revelling in the odd satisfaction that she found him amusing.
‘My purpose in coming out here was simply to enjoy a bit of solitude.’
‘And I have intruded on your privacy—not well done of me at all. Perhaps we might enjoy the solitude together?’
‘Then it would not be considered solitude.’
‘Semantics,’ he replied with a slight shrug. ‘So, why are you seeking solitude?’
She looked down at her slippers and appeared to give her answer great consideration. ‘I grew weary of people telling me how important they are.’
He wondered if he was like that. He didn’t think he was. Nevertheless, it was probably best not to let her know how important he really was. ‘A bold admission.’
‘An honest one. And what brings you out here? If you were planning on having a clandestine meeting, I fear you are keeping some lady waiting,’ she said with a teasing smile.
‘I’m not. Perhaps I too grew weary of spending time with people I have no interest in.’
‘Than we are of a like mind.’
‘It appears we are.’
Her lips rose into a full smile and for the first time in his life Julian forgot to breathe. ‘You are lovely,’ he admitted, before he could stop himself.
‘Thank you, but I have been told I am much too expressive.’
‘Not to me.’
‘You’re trying to charm me again.’
‘Am I? I thought I was simply being honest. I appreciate a true smile. I find the false ones maddening.’
What in the world had got into him? Perhaps her candid speech was infectious. Her unguarded manner and their frank discussion should not appeal to him, yet he found her entertaining.
She shifted her stance, and her skirt rustled as if she was shaking out her foot. ‘Well, it appears that you, my lord, are not a typical member of the ton.’
If she only knew.
It was as if he was being pulled to her by some magnetic force. His heartbeat quickened as he stepped even closer. Her lips looked so soft. As his gaze travelled down to the small swell of her breasts his fingers instinctively curled. He needed a distraction.
Turning back towards the balustrade, he focused his attention on the stars. He had never attempted to count them before. For a moment longer he could feel her watching him. Then she turned and tipped her face up to the inky night sky.
* * *
Katrina wondered at the sudden change in her companion’s demeanour. There must be some unspoken rule of English Society she had unwittingly broken. During their brief encounter he had managed to make her forget she was a stranger, navigating uncharted waters. But his silence spoke volumes. She would have to peruse The Mirror of Graces again tonight before she fell asleep, to find some clue as to her faux pas.
Their engaging conversation had improved her mood, and she was determined to hold on to that feeling for as long as she could. ‘It appears as if every star in the heavens is out,’ she mused, testing the waters for his response.
‘Do you enjoy stargazing?’
She glanced at him and smiled at his friendly, inquisitive expression. ‘I have been known to occasionally look upon the stars, if that is what you mean.’
‘But can you identify the constellations? Do you know their names?’
She shook her head.
He leaned closer and his sleeve brushed her arm. ‘See that grouping of stars over those trees? That’s the constellation Cassiopeia.’
It took her a moment to attend to what he’d said, with his body so close to her. ‘That’s the name of an ancient Ethiopian Queen.’
He nodded. ‘And that is her constellation. What do you know of her?’
‘Only that her excessive pride in her daughter Andromeda angered Poseidon so much that he commanded the Queen to sacrifice Andromeda to him.’
‘Very good. In fact Andromeda is over there.’
She took note of the stars he pointed to.
‘It is said Poseidon was enraged because Cassiopeia’s sacrifice was not completed,’ he continued. ‘As punishment, he placed the Queen on her throne in the night sky. Do you remember what happened to Andromeda?’
Katrina could feel him watching her and she shifted her gaze back to him. ‘She was rescued by Perseus, whom she married.’
‘She was. Now, Perseus is over there.’ He leaned across her and pointed to another grouping of stars. He smelled wonderful—like champagne and mint.
Their faces were mere inches apart. His lips looked so firm and smooth. For a moment their breaths mingled. Suddenly he jerked his head back, and unwelcome cool night air blew across her face.
She needed to shift her attention away from his lips and recall what they were discussing. ‘Is that truly Perseus, or are you attempting to appeal to my sense of the romantic?’
‘That truly is the constellation Perseus. It is said that Athena placed Andromeda next to Perseus in the night sky when Andromeda died.’
‘Oh, that is romantic.’
He wrinkled his brow as he stared at the stars. ‘I suppose some might consider it that way.’
‘But you do not?’
‘I never gave it much thought until now,’ he replied with a slight shrug.
Their eyes met, and it was as if every part of Katrina’s body was straining to get even closer to him. She needed to get away before she did something embarrassing, such as caress the arm that was now pressing against her own.
Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together. They were safer that way. ‘Well, I should return. My party will wonder where I have disappeared to and hopefully the air inside will have cleared.’ She smiled at him and moved away from the balustrade. ‘Thank you for showing me the stars. I can truly say I was not bored in the least.’
He bowed, and when he raised his head she caught the laughter in his eyes. ‘I am glad. I was not bored either. I hope you will find some pleasure in what is left of your evening.’
She curtsied in return and walked to the doors leading back to the drawing room. As she reached the threshold she couldn’t help glancing at him over her shoulder. When their eyes met she lowered her head, and attempted to hide her satisfied smile.
* * *
From the moment she’d left his side it had been impossible for Julian to look away from her. If he had looked away he might have missed that one last glance she’d given him before she entered the house. It didn’t matter that she had caught him staring like an untried boy. That last look had told him everything. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
Pulling his shoulders back and crossing his arms, he tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. The novelty of knowing that this woman desired him without knowing his prominent position in Society was exhilarating. Her lemon scent lingered in the air, and Julian took in a deep breath while leaning his lower back on the balustrade.
This night was turning out to be far from tedious after all.
‘Now, that’s quite odd. It almost appears as if you are smiling. But I know that can’t be, because while I’m returning from a pleasurable time spent in the garden you, my friend, are all alone.’
Lord Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick, sauntered up the terrace steps. He was dressed all in black except for his crisp white shirt. The knot of his cravat appeared askew, and a lock of black hair was draped over his right eye. He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb the lock back into place. It was no use.
Stopping next to Julian, he also crossed his arms over his chest and followed Julian’s gaze to the French doors. ‘Does she have a name?’
‘Who?’
‘Whoever she is that has caught your interest.’
Julian closed his eyes and with an exasperated sigh turned his attention from the doors to his friend. ‘What makes you think it’s a woman?’
Hart raised both brows. ‘Come, now, I always tell you what has put a smile on my face. We can compare notes. I’ll tell you about my lady, and you tell me about your lady.’
‘There is nothing to tell.’
‘Very well—I’ll start. Margaret has the most amazing mouth. She can—’
‘You were in the garden with Lady Shepford?’ Julian closed his eyes. ‘You are mad. Not two hours ago you took over two hundred pounds from Shepford at cards, and now you take his wife.’
‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ Hart replied, adjusting his cuff. ‘I can’t help if she finds me irresistible, and he is positively unlucky tonight. It was impossible not to win his money.’
‘One day some husband is going to challenge you, and I have no desire to be your second.’
‘I am aware that you believe widows are preferable, but I’m not you. Married ladies are infinitely preferable to unmarried ones. At least they aren’t fishing for a title. Honestly, you worry for nothing. My coach is always at the ready, and I’m very competent with pistols and swords.’ He pushed himself off the balustrade. ‘I’m bored—let’s go to White’s. Stop scowling. You look like my old tutor.’
Julian shook his head. There was no reason to stay. He would have enjoyed spending more time with the American woman. Had she been a member of the ton he would have re-entered the Ambassador’s townhouse and immediately sought an introduction. Unfortunately, with the responsibility of his title, a relationship with an American was not possible.
When he married again it would be to an Englishwoman of prominent lineage—just as his ancestors before him and just as he had done before. Respectable English noblemen did not marry American women.
Why was he even thinking of marriage? Hart was right. It was time to leave.
Chapter Two (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
Reading the Morning Chronicle should not be so difficult. Katrina had done it every morning since she and her father had arrived in London a few weeks ago. However, today she was finding it impossible to read even one article—and it was all because of that English gentleman she had talked with out on the terrace the previous evening.
The dining room in the house her father had leased in Mayfair was quiet except for the occasional tinkling of a Wedgwood cup hitting a saucer and the crinkling of paper as her father turned a page of the document the American Minister had sent over.
Feeling frustrated by her lack of concentration, Katrina pushed the newspaper aside and reached for a piece of toast from the silver rack in front of her. As she began spreading honey on the bread she couldn’t help but smile recalling their conversation for the hundredth time since last night.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? She was not attracted to Englishmen—at least she hadn’t been until last night. Most of those she had met since arriving in London had been proud, patronising and too self-possessed for her taste. But this gentleman had appeared to be none of those things. He hadn’t even made any foolish comments about her being American. On a night that had begun so poorly he had managed to make her laugh and forget about the pain in her foot. And she couldn’t deny that being close to him had made her heart race.
Honey began to drip through her fingers, and Katrina shook her head as she licked away the sticky sweetness. How long would it be until she saw him again? Once he obtained a proper introduction they’d be able to speak openly, and she would finally know his name. He might even ask her to waltz.
While she had no desire to tie herself to an English gentleman, spending time in that man’s company during the various social engagements she was obligated to attend while she was in London would be an excellent diversion.
Smiling to herself, Katrina returned her attention to the newspaper and tried to concentrate on reading it one last time.
* * *
In another part of Mayfair, in a much larger house, Julian walked out of his suite of rooms and rubbed his pounding forehead. He needed more sleep. Several times during the night he had awoken from vivid dreams about the American woman. Now this lack of sleep left him very irritable—and very frustrated. What he needed was a quiet, peaceful morning.
From the sounds drifting out through the doorway of his breakfast room, there was little hope of that happening.
Crossing the threshold, he noted his mother and grandmother were deep in conversation at the elegantly set table. Grasping at his last few moments of peace, Julian passed the livery-clad footmen on his way to the mahogany Sheraton sideboard and filled his plate. The smell of ham made his stomach growl, making him realise how hungry he was. The moment he sat down coffee was poured into a porcelain cup.
Just as he was about to bring the aromatic liquid to his lips, the chatter around him stopped. His mother’s sharp eyes were focused on him, and Julian cursed himself for not taking breakfast in his study.
‘Good morning, Lyonsdale,’ she said, while refolding a note that had been lying open next to her plate. ‘How was the Ambassador’s ball?’
‘It was a crush, as usual, but surprisingly tolerable.’
‘And Lady Wentworth? Did she enjoy the evening?’
Julian had been trying to keep his association with the widow discreet. Obviously he needed to try harder. He blew into his cup and decided to be evasive.
‘She was not there.’
‘Then who held your attention for so long on the terrace?’
Julian’s fingers clenched the handle of his cup before he carefully placed it down on the saucer. He was one and thirty. Was it too much to ask for some privacy? He needed to speak to his secretary about seeing what could be done to hasten the renovations of his mother’s townhouse.
‘Pray tell, how is it possible that you possess such information?’
His grandmother Eleanor, the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale, paused in spreading butter on her toast. ‘Your mother has already received a note this morning from Lady Morley. Isn’t that correct, Beatrice?’
‘Your friend has written to you about what I did last night?’ Julian asked indignantly.
‘She has only commented on your actions because she says you left rather abruptly and she had thought you were about to speak with her husband regarding their daughter.’
‘Why would she assume I intended to approach Morley about her?’
His mother trailed her slender finger around the gold rim of her cup and raised her pointed chin. ‘She, and every other member of the ton, is aware that you are in need of an heir. It is obvious that Lady Mary is a suitable choice. Her father is an earl, and she is the niece of a duke. And you have spoken with her. Your conversation confers distinction upon any gel you single out.’
‘I have not spoken with her.’
‘You must have. You’ve danced with her. Surely you had some manner of discussion on that occasion.’
Had he? Julian tried to recall any remnant of conversation, but he could not. Nothing about Lady Mary set her apart. All the chits who had recently entered Society resembled one another, twittering behind their fans and taking measure of him when they thought he wasn’t looking. They were all so young. He must have spoken to her, but he honestly could not recall doing so.
‘I may have also mentioned to Lady Morley that you might consider their daughter.’
Julian had stopped listening to his mother moments before, but that declaration caught his attention. The pounding in his head increased. He would not let her dictate which woman he would marry—not this time.
‘It was not your place to speak for me,’ he bit out.
‘I made no promises, but surely you see you cannot keep wasting your time with Lady Wentworth. That woman is an unacceptable choice. Her family is of no true consequence. It is time you secured this line. If Edward hadn’t been foolish enough to race his horse that day we would at least have had him as your immediate heir. But with his death the line falls to your grandfather’s incompetent nephew, should you perish, and he will destroy our good name.’
A familiar hollow feeling opened in Julian’s chest—which was why he never wanted to think about Edward. The way his mother had so callously mentioned his dear brother’s death fuelled the anger welling up inside him. Was there ever a time that she thought of either of them as more than a necessary part of fulfilling her own duty to bear an heir and a spare?
‘You have avoided marriage long enough,’ she continued. ‘It’s high time you fulfil your duty to marry again and finally bear an heir. Lady Mary will make us a perfect duchess. You should be thanking me for saving you from the trying task of finding you a suitable wife.’
‘Thanking you?’ he sputtered. ‘You chose a wife for me once. It did not end well. You will not dictate my choice to me again.’
His mother appeared hesitant to say more, and the tension eased somewhat in his shoulders. Maybe he would be lucky enough to have her abandon the conversation entirely.
‘At least consider Lady Mary.’
Or maybe she would continue to pester him till he lost his appetite completely!
He swallowed a mouthful of tepid coffee and pushed the cup away in disgust.
Before he could reply, his mother rushed ahead. ‘She is from a prominent family, has been trained from birth to assume such a title, is accomplished, and appears strong for breeding. You could not possibly require anything else.’
But he did. He felt it. Only he wasn’t certain what it could be. He simply knew he could not continue this conversation while he was still suffering from lack of sleep. This decision was too important—and his coffee was cold.
‘You never did say who you were with last night on the Ambassador’s terrace.’
‘No, I did not.’
His mother held out her cup for more tea. A footman immediately appeared at her side. She wasn’t leaving the table any time soon. Julian rose from his chair and dropped his napkin onto the table.
His grandmother glanced at his untouched plate and looked at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. ‘You have not eaten a thing. Surely you must be hungry? Would you like Reynolds to fetch you something else?’
Her genuine concern softened some of his anger. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I could have a tray sent to your study. Surely we can find something to tempt you?’
‘There is no need. I believe I have lost my appetite.’
* * *
Hart’s breakfast room was blissfully quiet. No one was pestering him to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Julian knew he needed to marry soon. He couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable. The longer he waited, the younger the girls would be. However, each time he considered marrying again his stomach would do an uncomfortable flip. This time was no different.
Why couldn’t he find a woman among the ton like the American woman who had captivated him last night? Staring sightlessly at his plate, Julian gave a slight start when Hart’s butler cleared his throat.
‘Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?’
‘Actually, Billings, would you see if His Lordship has any lemon curd?’
The butler exited the room as a sleepy Hart wandered in, wearing a black brocade dressing gown. A lock of hair covered his heavy-lidded blue eyes. Hart’s gaze followed his butler as Billings re-entered the room and placed a Wedgwood bowl before Julian.
‘So this is what my breakfast room looks like,’ Hart said through a yawn. ‘I was told you were here, however, I didn’t believe it.’ He dropped into his chair and stared in horror at his friend’s toast. ‘What has happened to the butter?’
‘It’s lemon curd.’ Julian took a bite of toast and closed his eyes, savouring the flavour.
‘I’ve never seen you eat lemon curd before. I did not even know I had lemon curd—and why the bloody hell are you putting it on your toast?’
‘I have no idea.’ Julian took another bite and wiped his lips with his napkin. ‘I woke with the oddest desire for lemons.’
Hart accepted a cup of coffee from Billings and reclined in his chair. ‘So what has brought you to my door at this ungodly hour of the morning?’
‘It’s past ten—hardly ungodly.’
Hart stilled, his cup halfway to his lips. ‘In all the years you have known me, and with all you know about me, do you really think I rise anywhere near this hour?’
‘Point taken. Your coffee is quite good. I do not believe I’ve tasted it before.’
‘That’s because you knew enough not to come here for breakfast. Now, enjoy this pot. I do not expect you to bother me for breakfast again any time soon.’
Julian continued to eat his toast. Lemon curd on toast was exceptional. He licked his lips, wondering why he hadn’t thought of eating it before.
‘What does bring you here?’
Perhaps if he talked about it with his friend he might release some of his frustration. Leaning back in his chair, Julian took a final sip from his cup. Billings was at his side in an instant, refilling it. Hart eyed his butler and the man retired from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘She wants an heir.’
‘Who?’
‘My mother.’
‘That’s no secret. She has made it quite clear that you have been remiss in fulfilling your duty. Is that why you are here at this hour? You have run away from your mother?’
Julian flung a piece of toast at Hart.
‘I say, that was quite undignified of you.’ His friend picked the toast from his chest and bit into it. ‘This is quite good.’ He licked his fingers. ‘Has she selected another simpering chit for you?’
‘Yes, but this time she has spoken to the family, indicating that I have an interest. She has gone too far.’
‘And who is this paragon of the ton she has so carefully chosen to bear the next Duke?’
‘Lady Mary Morley.’
As if he was trying to recall her name, Hart momentarily shifted his gaze. ‘Could be worse. She has the most delicious-looking breasts I’ve seen. They’re so full and tempting. Here—pass the lemon curd over.’ He picked up the bowl from Julian’s hand, dipped his spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’
‘Would you please focus?’
‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.
‘On my problem, dolt!’
‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’
‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.
‘Maybe you can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’
The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.
‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’
‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’
‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’
‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’
Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’
He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.
Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.
Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.
Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?
Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.
Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.
Chapter Three (#ulink_857d5428-20a7-5251-b1db-80c953d28b7b)
Later that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.
Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.
‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.
They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.
‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.
‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’
‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these ton marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’
Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the ton is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’
‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’
‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in our direction for once.’
But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man was staring—a very surprised man.
* * *
Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.
