Uncle Aubrey let his arm drop to his side and his normally cheery expression saddened. "His leg was broken. He writes that he is being sent home as a cautionary measure, but I doubt he would be sent home if all that were needed was time for him to heal. From what I have heard at my club, the leg could fester from the conditions in the field, to say nothing of the dangers of the voyage to England."
He began pacing again. "I’m sorry to cut your Season short, but we must leave for Portsmouth immediately in order to prepare for his arrival. Once he is in Portsmouth, we’ll travel on to Alderstone so he can recuperate at home. Your things are being packed as we speak."
"May I offer a suggestion?" The duchess took Aunt Poppy's hand in hers but directed her words to Uncle Aubrey. "Rather than move your entire household to Portsmouth and then again to your estate, why not leave your nieces with me? You will travel faster, and arranging care and lodging for your son will be simpler." She turned her attention back to Aunt Poppy. "Rowena would certainly love Sarah's company and I'm more than willing to sponsor your nieces for the rest of the Season."
"I'm not sure–” Aunt Poppy began.
"A capital idea." Uncle Aubrey gave a sigh of relief before asking, “Wolverton won't mind?"
"Of course not,” The duchess said with conviction. "We've plenty of room and he will be escorting Anne already. Why would he mind?"
CHAPTER 9
It was late afternoon when Lucien signed the last of his correspondence and reached for the dark blue sealing wax on his desk. His morning had been interrupted by that fool Ailsbury with his outlandish offer, and then he’d needed to send detailed instructions for the transfer of funds to his steward for estate repairs. He sealed his reply to his man of business, and had rung for a footman to deliver it when a commotion outside his door caught his attention.
An all too familiar low-pitched voice filtered through the study door from the entry hall. His stepmother and sister had not returned alone. Then a dog's bark startled him, and he strode across the room and flung open the door.
Charlotte Longborough's shaggy gray beast gave a delighted woof and sent Lucien staggering back into the room when he leapt up and licked Lucien's face in greeting. Dog breath filled his nostrils before he could regain his footing and push the beast down.
"Harry, down." Dismay, concern, and amusement succeeded one another on Charlotte Longborough's expressive face as she tugged her dog away from his person. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. I promise he will stay in the garden and not bother you again."
The dog settled to the floor but his whipping tail and quivering nose told another story.
"Oh, Lucien, I'm so glad you are home." His stepmother's calm voice announced as she came to stand beside Charlotte and her mongrel. "Lord and Lady Elsworth have been called to Portsmouth. Their son was wounded and is returning to England to recover."
Lucien eyed the various trunks and valises in his entry hall and completed the obvious statement. "So you invited the Longboroughs to stay with us until they returned."
"I knew you would understand," his stepmother declared. "Now why don't you join us in the drawing room for tea while Timmons and Mrs. Abbot sort out the luggage and find appropriate shelter for Harry?" She assessed his rigid posture and removed a long grey strand of dog hair from his lapel with a wry smile. "I suspect we've interrupted your concentration for the moment, so you might as well come hear what we know about Lieutenant Elsworth."
Lucien eyed the great gray beast. Was it possible he had grown even more since their encounter with Everham and his dogs? He turned his attention to the silent cluster of ladies who formed a frozen tableau in the hall and his gaze noted the combination of laughter and uncertainty in Charlotte Longborough’s expression. Catastrophe on two legs had just walked into his home, and he could not in all conscience send it away.
Feeling a bit of a martyr, he simply inclined his head and gestured for them to precede him up the stairs. “After you, ladies.”
THE BENEFIT OF ADDED sponsorship by the Duchess of Wolverton became quite clear when Charlotte entered Lady Isley's ballroom a few nights later. As beloved as her aunt and uncle were, they had not the prestige of the Caldwell name or the Wolverton title. Once word circulated that Her Grace had taken them into her home, she was called upon to introduce both Charlotte and Elizabeth to half a dozen gentlemen who had politely ignored their presence until then. Elizabeth, she was gratified to see, was no longer disregarded. Charlotte danced with each of the gentlemen, but accepted their sudden attention with ironic good humor. Many of them were on her list. Few would remain there, however. Their attentions were clearly meant to garner favor with the duke and not two young women of little importance of their own.
Their earlier acquaintances remained, though they offered no more likelihood as matches. Mr. Hook, and his friends in particular, made them laugh with droll stories of their less scandalous practical jokes and adventures. Charlotte knew Mr. Hook and his friends still pursued adventure with too much enthusiasm to take on the responsibilities of family obligations. They were, however, quite entertaining.
When the irrepressible Mr. Hook led Charlotte to the dance floor for the second time, she laughed delightedly as he regaled her with yet another of his silly escapades. Though he had once indicated his family intended him to stand for office, he clearly intended to enjoy high spirits until such time as his obligations required he rein back his behavior. He returned her to the duchess' side when the set ended, and Wolverton claimed the next with a solemn determination that took her by surprise.
