“Then I am honored you told me.” His words, so quiet, filled the carriage with meaning. “Be assured I will keep your confidence.”
Tears pricked her eyes but she refused to let them fall. “Thank you. So you see, the purchase of a new telescope is a big step for me to take. The one I have is not entirely suitable, especially with the work I am doing now. But it serves.”
“I see. I think it is time you stopped blaming yourself for somebody else’s sins.”
She bit off the tart response that came to her lips. “I did not blame myself. Why should I when I have never done anything like that?”
“The heart works in strange ways. Sometimes it does not take the logical route.” He started to say something and stopped. Then he opened his mouth to say something else. “Were there any consequences?”
She understood his meaning at once. “Children, you mean?” She shook her head. “I do not know.”
“I’m so sorry this happened to you, especially at such an impressionable age. Your brother did the right thing. He is a good man.”
“Yes, he is. He deserves all the happiness in the world.”
“Yes he does.” He squeezed her hand. “Was your parents’ marriage arranged?”
She frowned. “Most marriages are, aren’t they?”
“Not all.” Momentarily, the light went from his eyes.
As she was about to ask him about his change in mood, the carriage slowed down, no doubt heading for another corner. Jolted back to the present, she said, “The journey is taking rather a long time.”
“I gave the coachman a guinea to take us by a different route.”
“A much longer one,” she said. Her mood lightened a little because he had wanted more time with her.
“I could hardly slip out of this carriage discreetly on the Strand.”
“The footmen will gossip.” She spoke with a sense of fatality. However hard she tried, however determined to keep herself above it, scandal followed her relentlessly.
“They will not gossip if they want vails, or if they are loyal to you.”
She shrugged, relieved to have the subject changed to something more innocuous. “They are London servants. They owe nobody loyalty.”
“I will ensure they do not talk.”
“How will you do that?”
“Generous vails and a reminder that I can speak to any number of people about their reliability and discretion. Since they are the only people who know of our little diversion, I will remind them that I can easily prevent their future employment.”
He was right, he could do that. A total of three people would know that Damaris had not traveled in a closed carriage with shuttered windows alone, and he would pursue every one.
“I should go now. Please do not repine. We all have family secrets, and I am honored that you chose to share yours with me.” Turning her chin up, he brushed his thumbs over the outer corners of her eyes in a tender gesture. Then he dropped a sweet kiss on her lips before he turned away and rapped on the roof of the carriage. “Much though I would love to stay, I will keep my promise.” His voice softened. “I find you enchanting, and even more than that, intriguing.”
“Enchanting is less than intriguing?”
“Yes, indeed. An intriguing person has depths, and part of the appeal is that it is something one may never get to the bottom of.”
“You want to get to the bottom of me?”
She hadn’t considered the hidden meaning in her words until he growled, “More than anything.” Taking her by the shoulders, he dragged her close for a kiss just as the carriage came to a halt. He pushed her away abruptly. “Good day, my lady.”
He pressed an object into her hand. The fan box. “I will leave it to you to decide what to do about this. But if you do not want society to assume a close connection, don’t wear it in public.” He gazed at her until she thought he would not say anything more, then drew a breath. “Damaris, this cannot continue. You must know that.”
“But why?” She hadn’t meant to articulate that, but it was out now. His decision bewildered her.
“Our destinies lie in different directions.” He laughed shortly. “God, that sounds ponderous! But you know what I mean, Damaris. You must.”
Numbly, she nodded. She had always thought this was too good to be true. And it was. She was clumsy, ordinary-looking and awkward. She would never make a duchess.
He opened the door and left her alone, clutching the damnable box containing the object she was fast coming to hate.
When she lifted the blinds, Damaris found they were at the end of an alley, not far from Mayfair. They must have traveled in circles if they had only come that far. That might be the reason her head was spinning. But probably not.
Chapter Eleven
Logan couldn’t get Damaris’ scent or the feel of her in his arms out of his mind, but the walk home helped to put his whirling mind into perspective. He could no longer ignore the potent affect she had on his senses, but more than that, she’d reached out to his mind. He wanted to know more. Worse, he longed to take care of her. God knew he had dependents enough already.
That was why he had said what he had.
Gripped by terror he could barely acknowledge, he knew he was getting in too deep. He would not, absolutely refused to give anyone the same grief that his father had caused his mother. This was the closest he had come to breaking the childhood vow he’d made to himself. But he had said it now and she was no longer his concern.
Nobody would know that he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
Before he opened the door to his London house, it was opened for him. The phenomenon annoyed him, as it implied that someone was always watching for him. He disliked the close perusal of his actions, even by his own servants. He made a point of carrying a key but, so far, he had never had occasion to use it. Even in the early hours of the morning, someone would open the door before he got to push his key into the lock.
He strode through the cool, white marble hall, and tossed his hat in the direction of the hall stand. A footman caught it. Of course he did. Another footman bowed. Why on earth did they have two footmen on duty in the hall? What could they possibly do? The butler was not in sight, which was a mercy. The man always made Logan feel underbred. He glanced up at the huge portrait of his father which dominated the landing and barely resisted pulling a face at him.