The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.
‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’
Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’
Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.
‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.
‘Whose name?’
‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on me. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’
Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’
‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’
Placing the coin in his pocket, Hart took his spyglass and openly scanned the boxes across the way. ‘There is the Montrose box—nothing new in there. Rothschild has some guests, but unless you are interested in much older women I think we can safely say your attention was not focused there. Then there is the box with the American delegation... Hmm...potential there. Next we have—’
‘You know that box?’ Julian closed his eyes, praying his friend hadn’t heard the inane question.
Hart laughed softly and arched a cocky brow. ‘So your thoughts were of a political nature?’
He didn’t have to look so smug.
‘Oh, very well, Julian. The gentleman and lady seated to our far left are Mr and Mrs Forrester, the American Minister and his wife. The other gentleman in the front row is Mr Peter Vandenberg, an American author who has recently arrived in London and will be one of the American representatives at the Anglo-American Conference. Surely you have heard of him? My understanding is that he has been welcomed all over the courts and drawing rooms of Europe and has lived for the past eight months in Paris. It’s interesting that President Monroe has entrusted him to successfully negotiate the treaty between our countries.’
A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’
‘Dolt.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.
‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’
Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.
It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?
The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.
Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.
As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.
She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways he’d like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.
There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’
‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’
‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’
‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’
Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’
‘As do most women of the ton.’
‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’
‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’
He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.
Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’
However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.
Chapter Four (#ulink_42f6ee2e-255d-53a5-927c-58e8cce8b834)
For days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the ton thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.
‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’
‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.
‘You do not like the girl?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’
‘You have danced with her recently.’
‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’
‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’
Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’
‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.
His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’
She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’
‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’
Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.
He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.
‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.
His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’
He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’
‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’
He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When he had returned home one Christmas he had been informed that he would be married to a girl he’d never met. It had made him ill, but he’d understood that his needs and desires did not come before his duty. What mattered above all else was the legacy he left to the Lyonsdale name. He had known that to be true then, just as he knew it to be true now.
‘I accepted my responsibility,’ he said, looking his grandmother in the eye and raising his chin.
‘Yes, you did—quite well, I might add. To my knowledge you never questioned your father’s decision.’
‘You know I could not cry off, even if I had wanted to. A man does not break an engagement. It is not done.’
She leaned in. ‘But would you have done so if you could?’
If he had, Emma would still be alive today.
He took a large swig of brandy. ‘I knew how important it was to have an exemplary woman share the Lyonsdale name. Father made an appropriate choice in Emma. There was no reason to protest.’
‘And yet even though you accepted their choice the spark in your eyes you had as a child went out when you made your vows, and it has not returned since. You need to find that spark again.’
She made it sound simple, but Julian knew that honouring the responsibility of his title meant he would be bound, yet again, to a marriage of convenience. The only sparks that mattered were the ones he could fire off in his speeches at Westminster.
‘Why am I certain you are about to tell me how I can regain what I have lost?’
His grandmother gave a slight shrug. ‘I was fortunate. I married your grandfather and we fell in love. Your father was not as fortunate. We were certain your mother would be a rose in his pocket, but she had thorns. Being married to her killed something precious inside him, and he became consumed with politics and Westminster.’ She leaned across the table and levelled him with a pointed stare. ‘There is more to life than that. It did him no good.’
His father had been the very model of what an English duke should be. Nine years had passed since he’d collapsed and died while delivering a speech to the House of Lords, and to this day people continued to tell Julian how much they had admired him. If only Julian could be half the man he had been.
‘I disagree. He helped this country achieve great things.’
‘And it cost him his life. No one will convince me that his heart did not give way because of the strain of his political career.’ She drained her glass of sherry. ‘We were wrong in preventing him from choosing his own bride, and he was wrong when he did the same to you. Life is too brief, Julian. Trust someone as old as I. Do not waste your life tied to someone you do not want.’
If only it were that easy. Out of an entire ballroom of girls the only one he had been drawn to wasn’t an appropriate choice—to say nothing of the fact that she was probably married to a man old enough to be her father. The point of taking a wife was to produce an heir. His father had told him many times that it wasn’t necessary to like the person you married. You just needed to tolerate them.
Thankfully his grandmother’s attention was back on the chessboard. ‘Oh, and Julian...? I seem to have misplaced my edition of A Traveler’s Tale by that American author—Vandenberg. Would you mind purchasing another one for me the next time you are near Hatchards?’
The Vandenberg name should not follow any conversation about marriage. He needed to concentrate on finishing this game of chess. Soon Hart would arrive, and they would be off to the Langley ball. However, tonight, he vowed, he would not search for the American at all.
* * *
Only the flutter of shuffling cards and the soft murmur of voices could be heard in the card room at Langley House. Footmen stood along walls that were hung with yellow silk damask, ready to refill crystal glasses at the mere lift of a hand. Purposely removed from the hubbub of the ballroom and the front public rooms, this drawing room was located near the end of a long hallway. Serious gambling was always done at the Langley ball, and serious gambling required concentration. It was the ideal place for a man who needed to keep his mind occupied. It didn’t even matter to Julian that he was losing miserably.
‘Perhaps a new table is in order?’ Hart suggested as he collected his winnings.
A new table would not change his luck, but Julian surveyed the other seven tables for open seats anyway. As his gaze skimmed past the doorway he caught sight of Helena, in a jonquil satin gown, its bodice cut to accentuate her womanly curves. With an air of confidence she scanned the room until her grey eyes landed on him.
The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of her full mouth as she made her way to his side. ‘Do not tell me luck is against you tonight,’ she said in a silky voice.
‘It definitely is now,’ mumbled Hart, low enough for Julian to hear.
He shot Hart a look of reproach and turned to her. ‘I’ve had better luck,’ he replied congenially.
‘Have you been to the ballroom yet? The orchestra is exceptional.’
The American woman was probably in the ballroom—dancing with some braggart. ‘The ballroom does not interest me tonight. Perhaps I’ll try another table.’
She cocked her head to the side, exposing the pale skin of her neck. ‘Perhaps we could play together,’ she whispered.
‘Perhaps we could.’ He should have found the smooth skin of her neck enticing. He had before. However, looking at it now, he found his body surprisingly unaffected.
They were about to search for an open game when a footman approached him with a request for his presence at the Duke of Winterbourne’s table. He felt an unprecedented sense of relief in having to leave Helena’s side to join his friend.
Excusing himself, Julian followed the footman across the room.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale walk towards the table full of his friends who were playing whist. As he leaned over to whisper into Winterbourne’s ear Lyonsdale’s black tail coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It was a pity the tails covered the outline of his muscular legs and his firm backside...
She could feel Lord Hartwick’s eyes on her. For the last five years he had never once attempted to hide his hatred of her. It was perfectly reasonable, considering what she had done to him. However, watching the drama unfold around her at the time had been so entertaining she refused to feel any remorse. Her only regret was that she had believed his father’s lies. He had told her that he would marry her if she helped him with his plan—a plan that she was certain had devastated the man’s son.
Why hadn’t Hartwick walked away when Lyonsdale left?
He tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and pulled back his shoulders. ‘He will never make you his duchess. I will see to that.’
Although he was splendid to look at, his confidence grated. ‘Do not imagine you will be able to dissuade him.’
‘But I find I rather like the idea, and I don’t believe it will take much effort on my part. I suggest you search elsewhere for that elevated title you so desperately seek.’
The foolish man thought he could best her. ‘I do not follow suggestions—least of all from you.’ She shook out her fan and pasted on a sly smile, glancing pointedly across the room at the woman she knew to be Hartwick’s current conquest. ‘You should tell your friend she should not wear emerald. The colour does nothing for her complexion.’
Hartwick turned his head and followed her gaze. His lips pressed together as he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. ‘Maybe in this instance you should follow my suggestion. I hear Ponsby is on his last breath. You might want to try him. You’d have better luck.’ He did nothing to hide the sarcasm from his voice.
Why would she want a decrepit duke when she could have a handsome, virile one? ‘It appears you are worried for your friend. Do you believe I will damage him?’
‘Your excitement is stirred by breaking people. You won’t be able to do that with him.’
‘You mean like your Lady Caroline? It’s a pity she is no longer with us. Your father enjoyed her immensely.’ She arched her brow and anticipated his reaction.
He brought his glass to his lips and his nostrils flared. ‘I see you have no remorse for your part in bringing an innocent woman to his bed.’
Why should she? The foolish girl hadn’t been forced to accept every glass of champagne Helena offered her. She hadn’t poured them down the girl’s throat.
Recalling that entertaining night brought a smile to her lips, and she leaned close to Hartwick, purposely pressing a full breast into his arm. ‘You might not want to discuss this here, where someone may overhear us,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘You don’t want them to guess the truth about her death, now, do you? Tell me...did she choose poison, or was it something more dramatic?’
His jaw clenched, and his athletic body stiffened against her breast. If they had not been in a drawing room, with a good number of the ton around them, she might just have provoked him enough to strike her.
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I do believe I have found a weakness of yours, Lord Hartwick. Everyone has at least one, and it is so delicious whenever it is discovered.’
‘I warn you—if you cause any problems for Lyonsdale you will regret it.’ He moved from her side, downed the remainder of his champagne, and strode across the room to join his friends.
It was amusing that he thought he could stop her. She deserved that title, and all the wealth and power that went with it. She should have had such an advantageous marriage the first time. Instead, due to one minor indiscretion, she had found herself married to a gambler and a drunkard.
Hartwick’s father had promised to make her his marchioness and laughed at her when she’d reminded him. No one made a fool of her. It would be her turn to laugh when she became Duchess of Lyonsdale.
* * *
Near a corner of the Langleys’ ballroom, in front of a large potted palm, Katrina was learning that she was not the only one who regretted dancing with Lord Boreham.
‘I do so wish I did not have to agree to dance with everyone that asks me.’ Lady Mary Morley pouted as she stood beside Katrina. ‘On that last turn Lord Boreham managed to elbow me quite hard in the stomach.’
‘How was that even possible?’ Sarah asked, staring at the area in question, which was covered in elaborately embroidered white muslin.
‘I can assure you it’s possible,’ Lady Hammond commented dryly while fanning herself. ‘He once knocked heads with me during a quadrille.’
They began to laugh, and Lady Mary immediately covered her mouth to stop herself. The diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the candlelight.
‘Surely there must be a way to avoid him,’ Sarah said.
Lady Mary shook her head. ‘Mother says one should have a full dance card if one is to be considered an incomparable, and if you decline even one offer to dance you must decline all the others.’
Katrina found that rule of social conduct one of the hardest to accept. She suspected she was not the only woman in the ballroom who felt that way. ‘That hardly seems fair.’
‘That might be. However, it is the way of things. Mother says if one is to catch a duke or a marquess one needs to rise above all the other girls vying for such a title and become an incomparable.’
‘And how does one become an incomparable?’ Sarah asked with amusement.
Lady Mary was not as naïve as she appeared. She tilted her head coyly. ‘I suppose if everyone knew the answer to that, no one girl would stand out.’
‘Well done, Lady Mary,’ Sarah said with a smile, glancing around the crowded ballroom. ‘And are there many dukes and marquesses for you to choose from?’
‘I’m afraid there are very few, and I don’t think I’d like to settle for an earl.’ She turned to her friend and offered Lady Hammond a genuine apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean anything against your Hammond.’
Lady Hammond waved her fan carelessly in the air. ‘I’d much prefer a young earl to an old duke.’
Both Lady Hammond and Lady Mary appeared to be a number of years younger than Katrina, and she wondered just how old the girl’s husband was.
‘Isn’t your father an earl?’ Katrina couldn’t help pointing that out to Lady Mary.
Lady Mary adjusted her bracelets. ‘He is. However, my uncle is the Duke of Ralsteed. I was born to be a duchess. I do not have to settle for an earl.’
Lady Hammond let out a delicate sniff. ‘You’d change your mind if Lord Hartwick made an offer for you. With his looks and those blue eyes, you’d forgive him his title.’
A blush spread across Lady Mary’s cheeks, making her appear even younger. ‘That might be true. However, my sights are focused on one specific duke—even if he does make me nervous.’
‘Being nervous around a man can be a good thing,’ Sarah offered helpfully. ‘It might mean you find him very attractive.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Lady Mary agreed, nodding vigorously before she caught herself. ‘I do think he is very handsome...except he is a bit old.’
‘He is the same age as Lord Hartwick,’ Lady Hammond said with exasperation.
Lady Mary looked as if she was fighting the urge to stamp her foot. ‘Well, he appears older.’ Stepping closer to Katrina and Sarah, she shook out her fan to cover her lips. ‘He comes from one of the most respected houses and has great influence in Parliament. His manner is very formal, and each time I am in his presence I find him austere and imposing. He seldom speaks. I don’t believe he needs to. He can fluster people with just the lift of his brow.’
He sounded like a bore to Katrina. ‘And this is the man you would like to marry?’
Lady Mary nodded again, with excitement in her eyes. ‘Just imagine the respect his duchess will be granted. And he’s rich. He is a man who does not need to marry an heiress. Should we marry, we might very well be the wealthiest family in Britain.’
‘Which would be wonderful,’ Sarah remarked, ‘as long as you can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.’
‘Sarah!’ Katrina chided her friend with what she hoped was a stern expression.
These two girls had been nothing but kind since being introduced to them by Madame de Lieven. They were eager to hear about America and about Katrina’s time in France. She didn’t want Sarah’s unchecked honesty to ruin a pleasant discussion.
‘I am simply stating that should a man be that...flinty, it might be difficult to stay awake in his presence,’ Sarah explained.
Lady Hammond let out a small laugh before she pressed her lips together. ‘I can’t imagine anyone falling asleep in His Grace’s presence.’
He was sounding more and more like everything Katrina didn’t want in a husband. She turned to Lady Mary. ‘But if you were married to him, eventually you would fall asleep beside him.’
The rosy colour drained out of the girl’s face and she glanced about the room, as if this fine specimen of an English nobleman might overhear them and curse them with an arched brow. ‘I could never do that. I am certain he would never approve.’
Yes, this duke was definitely someone Katrina was grateful would not be part of her future. ‘Could it be possible that you might forgo this favourable duke and marry someone for love?’
Lady Mary and Lady Hammond looked at one another with confusion. There was no way to know for certain, but from her perplexed expression Katrina would guess that Lady Hammond’s marriage had been an arranged one. There still might be hope for Lady Mary.
However, she now addressed Katrina as if she were a small child. ‘I imagine that is an American way of thinking. Why would I marry for love when I could marry a duke?’
She would never understand the English. But there was no sense in filling the girl’s head with romantic notions. Katrina had spent some time this evening in the presence of the girl’s mother. It hadn’t taken her long to see how determined she was to promote her daughter for an advantageous match. Good luck to the man who married into that family!
While Katrina had been contemplating what it would be like to be married to a man such as Lady Mary’s duke, the discussion had turned back to life in America. It was making her feel nostalgic for her friends back home. As Sarah was regaling them with tales of life in Washington, Katrina excused herself, to slip away for a few minutes to the ladies’ retiring room.
She was about ten feet from the end of the long hall when she almost walked directly into the last person she had any desire to see. It was that self-important Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s terrace, who appeared to be too proud to associate openly with an American.
She hadn’t been aware that he was in attendance, and he seemed just as surprised to see her. His green eyes widened momentarily with recognition, but as usual he said nothing—no greeting at all. Not one to be intimidated, Katrina looked directly at him and waited. Even without seeking an introduction it would be a great insult if he completely ignored her this time. Now she would see how high in the instep he really was.
This was the closest she’d been to him since the night they’d talked under the stars. He’d nodded acknowledgement to her one night at the theatre, but each time she’d seen him after that he had avoided making eye contact. A number of times she’d caught him staring at her, but he had always diverted his gaze so quickly, she’d been certain he must be giving himself a headache with each sudden shift of his eyes.
And now he was standing less than five feet in front of her, impeccably dressed in formal black evening attire, with candlelight shining on the chestnut waves of his hair.
Perhaps it was because they were so close, or maybe he had had too much to drink, but this time his gaze roamed over her body. The hallway was growing very warm, and she shook out her fan to cool her heated skin.
He gave her a polite nod. ‘Pardon me.’
That was it? That was all he would say?
It was quite obvious from his demeanour that he had no intention of saying more.
He must be great friends with Lady Mary’s duke.
They wouldn’t be able to continue down the hall unless one of them moved to the side. Katrina was tempted to take both her hands and push him over, but instead she inclined her head and swished around him, doing her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she’d got from hearing the rumble of his deep voice.
Chapter Five (#ulink_6acfec47-0656-5df0-be14-e9d5a1d5080f)
The next morning Julian could barely finish his paperwork. His attention kept drifting to the American. He’d been astonished at the sense of longing he’d felt when she had walked past him last night. While she hadn’t exactly given him the cut, her brief response to his apology for almost knocking into her for a second time had been anything but friendly. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the de Lievens’ ball. What could he possibly have done to warrant the daggers she had thrown at him with her eyes?
He was angry with this woman he didn’t even know for turning his life upside down. Thoughts of her popped into his mind at all hours of the day, and each time he saw her his body immediately snapped to attention. He hadn’t bedded Helena in weeks, and as of late his blood was only stirred by thoughts of the American. How could he get any work done?
He needed sex. His lack of release was playing havoc with his mind—that must be why he was so fixated on a woman he’d barely spoken to. He needed to see Helena.
Walking into the entrance hall of her townhouse, Julian handed her butler his hat and walking stick. The sound of footfalls on the wooden staircase caught his attention, and he watched Helena make her descent, her curves straining against a blood-red dressing gown. He should have felt like dragging her somewhere and bedding her for hours. He didn’t.
Perhaps it was because they were in a very public area of the house, with her butler not far away. Julian shifted his eyes to her drawing room door, giving her a wordless command. As they entered the sparsely furnished room Helena closed the door and locked it. She always had been good with discretion.
Before she could utter a word Julian pushed her up against the door and kissed her. He needed her to help him forget the American right now. But the kiss felt all wrong—awkward and unpleasant. He closed his eyes, willing his body to react. Her lavender scent filled his nose.
