His mouth curled in distaste. “Certainly not. I have been avoiding Lady Elizabeth for the last week.” He sighed. “I confess, I toyed with the idea of marrying her.”
“Rather arrogant of you to assume she’ll have you.” Damaris curled her lip.
“Not at all. She has declared she will marry a duke before the season’s end, and it appears I am first on her list. I indulged her for a while, but I found no link between us. Nothing.”
A thought occurred to her. “So you did not follow me into the garden? You were escaping Lady Elizabeth last night.”
He smiled wryly and shrugged. “A little of both. I saw your distress, felt it as you passed us. Then I saw Lady Elizabeth bearing down on me. I chose the garden and you.”
“I’m supposed to be grateful for that?” she snapped. She’d have preferred time on her own.
He shook his head. “Not at all. It was my choice, that is all. I wanted to think. Marrying Lady Elizabeth would have been easy. I just let her make all the decisions and follow along in her wake. One day, she will find her husband, I am sure. But it won’t be me. I would prefer that you do not associate me with her, even in private. It might give her ideas.”
That was interesting. She was inclined to believe him, since she’d also heard Lady Elizabeth’s boast. “So you decided to find me when I was at my weakest point?”
“Last night, I saw a woman in distress and I wanted to comfort her. I could have walked the other way, but I decided not to.”
If only she could believe that! “Did you tell everyone?” Would Matilda and her sisters return from their visits with news of another scandal?
He spread his hands. “I have told nobody, not even my two dearest friends in the world. I swear, no one will hear of the incident from me. If I told people, how would I ever get to kiss you again?”
Shock made her gasp. “You insult me.”
His eyes widened. “Is kissing an insult?”
She couldn’t look at him. Heat rose to her cheeks as she glared at the desktop as if it had offended her. “Stop saying that word! What is more,” she went on, flustered, “you should be apologizing for—what you did, not saying you want to do it again. You came after me, and you—”
“What? I chased after you, deciding to kiss you?” He stopped, and a red tinge appeared on his cheekbones. “Well, maybe I did. I found a woman I want to know more about, one who interests me very much.”
“Interests?” She didn’t bother to keep the scorn out of her voice. “Men like you are interested in women for one reason only.”
He moved further towards her. Damaris jerked back, prevented by the upholstered chair back from moving further. He halted. “What happened to your accent?” she demanded. “Did you feign that?” It was not as if dukes usually had an accent.
“Like many of my kind, I was brought up by servants. When my mother realized I was speaking with a distinct brogue, she employed an English tutor for me, but it was too late. It’s a lamentable habit. As a result, I have two accents. Guess which one I slip into when I am less aware of myself.”
“Are you saying you are not aware of using the brogue?”
He gave a rueful grin. “I ran wild in the castle until my mother recalled my existence. Before my father died, she spent more time with him in Edinburgh, but left me at home because she said the air in town was bad for me. Then the death of my father sent her into such a prolonged paroxysm of grief that she ignored everything else. I spoke broad Scots for years.”
That insight he’d granted her, as much as his fulsome apologies, went a tiny way towards convincing her.
Belatedly, she remembered her manners. She would not have him say that she was a coarsely-behaved person. “May I offer you refreshment?”
He nodded to the decanter on the sideboard. “If that is brandy, I will take a glass, thank you.”
Obligingly, she stood and poured him a generous libation. She was tempted to take a small dose herself, but ladies did not drink brandy during the day. Not when anyone was watching, at any rate, although she would certainly steal a drop after he’d left. If she didn’t deserve it after today’s ordeal, she might was well give up altogether.
As she passed him the glass, their fingers made the tiniest connection. A frisson of sensation, far out of proportion to a touch, shot up her arm to the most sensitive parts of her body. Resolutely, she ignored it.
He glanced away, out of the window to the garden beyond, and then back at her before he lifted the engraved tumbler to his mouth. Was he as disconcerted as she was by the touch? Had it affected him as much? “You live in a castle?” she asked, in an effort to distract herself.
“Yes, I live in a castle.” He put his glass down with a quiet click. “But it is a long way away. There, I can set my own rules and do as I wish. Here at the heart of society, even I cannot do that. I wish I could.” His gaze locked with hers, forbidden heat lingering in his eyes. “But I fear your visit to the Royal Society will have repercussions. I was not the only person there today. If I promise to say nothing, it will do no good.”
If they were refused admittance everywhere, then she would know for sure that she was to blame.
Part of her anger had been at herself for allowing a weak moment to affect her behavior. She could admit that now that her temper had subsided. “I would prefer not to spoil my sisters’ chances even if I have wrecked my own by my appearance today.”
“You are close in age, I think. You must make a striking trio.”
“We’re triplets,” she said shortly.
His lips curled in a lazy smile. “That is interesting. Does society know? You could make yourselves into the sensation of the season.”
“Not when our brother is married to a Cit.” Why should she care what he thought? He could discover that little tidbit for the asking.
