by Olivia Drake
Abruptly, Hadrian’s gaze was riveted by the object of his frustrations.
Strikingly beautiful in the soft green gown she’d worn earlier, Natalie sat on a chaise with her hands folded in her lap. As always, that stunning combination of dark sable hair, emerald eyes, and creamy skin stirred a fierce admiration in him. She looked perfectly at home with his family, too. Her serene expression and proud posture lent her the noble aura of a duchess.
If only she aspired to become one.
Her grandfather was seated beside her, dapper in a cobalt-blue coat that looked a decade out of style. Hadrian surmised that Sir Basil had summoned her to the salon, for Godwin certainly wouldn’t have done so. The earl would as soon forget that she and his grandson even existed.
On that grim thought, he went forward to greet his cousins. The tension in the air felt thick enough to cut with a knife, and he wondered what had been said before his arrival. His mother, in particular, regarded him as a savior. Her fingers clutched at the skirt of her claret silk gown as if to keep herself from scratching out Godwin’s eyes. “My dear boy, you’re here at last!”
The earl afforded him a stiff nod. “Ah, Clayton. I trust you’ve been well.”
Lady Ellen and her mother arose to curtsy to him. Lady Godwin gave him a perfumed peck on the cheek. “We arrived in London late yesterday, so we have honored you with our first call. It seemed fitting since we never had a chance to say a proper good-bye. Isn’t that so, Ellen?”
The girl peeped shyly up at Hadrian. She looked like a pretty pink confection, her fair hair curling, her rosebud lips smiling. In a rehearsed manner, she murmured, “We’ve missed you, Your Grace.”
She seemed a mere child. He must have been mad ever to have wanted to wed so young a girl. Out of duty, he kissed her hand. “Welcome to Clayton House.”
Wymark bowed to Hadrian. “It was quite unlike you to leave Oak Knoll in such haste, coz. And in the company of the beauteous Miss Fanshawe.”
The hint of slyness in his tone made their departure sound sordid. Frowning at him, Hadrian recalled when his cousin had stumbled drunkenly into the library to find him with Natalie. Wymark had sworn never to speak of the incident. If the damned pup dared to sully her name …
Natalie fixed Wymark with a cool stare. “Leo left with us, too. Your nephew—remember him?”
There was a moment of charged silence in which Wymark scowled, his mother pinched her lips, and his father’s face turned stony.
Then Sir Basil harrumphed. “Beauteous, eh?” he bluntly asked Wymark. “My granddaughter is indeed a rare beauty, but you’re a mite wet behind the ears to come sniffing at her heels.”
Lady Godwin bristled. “I beg your pardon! My son could never have the slightest interest in a penniless woman of dubious ancestry, especially one who is firmly on the shelf.”
“She’s no more on the shelf than your fresh little peach of a daughter.” With a cagey smile, Sir Basil looked at the duchess. “Shall we tell them your plan, Millie? The one we were discussing before these callers interrupted us.”
Her face lit up with such delight that Hadrian had a stoical expectation of this plan costing him a great deal of money. “Go on,” he said.
Her candid blue eyes met his. “Darling, I’ve had the most marvelous notion. I wish to host a grand ball to introduce Natalie to society.”
Lady Godwin huffed out a breath, while Lady Ellen clapped her hands. “Oh, famous! Will we be invited?”
“Hush,” her mother chided. “I’m sure His Grace will have something to say about such an unsuitable scheme!”
All eyes turned to Hadrian. He suspected this had been Sir Basil’s ploy, judging by the man’s reputation as a wily rascal. It would benefit him to have his granddaughter accepted by society, opening doors that had been closed to him for thirty years. But it was Natalie’s reaction that interested Hadrian the most. She flashed a beseeching look at him, clearly opposing the idea, while being reluctant to disappoint his mother and her grandfather.
Hadrian had a sudden keen desire to partner her in a waltz, to hold her close as they whirled around the dance floor, to see her eyes sparkle in the golden glow of a thousand candles. He had a strong hunch she’d enjoy it, too. “There hasn’t been a ball at Clayton House in years,” he said. “A brilliant notion, Mama. Would a fortnight give you ample time in which to prepare?”