Why did it suddenly seem so overpowering and unappealing?
He pulled his head back and looked down at her inviting expression. She was one of the most beautiful women in England. Wasn’t she? He’d used to think so. His brow wrinkled as he studied her delicate features. The outline of her breasts was not even enticing him to undress her.
Helena slid her hand up his chest and combed her fingers through the hair by his temple. ‘We could retire to my bed.’
That would be the ideal place. However, he could barely kiss her, let alone bed her. He turned away from her eager expression and glanced towards the settee. ‘This room will suit our purposes.’ He placed distance between them and took a seat.
‘Would you care for some brandy?’ she asked.
His body was tied in knots of uncomfortable tension. If only he could relax... He nodded, and when she sat down he felt her right thigh push up against his left. He took a long draw from the glass. The warm liquid eased some of the tightness in his shoulders and he shifted his thigh so it was no longer pressing against her leg.
She sketched circles on his knee with her finger and avoided his eyes. ‘You are quieter than usual. Have I done something to displease you?’
‘No. I find I have much on my mind today.’ He forced himself to smile reassuringly. It was not her fault his body wasn’t co-operating. He took another drink.
‘What has brought you here? You’ve never called on me during the day.’
Unable to voice the real reason, he shrugged. ‘I needed to see you.’
That seemed to satisfy her, and she attempted to hold back a smile. ‘I see.’
She was giving him time to elaborate, but how could he? He had no idea why his body wasn’t responding to her. He kissed her again, more demandingly this time. In his mind he saw magnetic blue eyes and a warm smile—so he squeezed his eyelids tighter. He told himself that Helena could do amazing things with her mouth. It was no use. He wasn’t even remotely hard.
Julian released her and drained the contents of his glass. The burn washed away the taste of their kiss. This visit had been intended to cure him of the affliction brought on by the American. Instead it had made him want her more. He was out of ideas on what to do. He needed advice.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale swallow the remaining contents of his glass. When he was finished, the glass landed on the table with an audible thud.
He stood rather abruptly. ‘Pardon me, but I have matters I need to attend to today.’
Without giving her a chance to reply, he walked out of the room.
Picking up his discarded glass, she ran her tongue over the rim where his lips had been. He never called on her during the day. Surely this was the sign she had been looking for. She had finally caught him. This time all her plotting and planning would land her the title she so richly deserved. He might even have left to make arrangements about asking for her hand.
How she wished she could be there when her brother heard she would be the next Duchess of Lyonsdale! Her new title would trump his title of earl. Finally she would be above him. He and that puritanical wife of his would regret the day they had said they wanted nothing more to do with her when she had become obligated to marry Wentworth. They could beg all they wanted—they would never dine in Lyonsdale House!
She poured herself a small splash of brandy. No longer would she have to sell items from her home to purchase this fine vintage. It was exhausting, hiding her financial situation. Soon that would all be a memory. Soon she would dine at Carlton House with the Prince Regent and his set while she wore the Carlisle diamonds.
* * *
Not far away, Katrina was preparing herself for an onslaught of advice as she was escorted down the hallway of Almack’s towards the assembly room where Madame de Lieven was waiting. When she’d received her note, requesting a meeting regarding a matter of the utmost importance, Katrina had been curious as to what the summons could possibly mean. Could she be about to enter into a lengthy discussion about the consequences of not following the strict rules of English etiquette? Or was Madame de Lieven about to inform Katrina in person that she was revoking the vouchers she had granted?
Katrina wished she had someone besides her maid, Meg, to accompany her. Madame de Lieven was known to be quite commanding. There would have been safety in numbers.
Stopping before a set of double doors, Katrina raised her chin and took a deep breath, reminding herself to remain polite no matter what the woman had to say.
Light poured into the cavernous room from the large windows, brightening the white walls and gold trim. In the very centre of the room sat Madame de Lieven, at a white linen-covered table set for tea. Closing the book she had been reading, she motioned Katrina forward.
‘I am pleased you accepted my invitation, Miss Vandenberg. I realise it is a bit early in the day for making calls, and the venue is unusual, but I do have my reasons.’ She turned her head to the doorkeeper. ‘Please see that Miss Vandenberg’s maid is taken care of downstairs, Mr Willis, while we settle things here.’
That didn’t sound very promising. As Katrina watched Meg trail Mr Willis out of the large ballroom she wished she could follow them. Shifting her gaze, she accepted the chair that was offered.
Madame de Lieven was a woman of strong self-importance, who moved with ease among the leading political figures of London. She had a way of influencing the people around her. Katrina was certain she wanted to keep her eye on ‘the Americans’, and that was why she’d offered to sponsor Katrina and the Forresters at Almack’s.
She handed Katrina a cup of tea with milk and sugar. ‘You intrigue me, Miss Vandenberg. I have noticed that you are a woman very much like me—a fish in a different pond.’
Katrina steadied herself under Madame de Lieven’s intense gaze. ‘Forgive me, I don’t understand.’
‘Since I am also a foreigner here, I am aware that it is not always easy to adjust to English customs. You have shown yourself to be a woman of intelligence and diplomacy. Two qualities I admire.’
‘I see no reason to hide the knowledge I possess, but I try not to appear too forward in my opinions.’
‘You should be aware that you have impressed me enough that I believe together you and I could accomplish great things here.’
Katrina’s brow furrowed. ‘I do not understand,’ she said again.
Madame de Lieven placed her cup on the table. ‘Let us be American and speak plainly.’
Katrina bristled at the insinuation. Anticipating what Madame de Lieven might say or do had kept Katrina amused since she had arrived in London. This time she sensed the next thing she said would cause her orderly life to be changed in ways that wouldn’t be pleasant.
‘I have noticed that you can be a bit too honest with your emotions at times. However, you possess a keen mind. Your presence is a refreshing change for me, and I have decided I will find you a husband here in London, so you can remain even after your father’s negotiations are settled. It is the reason I extended the vouchers for Almack’s to you. Our assemblies will prove helpful in finding you a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Katrina placed her cup down on the table and clasped her hands together on her lap. What had she ever done to give Madame de Lieven the impression she was looking for a husband? Whatever it was, Katrina knew she needed to stop doing it. ‘I do not want a husband.’
‘Of course you do. Every woman wants a husband. A husband provides a woman with...security.’
‘What I mean to say is I do not want a husband here...in England.’
Madame de Lieven appeared sceptical.
Katrina continued. ‘I will return to New York when my father’s work here is finished. I plan to marry an American.’
‘Nonsense,’ Madame de Lieven said, appearing appalled. ‘I can help you secure an excellent match. There are a number of rich, untitled Englishmen who would be pleased to marry an attractive woman with knowledge in the art of diplomacy, regardless of your background. You could live in wealth and splendour. Besides, you do not have many more good years left. You are almost on the shelf.’
Katrina was not about to tell her that all the luxury in the world couldn’t compensate for a wandering, haughty husband. ‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness,’ she managed to say evenly, ‘but we also have wealthy gentlemen back home. And, more to the point, money will not figure prominently in my choice of husband.’
Madame de Liven gave her a dubious look.
‘Of course it is desirable to live comfortably,’ Katrina amended. ‘But you should be aware that, while I appreciate your offer to assist me in finding a husband, I intend to follow my heart.’
‘You are referring to love?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are so very American. Love has no place in marriage. No one of consequence marries the person they love. They marry the person who is in a position to provide the best life possible.’
‘And by “the best life” you mean one with wealth and privilege?’
‘What else is there?’
‘Companionship, humour, trust—’
‘That is what your friends are for.’
Katrina rubbed her lips together, trying not to show her frustration. ‘Although I appreciate your interest in finding me a husband, it is not necessary.’
Madame de Lieven smiled regally, then let out a low sound that was almost a laugh. ‘I believe finding you well settled here will be highly entertaining. I expect I will see you at tomorrow night’s assembly. We can begin our search then.’
Katrina opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could get the words out Madame de Lieven motioned someone forward with her hand.
Mr Willis approached the table and bowed. ‘The musicians are ready,’ he informed her.
Clapping her hands together, Madame de Lieven motioned to the balcony and soft strains of music began to drift through the room. ‘I’ve asked you to meet me here today because Mr Willis believes he has found us a new orchestra and I am to determine if they will suit. I will be interested in your opinion of their abilities.’
Katrina was grateful for the change in subject. She had no desire to marry an Englishman, and she hoped she would be able to convince the persistent Madame de Lieven to let the matter rest.
* * *
Julian should have been reading the latest reports from his steward in Hertfordshire. Instead he had sought out Hart at Tattersalls. Luckily, his friend was predictable. Hart was inspecting the horses that were to be auctioned off tomorrow. He did little to hide the surprise in his greeting, but after a few minutes they fell into companionable silence while they watched three horses parade around the paddock.
‘That black thoroughbred looks very fine. Perhaps I will bid on him tomorrow.’ When Julian didn’t reply Hart watched him from the corner of his eye. ‘Although I am considering purchasing a mule instead. Do you think that would do?’
‘Yes...’ Julian murmured, while he considered once again his time at Helena’s. When had he stopped feeling the desire to bed her? They had agreed to a relationship based on satisfying each other’s physical needs. If he no longer desired her was there any reason to continue visiting her?
‘Splendid. I will send the bill to your house.’
‘Of course.’
Hart yanked him to a stop. ‘Julian, you have just agreed to buy me a mule. What the devil is wrong with you? All week your mind has been elsewhere.’
It took Julian a few blinks before Hart came into focus. Turning away from his friend’s inquisitive gaze, he looked out towards the horses. ‘Apologies, I’ve been wool-gathering.’
Hart placed his booted foot on the lower rung of the fence enclosing the horses and leaned his arms on the upper railing. ‘You don’t say? Will you tell me what has you so distracted?’
Julian stepped closer to his friend and crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped he would not come to regret this. ‘You know women...’
Hart grinned. ‘I like to believe I do.’
Taking a deep breath, Julian watched the horses as they ambled around the pen. If anyone overheard them it would stir up gossip. He moved closer to Hart and lowered his voice. ‘I went to see Helena this morning.’
‘A daytime visit—that’s a bit unusual,’ Hart said slowly.
‘I’m baffled. She’s a beautiful woman, but the entire time I was in her company my thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘On another woman?’
‘Yes.’
Hart rubbed away a small smile with his gloved hand. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know her name,’ Julian said, in a low, forceful voice that did nothing to hide his frustration.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She is new to London and we haven’t been introduced.’
‘So seek an introduction.’
‘It would only lead to more speculation on my affairs. It would not do for people to think I have an interest in her.’
‘Why not? It’s just an introduction—unless you’re planning on seducing her on the dance floor?’
That thought had crossed Julian’s mind—more times than he would care to admit even to himself. ‘It is not amusing. I have not been able to get her out of my head. I search for a glimpse of her whenever I am out. I think I hear her voice in crowded rooms. This is not normal.’
‘Maybe not for you, but at least it explains your odd behaviour.’
‘What do I do? How do I remove her from my thoughts?’
Hart shrugged his shoulders with careless ease. ‘Why would you want to? It’s evident that you want her, so end this association you have with Helena and pursue this woman.’
If only he could. ‘That is not an option,’ Julian replied, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
Hart faced him and crossed his arms. ‘What hold does Helena have on you?’
Julian let out a snort of disbelief. No woman directed his actions, and he would find a way to forget this American. He just needed to determine how to do that. ‘Helena has no hold over me.’
‘Prove it. End your association with her. If your interest lies elsewhere, follow it. You are making this more complicated than it needs to be.’
‘With this woman everything is complicated.’ Julian’s gaze drifted to the horses. ‘Besides, nothing could possibly come from an association between us. She’s an American.’
An indecipherable look flashed in Hart’s eyes. ‘So? Do you believe all Americans are cannibals, perform war dances, and run around with hatchets when they get angry? Make certain you do not call out another lady’s name while bedding her. She might scalp you.’
‘Very amusing.’
‘Don’t let her nationality prevent you from pursuing her. I imagine American women are quite uninhibited in bed.’
‘Well, I’m not going to find out.’ And it was driving him to distraction.
‘You need to stop being so bloody proper. I cannot see one benefit to not doing what I want, when I want. End what you have with Helena. It’s obvious your attention has shifted elsewhere.’
‘It is not that easy.’
‘Of course it is. You say, Helena, I am finished with you.’
‘Truly? Have you ever ended a relationship with a woman?’
‘That’s beside the point. We are discussing you. I know you too well. You, my friend, are boringly monogamous.’
‘Let it alone, Hart.’
‘Very well. Then continue to tup Helena while you imagine a certain miss who shall remain nameless.’
The statement left him unsettled and guilty. There was only one thing to do.
Chapter Six (#ulink_d10a76cb-b636-5841-91c9-deae1a133975)
Julian was not looking forward to seeing Helena before leaving for Westminster the next day. He might have sent her a note. It would have been far easier and much less painful on his part. But he could not be so callous. It wasn’t her fault that he’d met someone he couldn’t stop thinking about.
This time when he knocked on her door her butler didn’t appear surprised to see him. He was left to wait for her in the drawing room. The idea of sitting was not appealing, so he walked around the room to relieve his restlessness. A few minutes later Helena walked in, wearing her blood-red dressing gown.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I did not realise you would be preparing for the evening.’
‘I was resting, and didn’t see the point of dressing when I heard you were here. This is a pleasant surprise. Would you care for a brandy?’
He would have liked the entire bottle, but that would just muddle his brain so he politely declined.
She trailed her fingers down his chest. ‘Do you wish to retire upstairs? I could see to your comfort.’
No matter what room they were in, Julian knew he would not be comfortable. ‘I believe I’d prefer to remain here.’
A questioning look flashed in her grey eyes as she gestured towards the settee.
Julian chose an armchair instead.
Prowling behind him, Helena skimmed her fingers along his shoulders before lowering herself into the slightly worn silk armchair closest to him.
‘What brings you here today?’ she asked, reclining back. ‘You left rather abruptly the other day.’ She tipped her chin towards the box on his lap. ‘Is that your way of apologising?’
He handed her the blue velvet box. ‘It is...for a number of things...’
A look of confusion crossed her face before she slid her hand up his thigh. ‘I hope you will stay longer today, so I may thank you properly.’
The boldness of her gesture forced him to shift in his chair. He nodded towards the package in her hand, relieved to know that she was easily distracted by expensive objects. ‘Open it.’
Her eyes sparkled with eager anticipation as she lifted the lid. Slowly she pulled out the long strand of pearls and arranged them between her breasts, which were suddenly exposed through her open dressing gown.
He wished he could tell her she was wasting her efforts on him. ‘They suit you,’ he said. It was as much of a compliment as he could muster.
‘They are beautiful,’ she said, more interested in the pearls than in Julian. ‘They will go well with the new gown I have ordered from Madame Devy. Perhaps we could attend Drury Lane or Vauxhall, and I will wear them for you.’ She finally looked up at him. ‘I know how you dislike attracting attention, but I think we will turn some heads.’
Julian’s jaw clenched as he studied his brown leather gloves. ‘Helena, there is something I need to ask you.’ He turned his attention to her expectant expression. ‘You are aware that I have a deep regard for you?’
She smiled up at him. ‘I am.’
‘Well... I was wondering if you are content with the state of our friendship?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘When we began this liaison both of us knew it could not continue indefinitely the way it is.’
‘That is true,’ she said through a seductive smile. The scent of lavender filled the air as she leaned in closer.
‘And we both entered into this with a mutual understanding that eventually we would part ways.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘You are ending this?’
‘While I have enjoyed our time together, surely you knew that it would not last?’
‘I cannot believe you are doing this,’ she whispered. The sound of her heavy breathing mingled with the ticking of the clock. She jumped from her chair and poked him in the chest—hard. ‘Lord Hartwick is behind this.’
He pulled his brows together in puzzlement. ‘He has nothing to do with this.’
‘Then there is another woman.’ She eyed him up and down in disgust. ‘Have you offered for Morley’s chit? Your mother acts as if an announcement will be made any day.’
‘I have not offered for her. There is no other woman.’ She didn’t need to know the truth.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded, clenching her fists at her sides.
‘I did not think you would be upset. You told me you had no intention of marrying again,’ he stated firmly.
‘And you believed me?’ she screamed. She stormed across the room with her head high, and then spun around. ‘And you give me pearls? We have been together all this time and you give me pearls!’
‘What is wrong with pearls? They are quite expensive.’
Her body visibly shook with rage. ‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale! You should be giving me diamonds!’
His sympathy for her was quickly diminishing upon seeing her greedy nature. ‘I did not have to give you anything!’ he bellowed.
‘You selfish boor!’ She picked up a silver candlestick from the table closest to her and flung it at his head.
He ducked just in time.
‘I am worth diamonds—not pearls!’
Before his control slipped further he needed to leave. Striding across the room, he unlocked the door and didn’t look back.
When he stepped outside the soft breeze cooled his heated skin. His body hummed with anger at her selfishness. Sitting in his carriage would do him no good. He needed physical exertion. He would walk home—but first he needed to make one more stop.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_6ceb7843-f04d-5b4d-9bad-cc4878eaf556)
Descending the staircase in the centre of Hatchards, Katrina scanned the room below her. This bookshop was one of her favourite places in London. The soft whispers and the occasional sound of the turning of pages were welcome after spending the entire morning on social calls with Mrs Forrester and Sarah.
As she continued to search for her maid Katrina let her gaze skim over the few patrons who were selecting books from the dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. An older woman in an elaborately decorated black hat was comparing books with a younger woman dressed demurely in lavender. Near them a dandy dressed in a navy jacket and puce trousers stood in a studied pose, reading the book he held through his quizzing glass.
Scanning the room further, Katrina felt her heart skip a beat. Standing near her maid, at a table piled with books, stood a broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman in a finely cut bottle-green coat, buckskin breeches and top boots. Was her time in London destined to be cursed with the presence of the rude Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s ball?
