A Hint of Starlight

by Connolly, Lynne

  “I cannot refuse.” She spoke in a small voice, as if she were choking.

  Jewels, toys and extravagant gifts might have amused her, but he doubted she would accept them. He wanted to deter Lady Elizabeth but, more than that, he wanted to make a friend of this fascinating woman. “Would Thursday be convenient for you? It will be my absolute delight to show you the Observatory and what it contains. Once I’ve introduced you, you may pay more visits, as long as you let them know first.”

  When he glanced at her again, he paused, nearly releasing the reins in his shock. She might have appeared quietly demure, but her eyes were blazing with such a passion that it turned her into a raving beauty. He could not describe it any better than that. He would have gone on watching her, had they not reached the more densely populated part of the Row. That meant he had to concentrate on not allowing his spirited horses to have their heads. He frowned. “This pair isn’t as amenable as I like. Should I get rid of them?”

  She shot him a horrified glance. “You mean shoot them?”

  “Lord no!” His laugh rang out, making a few people turn their attention their way. “Sell them on. They could go to the auction block next sale day.”

  “They are beautiful,” she said.

  “If you like them, I’ll make an effort to train them better. Perhaps we need to experiment with their diets.”

  A mumble came from behind them.

  He raised his voice. “What’s that, McGregor?”

  “Aye, sorr, an’ ye let them eat the best oats in town! We could do wi’ holdin’ them back. But ye gave the order and the nags are eatin’ ye out of hoos and hame!”

  Damaris glanced over her shoulder. “Was that English?” She sounded very doubtful.

  “Aye,” he said, using the same brogue. He shot her a glance and received a mirthful one in exchange. “You can see why I had to speak two languages. Otherwise I’d never understand my servants. They can understand us well enough.”

  “Where in Scotland do you live?”

  “Close to Inverness. At least, that’s where the castle is. I have other properties, and some in England, too.”

  “In the Highlands?”

  “Aye.” It was tempting to use his accent all the time, but society would consider him powerful strange if he did that. “I don’t get there as much as I’d like. The skies are clear up there, and you can see the Northern Lights at some times of the year.”

  “Oh, I would love to see those.”

  “Perhaps one day you will.” He had deliberately moved a little faster getting through the crowds. They had seen them together now, and he’d forced people to acknowledge her. He’d already informed his brothers-in-arms that they were to treat her with kindness and consideration. They had readily agreed, although Adam had nudged Grant when he thought Logan wasn’t looking.

  “Do you have house parties?”

  Laughter rocked his frame. “Not at MacIver Castle. It’s too far. I have a comfortable mansion further south where I entertain.”

  “Oh.” She sounded disappointed.

  He had reached the gate. Their ride was nearly over. A slight sinking feeling in his stomach told him what he already knew—that he would rather stay longer with her. Since he found the company of most females tedious, that was saying something.

  Their awe of him bored him. Young women were instructed to be pleasant to him, and agree with everything he said. He knew that was true, because every eligible young female did the same thing. When he’d compared notes with Grant and Adam, he’d found they were suffering from the same malaise. How were they expected to choose their life’s companions when they could not see the true colors of the women they were courting?

  He took a corner a little too fast, and she caught the rail by her side. “Your grace!”

  “Not very, I’m afraid.” Once he had the team in hand, he gave her a rueful grin. “Graceful, I mean. I will endeavor to improve.”

  “I know you will.”

  The devil she did.

  Chapter Six

  Gerald accepted the invitation for Greenwich on behalf of his sisters when he was assured the visit was perfectly acceptable. They could get there and back in a day, so a chaperone would be perfectly acceptable.

  Thursday arrived much too slowly for Damaris’ liking. However, in the two days between the drive in the park and the trip to Greenwich, everyone in the house noticed a distinct flaw in the way society regarded them. When Dorcas and Delphi went shopping with Matilda, some people in Bond Street nodded affably to them. “It wasn’t as if they were stopping to exchange the time of day,” Dorcas explained over breakfast, “but they behaved as if they knew us.”