“That will be perfect! Oh, it shall be the event of the season. I’ll begin the guest list at once. Perhaps, Natalie, you will be so kind as to help me write out the invitations?”
“Of course.”
Despite her tranquil reply, Natalie aimed an accusatory glare at Hadrian. He smiled, lifting his shoulders slightly to convey that there was no stopping his mother once she took an idea into her head.
Lady Godwin rose to her feet. “Well! Since you insist on pursuing this mad scheme, Duchess, we shall leave you to your preparations.”
Lady Ellen and Wymark spoke their good-byes, but Godwin addressed his wife. “I need a word with Hadrian. Take the carriage and I’ll walk home.”
“But we were to visit the Norwoods—”
“Do as I say, Priscilla.”
At his stern look, she nodded stiffly and sailed out of the salon with her children. Then Hadrian found himself the focus of that gimlet stare.
“Is there a place where we might speak in private, Clayton?”
“Of course.”
Hadrian cast one last glance at the graceful sway of Natalie’s hips as she went to the writing desk to fetch paper and pen for his mother’s guest list. Then he led the way downstairs. The earl said nothing, not even a pleasantry. His manner radiated a disapproval that reminded Hadrian of his boyhood, being summoned to face Godwin’s wrath over some minor transgression.
But he was no longer a child, longing for his guardian’s approval. Now he would be the one sitting behind the desk.
Reaching his study, he waved Godwin into a leather chair and went to the cabinet to pour two brandies, handing one glass to the earl. The years had cut deep lines into the man’s harsh features and reduced his gold hair to a thinning straw color. His grumpy expression reflected the fact that he also was growing more bitter with age.
Godwin took a sip before speaking. “I’m surprised you’d allow your mother to associate with that infamous old rogue.”
Hadrian had his qualms about Sir Basil. But if he ever hoped to win Natalie, he could hardly banish her grandfather. Taking his seat, he said, “The duchess is perfectly capable of choosing her own companions.”
“Mark my words, he’s after her wealth. He was a trickster thirty years ago, and old habits die hard.”
“The danger is slight. You know as well as I that the bulk of her fortune is under my control.” Hadrian took a drink, relishing the burn of brandy down his throat. “Now, I doubt you’re here to discuss the duchess. If you’re angry about my abrupt departure from Oak Knoll, you’ve only yourself to blame.”
Godwin narrowed his cold blue eyes. “I had business with my solicitor this morning. Musgrave reported hearing a rumor that the Duke of Clayton has filed a petition with the court seeking guardianship of an orphan boy.”
Ah, so that was what had raised the man’s dander. “It’s no rumor,” he said coolly. “Since you refuse to acknowledge Leo Bellingham as your grandson, I’ve taken it upon myself to assume responsibility for him.”
“I never said I wouldn’t accept him eventually, presuming his papers are properly verified. But there was no need for such swift action on your part. If his connection to me is revealed too soon, my family will be subjected to vile gossip. People will wonder that I didn’t take him in myself.”
Hadrian clenched his jaw. Was that all that mattered to the man, his reputation and not the boy’s welfare? “People need know only that Leo is a distant cousin of mine. More than a decade has passed since Audrey eloped to America with her missionary. It’s doubtful anyone will associate the name Bellingham with you.”
Godwi
n looked far from satisfied. “If you insist upon going through with this folly, it is your duty to take the precaution of betrothing yourself to my daughter. At least then there might be justification for your custody. We could say that the two of you wish to raise the boy as your own.”
Duty. How many times had duty been drummed into his head as a child? Godwin had taught him to be a confident, steadfast man with a strong sense of responsibility as befitting his rank. Until a few weeks ago, he’d had no qualms with that. He’d even been ready to court Lady Ellen in order to fulfill a long-ago vow made between his father and Godwin. But now Hadrian rejected being caged in by such a false obligation. He would not marry to please anyone but himself—and the woman of his choice.
If, that is, Natalie would even have him.
“We’ve already discussed this matter,” he said tersely. “Lady Ellen has shown no interest in my courtship. And since leaving Oak Knoll, I’ve decided she is not the wife for me.”