Katrina hesitated on the staircase, wondering if she should turn around and go back upstairs before he spotted her. Suddenly he lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met. She could not turn back now. Taking a breath, she gripped the wooden banister and proceeded to slowly walk down the stairs towards Meg.
Katrina picked up the first volume of Frankenstein and thumbed through the pages. ‘Have you found anything of interest?’ she asked Meg.
Her maid smiled and showed Katrina the book in her hand.
‘I do not believe Clarissa is an appropriate choice for you,’ Katrina said.
‘I’ve heard it’s scandalous, and I’m hoping they have it at the lending library. The heroine is told to marry an unappealing gentleman and then is tricked into running away by a rake. I bet there is a dungeon in the story. I love a story that takes place in a dungeon.’ Meg sighed and then glanced inquisitively at the book in Katrina’s hand.
Taking into account her maid’s vivid imagination, Katrina quickly placed Frankenstein back on the table. ‘I’m well aware of the plot. You do know you can borrow any of my books?’
‘Do they have dungeons, kidnappings, evil earls or ghosts?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you think I would want to read them?’ Meg asked, wrinkling her brow.
There was a deep laugh from across the table. Keeping her head averted under the rim of her bonnet, Katrina blocked her view of the gentleman across the table. Searching for a more appropriate novel, Katrina spotted a copy of her father’s book. As she reached for it her hand brushed against a strong hand encased in a brown leather glove. Startled, she looked up.
‘We meet again,’ the annoying Englishman said.
No, we don’t, because you are too rude to seek an introduction!
Katrina took a breath to compose herself before she spoke. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Forgive me. I believe that is the book I have been searching for.’
‘This book?’ Katrina asked, holding it up to show him the title on the spine.
‘Yes, that is it.’ He reached for another copy and began to turn the pages. There was a hesitation before he looked up at her. ‘I’ve heard it’s a very good book. You would not happen to know anything about it, would you?’
‘I can highly recommend it. The book presents the observations of a traveller and contains much happy humour.’
Katrina glanced around the shop to see if anyone was watching them. Meg had moved to a nearby bookcase, engrossed in Clarissa. What was the point of having your maid accompany you around the town if she walked away when the man you wanted to avoid began speaking with you?
He walked around the table and stood next to her, smelling of leather and fresh air. ‘The account is humorous?’
‘Yes, Lord Byron has said he knows it by heart, and Scott has said it is positively beautiful. I understand the book is selling rather quickly. You might wish to purchase one before they are all sold.’ She looked closely at him, challenging him to actually buy it.
‘You appear intimately acquainted with the book,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing.
‘I suppose I am. My father is the author.’
‘You are Mr Vandenberg’s daughter?’ he asked in a rush of breath.
‘Yes, my lord, I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. If he said one disparaging thing about the fact that her father was a writer she was leaving immediately. He would deserve the cut.
He tipped his head to her. ‘Then I shall be certain to take your recommendation. My grandmother speaks highly of it as well.’
‘Your grandmother?’
‘Yes. My grandmother seems to have misplaced her copy. I came here today to purchase a new one for her.’
He was intending to purchase her father’s book because his grandmother had lost her copy? That seemed rather...sweet.
Katrina caught herself before she smiled. He wasn’t sweet. He was rude! Still, she couldn’t help asking him if he was a doting grandson.
‘I suppose I am.’
He smiled at her and he appeared even more attractive.
‘She seemed truly distressed to discover it missing.’
He stepped a bit closer and inhaled. Was that some odd English custom?
Katrina eyed him and placed her father’s book down. ‘Did you just sniff me?’ she whispered.
A small smile raised one corner of his lips. ‘Now, why would I do that?’
‘Why, indeed?’ Katrina replied, narrowing her eyes at him.
She edged a little further down the table. The heat from his body somehow made its way over to her. This man had ignored her for days. Why couldn’t her body do the same to him? She could practically feel his every breath. That slightly unsettling feeling was back.
‘If you will excuse me?’ she said, turning to leave.
He blocked her way with his body. ‘You do not need to leave yet, do you?’
‘I cannot stay. You must realise our speaking without an introduction is highly improper.’ It was easier not to look at him, and she picked unseen strings from her pale blue and white spencer.
He glanced around and edged closer to her. ‘That didn’t bother you before.’
‘A momentary lapse in judgement.’
‘No one here knows we have not been formally introduced,’ he said quietly.
‘We know we have not,’ she chided. ‘And you have done it again! You sniffed me.’ She stepped away from him, feeling more than a little unsettled. ‘I can assure you Americans do bathe.’
His lips twitched. ‘Why do you smell like lemons, Miss Vandenberg?’
Katrina’s brows drew together in confusion. ‘That is irrelevant—and I refuse to carry on this conversation when I do not even know your name.’
‘We could remedy that easily. I could simply tell you what it is.’
‘Do you always flout the English rules of conduct?’
He appeared to ponder her question for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually, I never do. However, I see no harm in it this time. But if you insist we will do this in the proper manner. I shall need to borrow your maid.’
‘You’d like to borrow my maid?’
‘I would.’
He walked to Meg, who was watching the interaction between her mistress and this perplexing Englishman. They bent their heads together, and a short while later both walked towards Katrina.
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ Meg said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile, ‘may I present His Grace the Duke of Lyonsdale? Your Grace, this is my mistress—Miss Katrina Vandenberg.’ She curtsied and watched them both closely.
The scoundrel! Katrina’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a duke?’
A slow smile made his lips turn up invitingly. ‘I am.’
‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale?’
‘Yes, I believe we have established that.’
Meg, as if sensing her mistress’s temper, smartly moved back to her place by the bookcase.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Katrina demanded.
‘My name? I was going to, but you seemed to need a proper introduction so I had your maid do it.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Katrina said as she shook her head. ‘You led me to believe you were simply a lord.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘You did not correct me when I addressed you. You must have found my ignorance vastly entertaining,’ she replied waspishly.
It had been bad enough when she’d thought he might be a titled gentleman, such as a baron, but he was a duke! In England, his station in life was so far above hers he probably would never have spoken to her again if it had not been for this accidental encounter.
She would not show him that it hurt.
‘Miss Vandenberg—’
‘I’ll not be played for a fool. I’m sure you have enjoyed telling your friends how ignorant Americans can be. Well, let me tell you—’
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ he interrupted more forcefully. ‘I didn’t correct you because we had not been introduced. I had no opportunity to tell you my name or indicate my station.’
‘You could have corrected the way I had addressed you.’
‘And sound like a pompous fool? I think not.’
He certainly would have sounded like a pompous fool, but Katrina was not convinced he didn’t have another motive for not telling her the truth. He must have had a great laugh at her expense.
‘In any event, what you did was rude.’
Both his brows rose and he jerked his head back. ‘I assure you, causing you any distress was most unintentional.’
Then his lips twitched, and she wanted to throw a book at him. The man was insufferable.
‘You are laughing at me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I believe I have spent too much time here today. I bid you good day—Your Grace.’
As she stormed out of the bookshop she wished she could restrict her engagements to those he would never consider attending.
* * *
Julian’s encounter with Miss Vandenberg left him perplexed. No one had ever schooled him in proper behaviour before. No one would ever have dared. And yet this American had thought it necessary to inform him that he was rude.
He should have been insulted by the way she’d spoken to him, but she had been so certain in her conviction, so passionate about the way she deserved to be treated, he had not been able to fault her.
He was a man of strong convictions as well. When he had entered the shop it hadn’t occurred to him that he would leave finding Miss Vandenberg even more desirable than he already had.
By the next day he was still reliving their discussion and anticipating when he would speak to her again.
Deciding to visit the woman who was indirectly responsible for their encounter, Julian sought out his grandmother when he returned home from his committee meeting. Upon entering her private sitting room, he found her resting in a bergère chair, with a book in her hand.
‘Come in Julian,’ she said, waving him closer. ‘You truly have spoiled me.’
He walked across the gold and white Aubusson rug and sat down next to her. ‘I see you are enjoying your book.’
‘You were slippery, presenting me with that volume yesterday. The arrival of this copy was quite unexpected.’
‘This copy?’ he replied, perplexed.
‘Yes—the one you had Mr Vandenberg inscribe.’
Julian gestured to the copy of A Traveler’s Tale that she held in her hands. ‘May I...?’
His grandmother placed a black ribbon between the pages and handed the book to him. ‘It is a lovely inscription.’
He eyed his grandmother through his lashes and turned to the title page. He was speechless. Obviously Miss Vandenberg must have arranged this—but why?
When she had stormed out on him yesterday Julian had not known if he should go after her. No one had ever walked out on him before. What had possessed her to have her father inscribe a book for his grandmother?
‘I did not do this,’ he admitted, handing back the book.
‘Of course you did. I have told no one else I misplaced my copy.’
‘I believe Mr Vandenberg’s daughter arranged this.’
‘His daughter? How would she know?’
‘I mentioned it to her yesterday, when we spoke at Hatchards.’
‘How very delightful of her. You have never said that you are acquainted with the family.’
‘I am only acquainted with the daughter.’
His grandmother arched her brow. That was not a good sign. ‘Just the daughter? How unusual for you. How did you make her acquaintance?’
‘A mutual friend,’ replied Julian, picking a speck of lint off the sleeve of his navy tailcoat.
‘I see. And is the lady in question married?’
‘She is not.’
‘And how long have the two of you been acquainted?’
‘Not long.’
Her eyes narrowed, causing Julian to shift restlessly in his seat.
‘Tell me about this girl.’
‘She is not a girl.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I do not know. I thought it wasn’t polite to enquire.’
His grandmother chuckled. ‘When the lady in question is my age, it absolutely is not. But for a younger one I do not think it at all beyond the pale.’
‘And a lady of your age would be how old, exactly?’
‘You impertinent man—we are discussing your friend, not me.’
‘And why exactly are we discussing Miss Vandenberg?’
‘She had her father send me this lovely book. I am curious as to what kind of girl would do such a thoughtful thing. You say she did this completely without your influence?’
‘I doubt the lady could be influenced into doing anything at my bidding,’ he muttered.
‘Nonsense—you are Lyonsdale.’
‘At the moment that fact does not seem to be to my advantage with her.’
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Laurie Benson
The scandal of the season!For American Katrina Vandenberg, the rules of London society are stifling. So, when a rare moment of solitude at a particularly tedious ball is interrupted, she’s disappointed…until she lays eyes on a very handsome stranger!Julian Carlisle, Duke of Lyonsdale, is destined for a dull marriage of convenience, and Katrina couldn’t be further from the docile, blue-blooded bride he needs. An affair would be scandalous, but could there be a way for this highly unsuitable woman to become Julian’s perfect duchess after all?
Secret Lives of the Ton (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
What Society doesn’t know …
Meet Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, Gabriel Pearce, the Duke of Winterbourne, and Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick.
In the eyes of the Ton, these three gentlemen are handsome, upstanding men who—mostly!—play by the rules. But what Society doesn’t know is that behind closed doors these three men are living scandalous lives and conducting sinfully scandalous affairs!
Read Julian’s story first in An Unsuitable Duchess
Available now
And look for Gabriel and Hart’s stories, coming soon!
Author Note (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
I’ve been interested in history since I was young, and that interest was fuelled by visits to many museums.
The idea for this story came to me while I was visiting Washington Irving’s home in Tarrytown, New York. I confess I have a bit of a historical crush on Irving, who was one of America’s first internationally acclaimed authors. For a time he lived in London, during the Regency era, and also served as a diplomat there in the last few years of the reign of George IV. While hearing about Irving’s time in London I began to imagine what life might have been like for the daughter of such a man. I’d also often wondered about the courtship of the first American woman to breach the walls of the English aristocracy. With these two thoughts in my head, this story was born.
While writing this book I used some creative licence, and I changed the name of the United States Minister to Britain who served in 1818 from Richard Rush to the fictitious Mr Forrester.
If you’re interested in learning more about some of the historical details in this book, please visit my website at lauriebenson.net and click on the link to my blog. You can search An Unsuitable Duchess for relevant articles. And while you’re there please subscribe to my newsletter for information about forthcoming books.
I hope you enjoy An Unsuitable Duchess, which is the first book in my Secret Lives of the Ton series.
An Unsuitable Duchess
Laurie Benson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LAURIE BENSON is an award-winning historical romance author and Golden Heart® finalist. She began her writing career as an advertising copywriter, where she learned more than anyone could ever want to know about hot dogs and credit score reports. When she isn’t at her laptop, avoiding laundry, Laurie can be found browsing in museums or taking ridiculously long hikes with her husband and two sons. You can visit her at lauriebenson.net (http://lauriebenson.net).
Acknowledgements (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
I’ll always be grateful to my wonderful editor, Kathryn Cheshire, for giving me this opportunity and for helping me bring Julian and Katrina into the world. Thanks for your guidance and support. You’re the best! And thank you to everyone at Mills & Boon Historical, especially Linda Fildew, Nic Caws and Krista Oliver, for all that you’ve done for me.
Thanks, Courtney Miller-Callihan, for having my back and for just being you.
To the history bloggers and the people who answered my historical questions—thanks for making research fun.
Lori V. and Lisa D.—this book might not have been written if it weren’t for the two of you. Thanks for encouraging me to put this story to paper and for not running the other way when I asked you to read it—a number of times. I love you both!
To Jen, Mia, Marnee and Teri—thanks for riding this rollercoaster with me and for being such great friends.
Thanks, Mom, for teaching me that I could do anything if I put my mind to it. To my boys—you mean the world to me. Thanks for never complaining when deadlines have had me ordering takeout for dinner. And thank you to my husband for always believing in me and for proving that love at first sight really is possible.
Finally, thank you, kind reader, for picking up this book. I hope this story makes you smile, and that you enjoy this brief armchair vacation in Regency era London.
Contents
Cover (#u87a145d3-9723-5981-a805-e1507914af76)
Secret Lives of the Ton
Author Note
Title Page (#u6f1556ea-e842-5b68-bcff-aae0c340f8ee)
About the Author (#ue836e79c-63e9-5a61-9c28-3b1717699e74)
Acknowledgements
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
Mayfair, London, 1818.
Katrina Vandenberg had come to the conclusion that the ballrooms of London were rather dangerous places.
As she stood under a glittering chandelier in the Russian Ambassador’s ornate drawing room she rotated her sore foot beneath her gown. It didn’t help. Anticipating its tenderness, she held her breath and gingerly lowered her slipper to the red and gold rug.
‘Why does Lord Boreham continue to ask me to dance?’ she groaned as her foot began to throb. ‘Each time we do he stumbles through the steps and blames it on me being American and not knowing the movements. This time he stepped on my foot so many times I stopped counting.’
‘Perhaps he is enamoured with you,’ replied Sarah Forrester, the daughter of the American Minister to the Court of St. James.
‘Perhaps he’s waiting for me to issue a war cry in the middle of the dance floor and wishes to have an excellent view.’
The friends laughed and a number of the finely dressed gentlemen and ladies looked their way. One of them was their hostess, the Russian Ambassador’s wife, Madame de Lieven.
‘I suppose you could wear boots under your gown to protect your feet from clumsy partners,’ Sarah whispered, hiding her amusement behind her fan. ‘Although it would not be very fashionable.’
‘I do not believe even that would help. But perhaps I could pretend the orchestra is too loud and I cannot hear them speak. Then maybe I could avoid listening to them boast about how important they are or prattle on about some ancient relative’s great accomplishment.’ Katrina nodded towards a group of gentlemen. ‘One day I wager one of them will show me his teeth in an attempt to impress me. London would be lovely if it weren’t for the men.’
When they laughed again Madame de Lieven narrowed her eyes and gave them a chastising shake of her head.
Katrina took a deep breath and shifted her gaze. ‘I do believe our hostess is attempting to inform us that ladies in London do not laugh out loud during entertainments such as this.’
How she wished there was somewhere she could go to avoid the constant scrutiny. And that smell! Had someone forgot to bathe?
She rubbed her forehead and a drop of wax hit the embroidered forget-me-nots on her white silk glove.
Evenings like this were always so tedious.
* * *
This evening could not become any more tedious.
Julian Carlisle, the Duke of Lyonsdale, didn’t know how Lady Morley and her daughter Lady Mary had cornered him. And that bloody chandelier! He was certain his valet would have an apoplexy when he saw how much wax was falling onto his new black tailcoat.
Tonight’s crush was so great it had become difficult to raise his glass of the Russian Ambassador’s fine champagne to his lips. If he tried he might inadvertently brush his hand over the front of Lady Mary’s dress. It would be interesting to see her mother’s reaction to that. Most likely Julian would find himself embroiled in the scandal of the evening, with a wife he did not want.
He would stay thirsty.
‘And so I told her,’ continued Lady Morley, ‘that if Madame Devy moved back to Paris we simply would not know what to do. She is the best in London. She makes all of Mary’s dresses. Not that she needs any help to show as well as she does. Has the bearing of a duchess, I always hear.’
Thirty-three. Thirty-four. The peacock feather in Lady Morley’s turban bobbed with every nod of her head. Julian continued counting. The unique sound of soft feminine laughter floated from behind him and he wished he were part of that conversation instead of this one. He made a conscious effort not to sigh.
Before he could school his features into his usual bored expression he wrinkled his nose. What was that smell? It reminded him of his gardeners in the heat of summer. A man’s sweat should not be mixed with an abundance of flowers and sold in a bottle.
Julian managed to down the remainder of his champagne in one gulp. The bubbles tickling his throat were a welcome distraction. ‘I understand cards are being played across the hall. Is that where your husband is this evening?’ he asked, with no real interest.
Lady Morley blinked at his sudden interruption. ‘Oh—oh, yes, I believe it is.’
‘I’ll be off, then.’
Both ladies curtsied to Julian, and he began to attempt a shallow bow. He bumped into something soft. As he turned to excuse himself high, soft breasts met his hard male chest.
A startled woman with pleasant features and a pair of deep blue eyes looked up at him. Then her gaze travelled slowly down to his waistcoat and back up to his face. When her white teeth tugged at her lower lip, he had a strong urge to lick and soothe that lip. Mentally shaking himself, he tried to gain control of this unexpected yearning.