“Her grace, your lady mother, would like to inform you that there would be twenty for dinner, including yourself, if you would be so good as to join her guests,” the man without Logan’s hat in his hand declared.
When he’d translated the speech, Logan nodded and headed up the stairs. He had a full evening, including at least one ball to look forward to.
Half an hour later, primped and attired in olive green dull satin, he resignedly went back downstairs and entered the drawing room. He cast a sour glance at the table by the unlit fire, where a black-framed miniature of his father stood, together with the prayer book he’d used on Sundays at church. No other house in London had so many damned shrines. He should really take note and have them removed, but the last time he’d tried, his mother had pitched a fit.
Someone was tinkling a tune on the harpsichord, the notes sharp and dry. He spied his sister, talking to a guest by the fire, and recognized the man as one of her swains. He bowed to the company, and made his way to his sister. Lifting her hand, he raised it to his lips, evoking a small gurgle of amusement from her. “Had a good day, Georgie?”
“Yes, thank you.” Georgie tilted her chin. “Where were you? We were expecting you at Lady Beaumaris’ salon this afternoon.”
He grimaced. “Poets and novelists? Are you sure you’re not thinking of Adam?”
“Oh, Kilsyth was there, of course, and the center of attention.”
“Of course,” Logan said dryly. “Where else would Adam be?”
Nodding to the man paying Georgiana a great deal of attention, he turned to his mother, who was seated on the sofa opp
osite her daughter. The dowager was garbed in her usual gray. She must have every shade of gray known to nature in her wardrobe. “I trust you’ll be escorting us tomorrow night, Glenbreck?”
“Naturally, Mama. To Lady Steeping’s?”
“Where else?” The dowager duchess raised an aristocratic brow. “You had somewhere else in mind?”
“When there are three balls a night, one tends to lose track,” he murmured.
“Really, Logan!”
If she had expected to depress her son, she was to be disappointed. Logan gave her a tight smile and assured her he was looking forward to the event.
His mother studied him for a few seconds but said nothing.
Having greeted his family, Logan paid attention to the other guests in the room. His gaze landed on the Duchess of Illingworth. With an inward curse, he realized the identity of the lady playing at the harpsichord. Lady Elizabeth Askew had come to beard him in his den, so to speak, although naturally Logan had never deliberately grown a beard in his life.
Lady Elizabeth occupied the wide stool set before the instrument, with a gentleman from her court standing behind her, ready to turn the pages. Logan vaguely recognized the tune as one made fashionable by a recent scandal. At least it was not a scandal involving—friends.
Fortunately, standing between Logan and the harpsichord was Grant. Logan favored him with a nod and received one in return. Grant, Duke of Blackridge, looked, as he always did, like the proverbial bull in a glass factory. His clothes were rich but plain and his size incongruous next to the more modestly built gentleman close by. Logan flashed him a grin. “I trust you are not dancing attendance upon my sister, Blackridge.”
“I would not dare,” Grant said. “I have no desire to meet one of my best friends at dawn on the Heath.”
“It would have to be pistols,” Logan said pleasantly. “You are far too good a swordsman for me to get a decent hit.”
“Fisticuffs?” Grant voice was tinged with anticipation. There was nothing Grant liked better than a good bout. Well, maybe there were one or two things.
“Not at all,” Logan said firmly. “And were you at the literary salon earlier?”
Grant’s mouth turned down regretfully. “I had other business, but I will attend the next meeting for sure and certain.” Grant, as his friends never stopped reminding him, had hidden depths. He drew a snuff box from his pocket, considered the enameled surface, then dropped it back. “About that business we discussed the other day.”
Logan went on alert. He meant the cartoon. “I remember.”
“I discovered for certain who originated the item. It was the person we discussed.”
Which meant Lady Elizabeth had paid for the ugly thing to be printed and distributed. The elegant woman seated at the harpsichord had caused great distress to his Damaris.
Wait, no, not his. But he would speak to Lady Elizabeth. He could hardly avoid it.
While he had bade Damaris farewell, he had still not set his mind on marrying Lady Elizabeth. She should not set her cap so firmly at men, then society wouldn’t laugh at her for being jilted so often. Her first betrothed had died, the second had jilted her, and he had never been betrothed to her.
His mind wandered around the eligible women available for him to court. Like a bird in a cage, he darted about. But it was no good. He had a few weeks, that was all, then Lady Elizabeth would have him.
Logan could defer the moment no longer, especially since Lady Elizabeth had dismissed her cicisbeo and sat shuffling through the sheets of music on the stand. “Have you brought your own music, madam?” Logan asked.
With a start, she blinked up at him, blue eyes wide. “Why, your grace, you quite startled me.” She placed her hand over her heaving bosom, drawing attention to the delicate, bare, flesh. Idly, Logan wondered how she kept all that bounty lashed up tight. Her breasts appeared ready to burst from their silken confinement but, unfortunately, they did not evoke any desires in Logan and never had.