Godwin jerked up his chin as if he’d been struck. “It’s that American woman, isn’t it? Miss Fanshawe has bewitched you. Based on a pretty face, you’ve taken her and the boy into your house when those papers may be false.”
“Unlike you, I made sure to learn her character. That’s why I don’t need additional proof. I judge Miss Fanshawe’s word to be true.”
“For pity’s sake, you’ve known her less than a month. She has appalling family connections, a baseborn father, and a disgraced grandfather. You should know better than to host a ball for such a common female. It will tarnish the dignity of your rank!”
A bolt of fury flashed through Hadrian. He gripped the arms of his chair to keep from lunging across the desk and throttling the earl. Springing to his feet, he towered over the man. “Enough! I will not tolerate your insults toward her. Is that clear?”
Godwin stared up at him, an awareness that he’d gone too far dawning on his taut features. Then he arose to give Hadrian a jerky nod. “Forgive me if I spoke too harshly. Nevertheless, I cannot approve of this. I pray that you may yet come to your senses.”
His shoulders squared, the earl turned and walked out the door.
Hadrian stood fuming over the man’s unconscionable coldness toward Natalie and Leo. Was this what his mother had endured in her dealings with Godwin? This scorn for her common birth? This self-righteous arrogance?
He only wished he’d recognized before now the full extent of the man’s rigid pomposity. Perhaps Comstock was right; under the earl’s tutelage, Hadrian had become a stuffy stick-in-the mud. He had been bred to a life of privilege and power, raised to believe in his own superiority, but now he needed to break free of those chains. He must do so, or in time, he would become as bitter and snooty as Godwin.
Hadrian prowled to the window, pushing back the blue draperies and peering out at the sunlit garden. Usually, the neat pathways and greening trees had a calming effect. But today his mind was too preoccupied with sorting through the shifting chaos of his thoughts. Foremost was his powerful reaction to hearing Natalie disparaged as a temptress. She’s bewitched you.
Bewitched. That was as good a term as any for this fascination he had for a woman who didn’t fit the conventional standard of a duchess. Never in his life had he felt so tied in knots. Yet he suffered no regrets about it, either.
Because of her, he had opened his mind to change. Happiness was an aspect he’d never considered essential to a marriage until meeting Natalie. Now, he craved her spirit and wit and vivacity. Yet it remained damnably uncertain if he could win her heart. How could he ever convince her to give up her freedom, her dream of opening a school, even the very country of her birth?
Perhaps it was time to reveal the truth to her. To put his hopes for their future out into the open.
* * *
Despite the chilly air of early evening, Richard, Viscount Wymark, felt the trickle of sweat down the back of his neck. The thought of what he’d just done made him feel weak, almost faint.
He sagged against the door frame, sucking in shallow breaths that were tainted by the stink of rubbish. This narrow, filthy street lined by rackety brick buildings made his skin crawl. He’d despised having to come here, but he’d had no choice.
Damn his miserly father for refusing to settle those gaming debts. Godwin had coldly commanded Richard to make arrangements to repay them from his measly quarterly allowance. He also had strictly forbidden the countess to slip her son any funds, as she was wont to do. Richard didn’t dare beg his friends for yet another extension. He’d already been warned that he’d be cut from their exclusive clique and barred from the best gaming hells if he didn’t hand over their winnings at once.
His life would be reduced to an endless parade of dull society events, dancing with virtuous debutantes and playing whist for pennies with prune-faced old ladies. He might as well put a period to his existence. Even now, his fingers itched for the roll of the dice. It was a sickness in him, one he could not cure no matter how hard he’d tried.
The weight of gold from the moneylender made his coat pockets sag. He’d hated taking the two sacks from those greasy fingers, had quivered like a blancmange at being warned of violent retribution if he failed to repay the loan—plus a hefty interest—within a fortnight. Somehow he had to come up with five thousand pounds by the end of two weeks.
It might as well be five million.
A hazy thought took shape in his head. It had lurked like a dark shadow at the edge of his mind ever since he’d visited Clayton House the previous afternoon. The sinister plan involved his nephew. Audrey’s son.