Her eyes widened, and a faint blush swept across her cheeks. ‘Please forgive me, my lord,’ she murmured.
Nine years had passed since anyone had addressed him simply as ‘my lord’. Everyone knew he was the Duke of Lyonsdale and should be addressed as ‘Your Grace’—even if he didn’t care to know them. ‘I assure you no apology is necessary. I believe the fault is mine.’
She bobbed a shallow curtsey and turned away from him. As he watched her make her way through the crowd something inside him shifted. Suddenly he was striding across the room, not even aware of the parting of finely dressed people before him.
* * *
Stepping onto the terrace, Katrina closed her eyes and filled her lungs with fresh night air. For a brief time, at least, she would not have to be conscious of her every action.
The amber glow of candlelight, shining through the tall windows and doors of the large brick house, streaked this outdoor haven. In the far corner was an unoccupied area that called to her. It would be an ideal place to escape inquisitive stares and pointed whispers.
The stone of the marble balustrade felt cool against her gloved hands and was a welcome contrast to the warm crush inside. Peering out into the dimly lit garden, she gradually began to relax, enjoying her first bit of solitude all evening. It was wonderful to finally be alone.
‘We are fortunate the evening air is so pleasant and there’s no rain,’ rumbled a deep voice to her right.
Resisting the urge to push the intruder over the railing, Katrina held back a sigh. ‘Yes, we are quite fortunate,’ she said, in what she was certain was a bored tone. She kept her eyes fixed on the landscape below, hoping it would discourage further conversation.
‘The quality of the Ambassador’s garden is well noted. Have you walked through it yet?’
‘No, I have not. Fortunately for us there are lanterns placed along the pathways so we can enjoy the beauty from up here.’ He would soon learn she was not a woman who dallied in the shrubbery. Perhaps he would move on.
When Katrina glanced over at him, she was surprised to discover the handsome gentleman she had clumsily bumped into a few minutes before. He was standing tall, facing the garden, in formal black evening clothes, with the moonlight shining on the waves of his neatly trimmed dark hair. She studied his profile with its chiselled features and square jaw. He must have noticed, because he turned his head towards her and their eyes met.
It happened again. The ground seemed to shift, and this time their bodies hadn’t even touched. Deciding it was best to focus on the flowering shrubs and manicured lawn, she diverted her attention away from the man at her side.
* * *
Julian closed his eyes and clenched his jaw. Was he actually reduced to discussing the weather and gardening with this woman? When had he become this dull? And he was certain she had just dismissed him. No one ever dismissed him.
For the first time in his life Julian felt the need to capture a woman’s attention. ‘Are you new to town?’
In whose world was this captivating conversation?
‘I suppose. I have only been in London for a few weeks.’
‘Your accent escapes me.’
She crossed her arms under that pair of lovely small breasts and turned towards him. ‘I’m American.’ When he remained silent, she tilted her head and studied him. ‘Pardon me, but have we been introduced?’
He shook his head, amused at her candour. ‘Not that I recall—and I am fairly certain you are not someone I would forget.’
‘Then speaking with you would not be proper.’ She glanced at the French doors, as if she expected to see someone. ‘Did you follow me out here?’
Julian never followed women, and he never acted improperly. He had needed to get away from Lady Morley, and that smell had been unbearable. There had been no reason to consider it further.
‘We must have had the notion to step outside at the same time.’
‘And you just happened to find yourself standing next to me?’
He shifted under her sceptical expression. ‘It appeared to be a pleasant spot.’
She narrowed her eyes momentarily before she turned her attention back towards the garden and began to drum her fingers on the stone.
Below them, a figure walked in and out of the shadows, along one of the garden’s gravel paths, as the flames inside the lanterns flickered. Julian traced the figure’s movements. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be hiding from someone, now, would you?’
She looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes. ‘Why would you think that?’
‘When a woman as striking as you is alone at a ball teeming with men, one must conclude that her solitude is by choice. Are you attempting to avoid a foolish suitor?’
Her lips twitched. ‘What makes you believe I have foolish suitors?’
‘Ah, I said suitor. Apparently there is more than one.’
‘Perhaps I was simply seeking a breath of fresh air.’
‘Then I would say any man who wasn’t wise enough to accompany you out here to take the evening air was foolish.’
The silk of her ice-blue gown shimmered in the moonlight as she turned her body to face him. ‘And why is that?’
He had the strongest urge to step closer. She smelled like lemons. ‘Because in this secluded spot he has left you free to be charmed by another man.’
‘Are you attempting to charm me?’
‘Do you find me charming?’
‘Not in the least,’ she replied, even though her expression said the opposite.
‘Then I suppose your suitor is safe in his position of favour.’
A soft laugh escaped her lips before she quickly pursed them together.
‘Or perhaps not,’ he amended, revelling in the odd satisfaction that she found him amusing.
‘My purpose in coming out here was simply to enjoy a bit of solitude.’
‘And I have intruded on your privacy—not well done of me at all. Perhaps we might enjoy the solitude together?’
‘Then it would not be considered solitude.’
‘Semantics,’ he replied with a slight shrug. ‘So, why are you seeking solitude?’
She looked down at her slippers and appeared to give her answer great consideration. ‘I grew weary of people telling me how important they are.’
He wondered if he was like that. He didn’t think he was. Nevertheless, it was probably best not to let her know how important he really was. ‘A bold admission.’
‘An honest one. And what brings you out here? If you were planning on having a clandestine meeting, I fear you are keeping some lady waiting,’ she said with a teasing smile.
‘I’m not. Perhaps I too grew weary of spending time with people I have no interest in.’
‘Than we are of a like mind.’
‘It appears we are.’
Her lips rose into a full smile and for the first time in his life Julian forgot to breathe. ‘You are lovely,’ he admitted, before he could stop himself.
‘Thank you, but I have been told I am much too expressive.’
‘Not to me.’
‘You’re trying to charm me again.’
‘Am I? I thought I was simply being honest. I appreciate a true smile. I find the false ones maddening.’
What in the world had got into him? Perhaps her candid speech was infectious. Her unguarded manner and their frank discussion should not appeal to him, yet he found her entertaining.
She shifted her stance, and her skirt rustled as if she was shaking out her foot. ‘Well, it appears that you, my lord, are not a typical member of the ton.’
If she only knew.
It was as if he was being pulled to her by some magnetic force. His heartbeat quickened as he stepped even closer. Her lips looked so soft. As his gaze travelled down to the small swell of her breasts his fingers instinctively curled. He needed a distraction.
Turning back towards the balustrade, he focused his attention on the stars. He had never attempted to count them before. For a moment longer he could feel her watching him. Then she turned and tipped her face up to the inky night sky.
* * *
Katrina wondered at the sudden change in her companion’s demeanour. There must be some unspoken rule of English Society she had unwittingly broken. During their brief encounter he had managed to make her forget she was a stranger, navigating uncharted waters. But his silence spoke volumes. She would have to peruse The Mirror of Graces again tonight before she fell asleep, to find some clue as to her faux pas.
Their engaging conversation had improved her mood, and she was determined to hold on to that feeling for as long as she could. ‘It appears as if every star in the heavens is out,’ she mused, testing the waters for his response.
‘Do you enjoy stargazing?’
She glanced at him and smiled at his friendly, inquisitive expression. ‘I have been known to occasionally look upon the stars, if that is what you mean.’
‘But can you identify the constellations? Do you know their names?’
She shook her head.
He leaned closer and his sleeve brushed her arm. ‘See that grouping of stars over those trees? That’s the constellation Cassiopeia.’
It took her a moment to attend to what he’d said, with his body so close to her. ‘That’s the name of an ancient Ethiopian Queen.’
He nodded. ‘And that is her constellation. What do you know of her?’
‘Only that her excessive pride in her daughter Andromeda angered Poseidon so much that he commanded the Queen to sacrifice Andromeda to him.’
‘Very good. In fact Andromeda is over there.’
She took note of the stars he pointed to.
‘It is said Poseidon was enraged because Cassiopeia’s sacrifice was not completed,’ he continued. ‘As punishment, he placed the Queen on her throne in the night sky. Do you remember what happened to Andromeda?’
Katrina could feel him watching her and she shifted her gaze back to him. ‘She was rescued by Perseus, whom she married.’
‘She was. Now, Perseus is over there.’ He leaned across her and pointed to another grouping of stars. He smelled wonderful—like champagne and mint.
Their faces were mere inches apart. His lips looked so firm and smooth. For a moment their breaths mingled. Suddenly he jerked his head back, and unwelcome cool night air blew across her face.
She needed to shift her attention away from his lips and recall what they were discussing. ‘Is that truly Perseus, or are you attempting to appeal to my sense of the romantic?’
‘That truly is the constellation Perseus. It is said that Athena placed Andromeda next to Perseus in the night sky when Andromeda died.’
‘Oh, that is romantic.’
He wrinkled his brow as he stared at the stars. ‘I suppose some might consider it that way.’
‘But you do not?’
‘I never gave it much thought until now,’ he replied with a slight shrug.
Their eyes met, and it was as if every part of Katrina’s body was straining to get even closer to him. She needed to get away before she did something embarrassing, such as caress the arm that was now pressing against her own.
Taking a deep breath, she clasped her hands together. They were safer that way. ‘Well, I should return. My party will wonder where I have disappeared to and hopefully the air inside will have cleared.’ She smiled at him and moved away from the balustrade. ‘Thank you for showing me the stars. I can truly say I was not bored in the least.’
He bowed, and when he raised his head she caught the laughter in his eyes. ‘I am glad. I was not bored either. I hope you will find some pleasure in what is left of your evening.’
She curtsied in return and walked to the doors leading back to the drawing room. As she reached the threshold she couldn’t help glancing at him over her shoulder. When their eyes met she lowered her head, and attempted to hide her satisfied smile.
* * *
From the moment she’d left his side it had been impossible for Julian to look away from her. If he had looked away he might have missed that one last glance she’d given him before she entered the house. It didn’t matter that she had caught him staring like an untried boy. That last look had told him everything. She wanted him just as much as he wanted her.
Pulling his shoulders back and crossing his arms, he tried unsuccessfully to suppress a grin. The novelty of knowing that this woman desired him without knowing his prominent position in Society was exhilarating. Her lemon scent lingered in the air, and Julian took in a deep breath while leaning his lower back on the balustrade.
This night was turning out to be far from tedious after all.
‘Now, that’s quite odd. It almost appears as if you are smiling. But I know that can’t be, because while I’m returning from a pleasurable time spent in the garden you, my friend, are all alone.’
Lord Phineas Attwood, the Earl of Hartwick, sauntered up the terrace steps. He was dressed all in black except for his crisp white shirt. The knot of his cravat appeared askew, and a lock of black hair was draped over his right eye. He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to comb the lock back into place. It was no use.
Stopping next to Julian, he also crossed his arms over his chest and followed Julian’s gaze to the French doors. ‘Does she have a name?’
‘Who?’
‘Whoever she is that has caught your interest.’
Julian closed his eyes and with an exasperated sigh turned his attention from the doors to his friend. ‘What makes you think it’s a woman?’
Hart raised both brows. ‘Come, now, I always tell you what has put a smile on my face. We can compare notes. I’ll tell you about my lady, and you tell me about your lady.’
‘There is nothing to tell.’
‘Very well—I’ll start. Margaret has the most amazing mouth. She can—’
‘You were in the garden with Lady Shepford?’ Julian closed his eyes. ‘You are mad. Not two hours ago you took over two hundred pounds from Shepford at cards, and now you take his wife.’
‘Exciting, isn’t it?’ Hart replied, adjusting his cuff. ‘I can’t help if she finds me irresistible, and he is positively unlucky tonight. It was impossible not to win his money.’
‘One day some husband is going to challenge you, and I have no desire to be your second.’
‘I am aware that you believe widows are preferable, but I’m not you. Married ladies are infinitely preferable to unmarried ones. At least they aren’t fishing for a title. Honestly, you worry for nothing. My coach is always at the ready, and I’m very competent with pistols and swords.’ He pushed himself off the balustrade. ‘I’m bored—let’s go to White’s. Stop scowling. You look like my old tutor.’
Julian shook his head. There was no reason to stay. He would have enjoyed spending more time with the American woman. Had she been a member of the ton he would have re-entered the Ambassador’s townhouse and immediately sought an introduction. Unfortunately, with the responsibility of his title, a relationship with an American was not possible.
When he married again it would be to an Englishwoman of prominent lineage—just as his ancestors before him and just as he had done before. Respectable English noblemen did not marry American women.
Why was he even thinking of marriage? Hart was right. It was time to leave.
Chapter Two (#uaefd87d0-5f23-5068-96d5-feea56dac816)
Reading the Morning Chronicle should not be so difficult. Katrina had done it every morning since she and her father had arrived in London a few weeks ago. However, today she was finding it impossible to read even one article—and it was all because of that English gentleman she had talked with out on the terrace the previous evening.
The dining room in the house her father had leased in Mayfair was quiet except for the occasional tinkling of a Wedgwood cup hitting a saucer and the crinkling of paper as her father turned a page of the document the American Minister had sent over.
Feeling frustrated by her lack of concentration, Katrina pushed the newspaper aside and reached for a piece of toast from the silver rack in front of her. As she began spreading honey on the bread she couldn’t help but smile recalling their conversation for the hundredth time since last night.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? She was not attracted to Englishmen—at least she hadn’t been until last night. Most of those she had met since arriving in London had been proud, patronising and too self-possessed for her taste. But this gentleman had appeared to be none of those things. He hadn’t even made any foolish comments about her being American. On a night that had begun so poorly he had managed to make her laugh and forget about the pain in her foot. And she couldn’t deny that being close to him had made her heart race.
Honey began to drip through her fingers, and Katrina shook her head as she licked away the sticky sweetness. How long would it be until she saw him again? Once he obtained a proper introduction they’d be able to speak openly, and she would finally know his name. He might even ask her to waltz.
While she had no desire to tie herself to an English gentleman, spending time in that man’s company during the various social engagements she was obligated to attend while she was in London would be an excellent diversion.
Smiling to herself, Katrina returned her attention to the newspaper and tried to concentrate on reading it one last time.
* * *
In another part of Mayfair, in a much larger house, Julian walked out of his suite of rooms and rubbed his pounding forehead. He needed more sleep. Several times during the night he had awoken from vivid dreams about the American woman. Now this lack of sleep left him very irritable—and very frustrated. What he needed was a quiet, peaceful morning.
From the sounds drifting out through the doorway of his breakfast room, there was little hope of that happening.
Crossing the threshold, he noted his mother and grandmother were deep in conversation at the elegantly set table. Grasping at his last few moments of peace, Julian passed the livery-clad footmen on his way to the mahogany Sheraton sideboard and filled his plate. The smell of ham made his stomach growl, making him realise how hungry he was. The moment he sat down coffee was poured into a porcelain cup.
Just as he was about to bring the aromatic liquid to his lips, the chatter around him stopped. His mother’s sharp eyes were focused on him, and Julian cursed himself for not taking breakfast in his study.
‘Good morning, Lyonsdale,’ she said, while refolding a note that had been lying open next to her plate. ‘How was the Ambassador’s ball?’
‘It was a crush, as usual, but surprisingly tolerable.’
‘And Lady Wentworth? Did she enjoy the evening?’
Julian had been trying to keep his association with the widow discreet. Obviously he needed to try harder. He blew into his cup and decided to be evasive.
‘She was not there.’
‘Then who held your attention for so long on the terrace?’
Julian’s fingers clenched the handle of his cup before he carefully placed it down on the saucer. He was one and thirty. Was it too much to ask for some privacy? He needed to speak to his secretary about seeing what could be done to hasten the renovations of his mother’s townhouse.
‘Pray tell, how is it possible that you possess such information?’
His grandmother Eleanor, the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale, paused in spreading butter on her toast. ‘Your mother has already received a note this morning from Lady Morley. Isn’t that correct, Beatrice?’
‘Your friend has written to you about what I did last night?’ Julian asked indignantly.
‘She has only commented on your actions because she says you left rather abruptly and she had thought you were about to speak with her husband regarding their daughter.’
‘Why would she assume I intended to approach Morley about her?’
His mother trailed her slender finger around the gold rim of her cup and raised her pointed chin. ‘She, and every other member of the ton, is aware that you are in need of an heir. It is obvious that Lady Mary is a suitable choice. Her father is an earl, and she is the niece of a duke. And you have spoken with her. Your conversation confers distinction upon any gel you single out.’
‘I have not spoken with her.’
‘You must have. You’ve danced with her. Surely you had some manner of discussion on that occasion.’
Had he? Julian tried to recall any remnant of conversation, but he could not. Nothing about Lady Mary set her apart. All the chits who had recently entered Society resembled one another, twittering behind their fans and taking measure of him when they thought he wasn’t looking. They were all so young. He must have spoken to her, but he honestly could not recall doing so.
‘I may have also mentioned to Lady Morley that you might consider their daughter.’
Julian had stopped listening to his mother moments before, but that declaration caught his attention. The pounding in his head increased. He would not let her dictate which woman he would marry—not this time.
‘It was not your place to speak for me,’ he bit out.
‘I made no promises, but surely you see you cannot keep wasting your time with Lady Wentworth. That woman is an unacceptable choice. Her family is of no true consequence. It is time you secured this line. If Edward hadn’t been foolish enough to race his horse that day we would at least have had him as your immediate heir. But with his death the line falls to your grandfather’s incompetent nephew, should you perish, and he will destroy our good name.’
A familiar hollow feeling opened in Julian’s chest—which was why he never wanted to think about Edward. The way his mother had so callously mentioned his dear brother’s death fuelled the anger welling up inside him. Was there ever a time that she thought of either of them as more than a necessary part of fulfilling her own duty to bear an heir and a spare?
‘You have avoided marriage long enough,’ she continued. ‘It’s high time you fulfil your duty to marry again and finally bear an heir. Lady Mary will make us a perfect duchess. You should be thanking me for saving you from the trying task of finding you a suitable wife.’