His lip curled. “Pah, is that all? There are people here whose families own dens of iniquity. Every peer worth his salt has investments of some kind, and many own enterprises in the City of London. Are you saying you have never met an earl before your brother became one?”
“Of course not. The last earl was our cousin. I was presented at court.” Before, they had been treated kindly as visitors to the upper echelons. Now that they were trying to join the exclusive club, they were finding nothing but locked doors.
He would not understand. All dukes were powerful. They were a rare breed, and had long reaches. A poor duke, or one whose forebears had not built up a veritable empire of influence and wealth was close to impossible. She stroked the shiny wood at the edge of the mahogany desk. His attention followed her nervous movements, and she stopped hastily.
“I doubt that you will ever become a member of the Royal Society under its current leadership,” he said softly. “I have to warn you of that. Do not keep trying.”
She hunched a shoulder. “I care not who the Society votes or does not vote for as a member. You are missing research from half the population, so you will never achieve your true potential. I have done the work. I will continue my research on my own.” She swallowed her bitter disappointment. She would cry later.
“I see.” He watched her closely, but she did not flinch. She had nothing to hide. Resting his hands on the surface of the desk, he leaned forward. “And where will you present that research now that the Society’s doors are closed to you?”
She firmed her lips. Never would she admit to him how badly she wanted to display her knowledge, to share it. “I may get it privately published.”
She rested her knuckles on the leather writing surface, a mirror to his actions. He did not budge. Their heads were mere inches apart, but she refused to show him any weakness, even though she was trembling inside.
“I told you why I let you think my name was Mr. Logan.” His voice was even softer, intimate, and although she did not wish to, she remembered that fateful kiss. He wanted her to. “Needed it. Say it again, sweet one.”
The last two words sent shivers through her. Eve
ry sense she possessed yearned for him. He was close enough that his aroma filled her nostrils; that remembered scent of citrus and male musk. She breathed it in, her senses hungering for more.
She straightened with an ungainly jerk. “That is no excuse. You did not tell me who you were. As it was, you let me go back to that ballroom and make a fool of myself.”
“You did not. You were magnificent.”
She paused. Nobody had described her in those terms before. She wanted to savor it, but she could not. She must not allow him to seduce her into complacency. “You did not tell me you were on the committee of the Royal Society, or that you had a vote on the membership. I might have told you I was planning to apply, and you could have saved me this morning’s humiliation.”
“I was not the only person who gave a false name. How was I to know that you are D. Singer?”
“So you believe me?” she shot back.
“Yes. I saw your passion, your belief in your work.” His gaze did not waver. “I read the articles. You have a first-rate mind.”
“In a second-rate body?” Her lip curling, she found the courage to straighten, to remove herself from close proximity with him. “Sir, you have lied to me and insulted me. What am I to think?” Unable to face him any longer, she got to her feet and turned her back, staring sightlessly out of the window.
“That you fascinate me. I want to know more about you, Damaris Dersingham. No, that is wrong. Don’t misinterpret me, this is not romance. It is the meeting of minds.”
If he’d known that was the way directly into her heart, would he have said it? “So you kissed me because you liked my mind? Your rakish behavior does not impress me, sir.”
He laughed harshly, the sound ringing around the room. “A rake? Madam, I have had precisely six love affairs in my life. Does that make me a rake? I have been celibate for the last twelve months, and I have no doubt I can remain so as long as I wish. I have other interests.” He spat the words at her, his tone bitter and hard. “I am not led by my prick.”
Shocked, she hung her head, unable to keep up the contest any longer. She was worn out, exhausted by the constant battering of her senses. “Please leave,” was her only response to this unlover-like sentiment. It should relieve her that he did not want her in the way a man wanted a woman, but it did not. She felt herself weakening, and was about to turn around when she heard his footsteps retreating. Then they paused, and returned.
“Would you come driving in the park with me tomorrow?”
Wearily, she turned around and slumped into the chair behind the desk. “I cannot imagine why you would wish to endure my company further.”
“Then let me enlighten you. I want more conversation with you. I’m not ready to give you up. Being taken up in my carriage is about the only occupation in which a woman can indulge without a chaperone. There is no room in a sporting carriage for anyone other than the driver, his passenger, and his tiger.”
He was right about that. When a gentleman drove a lady for a demure turn around the park, they were alone. An open carriage, of course, since a closed one could lead to sins Damaris only vaguely knew about, and had never wished to experience. “It might rain.”
“I will ensure that it does not.”
“Even a duke cannot do that.”
“I can.” He smiled, and she was forced to smile with him. “Will you come?”
She should not.
“Being seen with a duke will do much to rebuild your reputation,” he said, bending his head in an effort to look into her eyes. “It will do your sisters good, too.” His voice had softened, became beguiling.
But he had a point. “I will drive in the park with you.” Her fear rose. Better to confront it head on. “However, you must swear not to try to kiss me in public.”
His sleepy eyes opened wider, and his brow furrowed. He had brown eyes, something she had not seen in the dimness of the garden or noticed earlier today. “What kind of man do you take me for?”