"I hope you do not take Hook's attentions seriously," he stated as they took their places. "While there is not real harm in him, he is still far too–"
"Enamored of adventure to settle into respectable propriety," Charlotte interrupted with a laugh. "Just as I am too sensible to take him seriously." Perhaps she could yet convince the duke she was not a flighty hair-for-brains female. In the few days since they had taken up residence at Wolverton House, she had noted that the duke was far less aloof with his family. His sisters adored him, Harry fawned over him and his staff thought he could do no wrong.
"I realize your impressions of me have been skewed by unfortunate events, but I truly am not a widgeon-head." She raised her eyes again and smiled lest he think her insulted. "But I thank you for your attempt to warn me against inappropriate attachments." Her smile broadened into a teasing grin, "Though, of course, I know you do not act as matchmaker for your sister's friends."
He rewarded her impertinent reminder of their dance at Anne's ball with a choked laugh and a brief glimpse of those elusive dimples.
"Touché, Miss Longborough. I shall mind my own business."
THE FOLLOWING WEEK, Lucien entered his study and shut the door closing off voices of the women as they chatted about the evening, then said their goodnights and made their way to bed. He poured himself a generous portion of brandy and settled heavily into the chair beside the fireplace. What terrible sin had he committed that caused the Almighty and his stepmother to settle three more females in his home? And not just any females– Charlotte Longborough and her sisters.
His entire life had been disrupted beyond recognition in less than a week. The frequency and intensity of feminine social imperatives had escalated beyond tolerance. As had his obligations as escort. Prior to the inclusion of the Longboroughs, escorting his sister to private balls and Almack's had only required he arrive with her and take her home from each occasion.
With two unrelated ladies in tow, however, he was expected to dance. With them. Tuesday it had been Lady Isley's ball, tonight it had been Almack's. Almack's. Where a single invitation to dance could be taken as a half step to courting and a second dance during the same evening gave expectations of public declaration.
Elizabeth Longborough posed no problem. During their single set she merely chatted about the weather and the exhibit she'd viewed that morning. Miss Charlotte, on the other hand tantalized his senses all the while she had once
again apologized for their presence and assured him he would not even know they had joined his household. He did know. Every moment he spent in proximity to her, he was aware of her wildflower scent, the perfection of her skin and the lively sparkle of her eyes. He shifted in his chair, but it didn’t ease the aching result of her presence in his home.
A soft, regular cadence caught his attention and he turned with resignation toward the sound. And then there was the dog. The beast slept with canine abandon on the rug in front of the fireplace. Harry was supposed to reside in the garden at the back of the house, yet it seemed the dog could pass through walls to appear in his study with regularity. How a beast the size of a small horse could slip by his butler and footmen with such ease and frequency defied logic. Yet there he was. Again.
He muttered a curse and took a deep swallow of his drink.
When Tristan had taken his own rooms in St. James Street two years earlier, Lucien hadn’t realized how much he’d miss male company in a house that now overflowed with discourse on fashions, embroidery, and social engagements. How ironic that the one family member he'd least wanted in his life when he was twelve was the one he most preferred to talk to now.
He didn't desire Tristan's company at the moment, even if his brother had been in town. Which he was not. Lucien only wanted a bit of balance to all things female. And one female in particular. He could go to the club and most likely run into Norcross or Ravencliffe where they would agree that Almack's was the bane of mankind and a detriment to one's familial loyalty. They could discuss the tensions mounting with the Americans or the war on the Peninsula, but he doubted that anything would take his mind from of eyes the color of smoke and a contralto voice to match.
Leaning back, he took another sip, savoring the rich aroma and slight burn as the warmth flowed across his tongue and down his throat. He closed his eyes, then quickly opened them when the image of those smoky eyes filled his mind.
Quiet routine and peace of mind had departed the day his mother installed the Longborough sisters in Wolverton House. He couldn't step out of his study without bumping into some swain come to take Anne or one of the sisters on carriage rides in the park or excursions to an art exhibit or concert. He'd noted Elizabeth received fewer callers than Anne or Charlotte but, nonetheless, his public rooms were crowded. More annoying, his awareness of exactly where Charlotte Longborough was at any moment left him irritated and... aroused. Damnation!
At Lucien's feet, Harry's eyes suddenly opened, and he lifted his head as though testing the air for whatever had penetrated his consciousness. He rose and padded over to the closed door, whining at Lucien to release him. Lucien’s frustrated contemplation evaporated. Intruders? The hairs on his arms rose and he strained to listen for whatever had disturbed the dog. The silence beyond the door told him nothing.
He carefully removed the firearm he kept in a locked drawer in his desk. He rose and crossed the room to ease open the door. The dog instantly slipped through the opening and trotted silently up the stairs. Lucien followed swiftly, keeping close to the wall to avoid creaking stairs while remaining less visible to anyone who might realize he had not yet gone to bed. Once at the landing he saw the dog's tail disappear through the library door and waited to see what kind of commotion, if any, the dog's entrance would spark. When no sound emerged, Lucien worked his way to the library door easing it open further so he could slip into the room, then froze in surprise.
Charlotte Longborough paced beside the window at the far end of the room clad only in her nightgown, her slender feet bare. Harry sat nearby, his head following her movements as she made her way back and forth as though searching for something.