With her other hand, she picked up her fan and spread it, fluttering it before her face, which did appear rather pink.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. Perhaps I should leave you in peace?”
“Not at all.” She patted the seat next to her. “Do join me.” With a swift flourish, she lifted her skirts out of the way, which gave Logan enough room to perch one buttock precariously on the edge of the wide bench. “Would you care to choose a piece you would like me to play?”
“I suggest you rest,” he said. “We’ll be going in to dinner soon.” He’d already resigned himself to his inevitable dinner partner. His mother did not insist on formal seating, unless she was entertaining a guest known to be a stickler. That mean Logan would be free to take Lady Elizabeth in to dinner, and seat her by his side. His mother would take her place at the bottom of the table, and Georgiana would be at his left. Very cozy, he was sure, and something Lady Elizabeth no doubt would work to make a permanent arrangement. Except, of course, she would be sitting at the bottom of the table, as befitted his duchess.
Despite his determination to give her a fair trial, the very notion made him shudder. Lady Elizabeth was a pretty package, but Logan disliked the way she always put herself on display. Her fichus were never less than transparent, and her necklines precariously low. She sported her family’s extensive collection of jewels in abundance. Today, she had sapphires laced around her delicate neck.
And she had played Damaris that wicked trick of paying for the cartoon. If he had not rescued Damaris, that would have been the end of their society appearances. How could he do anything but come to her defense?
That was a mean thing to do, unfair and totally unnecessary. Did such a mean-spirited act make her unsuitable for a duchess, or had he driven her to do something uncharacteristic? He had no idea, because he had never allowed her close to him. He would be kind to her tonight, but not so particular that she could assume anything.
“Did you enjoy the salon?” Because, of course, she would have been there.
“Very much. I did miss your presence, though. You have such good ideas on the way to enhance a piece.”
Since his only suggestion at one of those confounded literary meetings was for a young poet to make his offering less flowery, Logan doubted her judgment. Anyone would have said that to the youth. He was not a profound literary critic. “I went to my lens maker’s,” he said. “Heath’s in the Exchange.”
She pouted prettily. “You gave up the company of…” she waved her fan and laughed lightly, “everyone for that?” She faced him, gazing earnestly into his eyes. “Do you have poor eyesight?”
“No.” Her response irritated him. She knew perfectly well that he did not. “I own several fine telescopes. You may recall that I am researching the transit of Venus.”
“Why do you need more than one telescope?”
That was an error on her part. Her question gave Logan permission to explain to her at length the merits of different telescopes, from naval hand-held ones through reflectors and how often the mirrors needed changing, to refractors. To do Lady Elizabeth justice, she did not yawn once, although he did his best to make her do so. She tilted her head to one side, which made her ringlets dance on her shoulders, and pasted a gentle smile on her lips.
Lady Elizabeth’s manners were exquisite. The way her curls moved reminded him of the time this afternoon when Damaris’ curls had done the same. Although Lady Elizabeth was a blonde beauty, and she wore her hair powdered, while Damaris preferred the more natural approach, curls were curls. He’d wanted to brush them aside so he could kiss Damaris’ neck. He felt no such impulse with the lovely Lady Elizabeth.
After what seemed an eon, the butler entered and discreetly indicated to Logan’s mother that the first course had been set. At last, they could move into the dining room.
Grant was the only leavening at that meal. Logan did not venture on his favorite subject again, because he knew his mama was listening, and he had no desire to upset her. He would u
pset her soon enough with his refusal to marry the bride of her choice.
Throughout the meal, Logan became aware that he and Lady Elizabeth were being regarded as a couple. A courting couple, at the very least. He had done his best to be nothing but polite, not to give her any encouragement, but still, she monopolized his attention for the meal, and invited his opinion on quite a few subjects, most of which he cared nothing about.
Relief swept through him when his mother rose and dropped her napkin on the table, a signal for the other ladies to accompany her for tea in the drawing room. Logan stood, and helped Lady Elizabeth up, careful to release her as soon as she had straightened. A second of extra lingering and she’d have him. This business was getting on his nerves. He had to end it soon, but not tonight.
“I fear I will not see you in the drawing room,” he said to the company.
“Oh, you are not accompanying us to the theater?” his mother asked, although her steely expression told Logan her question was more in the nature of a command.
He spread his hands in apology. “I have been bespoken this last week. I feel sure I told you.”
The duchess did not believe him, she told him as much by the spark in her eyes. “Then I will see you later, Glenbreck.”
“Indeed, Mama.”
Ten minutes later, he’d clapped his hat on his head and walked through the front door, closely followed by Grant. “Trapped!” Grant said, triumph in his voice. “I have fifty guineas on you and Lady Elizabeth. They’ve started a book at the club.”
Logan lengthened his stride, eager to put distance between himself and the house. “You’ll lose your bet, my friend. I have no intention of marrying her. You can have her, if you want. She wants a duke, but I don’t think she is particular as to which one.”
A Hint of Starlight Page 17