‘Thanking you?’ he sputtered. ‘You chose a wife for me once. It did not end well. You will not dictate my choice to me again.’
His mother appeared hesitant to say more, and the tension eased somewhat in his shoulders. Maybe he would be lucky enough to have her abandon the conversation entirely.
‘At least consider Lady Mary.’
Or maybe she would continue to pester him till he lost his appetite completely!
He swallowed a mouthful of tepid coffee and pushed the cup away in disgust.
Before he could reply, his mother rushed ahead. ‘She is from a prominent family, has been trained from birth to assume such a title, is accomplished, and appears strong for breeding. You could not possibly require anything else.’
But he did. He felt it. Only he wasn’t certain what it could be. He simply knew he could not continue this conversation while he was still suffering from lack of sleep. This decision was too important—and his coffee was cold.
‘You never did say who you were with last night on the Ambassador’s terrace.’
‘No, I did not.’
His mother held out her cup for more tea. A footman immediately appeared at her side. She wasn’t leaving the table any time soon. Julian rose from his chair and dropped his napkin onto the table.
His grandmother glanced at his untouched plate and looked at him with soft, sympathetic eyes. ‘You have not eaten a thing. Surely you must be hungry? Would you like Reynolds to fetch you something else?’
Her genuine concern softened some of his anger. ‘No, thank you.’
‘I could have a tray sent to your study. Surely we can find something to tempt you?’
‘There is no need. I believe I have lost my appetite.’
* * *
Hart’s breakfast room was blissfully quiet. No one was pestering him to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life. Julian knew he needed to marry soon. He couldn’t keep delaying the inevitable. The longer he waited, the younger the girls would be. However, each time he considered marrying again his stomach would do an uncomfortable flip. This time was no different.
Why couldn’t he find a woman among the ton like the American woman who had captivated him last night? Staring sightlessly at his plate, Julian gave a slight start when Hart’s butler cleared his throat.
‘Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?’
‘Actually, Billings, would you see if His Lordship has any lemon curd?’
The butler exited the room as a sleepy Hart wandered in, wearing a black brocade dressing gown. A lock of hair covered his heavy-lidded blue eyes. Hart’s gaze followed his butler as Billings re-entered the room and placed a Wedgwood bowl before Julian.
‘So this is what my breakfast room looks like,’ Hart said through a yawn. ‘I was told you were here, however, I didn’t believe it.’ He dropped into his chair and stared in horror at his friend’s toast. ‘What has happened to the butter?’
‘It’s lemon curd.’ Julian took a bite of toast and closed his eyes, savouring the flavour.
‘I’ve never seen you eat lemon curd before. I did not even know I had lemon curd—and why the bloody hell are you putting it on your toast?’
‘I have no idea.’ Julian took another bite and wiped his lips with his napkin. ‘I woke with the oddest desire for lemons.’
Hart accepted a cup of coffee from Billings and reclined in his chair. ‘So what has brought you to my door at this ungodly hour of the morning?’
‘It’s past ten—hardly ungodly.’
Hart stilled, his cup halfway to his lips. ‘In all the years you have known me, and with all you know about me, do you really think I rise anywhere near this hour?’
‘Point taken. Your coffee is quite good. I do not believe I’ve tasted it before.’
‘That’s because you knew enough not to come here for breakfast. Now, enjoy this pot. I do not expect you to bother me for breakfast again any time soon.’
Julian continued to eat his toast. Lemon curd on toast was exceptional. He licked his lips, wondering why he hadn’t thought of eating it before.
‘What does bring you here?’
Perhaps if he talked about it with his friend he might release some of his frustration. Leaning back in his chair, Julian took a final sip from his cup. Billings was at his side in an instant, refilling it. Hart eyed his butler and the man retired from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.
‘She wants an heir.’
‘Who?’
‘My mother.’
‘That’s no secret. She has made it quite clear that you have been remiss in fulfilling your duty. Is that why you are here at this hour? You have run away from your mother?’
Julian flung a piece of toast at Hart.
‘I say, that was quite undignified of you.’ His friend picked the toast from his chest and bit into it. ‘This is quite good.’ He licked his fingers. ‘Has she selected another simpering chit for you?’
‘Yes, but this time she has spoken to the family, indicating that I have an interest. She has gone too far.’
‘And who is this paragon of the ton she has so carefully chosen to bear the next Duke?’
‘Lady Mary Morley.’
As if he was trying to recall her name, Hart momentarily shifted his gaze. ‘Could be worse. She has the most delicious-looking breasts I’ve seen. They’re so full and tempting. Here—pass the lemon curd over.’ He picked up the bowl from Julian’s hand, dipped his spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’
‘Would you please focus?’
‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.
‘On my problem, dolt!’
‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’
‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.
‘Maybe you can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’
The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.
‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’
‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’
‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’
‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’
Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’
He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.
Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.
Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.
Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?
Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.
Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.
Chapter Three (#ulink_857d5428-20a7-5251-b1db-80c953d28b7b)
Later that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.
Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.
‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.
They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.
‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.
‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’
‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these ton marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’
Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the ton is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’
‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’
‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in our direction for once.’
But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man was staring—a very surprised man.
* * *
Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.
The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.
‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’
Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’
Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.
‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.
‘Whose name?’
‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on me. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’
Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’
‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’
Placing the coin in his pocket, Hart took his spyglass and openly scanned the boxes across the way. ‘There is the Montrose box—nothing new in there. Rothschild has some guests, but unless you are interested in much older women I think we can safely say your attention was not focused there. Then there is the box with the American delegation... Hmm...potential there. Next we have—’
‘You know that box?’ Julian closed his eyes, praying his friend hadn’t heard the inane question.
Hart laughed softly and arched a cocky brow. ‘So your thoughts were of a political nature?’
He didn’t have to look so smug.
‘Oh, very well, Julian. The gentleman and lady seated to our far left are Mr and Mrs Forrester, the American Minister and his wife. The other gentleman in the front row is Mr Peter Vandenberg, an American author who has recently arrived in London and will be one of the American representatives at the Anglo-American Conference. Surely you have heard of him? My understanding is that he has been welcomed all over the courts and drawing rooms of Europe and has lived for the past eight months in Paris. It’s interesting that President Monroe has entrusted him to successfully negotiate the treaty between our countries.’
A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’
‘Dolt.’
‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.
‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’
Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.
It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?
The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.
Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.
As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.
She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways he’d like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.
There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.
‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’
‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’
‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’
‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’
Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’
‘As do most women of the ton.’
‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’
‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’
‘And you believe her?’
‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’
He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.
Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’
However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.
Chapter Four (#ulink_42f6ee2e-255d-53a5-927c-58e8cce8b834)
For days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the ton thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.
The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.
‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’
‘I had already accepted another invitation,’ Julian said as he slid one of his black pawns along the board.
‘You do not like the girl?’
He gave a careless shrug. ‘I have not spent enough time with her to form any opinion of her character.’
‘You have danced with her recently.’
‘She is a rather quiet partner. Do not fret. I am aware of her family’s history and I know she is an appropriate choice.’
‘It matters not to me if she is the one you will choose. I will not be marrying her. She does show quite well, though. I wouldn’t think it a hardship to produce an heir with her.’
Julian jerked his head up. ‘This is hardly a topic you and I should be discussing.’
‘Why not? You’re a grown man. We have both been married. I doubt there is anything you could say that would shock me.’ She arched a challenging brow.
His stomach gave a queasy flip. ‘You are my grandmother.’
She took a sip of her sherry and waved her glass in the air. ‘Is that the best you can do?’
‘It was not meant to shock. Discussing my marriage bed with you is unsettling, to say the least.’
‘I am mentioning it because I know how important finding a suitable partner in bed can be for a happy marriage. Your grandfather and I had a happy marriage. Did you?’
Every muscle in his body turned to stone. She knew he hated discussing Emma. It was too painful.
He shifted his attention back to the board, trying to blink away the wretched image of his wife’s lifeless form lying on the bloody sheets of her bed. He’d been holding her hand when she had slipped away. Offering her comfort at the end had been the least he could do, since it had been his fault she would never see her twentieth year.
‘I had a satisfactory marriage,’ he bit out, moving a random chess piece.
His grandmother’s attention was back to analysing her next move. ‘You were never cruel to Emma, however, I always had a sense that you were indifferent to her presence.’
He forced his jaw to unclench. ‘And you think I was wrong in that?’
‘I suppose it depends on what you want in a marriage.’
He rarely lost his patience with his grandmother, but she knew as well as he that what he wanted in life for himself did not matter. His parents had chosen his bride for him when he’d been away at Cambridge. When he had returned home one Christmas he had been informed that he would be married to a girl he’d never met. It had made him ill, but he’d understood that his needs and desires did not come before his duty. What mattered above all else was the legacy he left to the Lyonsdale name. He had known that to be true then, just as he knew it to be true now.
‘I accepted my responsibility,’ he said, looking his grandmother in the eye and raising his chin.
‘Yes, you did—quite well, I might add. To my knowledge you never questioned your father’s decision.’
‘You know I could not cry off, even if I had wanted to. A man does not break an engagement. It is not done.’
She leaned in. ‘But would you have done so if you could?’
If he had, Emma would still be alive today.
He took a large swig of brandy. ‘I knew how important it was to have an exemplary woman share the Lyonsdale name. Father made an appropriate choice in Emma. There was no reason to protest.’
‘And yet even though you accepted their choice the spark in your eyes you had as a child went out when you made your vows, and it has not returned since. You need to find that spark again.’
She made it sound simple, but Julian knew that honouring the responsibility of his title meant he would be bound, yet again, to a marriage of convenience. The only sparks that mattered were the ones he could fire off in his speeches at Westminster.
‘Why am I certain you are about to tell me how I can regain what I have lost?’
His grandmother gave a slight shrug. ‘I was fortunate. I married your grandfather and we fell in love. Your father was not as fortunate. We were certain your mother would be a rose in his pocket, but she had thorns. Being married to her killed something precious inside him, and he became consumed with politics and Westminster.’ She leaned across the table and levelled him with a pointed stare. ‘There is more to life than that. It did him no good.’
His father had been the very model of what an English duke should be. Nine years had passed since he’d collapsed and died while delivering a speech to the House of Lords, and to this day people continued to tell Julian how much they had admired him. If only Julian could be half the man he had been.
‘I disagree. He helped this country achieve great things.’
‘And it cost him his life. No one will convince me that his heart did not give way because of the strain of his political career.’ She drained her glass of sherry. ‘We were wrong in preventing him from choosing his own bride, and he was wrong when he did the same to you. Life is too brief, Julian. Trust someone as old as I. Do not waste your life tied to someone you do not want.’
If only it were that easy. Out of an entire ballroom of girls the only one he had been drawn to wasn’t an appropriate choice—to say nothing of the fact that she was probably married to a man old enough to be her father. The point of taking a wife was to produce an heir. His father had told him many times that it wasn’t necessary to like the person you married. You just needed to tolerate them.
Thankfully his grandmother’s attention was back on the chessboard. ‘Oh, and Julian...? I seem to have misplaced my edition of A Traveler’s Tale by that American author—Vandenberg. Would you mind purchasing another one for me the next time you are near Hatchards?’
The Vandenberg name should not follow any conversation about marriage. He needed to concentrate on finishing this game of chess. Soon Hart would arrive, and they would be off to the Langley ball. However, tonight, he vowed, he would not search for the American at all.
* * *
Only the flutter of shuffling cards and the soft murmur of voices could be heard in the card room at Langley House. Footmen stood along walls that were hung with yellow silk damask, ready to refill crystal glasses at the mere lift of a hand. Purposely removed from the hubbub of the ballroom and the front public rooms, this drawing room was located near the end of a long hallway. Serious gambling was always done at the Langley ball, and serious gambling required concentration. It was the ideal place for a man who needed to keep his mind occupied. It didn’t even matter to Julian that he was losing miserably.
‘Perhaps a new table is in order?’ Hart suggested as he collected his winnings.
A new table would not change his luck, but Julian surveyed the other seven tables for open seats anyway. As his gaze skimmed past the doorway he caught sight of Helena, in a jonquil satin gown, its bodice cut to accentuate her womanly curves. With an air of confidence she scanned the room until her grey eyes landed on him.
The beginnings of a smile tipped the corners of her full mouth as she made her way to his side. ‘Do not tell me luck is against you tonight,’ she said in a silky voice.
‘It definitely is now,’ mumbled Hart, low enough for Julian to hear.
He shot Hart a look of reproach and turned to her. ‘I’ve had better luck,’ he replied congenially.
‘Have you been to the ballroom yet? The orchestra is exceptional.’
The American woman was probably in the ballroom—dancing with some braggart. ‘The ballroom does not interest me tonight. Perhaps I’ll try another table.’
She cocked her head to the side, exposing the pale skin of her neck. ‘Perhaps we could play together,’ she whispered.
‘Perhaps we could.’ He should have found the smooth skin of her neck enticing. He had before. However, looking at it now, he found his body surprisingly unaffected.
They were about to search for an open game when a footman approached him with a request for his presence at the Duke of Winterbourne’s table. He felt an unprecedented sense of relief in having to leave Helena’s side to join his friend.
Excusing himself, Julian followed the footman across the room.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale walk towards the table full of his friends who were playing whist. As he leaned over to whisper into Winterbourne’s ear Lyonsdale’s black tail coat stretched across his broad shoulders. It was a pity the tails covered the outline of his muscular legs and his firm backside...
She could feel Lord Hartwick’s eyes on her. For the last five years he had never once attempted to hide his hatred of her. It was perfectly reasonable, considering what she had done to him. However, watching the drama unfold around her at the time had been so entertaining she refused to feel any remorse. Her only regret was that she had believed his father’s lies. He had told her that he would marry her if she helped him with his plan—a plan that she was certain had devastated the man’s son.
Why hadn’t Hartwick walked away when Lyonsdale left?
He tossed a lock of hair out of his eyes and pulled back his shoulders. ‘He will never make you his duchess. I will see to that.’
Although he was splendid to look at, his confidence grated. ‘Do not imagine you will be able to dissuade him.’
‘But I find I rather like the idea, and I don’t believe it will take much effort on my part. I suggest you search elsewhere for that elevated title you so desperately seek.’
The foolish man thought he could best her. ‘I do not follow suggestions—least of all from you.’ She shook out her fan and pasted on a sly smile, glancing pointedly across the room at the woman she knew to be Hartwick’s current conquest. ‘You should tell your friend she should not wear emerald. The colour does nothing for her complexion.’
Hartwick turned his head and followed her gaze. His lips pressed together as he took a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing footman. ‘Maybe in this instance you should follow my suggestion. I hear Ponsby is on his last breath. You might want to try him. You’d have better luck.’ He did nothing to hide the sarcasm from his voice.
Why would she want a decrepit duke when she could have a handsome, virile one? ‘It appears you are worried for your friend. Do you believe I will damage him?’
‘Your excitement is stirred by breaking people. You won’t be able to do that with him.’
‘You mean like your Lady Caroline? It’s a pity she is no longer with us. Your father enjoyed her immensely.’ She arched her brow and anticipated his reaction.
He brought his glass to his lips and his nostrils flared. ‘I see you have no remorse for your part in bringing an innocent woman to his bed.’
Why should she? The foolish girl hadn’t been forced to accept every glass of champagne Helena offered her. She hadn’t poured them down the girl’s throat.
Recalling that entertaining night brought a smile to her lips, and she leaned close to Hartwick, purposely pressing a full breast into his arm. ‘You might not want to discuss this here, where someone may overhear us,’ she whispered into his ear. ‘You don’t want them to guess the truth about her death, now, do you? Tell me...did she choose poison, or was it something more dramatic?’
His jaw clenched, and his athletic body stiffened against her breast. If they had not been in a drawing room, with a good number of the ton around them, she might just have provoked him enough to strike her.
She couldn’t help but smile. ‘I do believe I have found a weakness of yours, Lord Hartwick. Everyone has at least one, and it is so delicious whenever it is discovered.’
‘I warn you—if you cause any problems for Lyonsdale you will regret it.’ He moved from her side, downed the remainder of his champagne, and strode across the room to join his friends.
It was amusing that he thought he could stop her. She deserved that title, and all the wealth and power that went with it. She should have had such an advantageous marriage the first time. Instead, due to one minor indiscretion, she had found herself married to a gambler and a drunkard.
Hartwick’s father had promised to make her his marchioness and laughed at her when she’d reminded him. No one made a fool of her. It would be her turn to laugh when she became Duchess of Lyonsdale.
* * *
Near a corner of the Langleys’ ballroom, in front of a large potted palm, Katrina was learning that she was not the only one who regretted dancing with Lord Boreham.
‘I do so wish I did not have to agree to dance with everyone that asks me.’ Lady Mary Morley pouted as she stood beside Katrina. ‘On that last turn Lord Boreham managed to elbow me quite hard in the stomach.’
‘How was that even possible?’ Sarah asked, staring at the area in question, which was covered in elaborately embroidered white muslin.
‘I can assure you it’s possible,’ Lady Hammond commented dryly while fanning herself. ‘He once knocked heads with me during a quadrille.’
They began to laugh, and Lady Mary immediately covered her mouth to stop herself. The diamond bracelet on her wrist sparkled in the candlelight.
‘Surely there must be a way to avoid him,’ Sarah said.
Lady Mary shook her head. ‘Mother says one should have a full dance card if one is to be considered an incomparable, and if you decline even one offer to dance you must decline all the others.’
Katrina found that rule of social conduct one of the hardest to accept. She suspected she was not the only woman in the ballroom who felt that way. ‘That hardly seems fair.’
‘That might be. However, it is the way of things. Mother says if one is to catch a duke or a marquess one needs to rise above all the other girls vying for such a title and become an incomparable.’
‘And how does one become an incomparable?’ Sarah asked with amusement.
Lady Mary was not as naïve as she appeared. She tilted her head coyly. ‘I suppose if everyone knew the answer to that, no one girl would stand out.’
‘Well done, Lady Mary,’ Sarah said with a smile, glancing around the crowded ballroom. ‘And are there many dukes and marquesses for you to choose from?’
