“I just need time to get my thoughts in order. I can’t explain it, Louise. Tonight I view my life as a dismal failure. These matters disturb my peace, and I need to resolve them. If I don’t, I shall be an abysmal disappointment as a man, a member of Parliament, and the leader of my family.” And as a lover?
“Raven, you could never fail at anything. Don’t you know that by now? You are a master of men. I know no other who is so kind, considerate and powerful. Won’t you tell me what has happened?” Her peignoir parted to expose ample breasts. However, his gaze and mind remained elsewhere, and the abundant display went unappreciated.
“This master of men is out of sorts, my dear. I feel like a pauper. Forgive me. I need to leave.” He removed himself from her arms and the sofa in an abrupt manner.
“As you wish, my love.” Louise leaned back into the cushions and didn’t get up to see him out as she used to do. “Until we meet again,” she whispered and threw him a kiss. Then she asked, “We will meet again, won’t we, Your Grace?”
Annoyed, he assured her of the momentary lapse on his part. Even that became an admission. He remembered that phrase echoed by a woman in a carriage. Samantha had said Until we meet again. Damnation.
Guilt overcame him. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the jewelers. I’ll purchase something that could complement your birthday present. Let me surprise you, Louise. I’ll pick you up and take you there.” He remembered the appointment with Winston. “My servant will send word when I’ll come to collect you.” Raven gave her a perfunctory kiss on the forehead and retrieved his things from the hall table.
Why hadn’t he ever considered marriage to Louise? True, she made no formal demands and appeared to be content with the situation, but why did she not want more from him? Why did he not want more from her? Crystal clear now, she fulfilled his physical needs, but not his intellectual ones. All this talk about mistresses, age, truth, honor, and the like with Samantha, while an annoyance, caused him to become introspective. What did he want out of his life? He still had many good years ahead of him and no longer wanted to just survive. The thing he now knew is that he didn’t want what he now had. The realization became an apocalyptic revelation!
Chapter Nine
Winston House, London, 1816
Breakfast, by tradition, was an unencumbered event. Today, however, Samantha admired the sideboard buffet of sausages, ham, beef, kippers, and eggs, as well as fruits, puddings, preserves, and nuts.
Her brother paced the dining room awaiting the duke’s promised visit. The abundant breakfast was more of a celebration in case the duke arrived earlier than planned. Samantha and her aunt partook of the bountiful feast.
“Good gracious, Brandon, this is sumptuous. Is this an event? Thank you.” Lady Minerva placed extra sausages on her plate.
“My dearest aunt,” he said, “I enjoy your appreciation of our humble fare.”
“Poppycock,” she stated. “It’s not modest. I never appreciated false humility. It’s not for people my age.” She turned the conversation around. “Is the duke to visit this morning?”
He goaded her. “What duke?”
“You know well what man I mean, or shall I venture to say that Samantha and I will be unavailable today?”
His tone filled with humor. “Aunt, don’t threaten.”
“It’s not a threat, dear boy.” Her smile was soft and gracious.
Samantha enjoyed their banter as usual, but now it held special meaning because it was about the duke. She experienced joy—pure and simple—and different. Almost as if life held escapades for her. Now that was a pleasant delight. Excitement spiraled not only through her thoughts, but a delicious anticipation tempted her mind. What titillation poured through her veins igniting the lower part of her body? What was it, and what could she do about the uncomfortable but marvelous sensation? She looked forward with interest to Raven’s arrival. Would he ask for her? It occurred to her to change her dress into something that would enhance her body and hopefully please him. Oh, my, what were her inclinations? A delicious thrill crept through her again. She could hardly count the moments until she saw him, but she wouldn’t mention it to the family. This was her private secret, for her mind and heart only. Sweet heaven.
“In that case, Aunt, he is expected at ten o’clock.” He looked to Samantha. “Sister, you will present yourself with respect?”