  “Which is a big improvement,” Delphi put in with a bright smile. “We might have turned the corner at last.”

  Recalling the way the duke had almost taken a corner on two wheels on Tuesday, Damaris repressed her shudder. Climbing into such a flimsy vehicle was bad enough. The thing was built on such delicate lines she’d been constantly worried that it would disintegrate into matchsticks, especially with two such magnificent beasts pulling it.

  Naturally, Damaris was familiar with horses, but her riding skills were not good, and she had never dreamed of driving in a fashionable carriage. She had tried to drive a country gig once, and made such a mull of it that Dorcas was forced to seize the reins before she had tangled them completely.

  Thursday found Damaris full of apprehension, in case she should have to ride all the way to Greenwich in the delicate equipage. When she had first seen it, she had not understood how delicate it was, but she felt every bump in their journey and was hard pressed not to cling on to him when he whipped the pair into a brisk trot. She would have called it a canter, but she was not entirely sure what the difference was between the two, except that a canter was faster. As far as she was concerned, they had taken the whole ride at a gallop.

  Today she’d dressed in a lighter outfit than she’d worn on Tuesday and this time it had a more feminine touch. She had a new bergère hat with forget-me-nots sprinkled around the brim waiting for her in the hall, and her gown and petticoat were of a deeper blue. Her stomacher was white, embroidered heavily with silver thread, so heavily that the maid had to lace it carefully so it didn’t weigh her down. “I have so many clothes I’m not sure what to do with them all.”

  Matilda, resplendent in a darker blue with a cream stomacher and petticoat, tilted her head to one side. “I would say you did not have enough. If society sees exactly the same outfit more than twice in a season, it might consider a person in deep financial straits.”

  Damaris’ laughter rang around the parlor, and her sisters were not far behind. “People are not that frivolous. Why, you know I owned six gowns before we came here, and I’d had four of them for years. Nobody thought the worse of me for that.”

  Matilda lifted her porcelain tea dish. Today’s set had spring flowers marching around the rim. Everywhere Damaris looked flowers bloomed. They formed huge arrangements in the main rooms and, outside, London was blooming. Today, their exuberance matched her mood. She was finally going to Flamsteed House, where the Royal Observatory was housed. If she’d been any younger, she’d have bounced with excitement. In fact, last night, thinking of the treat, she did bounce a very little in her bed before she slept.

  She shifted uncomfortably when she recalled what else she was tempted to do. Thoughts of the visit had moved to thoughts of the man who was taking them there. In her mind, his dark eyes had gazed into hers as he leaned over her naked body. Using what knowledge she had of the male form, she furnished him with a powerful chest and strong shoulders, but she had not thought of anything lower. She hadn’t dared.

  Instead of giving in to temptation, she’d rolled over and gone to sleep. Or tried to, but sleep had come slowly last night. She should be tired, especially since the ladies were breakfasting early, in anticipation of the event, but instead she was excited, on edge. Not just because of a visit to the place she’d longed to see a
ll her life, either. She had not seen Logan for nearly two days.

  She must stop thinking of him as Logan. He was “Glenbreck” or “Duke” or the lighter “sir” but not “Logan”. She had no right to call him that.

  As they finished their repast, the doorbell rang and Damaris lost her appetite, her heart leaping, and her throat tightening. Although she tried to retain her calm demeanor, she caught a grin from Matilda that told her she had not entirely succeeded.

  The footman came in and announced that the duke was waiting in the hall.

  Matilda got to her feet. “Tell him we will be with him directly.”

  Damaris took her time smoothing her skirts and going outside, but as soon as she entered the hall, their gazes met. His smile deepened the grooves by his mouth as if he were truly pleased to see her.

  He came to her as if nobody else mattered, and took her hand. He’d removed his gloves, and she met him skin to skin. The shock that passed between them almost made her leap away. It was either that, or move closer to him.