Mama had admitted to him that Leo was likely the earl’s grandson and must eventually be given an inheritance. It was enormously unfair since Audrey had cut herself off from the family by eloping to America with that missionary. Richard had few fond memories of his pious half sister. Ten years his elder, she’d been forever with her nose in a prayer book. Who’d have ever thought her whelp would be Richard’s key to collecting five thousand pounds?
If, that is, he dared to put the scheme into motion.
His gut churned. If Clayton got wind of the plan, he’d be more fearsome to face than the moneylender. Only look at how he had nearly throttled Richard for insulting Miss Fanshawe. As much as Richard loathed his cousin, he didn’t relish another confrontation.
He desperately needed an accomplice. But who?
Then inspiration struck. He knew just the ruffian to handle the dirty work. Recently, he’d spotted the fellow lurking at the racetrack in Newmarket.
Bert, his former groom.
Heading toward his carriage, Richard smiled for the first time in days. How perfect. Clayton had dismissed the groom for trying to kiss Miss Fanshawe. Hiring Bert for this job would be a way for Richard to thumb his nose at the duke.
And to take revenge by confiscating a tidy chunk of his wealth.
Chapter 22
As Wymark was laying his plans across town, Leo went missing again.
Natalie had spent most of the day in the duchess’s suite, writing out invitations while Hadrian’s mother and sister enthusiastically discussed all the details for the ball. It was dusk before she finally headed up to the nursery. There, she found the two maids in a dither, Mrs. Tippet wringing her hands and Flora with tears in her blue eyes.
The girl ran straight to Natalie. “Oh, miss! Master Leo has vanished!”
Natalie’s heart lurched. “When? What happened?”
“’Twas just a few minutes ago. He was playing with his mail coach when I went down to the kitchen to see about his hot cocoa. The footman never brung it, you see, and Tippy said maybe there was something wrong with the bell rope. But I wasn’t gone long!”
“’Tis my fault,” Mrs. Tippet admitted, shame-faced. “I dozed off over my mending. Still, I don’t know how I didn’t hear the child leave!”
Natalie knew from experience how quiet he could be. In the last rosy rays of sunset, she saw the abandoned coach with its tiny horses on the floor. The pot
of cocoa and a cup sat on one of the small tables, while a cheery blaze burned in the hearth. She felt a twist of alarm, for there was no telling where the inquisitive boy might have gone.
“I presume you’ve checked every nook and cranny here in the nursery?”
Flora vigorously nodded her head. “Even under the beds, miss! And in the cupboards, too. My littlest brother likes to hide in cubbyholes.”
Taking a calming breath, Natalie organized her thoughts. “Flora, go to the stables to see if he might have slipped out to visit his new pony. Tippy, please search the other rooms on this floor and then stay nearby in case he returns. As for myself, I shall go down and check the bedchambers. It’s possible he went looking for me and became lost.”
“It’s growing dark, so best to take a lamp,” Tippy said, her brown eyes worried in her careworn face. “Oh, I do hope our sweet boy isn’t frightened!”
Natalie thought him too inquisitive to be easily frightened. He had to be close, for he liked living at Clayton House and wouldn’t have run away.
Accepting the glass-enclosed candle, she hastened out the door and headed for the stairs. If only she hadn’t been delayed, this would never have happened. She should have been in the nursery with Leo at this hour. Blast that fancy ball and those endless invitations!
Having come straight from the duchess’s suite in the other wing of the house, she had taken a different staircase and so wouldn’t have passed Leo on the one closest to her bedchamber. She went down to her room first and found Hetty turning back the bedcovers. But the maid hadn’t seen him and promised to march him straight up to the nursery should he appear.
Going back out into the shadowy corridor with its ornate moldings and landscape paintings, Natalie eyed the many closed doors on either side. She would take a peek into every bedroom. Starting with the one opposite her own, she knocked first before entering, holding up her lamp. The furniture appeared ghostly, draped in dust covers, and although the room looked too gloomy to interest a little boy, she called out, “Leo! Are you in here?”