“What? Oh, yes, brother, I will become a model of decorum.” She gave him one of her brightest smiles. “It will be a chore so I’ll have to think of a suitable recompense.”
“How about if I agree not to wring your neck.”
Samantha glared at him. He’d pulled his blond hair back into a queue that morning.
“Brother, I like the way you wear your hair. I have never liked you in powder. I’m sure there are ladies who envy your blonde locks. This style enhances your blue eyes.”
He smiled. “I’ve decided to emulate Ravensmere’s hairstyle. He’s quite an arbiter of fashion, you know.” He sipped his hot coffee.
She asked, “Brandon, dear, a favor to your favorite and only sister. Do you think I could invest in your business venture?”
He dropped his fork and it clattered on the china plate. “Why would you want to do that?”
Surprised at his reaction, she hesitated to engage his eyes; she spooned clotted cream on her bread and smothered it with fresh berry preserves giving the food undue attention. “For the same reasons you do. So I can make a profit. Then I wouldn’t have to beg money for my Foundation and have strangers bid on me.”
“Sister, don’t speak that way. It sounds shameful. You will present a picnic lunch and your personal charm for an hour or two. I will be there in full view. Aunt Minerva will be there. The Reverend is the moderator. Proprieties are observed. If not, I will have to duel with someone.” He laughed. “I’m not sure if I would survive a duel, so take care with my life. I have gotten used to it, and I look forward to the future with a suitable wife and family.”
“Promise me, brother, you’ll at least ask His Grace.”
“I will ask if the opportunity presents itself. Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve heard the situation could be dangerous.”
There was that word the duke had used to dissuade her. How much danger could there be in her signing a voucher for the funds? What else did they expect of investors? It occurred to her she never asked that question because she dismissed the entire premise of risk.
“Oh, posh, that’s to impress you. I will just have to ask the duke myself.” She paused then added, “Again.” The last word did not fall on deaf ears.
“Again? Might I assume he said no then?” Winston’s voice firmed. “I forbid you. You’ve done quite enough. You can’t make me look like my family is out of control.”
“Brother, I don’t take to commands well. You ought to know that.”
“And you, sister, ought to know I’m firm in this regard.”
Lady Minerva interjected. “Both of you are to stop this pettiness. Enough talk about investments and commands.” Lady Minerva addressed Winston. “Remember you’re not to bid on Samantha’s picnic lunch. She will become a victim of malicious gossip from the ton if you do. Should the situation get out of hand, arrange for one of your fine friends to bid on her lunch, and then reimburse the cost. In no event are you to embarrass her in public.”
Samantha sat in her chair, back upright, ready to leave the table. “Oh, no, Aunt, I can’t believe you would countenance such subterfuge.”
“Yes, I would do so. No one will know unless you talk about the issue. Now may we have a continuation of our breakfast without irritation? And, Samantha?”
“Yes, Aunt?”
“Finish your tea. We’ll both retire to the garden and enjoy the peace while we smell the roses,” she said with an imperial wave of her hand.
Samantha couldn’t care less about the scent of flowers. All this fuss about Raven’s arrival soon became an annoyance. She did wonder about his mood. Would he be proper
and serious? Or perhaps flirtatious and suggestive? She’d like the latter because she did enjoy their battle of wits, as he did. As long as she kept to words with double meanings.
****
The duke arrived at Winston House at the appointed time. The majordomo received his accessories and portfolio. Samantha left the library, tripped over the edge of the Persian rug, lost her balance, and fell into him in the foyer.
A titian-haired dervish suddenly stumbled in front of him. He caught her arm as she clung to his chest. He steadied her, and in such close contact could not help but notice the lushness of her lips, her crimson cheeks, and her tremendous green eyes. Ever in control, he displayed no emotion, but his heart skipped a staccato beat.
“Lady Samantha, are you all right?” Raven held her upright. Was that a jolt of excitement he just experienced?
“Sorry, Your Grace, I should’ve been more careful.”