“I have yet to determine that.”
And that was the crux of the whole matter.
Shortly afterward, the outer door closed. He was gone.
She folded her arms under her breasts, staring at the desk.
Glenbreck had left the folder, but she knew what was in it without looking. It was an ordinary leather folder, the likes of which populated many places including her own home, but his had an air of luxury about it. It was probably made from the finest calfskin or something of that nature, because it was softer to the touch than the ones she used, and less worn. She stroked the leather, letting her mind drift.
The clang of the front doorbell snapped her back to the present.
She would have to go upstairs and change for dinner soon, but she could do one more column of figures before she went. Then she would put them in a chart, and see what they told her. She loved that part, when a mental picture formed of what she could expect.
A tap came on the door and it opened. “You have a visitor, my lady.” Watson put a visiting card before her. At least the caller had the manners to leave their card instead of barging right in.
After a glance at the butler’s impassive features, she sighed and put her pen back in the standish. “Very well. Leave the door open once more.”
“I am not at all sure his lordship would appreciate you receiving two gentleman visitors in an afternoon,” Watson said.
“Thank you, Watson. I will not let him stay long.”
“Should I have tea served, my lady?”
“No.” Let the visits remain between her and the butler. Allow more people into the secret and the news would be all around the neighborhood in an hour. She was taking a risk, letting them in, but she needed to speak with them, and now was as good a time as any.
Watson gave her a long look, and then went out of the room.
In a moment, Sir Peter came in. “Did I see the Duke of Glenbreck leaving this house?” His air was roguish, and it did not suit him. Sir Peter’s usual mien was far more restrained and grave than this. Damaris sensed rather than saw an edge of tension about him, as if he wasn’t quite sure of his presence here.
He wore dark green, neat and tidy as usual, but his waistcoat was a little more florid than she was used to. He looked almost as if he were dressed to celebrate something. Of course he was. Or he must have thought so.
Unlike when the Duke of Glenbreck had come in, Damaris got to her feet and offered her hand. “Good afternoon, sir.”
He glanced around, his brows lifted. “You are alone? I cannot imagine you received the duke by yourself.”
“I am receiving you,” she pointed out. “I trust you, as I trusted his grace. You will not stay long, I know.” Another thought occurred to her. “Have you been standing outside all this while?” Why on earth would anyone do that?
Although he laughed, it sounded forced. “Of course not. I was visiting with my mother. The Eversleigh family is old friends of ours.”
This street was a spacious one, so he must have paid particular attention to the comings and goings, much as a jealous lover might. He had not declared himself, but ever since he had entered their lives at the beginning of the season, Damaris had been the recipient of sly teasing from her siblings. Once he had discovered their shared interest, Sir Peter had sought her out at every gathering, and appeared to have attended some affairs specifically to see her. He had defied the way Lady Elizabeth’s set shunned her, and she should be grateful to him for that. But grateful enough to marry him?
Although she had determined to do so a short time before, now she was wavering. The duke had shown her a world she had never imagined before, one where kisses meant more than they should, and her body threatened to betray her.
“His grace merely returned some property that I left at the Royal Society.” She lifted her chin, wondering why he had the right to ask.
He glanced at the folders on the desk. “Ah yes, of course. You were there this morning, were you not?”
Confusion
warmed her cheeks. Glancing down, she flipped her folder closed, and laid it on top of the one belonging to the duke. “I was. I had written a few articles, and they asked me to attend. I went with my chaperone.”
He was watching her gravely. “What articles did you write?”
“I wrote as D. Singer. They were under the illusion that I was male.” A reminiscent smile curled her lips. “I disabused them of that. Several refused to admit that I might be capable of doing such a thing.”
“I am aware of that now. I wasn’t before today.”
She gestured to a chair set to one side of the desk. He glanced at it, but did not accept her invitation. Instead, he rounded the desk, and took her hand once more. She felt none of the thrill she’d recognized when the duke had touched her. “I am sorry they treated you badly. I applied for membership, too, but they deferred their decision. Now I know why.”
A lump rose to her throat. His sympathy meant so much to her. A dagger of a thought went in the duke’s direction. He had shown her none at all. He’d harassed her and made outrageous suggestions.
Dismissing the wayward concern, she turned her attention back to Sir Peter. “I’m sure they’ll let you join.”
“Lord Macclesfield told me they had run out of time. They spent it all discussing you.”
She paused. “You saw him?”
“At my club.”
A male bastion she was not allowed to enter. The sinking feeling in her stomach increased. “What did he say?”
“That you were demanding membership. To do him justice, he said you behaved with complete propriety.”
Well, good for him. “Did he say anything about my application?” Not that she had any expectations any longer but a flutter of excitement, an echo of what she had felt earlier in the day stirred her stomach.
He shook his head. “That he still suspected someone had sent you, that a female could not produce work with that level of brilliance.”
She humphed. “That is patently foolish. Women have no less intelligence than men.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 5