Moonlight filtered through the window casting pale silver into the room and revealing her shape through the soft cotton that floated around her like a cloud. Holy mother, Joseph and Gabriel. Lucien swallowed hard and fought the sudden hot, tight swelling in his groin. Miss Charlotte Longborough had a figure to make a man forget his honor for the driving need to touch, taste, and claim her.
"Miss Longborough?" Lucien put his firearm on a table and crossed the room as he spoke. "Miss Longborough," he repeated, then—“Charlotte, what is wrong?" He reached her side and settled a hand on her arm. "Charlotte, why–?” Her gray eyes turned in his direction, but she stared blankly with no conscious recognition, and he realized that she walked in her sleep.
What did he do now? Somewhere he had heard that one should not wake a person in this condition, but what did one do? When he'd touched her arm, she'd stopped her pacing, but now she turned and began again, this time she muttered something indistinct, but of concern. She repeated herself as she continued her restless pattern.
Her path brought her near him again and he gently caught her shoulders, stopping her by the simple act of enfolding her in his arms. Now what? Her eyes, when he took her shoulders, remained focused on something she saw only in the dream that had sent her roaming the main floor. Once his arms encircled her though, her eyes closed, and her frantic muttering stilled. She settled against him, her own arms coming around him as she lay her head against his chest with a sigh. Lucien registered the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest and the narrow taper of her waist as she relaxed against him... and fought to keep his hands neutrally around her shoulders.
He needed to return her to her room.
That warning thought surfaced in complete opposition to his body's desire to take her to his bed and explore the feminine curves pressed against him. Her wildflower scent teased his senses, and her pliant form filled his imagination with ideas he'd tried to suppress from the first moment he'd seen her grey eyes, pink lips and grass-stained bosom.
He loosened his hold with the intent of guiding her to the hall, but she resisted and burrowed closer. Her hands now moved in slow exploration of his back and his body tensed in full alert. He stifled a groan and slid one hand up to stroke her cheek with the back of his fingers. She turned her head to follow them with a murmured sigh of pleasure. Her breath warmed his knuckles. Good intentions turned to smoke. He opened his hand to cup her cheek, tilting her face up to meet his before brushing her soft lips in a tantalizing, testing kiss.
In that moment of exploratory contact Lucien knew she'd never been kissed before, but in the next, her mouth adjusted to his and she pressed closer, instinctively responding to the call of male to female. Despite his conscience, he gently deepened the kiss, coaxing her mouth open before tasting the warm sweet flavor that was Charlotte Longborough.
He knew the instant she came awake. Her soft lips stiffened, and her roving hands froze stiffly against his back. Reluctantly he raised his head and looked into eyes that now held a mixture of shock, outrage... and interest.
Damnation. He knew better. Scrambling to pull himself together, he searched for words to explain his behavior and their embrace. "Sleeping Beauty awakes."
"I– I beg your pardon?" She dropped her arms from around him and a deep pink flush flooded her features as she stepped away, her confusion clear in the quaver in her voice.
"You were sleepwalking," he told her. "I followed the only course I knew of to wake you without harm." He dared not look away or she would recognize his guilt. He'd kissed her for no other reason than he could not resist the temptation. Her fingers went to her mouth as though to verify she'd been kissed, and it was all he could do not to gather her into his arms and kiss her again.
He cleared his throat. "Do you often sleepwalk?" Heaven help him if he knew she roamed his halls at night. "You were talking in your sleep, though I could not make out what you said."
He soldiered on in an attempt to behave calmly, as though there were nothing unusual or scandalous in kissing a sleepwalking woman awake.
He gestured to Harry, who still sat alertly watching his mistress as though keeping guard. "Harry must have heard you leave your room. He led me in here. You were pacing... and, er... muttering." He found himself floundering in a way he had not done since his childhood when facing his f
ather's discipline. He looked down into those puzzled gray eyes and blurted, "I didn't know what else to do. I beg you forgive me if I have offended."
Charlotte had not moved during his disjointed explanation, but she watched him with an intensity that disturbed him more than if she had raged at him for compromising her virtue– Lord help him, he'd compromised her. In his own house. Which he shared with his stepmother and sisters. If anyone woke and found them in the library together– and her in nothing but her night clothes– he would be leg shackled by the end of the month.
"You must return to your room," he said abruptly. "Take Harry with you."
He turned and strode to his own room where he spent the hours until dawn chastising himself for giving in to the temptation to kiss her.
Kicking off his quilts, he told himself Charlotte Longborough was a determined, marriage-minded catastrophe who, he would swear, fate had literally thrown into his path. The genuine shock and embarrassment in her eyes each time they clashed made it clear she'd not engineered any of their encounters. Yet there was something in her expression when caught unaware that invited him to take her in his arms and... nonsense. It was his own desire that saw sensual invitation where there was nothing but innocent curiosity.
Of course, she was curious...after all, she’d made a list of eligible mates and had come to the marriage mart to find a husband. Husbands meant kisses and all the mysteries of the marriage bed about which she had probably overheard just enough to wonder. Devil take it, curiosity was not an invitation.
CHAPTER 10
Scandalizing the Duke Page 8