Raven continued to balance her. She glanced up at him with those wide, piercing eyes and he was lost in them. He found he more than enjoyed having this woman ensconced in his embrace. Did she have the same reaction? If so, could they be twin souls in search of, dare he say, a romantic encounter?
“I’m quite steady now. You may unhand me. I seem to ask that of you, don’t I?” She gave him a teasing smile.
“We seem to do so often. Perhaps it has become a habit?” He longed to devour her luscious body bit by bit—all over. Raven stepped back, yet continued to hold her gaze. He wanted to be sure she wouldn’t fall again, and was prepared for another pleasurable rescue. “Raven, my lady…you agreed to call me such.”
“Yes, I did. Shall we start anew after my clumsy welcome?” She tilted her head to him. “I hoped not to interrupt your important meeting. My aunt expects me in the garden. I’ll proceed there now. We look forward to delightful sunshine.” She wetted her bottom lip with the tip of her tongue.
He said, “And other pleasantries, I’m sure,” yet his voice suggested otherwise. There were many things he’d like to do with those moist lips of hers. They were such an enticement and allure. He’d like to view them again, lust-swollen from his many kisses after he’d driven her to ultimate distraction. Damnation, the ache in his loins screamed at him. Control, he cautioned. There’ll be time later. This is not the end, but the beginning, my vixen.
The playfulness in her voice enchanted. “Perhaps you would like to join us there afterward and smell the roses? They’re in bloom and ever so fragrant.”
Oh, her voice challenged in an unabashed way suggesting much, but offering little regarding intimacy.
“Thank you. I look forward to chatting with your aunt again.”
“Really? What about me, Raven?” Samantha gave him an evocative glance which he interpreted as a statement she didn’t believe him. How he loved the games they played. She turned and swayed to the back of the house, to the conservatory. Her hips accentuated her walk. It was enough to make a man voracious, but not for food.
The majordomo returned and invited Raven to follow him to the salon.
“Your Grace, it’s good to see you again.” Winston rose and smiled.
Raven admired the fine quality English and French furniture arrayed in a classic combination of both styles. The damask fabric of a weave-on-weave stripe in a golden color blended well with the ochre walls and heavy drapes. It lent a cheery brightness to the room. The limited sunshine beamed through the French doors, which let in the crisp air.
“Good morning. It’s a fine day, isn’t it?” Raven greeted Winston.
“Your Grace—”
“Call me Raven. It’s my preference amongst close acquaintances. In public, I’d prefer the salutation Ravensmere. I’m sure you understand these honorifics.”
Winston beamed at the words. “Thank you, Raven. If you prefer, we can meet in my study away from the busy household activities.”
Raven nodded. The portfolio he retrieved from the foyer table was tucked under his arm. He followed to an oak-paneled room where the earl’s massive desk commanded his attention.
“The escritoire has been handed down through the family?” he asked in admiration of the fine inlaid carpentry.
“Yes, the Second Earl of Medford commissioned it for this room upon refurbishment after the fire. I’m quite fond of it.”
“As well you should be, Winston. I like antiquity. It gives a sense of proportion to our positions, I believe. The history of who we are, and who we want to be, is of consequence and does signify.” His hand skimmed the parquetry of the wood. “I wonder if this piece of furniture could talk what secrets it would divulge?”
“I’m not sure I want to know, Raven.” Winston offered a glass of Madeira. He nodded, and then sipped from the crystal goblet.
“I know your time is limited, and you are anxious to hear about the cartel. The investors are prominent nobility and rather than bore with details…” He placed the portfolio in front of Winston and withdrew a heavy folder. “You will be able to access this research.”
Winston appeared to hold his breath.
“This is for you to read. May I suggest you note in the margins any questions you may have, and I will be happy to oblige with an answer. This compendium is the same information given to all investors.”
Winston grasped the file with reverence, yet didn’t open it.
“While it is but a formality between us, the confidentiality of the contents forces me to ask for your assurances.”