‘I’m afraid there are very few, and I don’t think I’d like to settle for an earl.’ She turned to her friend and offered Lady Hammond a genuine apologetic smile. ‘Sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean anything against your Hammond.’
Lady Hammond waved her fan carelessly in the air. ‘I’d much prefer a young earl to an old duke.’
Both Lady Hammond and Lady Mary appeared to be a number of years younger than Katrina, and she wondered just how old the girl’s husband was.
‘Isn’t your father an earl?’ Katrina couldn’t help pointing that out to Lady Mary.
Lady Mary adjusted her bracelets. ‘He is. However, my uncle is the Duke of Ralsteed. I was born to be a duchess. I do not have to settle for an earl.’
Lady Hammond let out a delicate sniff. ‘You’d change your mind if Lord Hartwick made an offer for you. With his looks and those blue eyes, you’d forgive him his title.’
A blush spread across Lady Mary’s cheeks, making her appear even younger. ‘That might be true. However, my sights are focused on one specific duke—even if he does make me nervous.’
‘Being nervous around a man can be a good thing,’ Sarah offered helpfully. ‘It might mean you find him very attractive.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Lady Mary agreed, nodding vigorously before she caught herself. ‘I do think he is very handsome...except he is a bit old.’
‘He is the same age as Lord Hartwick,’ Lady Hammond said with exasperation.
Lady Mary looked as if she was fighting the urge to stamp her foot. ‘Well, he appears older.’ Stepping closer to Katrina and Sarah, she shook out her fan to cover her lips. ‘He comes from one of the most respected houses and has great influence in Parliament. His manner is very formal, and each time I am in his presence I find him austere and imposing. He seldom speaks. I don’t believe he needs to. He can fluster people with just the lift of his brow.’
He sounded like a bore to Katrina. ‘And this is the man you would like to marry?’
Lady Mary nodded again, with excitement in her eyes. ‘Just imagine the respect his duchess will be granted. And he’s rich. He is a man who does not need to marry an heiress. Should we marry, we might very well be the wealthiest family in Britain.’
‘Which would be wonderful,’ Sarah remarked, ‘as long as you can stay awake long enough to enjoy it.’
‘Sarah!’ Katrina chided her friend with what she hoped was a stern expression.
These two girls had been nothing but kind since being introduced to them by Madame de Lieven. They were eager to hear about America and about Katrina’s time in France. She didn’t want Sarah’s unchecked honesty to ruin a pleasant discussion.
‘I am simply stating that should a man be that...flinty, it might be difficult to stay awake in his presence,’ Sarah explained.
Lady Hammond let out a small laugh before she pressed her lips together. ‘I can’t imagine anyone falling asleep in His Grace’s presence.’
He was sounding more and more like everything Katrina didn’t want in a husband. She turned to Lady Mary. ‘But if you were married to him, eventually you would fall asleep beside him.’
The rosy colour drained out of the girl’s face and she glanced about the room, as if this fine specimen of an English nobleman might overhear them and curse them with an arched brow. ‘I could never do that. I am certain he would never approve.’
Yes, this duke was definitely someone Katrina was grateful would not be part of her future. ‘Could it be possible that you might forgo this favourable duke and marry someone for love?’
Lady Mary and Lady Hammond looked at one another with confusion. There was no way to know for certain, but from her perplexed expression Katrina would guess that Lady Hammond’s marriage had been an arranged one. There still might be hope for Lady Mary.
However, she now addressed Katrina as if she were a small child. ‘I imagine that is an American way of thinking. Why would I marry for love when I could marry a duke?’
She would never understand the English. But there was no sense in filling the girl’s head with romantic notions. Katrina had spent some time this evening in the presence of the girl’s mother. It hadn’t taken her long to see how determined she was to promote her daughter for an advantageous match. Good luck to the man who married into that family!
While Katrina had been contemplating what it would be like to be married to a man such as Lady Mary’s duke, the discussion had turned back to life in America. It was making her feel nostalgic for her friends back home. As Sarah was regaling them with tales of life in Washington, Katrina excused herself, to slip away for a few minutes to the ladies’ retiring room.
She was about ten feet from the end of the long hall when she almost walked directly into the last person she had any desire to see. It was that self-important Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s terrace, who appeared to be too proud to associate openly with an American.
She hadn’t been aware that he was in attendance, and he seemed just as surprised to see her. His green eyes widened momentarily with recognition, but as usual he said nothing—no greeting at all. Not one to be intimidated, Katrina looked directly at him and waited. Even without seeking an introduction it would be a great insult if he completely ignored her this time. Now she would see how high in the instep he really was.
This was the closest she’d been to him since the night they’d talked under the stars. He’d nodded acknowledgement to her one night at the theatre, but each time she’d seen him after that he had avoided making eye contact. A number of times she’d caught him staring at her, but he had always diverted his gaze so quickly, she’d been certain he must be giving himself a headache with each sudden shift of his eyes.
And now he was standing less than five feet in front of her, impeccably dressed in formal black evening attire, with candlelight shining on the chestnut waves of his hair.
Perhaps it was because they were so close, or maybe he had had too much to drink, but this time his gaze roamed over her body. The hallway was growing very warm, and she shook out her fan to cool her heated skin.
He gave her a polite nod. ‘Pardon me.’
That was it? That was all he would say?
It was quite obvious from his demeanour that he had no intention of saying more.
He must be great friends with Lady Mary’s duke.
They wouldn’t be able to continue down the hall unless one of them moved to the side. Katrina was tempted to take both her hands and push him over, but instead she inclined her head and swished around him, doing her best to ignore the fluttery feeling she’d got from hearing the rumble of his deep voice.
Chapter Five (#ulink_6acfec47-0656-5df0-be14-e9d5a1d5080f)
The next morning Julian could barely finish his paperwork. His attention kept drifting to the American. He’d been astonished at the sense of longing he’d felt when she had walked past him last night. While she hadn’t exactly given him the cut, her brief response to his apology for almost knocking into her for a second time had been anything but friendly. They hadn’t spoken since the night of the de Lievens’ ball. What could he possibly have done to warrant the daggers she had thrown at him with her eyes?
He was angry with this woman he didn’t even know for turning his life upside down. Thoughts of her popped into his mind at all hours of the day, and each time he saw her his body immediately snapped to attention. He hadn’t bedded Helena in weeks, and as of late his blood was only stirred by thoughts of the American. How could he get any work done?
He needed sex. His lack of release was playing havoc with his mind—that must be why he was so fixated on a woman he’d barely spoken to. He needed to see Helena.
Walking into the entrance hall of her townhouse, Julian handed her butler his hat and walking stick. The sound of footfalls on the wooden staircase caught his attention, and he watched Helena make her descent, her curves straining against a blood-red dressing gown. He should have felt like dragging her somewhere and bedding her for hours. He didn’t.
Perhaps it was because they were in a very public area of the house, with her butler not far away. Julian shifted his eyes to her drawing room door, giving her a wordless command. As they entered the sparsely furnished room Helena closed the door and locked it. She always had been good with discretion.
Before she could utter a word Julian pushed her up against the door and kissed her. He needed her to help him forget the American right now. But the kiss felt all wrong—awkward and unpleasant. He closed his eyes, willing his body to react. Her lavender scent filled his nose.
Why did it suddenly seem so overpowering and unappealing?
He pulled his head back and looked down at her inviting expression. She was one of the most beautiful women in England. Wasn’t she? He’d used to think so. His brow wrinkled as he studied her delicate features. The outline of her breasts was not even enticing him to undress her.
Helena slid her hand up his chest and combed her fingers through the hair by his temple. ‘We could retire to my bed.’
That would be the ideal place. However, he could barely kiss her, let alone bed her. He turned away from her eager expression and glanced towards the settee. ‘This room will suit our purposes.’ He placed distance between them and took a seat.
‘Would you care for some brandy?’ she asked.
His body was tied in knots of uncomfortable tension. If only he could relax... He nodded, and when she sat down he felt her right thigh push up against his left. He took a long draw from the glass. The warm liquid eased some of the tightness in his shoulders and he shifted his thigh so it was no longer pressing against her leg.
She sketched circles on his knee with her finger and avoided his eyes. ‘You are quieter than usual. Have I done something to displease you?’
‘No. I find I have much on my mind today.’ He forced himself to smile reassuringly. It was not her fault his body wasn’t co-operating. He took another drink.
‘What has brought you here? You’ve never called on me during the day.’
Unable to voice the real reason, he shrugged. ‘I needed to see you.’
That seemed to satisfy her, and she attempted to hold back a smile. ‘I see.’
She was giving him time to elaborate, but how could he? He had no idea why his body wasn’t responding to her. He kissed her again, more demandingly this time. In his mind he saw magnetic blue eyes and a warm smile—so he squeezed his eyelids tighter. He told himself that Helena could do amazing things with her mouth. It was no use. He wasn’t even remotely hard.
Julian released her and drained the contents of his glass. The burn washed away the taste of their kiss. This visit had been intended to cure him of the affliction brought on by the American. Instead it had made him want her more. He was out of ideas on what to do. He needed advice.
* * *
Helena watched Lyonsdale swallow the remaining contents of his glass. When he was finished, the glass landed on the table with an audible thud.
He stood rather abruptly. ‘Pardon me, but I have matters I need to attend to today.’
Without giving her a chance to reply, he walked out of the room.
Picking up his discarded glass, she ran her tongue over the rim where his lips had been. He never called on her during the day. Surely this was the sign she had been looking for. She had finally caught him. This time all her plotting and planning would land her the title she so richly deserved. He might even have left to make arrangements about asking for her hand.
How she wished she could be there when her brother heard she would be the next Duchess of Lyonsdale! Her new title would trump his title of earl. Finally she would be above him. He and that puritanical wife of his would regret the day they had said they wanted nothing more to do with her when she had become obligated to marry Wentworth. They could beg all they wanted—they would never dine in Lyonsdale House!
She poured herself a small splash of brandy. No longer would she have to sell items from her home to purchase this fine vintage. It was exhausting, hiding her financial situation. Soon that would all be a memory. Soon she would dine at Carlton House with the Prince Regent and his set while she wore the Carlisle diamonds.
* * *
Not far away, Katrina was preparing herself for an onslaught of advice as she was escorted down the hallway of Almack’s towards the assembly room where Madame de Lieven was waiting. When she’d received her note, requesting a meeting regarding a matter of the utmost importance, Katrina had been curious as to what the summons could possibly mean. Could she be about to enter into a lengthy discussion about the consequences of not following the strict rules of English etiquette? Or was Madame de Lieven about to inform Katrina in person that she was revoking the vouchers she had granted?
Katrina wished she had someone besides her maid, Meg, to accompany her. Madame de Lieven was known to be quite commanding. There would have been safety in numbers.
Stopping before a set of double doors, Katrina raised her chin and took a deep breath, reminding herself to remain polite no matter what the woman had to say.
Light poured into the cavernous room from the large windows, brightening the white walls and gold trim. In the very centre of the room sat Madame de Lieven, at a white linen-covered table set for tea. Closing the book she had been reading, she motioned Katrina forward.
‘I am pleased you accepted my invitation, Miss Vandenberg. I realise it is a bit early in the day for making calls, and the venue is unusual, but I do have my reasons.’ She turned her head to the doorkeeper. ‘Please see that Miss Vandenberg’s maid is taken care of downstairs, Mr Willis, while we settle things here.’
That didn’t sound very promising. As Katrina watched Meg trail Mr Willis out of the large ballroom she wished she could follow them. Shifting her gaze, she accepted the chair that was offered.
Madame de Lieven was a woman of strong self-importance, who moved with ease among the leading political figures of London. She had a way of influencing the people around her. Katrina was certain she wanted to keep her eye on ‘the Americans’, and that was why she’d offered to sponsor Katrina and the Forresters at Almack’s.
She handed Katrina a cup of tea with milk and sugar. ‘You intrigue me, Miss Vandenberg. I have noticed that you are a woman very much like me—a fish in a different pond.’
Katrina steadied herself under Madame de Lieven’s intense gaze. ‘Forgive me, I don’t understand.’
‘Since I am also a foreigner here, I am aware that it is not always easy to adjust to English customs. You have shown yourself to be a woman of intelligence and diplomacy. Two qualities I admire.’
‘I see no reason to hide the knowledge I possess, but I try not to appear too forward in my opinions.’
‘You should be aware that you have impressed me enough that I believe together you and I could accomplish great things here.’
Katrina’s brow furrowed. ‘I do not understand,’ she said again.
Madame de Lieven placed her cup on the table. ‘Let us be American and speak plainly.’
Katrina bristled at the insinuation. Anticipating what Madame de Lieven might say or do had kept Katrina amused since she had arrived in London. This time she sensed the next thing she said would cause her orderly life to be changed in ways that wouldn’t be pleasant.
‘I have noticed that you can be a bit too honest with your emotions at times. However, you possess a keen mind. Your presence is a refreshing change for me, and I have decided I will find you a husband here in London, so you can remain even after your father’s negotiations are settled. It is the reason I extended the vouchers for Almack’s to you. Our assemblies will prove helpful in finding you a husband.’
‘A husband?’ Katrina placed her cup down on the table and clasped her hands together on her lap. What had she ever done to give Madame de Lieven the impression she was looking for a husband? Whatever it was, Katrina knew she needed to stop doing it. ‘I do not want a husband.’
‘Of course you do. Every woman wants a husband. A husband provides a woman with...security.’
‘What I mean to say is I do not want a husband here...in England.’
Madame de Lieven appeared sceptical.
Katrina continued. ‘I will return to New York when my father’s work here is finished. I plan to marry an American.’
‘Nonsense,’ Madame de Lieven said, appearing appalled. ‘I can help you secure an excellent match. There are a number of rich, untitled Englishmen who would be pleased to marry an attractive woman with knowledge in the art of diplomacy, regardless of your background. You could live in wealth and splendour. Besides, you do not have many more good years left. You are almost on the shelf.’
Katrina was not about to tell her that all the luxury in the world couldn’t compensate for a wandering, haughty husband. ‘I appreciate your thoughtfulness,’ she managed to say evenly, ‘but we also have wealthy gentlemen back home. And, more to the point, money will not figure prominently in my choice of husband.’
Madame de Liven gave her a dubious look.
‘Of course it is desirable to live comfortably,’ Katrina amended. ‘But you should be aware that, while I appreciate your offer to assist me in finding a husband, I intend to follow my heart.’
‘You are referring to love?’
‘Yes.’
‘You are so very American. Love has no place in marriage. No one of consequence marries the person they love. They marry the person who is in a position to provide the best life possible.’
‘And by “the best life” you mean one with wealth and privilege?’
‘What else is there?’
‘Companionship, humour, trust—’
‘That is what your friends are for.’
Katrina rubbed her lips together, trying not to show her frustration. ‘Although I appreciate your interest in finding me a husband, it is not necessary.’
Madame de Lieven smiled regally, then let out a low sound that was almost a laugh. ‘I believe finding you well settled here will be highly entertaining. I expect I will see you at tomorrow night’s assembly. We can begin our search then.’
Katrina opened her mouth to protest again, but before she could get the words out Madame de Lieven motioned someone forward with her hand.
Mr Willis approached the table and bowed. ‘The musicians are ready,’ he informed her.
Clapping her hands together, Madame de Lieven motioned to the balcony and soft strains of music began to drift through the room. ‘I’ve asked you to meet me here today because Mr Willis believes he has found us a new orchestra and I am to determine if they will suit. I will be interested in your opinion of their abilities.’
Katrina was grateful for the change in subject. She had no desire to marry an Englishman, and she hoped she would be able to convince the persistent Madame de Lieven to let the matter rest.
* * *
Julian should have been reading the latest reports from his steward in Hertfordshire. Instead he had sought out Hart at Tattersalls. Luckily, his friend was predictable. Hart was inspecting the horses that were to be auctioned off tomorrow. He did little to hide the surprise in his greeting, but after a few minutes they fell into companionable silence while they watched three horses parade around the paddock.
‘That black thoroughbred looks very fine. Perhaps I will bid on him tomorrow.’ When Julian didn’t reply Hart watched him from the corner of his eye. ‘Although I am considering purchasing a mule instead. Do you think that would do?’
‘Yes...’ Julian murmured, while he considered once again his time at Helena’s. When had he stopped feeling the desire to bed her? They had agreed to a relationship based on satisfying each other’s physical needs. If he no longer desired her was there any reason to continue visiting her?
‘Splendid. I will send the bill to your house.’
‘Of course.’
Hart yanked him to a stop. ‘Julian, you have just agreed to buy me a mule. What the devil is wrong with you? All week your mind has been elsewhere.’
It took Julian a few blinks before Hart came into focus. Turning away from his friend’s inquisitive gaze, he looked out towards the horses. ‘Apologies, I’ve been wool-gathering.’
Hart placed his booted foot on the lower rung of the fence enclosing the horses and leaned his arms on the upper railing. ‘You don’t say? Will you tell me what has you so distracted?’
Julian stepped closer to his friend and crossed his arms over his chest. He hoped he would not come to regret this. ‘You know women...’
Hart grinned. ‘I like to believe I do.’
Taking a deep breath, Julian watched the horses as they ambled around the pen. If anyone overheard them it would stir up gossip. He moved closer to Hart and lowered his voice. ‘I went to see Helena this morning.’
‘A daytime visit—that’s a bit unusual,’ Hart said slowly.
‘I’m baffled. She’s a beautiful woman, but the entire time I was in her company my thoughts were elsewhere.’
‘On another woman?’
‘Yes.’
Hart rubbed away a small smile with his gloved hand. ‘Who?’
‘I don’t know her name,’ Julian said, in a low, forceful voice that did nothing to hide his frustration.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She is new to London and we haven’t been introduced.’
‘So seek an introduction.’
‘It would only lead to more speculation on my affairs. It would not do for people to think I have an interest in her.’
‘Why not? It’s just an introduction—unless you’re planning on seducing her on the dance floor?’