  When he bent over her hand, he kissed the back. The convention was to kiss the air above the skin but, for an instant, his lips pressed against her knuckles. Damaris sucked in a sharp breath. Before he straightened, he lifted his dark head and met her gaze, smiling, as if to say, “Yes. It’s like that for me, too.”

  Of course, he said nothing of the kind. “You are looking well, Lady Damaris. I trust I find you in good health?”

  “Very, thank you.” She let her hand remain in his as he stood, but then they slid apart, gazing at each other.

  Delphi cleared her throat. “We had better get on our way. It will take hours to get to Greenwich.”

  The duke turned around, the skirts of his dark green coat swinging around his thighs. He was not dressed for riding, or driving for that matter. His stiff-skirted coat was a fine cloth, the buttonholes fashioned in gold thread. His taste tended to darker tones, but he was always richly attired, never stinting on fabric and trimmings. As a woman brought up amongst merchants, Damaris appreciated quality and knew it when she saw it.

  “If you ladies are ready, we should be on our way.”

  He led the way outside, where two vehicles awaited them. That was not all. Standing outside one of the elegant carriages, the Duke of Kilsyth swept them an elegant bow. The Duke of Blackridge just stood there and smiled.

  Kilsyth intimidated Damaris, with his perfect attire and aristocratic bearing. Even with a pleasant smile wreathing his ascetic features, he appeared at a distance. His clear blue gaze encompassed them all. “I could not allow my friend such a treat unopposed.” He shot a glance at the said friend, and smiled blandly. “When Glenbreck told me of the proposed treat, I recalled that I have not visited Greenwich this age. It looks to be a fine day,” he continued, turning his attention to the blue sky above them.

  “Indeed, sir, we are well served.” Matilda surged forward, flourishing her parasol. “I will need this before the day is out.”

  Would she, though? The fashionably delicate object had a sharp steel spike at its apex, so her meaning was deliberately ambiguous.

  The duke only grinned. His carefully composed face became brilliant with amusement so quickly that Damaris wasn’t sure if she’d seen it or not. “Madam, I tremble with terror.”

  He let his wrist drop when he helped her into the carriage. Matilda returned his smile with one equally loaded.

  “Those two will get on splendidly.” At Glenbreck’s remark, Damaris turned to see amusement sparkling in his eyes. She didn’t look away immediately. “Lady Damaris,” he murmured, and led her forward as if nothing had occurred at all.

  Glenbreck sat next to her, and Dorcas sat opposite, smiling brightly. Too tightly, Damaris thought, recalling Dorcas’ unreliable health. “Are you feeling quite well, Dorcas?”

  “Perfectly, thank you.”

  Damaris breathed a quiet sigh of relief. If Dorcas was unwell, they could not possibly go anywhere.

  Mildly surprised that Matilda allowed such lax chaperonage, Damaris stared out of the carriage window as they set off. “You have a collection of magnificent vehicles,” she said, trying to find a neutral topic of conversation.

  “I do,” his lordship replied in an affable tone. “I could list them for you, if you like. The carriage following us belongs to Kilsyth, I’m afraid.”

  “Town is agog with your arrival,” Dorcas said. “Did you plan it that way?”

  At his groan, Damaris turned her head to the better view within. While the Mayfair streets and squares were gracious and pleasant viewing, this was better.

  The duke shook his head, his dark hair gleaming in the morning sunshine. The way he wore his hair fascinated her. Today it was tied back in a neat queue and fastened with a simple black velvet ribbon. It appeared as vital as the rest of him, and her fingers itched with the longing to touch it, to feel the silky length on her skin. “We most certainly did not plan this kind of reception.”

  “What did you expect?” she demanded. “Kilsyth is often in London, but you and the Duke of Blackridge are not. How could you not have known?” His statement had sounded far too disingenuous to her.

  The carriage rolled along to where the streets became narrower and rougher, and then down to the Strand. This was where the high and mighty had their great mansions, before the move to Mayfair had become an exodus. A few of them remained; great palaces some inhabited still, others given over to different functions.