Winston said, “Upon my honor.”
Raven looked into his eyes. “I would also ask that you keep the information under lock and key. After you have read the contents, you’ll understand this is an alliance of like-minded political men formed to control products, competition, and prices.” He leaned back into the oversized leather chair and placed one booted leg over the other. “Our chief competitor is the Great Gas Light & Coke Company in London. They formed in 1812 and had no competition.”
Conscious that the name meant nothing to the younger man, he took the time to explain. “Coke is a byproduct of coal and helps produce the gas used in gas lights. Our holding company for this venture will be a competitive gaslight and coke company, which we have named Great Britain Gas-Light & Coke Company. In short, Winston, we aim to become a significant competitor to the current Gaslight and Coke Company, but we do not wish to destroy them. Currently, they are a monopoly, and our entrance into the foray will help keep prices competitive, and add to the customer base.” He engaged Winston’s eyes. “It presents a degree of danger to all.”
Winston looked at him in surprise. He cleared his throat. “You’ve mentioned danger before.”
“Yes, there is always that factor.” He paused, looked away, and then back to Winston. “Also, the cartel will provide employment for men who’ve returned from the war, both in England and abroad—locations of our other holdings.”
“They are indeed lofty goals,” said Winston.
“This is serious business. I’ll understand if you wish to withdraw. These are critical times for us.” He raised his hand to his temple and used two fingers to rub circles to ease a headache, a signature gesture of his. “And what does the ton do? It continues its frivolities and ridiculous social mores.”
Raven smiled at Winston. “I do believe that in that last statement, I echoed your sister’s sentiments. Will wonders never cease?” He laughed, his mind briefly occupied with the irreverent Samantha.
“Raven, what is the investment amount?” Winston sat upright in his chair.
“It’s listed in the compendium as £50,000 sterling.”
Winston answered with a slight frown.
“Will that present a problem?”
“It’s a large sum of money, but not an impossible amount.”
Raven rose and walked toward the open Palladium window. “How do you propose to handle your sister, Winston? Samantha has indicated she’d like to invest in this venture and refused to take no for an answer. I believe you can understand other members of the int
ernational cartel would object to a female investor.” Raven gave a hearty laugh. “I know she will not understand the reasons, but even she can’t coerce them into the agreement. My hands are bound here. In all honesty, I would fear for her welfare.”
“I do comprehend the reasons and certainly would not want any harm to come to Samantha.” Winston’s brow creased, his expression changed.
Raven couldn’t see the garden from the window, but he heard female voices. “As outspoken as the lady is, you’d be wise to keep your counsel, but should you choose to involve her, I don’t want to know the details.”
“I agree, Raven. Samantha will be my responsibility, but I don’t favor deception. I’d do nothing that would cause her life to be in jeopardy.”
“I haven’t suggested you deceive. I have stated your sister is your challenge.” Raven paused for a moment. “Our women are to be protected at all costs—in particular, one as independent as your sister. While a simple political reality, I’d like to assure she stayed alive and well.” He gave a crafty smile. “In which regard, I ran into your sister in the foyer. Are the ladies still in residence? I should much like to extend my respects.” He smiled in anticipation of the duel of words he knew would ensue. In fact, he looked forward to the prospect and said so to the younger man.
“The conservatory is in the rear of the house. I’m sure we’ll find them there. I know they would be glad to see you again, Raven.”
“You’re sure of that, Winston?” His smile was unreadable, as usual, a trait he honed over the years. It always baffled his friends, and his enemies. The habit died hard.
“I have a confession, Raven. I know my aunt will be happy. Sometimes I don’t know what Samantha thinks. She is her own woman.”
“The last statement is true. Perhaps that is what fascinates me.”
The duke rose from the winged chair. Raven smiled at Winston’s arched brow reminder.
“Would you care to make a small wager?” Winston asked, his merriment obvious.
Raven grinned.
One Night with a Duke Page 7