That thought had crossed Julian’s mind—more times than he would care to admit even to himself. ‘It is not amusing. I have not been able to get her out of my head. I search for a glimpse of her whenever I am out. I think I hear her voice in crowded rooms. This is not normal.’
‘Maybe not for you, but at least it explains your odd behaviour.’
‘What do I do? How do I remove her from my thoughts?’
Hart shrugged his shoulders with careless ease. ‘Why would you want to? It’s evident that you want her, so end this association you have with Helena and pursue this woman.’
If only he could. ‘That is not an option,’ Julian replied, squeezing the bridge of his nose.
Hart faced him and crossed his arms. ‘What hold does Helena have on you?’
Julian let out a snort of disbelief. No woman directed his actions, and he would find a way to forget this American. He just needed to determine how to do that. ‘Helena has no hold over me.’
‘Prove it. End your association with her. If your interest lies elsewhere, follow it. You are making this more complicated than it needs to be.’
‘With this woman everything is complicated.’ Julian’s gaze drifted to the horses. ‘Besides, nothing could possibly come from an association between us. She’s an American.’
An indecipherable look flashed in Hart’s eyes. ‘So? Do you believe all Americans are cannibals, perform war dances, and run around with hatchets when they get angry? Make certain you do not call out another lady’s name while bedding her. She might scalp you.’
‘Very amusing.’
‘Don’t let her nationality prevent you from pursuing her. I imagine American women are quite uninhibited in bed.’
‘Well, I’m not going to find out.’ And it was driving him to distraction.
‘You need to stop being so bloody proper. I cannot see one benefit to not doing what I want, when I want. End what you have with Helena. It’s obvious your attention has shifted elsewhere.’
‘It is not that easy.’
‘Of course it is. You say, Helena, I am finished with you.’
‘Truly? Have you ever ended a relationship with a woman?’
‘That’s beside the point. We are discussing you. I know you too well. You, my friend, are boringly monogamous.’
‘Let it alone, Hart.’
‘Very well. Then continue to tup Helena while you imagine a certain miss who shall remain nameless.’
The statement left him unsettled and guilty. There was only one thing to do.
Chapter Six (#ulink_d10a76cb-b636-5841-91c9-deae1a133975)
Julian was not looking forward to seeing Helena before leaving for Westminster the next day. He might have sent her a note. It would have been far easier and much less painful on his part. But he could not be so callous. It wasn’t her fault that he’d met someone he couldn’t stop thinking about.
This time when he knocked on her door her butler didn’t appear surprised to see him. He was left to wait for her in the drawing room. The idea of sitting was not appealing, so he walked around the room to relieve his restlessness. A few minutes later Helena walked in, wearing her blood-red dressing gown.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I did not realise you would be preparing for the evening.’
‘I was resting, and didn’t see the point of dressing when I heard you were here. This is a pleasant surprise. Would you care for a brandy?’
He would have liked the entire bottle, but that would just muddle his brain so he politely declined.
She trailed her fingers down his chest. ‘Do you wish to retire upstairs? I could see to your comfort.’
No matter what room they were in, Julian knew he would not be comfortable. ‘I believe I’d prefer to remain here.’
A questioning look flashed in her grey eyes as she gestured towards the settee.
Julian chose an armchair instead.
Prowling behind him, Helena skimmed her fingers along his shoulders before lowering herself into the slightly worn silk armchair closest to him.
‘What brings you here today?’ she asked, reclining back. ‘You left rather abruptly the other day.’ She tipped her chin towards the box on his lap. ‘Is that your way of apologising?’
He handed her the blue velvet box. ‘It is...for a number of things...’
A look of confusion crossed her face before she slid her hand up his thigh. ‘I hope you will stay longer today, so I may thank you properly.’
The boldness of her gesture forced him to shift in his chair. He nodded towards the package in her hand, relieved to know that she was easily distracted by expensive objects. ‘Open it.’
Her eyes sparkled with eager anticipation as she lifted the lid. Slowly she pulled out the long strand of pearls and arranged them between her breasts, which were suddenly exposed through her open dressing gown.
He wished he could tell her she was wasting her efforts on him. ‘They suit you,’ he said. It was as much of a compliment as he could muster.
‘They are beautiful,’ she said, more interested in the pearls than in Julian. ‘They will go well with the new gown I have ordered from Madame Devy. Perhaps we could attend Drury Lane or Vauxhall, and I will wear them for you.’ She finally looked up at him. ‘I know how you dislike attracting attention, but I think we will turn some heads.’
Julian’s jaw clenched as he studied his brown leather gloves. ‘Helena, there is something I need to ask you.’ He turned his attention to her expectant expression. ‘You are aware that I have a deep regard for you?’
She smiled up at him. ‘I am.’
‘Well... I was wondering if you are content with the state of our friendship?’
‘What are you trying to say?’
‘When we began this liaison both of us knew it could not continue indefinitely the way it is.’
‘That is true,’ she said through a seductive smile. The scent of lavender filled the air as she leaned in closer.
‘And we both entered into this with a mutual understanding that eventually we would part ways.’
Her mouth fell open. ‘You are ending this?’
‘While I have enjoyed our time together, surely you knew that it would not last?’
‘I cannot believe you are doing this,’ she whispered. The sound of her heavy breathing mingled with the ticking of the clock. She jumped from her chair and poked him in the chest—hard. ‘Lord Hartwick is behind this.’
He pulled his brows together in puzzlement. ‘He has nothing to do with this.’
‘Then there is another woman.’ She eyed him up and down in disgust. ‘Have you offered for Morley’s chit? Your mother acts as if an announcement will be made any day.’
‘I have not offered for her. There is no other woman.’ She didn’t need to know the truth.
‘Why are you doing this?’ she demanded, clenching her fists at her sides.
‘I did not think you would be upset. You told me you had no intention of marrying again,’ he stated firmly.
‘And you believed me?’ she screamed. She stormed across the room with her head high, and then spun around. ‘And you give me pearls? We have been together all this time and you give me pearls!’
‘What is wrong with pearls? They are quite expensive.’
Her body visibly shook with rage. ‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale! You should be giving me diamonds!’
His sympathy for her was quickly diminishing upon seeing her greedy nature. ‘I did not have to give you anything!’ he bellowed.
‘You selfish boor!’ She picked up a silver candlestick from the table closest to her and flung it at his head.
He ducked just in time.
‘I am worth diamonds—not pearls!’
Before his control slipped further he needed to leave. Striding across the room, he unlocked the door and didn’t look back.
When he stepped outside the soft breeze cooled his heated skin. His body hummed with anger at her selfishness. Sitting in his carriage would do him no good. He needed physical exertion. He would walk home—but first he needed to make one more stop.
Chapter Seven (#ulink_6ceb7843-f04d-5b4d-9bad-cc4878eaf556)
Descending the staircase in the centre of Hatchards, Katrina scanned the room below her. This bookshop was one of her favourite places in London. The soft whispers and the occasional sound of the turning of pages were welcome after spending the entire morning on social calls with Mrs Forrester and Sarah.
As she continued to search for her maid Katrina let her gaze skim over the few patrons who were selecting books from the dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. An older woman in an elaborately decorated black hat was comparing books with a younger woman dressed demurely in lavender. Near them a dandy dressed in a navy jacket and puce trousers stood in a studied pose, reading the book he held through his quizzing glass.
Scanning the room further, Katrina felt her heart skip a beat. Standing near her maid, at a table piled with books, stood a broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman in a finely cut bottle-green coat, buckskin breeches and top boots. Was her time in London destined to be cursed with the presence of the rude Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s ball?
Katrina hesitated on the staircase, wondering if she should turn around and go back upstairs before he spotted her. Suddenly he lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met. She could not turn back now. Taking a breath, she gripped the wooden banister and proceeded to slowly walk down the stairs towards Meg.
Katrina picked up the first volume of Frankenstein and thumbed through the pages. ‘Have you found anything of interest?’ she asked Meg.
Her maid smiled and showed Katrina the book in her hand.
‘I do not believe Clarissa is an appropriate choice for you,’ Katrina said.
‘I’ve heard it’s scandalous, and I’m hoping they have it at the lending library. The heroine is told to marry an unappealing gentleman and then is tricked into running away by a rake. I bet there is a dungeon in the story. I love a story that takes place in a dungeon.’ Meg sighed and then glanced inquisitively at the book in Katrina’s hand.
Taking into account her maid’s vivid imagination, Katrina quickly placed Frankenstein back on the table. ‘I’m well aware of the plot. You do know you can borrow any of my books?’
‘Do they have dungeons, kidnappings, evil earls or ghosts?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you think I would want to read them?’ Meg asked, wrinkling her brow.
There was a deep laugh from across the table. Keeping her head averted under the rim of her bonnet, Katrina blocked her view of the gentleman across the table. Searching for a more appropriate novel, Katrina spotted a copy of her father’s book. As she reached for it her hand brushed against a strong hand encased in a brown leather glove. Startled, she looked up.
‘We meet again,’ the annoying Englishman said.
No, we don’t, because you are too rude to seek an introduction!
Katrina took a breath to compose herself before she spoke. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Forgive me. I believe that is the book I have been searching for.’
‘This book?’ Katrina asked, holding it up to show him the title on the spine.
‘Yes, that is it.’ He reached for another copy and began to turn the pages. There was a hesitation before he looked up at her. ‘I’ve heard it’s a very good book. You would not happen to know anything about it, would you?’
‘I can highly recommend it. The book presents the observations of a traveller and contains much happy humour.’
Katrina glanced around the shop to see if anyone was watching them. Meg had moved to a nearby bookcase, engrossed in Clarissa. What was the point of having your maid accompany you around the town if she walked away when the man you wanted to avoid began speaking with you?
He walked around the table and stood next to her, smelling of leather and fresh air. ‘The account is humorous?’
‘Yes, Lord Byron has said he knows it by heart, and Scott has said it is positively beautiful. I understand the book is selling rather quickly. You might wish to purchase one before they are all sold.’ She looked closely at him, challenging him to actually buy it.
‘You appear intimately acquainted with the book,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing.
‘I suppose I am. My father is the author.’
‘You are Mr Vandenberg’s daughter?’ he asked in a rush of breath.
‘Yes, my lord, I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. If he said one disparaging thing about the fact that her father was a writer she was leaving immediately. He would deserve the cut.
He tipped his head to her. ‘Then I shall be certain to take your recommendation. My grandmother speaks highly of it as well.’
‘Your grandmother?’
‘Yes. My grandmother seems to have misplaced her copy. I came here today to purchase a new one for her.’
He was intending to purchase her father’s book because his grandmother had lost her copy? That seemed rather...sweet.
Katrina caught herself before she smiled. He wasn’t sweet. He was rude! Still, she couldn’t help asking him if he was a doting grandson.
‘I suppose I am.’
He smiled at her and he appeared even more attractive.
‘She seemed truly distressed to discover it missing.’
He stepped a bit closer and inhaled. Was that some odd English custom?
Katrina eyed him and placed her father’s book down. ‘Did you just sniff me?’ she whispered.
A small smile raised one corner of his lips. ‘Now, why would I do that?’
‘Why, indeed?’ Katrina replied, narrowing her eyes at him.
She edged a little further down the table. The heat from his body somehow made its way over to her. This man had ignored her for days. Why couldn’t her body do the same to him? She could practically feel his every breath. That slightly unsettling feeling was back.
‘If you will excuse me?’ she said, turning to leave.
He blocked her way with his body. ‘You do not need to leave yet, do you?’
‘I cannot stay. You must realise our speaking without an introduction is highly improper.’ It was easier not to look at him, and she picked unseen strings from her pale blue and white spencer.
He glanced around and edged closer to her. ‘That didn’t bother you before.’
‘A momentary lapse in judgement.’
‘No one here knows we have not been formally introduced,’ he said quietly.
‘We know we have not,’ she chided. ‘And you have done it again! You sniffed me.’ She stepped away from him, feeling more than a little unsettled. ‘I can assure you Americans do bathe.’
His lips twitched. ‘Why do you smell like lemons, Miss Vandenberg?’
Katrina’s brows drew together in confusion. ‘That is irrelevant—and I refuse to carry on this conversation when I do not even know your name.’
‘We could remedy that easily. I could simply tell you what it is.’
‘Do you always flout the English rules of conduct?’
He appeared to ponder her question for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually, I never do. However, I see no harm in it this time. But if you insist we will do this in the proper manner. I shall need to borrow your maid.’
‘You’d like to borrow my maid?’
‘I would.’
He walked to Meg, who was watching the interaction between her mistress and this perplexing Englishman. They bent their heads together, and a short while later both walked towards Katrina.
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ Meg said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile, ‘may I present His Grace the Duke of Lyonsdale? Your Grace, this is my mistress—Miss Katrina Vandenberg.’ She curtsied and watched them both closely.
The scoundrel! Katrina’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a duke?’
A slow smile made his lips turn up invitingly. ‘I am.’
‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale?’
‘Yes, I believe we have established that.’
Meg, as if sensing her mistress’s temper, smartly moved back to her place by the bookcase.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Katrina demanded.
‘My name? I was going to, but you seemed to need a proper introduction so I had your maid do it.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Katrina said as she shook her head. ‘You led me to believe you were simply a lord.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘You did not correct me when I addressed you. You must have found my ignorance vastly entertaining,’ she replied waspishly.
It had been bad enough when she’d thought he might be a titled gentleman, such as a baron, but he was a duke! In England, his station in life was so far above hers he probably would never have spoken to her again if it had not been for this accidental encounter.
She would not show him that it hurt.
‘Miss Vandenberg—’
‘I’ll not be played for a fool. I’m sure you have enjoyed telling your friends how ignorant Americans can be. Well, let me tell you—’
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ he interrupted more forcefully. ‘I didn’t correct you because we had not been introduced. I had no opportunity to tell you my name or indicate my station.’
‘You could have corrected the way I had addressed you.’
‘And sound like a pompous fool? I think not.’
He certainly would have sounded like a pompous fool, but Katrina was not convinced he didn’t have another motive for not telling her the truth. He must have had a great laugh at her expense.
‘In any event, what you did was rude.’
Both his brows rose and he jerked his head back. ‘I assure you, causing you any distress was most unintentional.’
Then his lips twitched, and she wanted to throw a book at him. The man was insufferable.
‘You are laughing at me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I believe I have spent too much time here today. I bid you good day—Your Grace.’
As she stormed out of the bookshop she wished she could restrict her engagements to those he would never consider attending.
* * *
Julian’s encounter with Miss Vandenberg left him perplexed. No one had ever schooled him in proper behaviour before. No one would ever have dared. And yet this American had thought it necessary to inform him that he was rude.
He should have been insulted by the way she’d spoken to him, but she had been so certain in her conviction, so passionate about the way she deserved to be treated, he had not been able to fault her.
He was a man of strong convictions as well. When he had entered the shop it hadn’t occurred to him that he would leave finding Miss Vandenberg even more desirable than he already had.
By the next day he was still reliving their discussion and anticipating when he would speak to her again.
Deciding to visit the woman who was indirectly responsible for their encounter, Julian sought out his grandmother when he returned home from his committee meeting. Upon entering her private sitting room, he found her resting in a bergère chair, with a book in her hand.
‘Come in Julian,’ she said, waving him closer. ‘You truly have spoiled me.’
He walked across the gold and white Aubusson rug and sat down next to her. ‘I see you are enjoying your book.’
‘You were slippery, presenting me with that volume yesterday. The arrival of this copy was quite unexpected.’
‘This copy?’ he replied, perplexed.
‘Yes—the one you had Mr Vandenberg inscribe.’
Julian gestured to the copy of A Traveler’s Tale that she held in her hands. ‘May I...?’
His grandmother placed a black ribbon between the pages and handed the book to him. ‘It is a lovely inscription.’
He eyed his grandmother through his lashes and turned to the title page. He was speechless. Obviously Miss Vandenberg must have arranged this—but why?
When she had stormed out on him yesterday Julian had not known if he should go after her. No one had ever walked out on him before. What had possessed her to have her father inscribe a book for his grandmother?
‘I did not do this,’ he admitted, handing back the book.
‘Of course you did. I have told no one else I misplaced my copy.’
‘I believe Mr Vandenberg’s daughter arranged this.’
‘His daughter? How would she know?’
‘I mentioned it to her yesterday, when we spoke at Hatchards.’
‘How very delightful of her. You have never said that you are acquainted with the family.’
‘I am only acquainted with the daughter.’
His grandmother arched her brow. That was not a good sign. ‘Just the daughter? How unusual for you. How did you make her acquaintance?’
‘A mutual friend,’ replied Julian, picking a speck of lint off the sleeve of his navy tailcoat.
‘I see. And is the lady in question married?’
‘She is not.’
‘And how long have the two of you been acquainted?’
‘Not long.’
Her eyes narrowed, causing Julian to shift restlessly in his seat.
‘Tell me about this girl.’
‘She is not a girl.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I do not know. I thought it wasn’t polite to enquire.’
His grandmother chuckled. ‘When the lady in question is my age, it absolutely is not. But for a younger one I do not think it at all beyond the pale.’
‘And a lady of your age would be how old, exactly?’
‘You impertinent man—we are discussing your friend, not me.’
‘And why exactly are we discussing Miss Vandenberg?’
‘She had her father send me this lovely book. I am curious as to what kind of girl would do such a thoughtful thing. You say she did this completely without your influence?’
‘I doubt the lady could be influenced into doing anything at my bidding,’ he muttered.
‘Nonsense—you are Lyonsdale.’
‘At the moment that fact does not seem to be to my advantage with her.’
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Laurie Benson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: The scandal of the season!For American Katrina Vandenberg, the rules of London society are stifling. So, when a rare moment of solitude at a particularly tedious ball is interrupted, she’s disappointed…until she lays eyes on a very handsome stranger!Julian Carlisle, Duke of Lyonsdale, is destined for a dull marriage of convenience, and Katrina couldn’t be further from the docile, blue-blooded bride he needs. An affair would be scandalous, but could there be a way for this highly unsuitable woman to become Julian’s perfect duchess after all?