  When they reached Somerset House, its pale gray stone walls gleaming in the sunshine, Damaris gazed out of the window. “It is still beautiful,” she said softly. “We used to drive down here, sometimes. It was magnificent in its day.”

  “I have been to a masquerade here,” he said in a casual manner.

  “Have you?” Damaris glanced at him to find a wicked smile firmly in place. Somerset House masquerades were notorious. “We were never allowed. Gerald called it a den of iniquity and refused to let any of us near it.”

  “It has a variety of uses. Soldiers would find them more interesting than pensioners.”

  The carriage swung down a narrow alleyway by the side of the great palace. Forgetting the building, Damaris squeaked in alarm. “Where are you taking us?” She had settled down for a long ride, but they had been barely fifteen minutes on the road.

  The driver pulled up the horses by the side of the quay behind the building. Damaris’ jaw went slack. “What’s that?”

  “It’s our transport.” He touched her hand. “You do not suffer from seasickness, do you?”

  “No, I mean, I don’t know. I’ve been on the river before, but…” She tailed off, staring in wonder at the magnificent vessel awaiting them.

  Everybody in London took a ferry from time to time. Bridges over the Thames were few, and ferrymen waited for custom at the busiest places. This, however, was not a ferry. This was a Thames barge—a shallop. The broad-bottomed vessels provided a magnificent way to display one’s wealth. This one was no exception.

  “Isn’t that for royalty?” Damaris gasped as the rowers lifted their oars in unison. Water dripped from the blades. Four green and gold liveried rowers sat at the front of the boat. The back part contained an open pavilion, which was currently covered by a stiffened blue cloth to protect the occupants from the weather. The dark green painted boat proudly displayed gilded coats of arms, catching the sun and making a brave display.

  “I’ve never been on a shallop before.” Damaris swallowed. “Is it yours?”

  “It’s Kilsyth’s. He has more need of a boat for the Thames, although the men are mine. I don’t come to town often enough to merit having a shallop just for my use here.” He glanced at Damaris. “Though I am considering purchasing one of my own.”

  “Oh, you absolutely should.” Dorcas hadn’t taken her eyes from the vessel from the first minute it had come into view.

  Glenbreck alighted from the carriage when the footman lowered the steps, and helped first Matilda, then Dorcas to get out, and
finally Damaris.

  He did not release her, but tucked her hand under his arm, and led the way to the boat. “We should make better time in this,” he explained. “And I thought you might like it.”

  “Oh, yes.” Breathlessly, she scanned the glorious shallop once more. Akin to the gondolas of Italy but with a few key differences, she could hardly believe she was to travel on such a lovely vessel.

  A small, gilded pavilion was set in the middle of the boat, and behind it, two rows of plushly upholstered seats. At the front, men sat by their oars, all in the Kilsyth livery of sky blue and silver.

  The duke escorted Damaris on board with tender care. He seated her under the canopy, ensuring she was comfortable on the plush blue velvet cushions. Only then did he ensure Delphi was also settled on his other side. Kilsyth performed the same office for Matilda and Dorcas, carefully attending to both ladies. They sat in front of Damaris. Far from being offended, Delphi winked at her as Glenbreck was taking his seat. Damaris pretended not to notice.

  When Kilsyth gave the word, the rowers pushed away from the pier. They dipped, feathered and pulled their oars in perfect harmony. Every time they lifted the blades, crystal drops of water cascaded back to the river. They gathered speed, not uncomfortably so, but she watched the cluster of buildings that was the Temple pass by, with the dome of St. Paul’s in the background. “I’ve known the cathedral nearly all my life,” she murmured. “It seems odd that fifty years ago it was a new marvel. It seems to have been here forever.”

  “It has.” His soft voice added intimacy to their communication, even though they weren’t saying anything personally. “Forever is the span of a life. The design was quite revolutionary at the time, but now it fits into its surroundings as if it were always there.”

  “It’s gathered enough soot to blend in nicely.”

  Their gentle laughter blended together. “Edinburgh is much the same. Should you like to see it?” he asked.