The Perfect Duchess

by Jen YatesNZ

  The carriage stopped. It was time to alight and meet his betrothed—and his erection was pressing painfully against the constriction of his evening trousers. Where now his vaunted self-control?

  Grabbing up the box containing the carefully selected corsage for Sheri, he tried to ease the pressure in his pants, but had to give up as his footman opened the door for him. He could only hope the night air would cool his ardor as he climbed the steps to the door of the house.

  Lomas took his hat and gloves and ushered him into the morning room with the promise he’d inform their Ladyships of his arrival. Augusta was the first to enter, resplendent in striped lavender and white silk and diamonds.

  ‘Aunt Gussy, you look magnificent,’ he declared, lifting her fingers to his lips with his best rakish grin.

  ‘La, Dominic—’, she began, but her response ceased to register as Sheri entered the room.

  ‘Good evening, Your Grace.’

  Dom straightened, startled by the husky undertones in her voice that acted like a trigger to his arousal. Was she as affected by his presence as he was by hers?

  Affected? God damn, she slayed him where he stood! How had he never realized? For it was pointless trying to convince himself she’d become magically more alluring in the last six weeks. The number of men who’d been politely hinted away before their courtships could even begin were testimony to that.

  Gowned in pale gold silk with a gauzy silver overskirt edged with the Greek key pattern in gold thread, the style was as simply elegant as her trademark, swept back chignon. As usual the neckline allowed not a hint of cleavage but the gold under-gown clearly outlined her willowy form beneath the silvery gauze. Somehow it was more alluring than a blatant display of plump breasts or the body form visible through dampened muslin, as some of the more daring ladies liked to wear.

  And if he didn’t open his mouth and speak immediately she was going to know she’d struck him speechless, might even think his heart engaged. He had no intention of letting that organ out of his control ever again.

  Crossing the room, he bent low and touched his lips to her gloved fingertips.

  ‘Lady Sherida, I’m glad I didn’t leave you to attend Carlton House without me at your side. I’d hate to have to call Prinny out!’

  She smiled and the shadows left her eyes.

  ‘The Prince is not enamored of icebergs,’ she said. ‘I’m careful to be at my frigid best when he’s anywhere around.’

  ‘Wise as well as exquisitely beautiful,’ he murmured, still holding her hand; in truth unable to relinquish it. ‘It’s perhaps fortunate His Majesty prefers a little less modesty also.’

  The warmth left her eyes, which were suddenly every bit as icy as anyone had ever said they were, and she firmly withdrew her hand. Her cheeks had paled rather than flushing and he was struck by the notion bedding his virgin bride might well present the greatest challenge of his rakish career. Before she had a chance to freeze up completely, he presented her with the small, ribbon-bound box.

  ‘I had this sent from the succession houses at Wolverton. It’s your perfume, I think.’

  He was gratified to note a hint of color steal back along her cheekbones and a slight warmth return to her eyes as she pulled the ribbon undone and lifted the lid to reveal a delicate corsage composed of one perfect creamy gardenia and three tiny matching rosebuds tied with a snippet of cream lace.

  As Sheri lifted the small posy from the box Augusta spoke.

  ‘Oh Sher! That would look perfect in your hair. Ring for Maggie to fix it for you.’

  ‘I should go up,’ Sheri murmured.

  ‘It would be easier for your maid to come down,’ Dom said, then lowered his voice so Augusta couldn’t hear. ‘In a few more days I’ll have right of entry to your chambers. T’is not scandalous I should be present for the simple pinning of my gift in your hair.’

  Her lashes flew up and the heat blazing in the depths of her eyes seared to his boots.

  ‘I hope you’re as impatient for those days to pass as I am,’ he added. ‘Ring for Maggie before I embarrass us both before your mother.’

  Dom crossed back to Augusta, determined to regain his usual aloof ducal demeanor, a facade he’d worked hard at perfecting since inheriting the title. No woman, not even Jassie, had managed to pierce that armor. Yet Lady Sherida Dearing had done it with just a look. His voice had been raw and rasping with desire and he’d been in danger of forgetting where they were and her mother sitting across the room.

  ‘Is everything in order at Wolverton?’ that mother now asked.

  Dom rested an elbow on the mantelpiece near Augusta’s chair and struggled to drag his attention from his betrothed as she came to stand at Augusta’s other side. What was the question? Aye—Wolverton.

  ‘I plan to go there on the morrow and if everything is not arranged as ordered, heads will roll!’ He managed a grin to soften the comment. ‘I made a brief foray there to issue orders before travelling north to further my investigation into the whereabouts of Sylvaine Walsingham.’

  ‘Oh!’ was Augusta’s only response and he was reminded of her startled reaction when he’d first mentioned his mission to her.

  ‘What’s taking Maggie so long?’ she demanded waspishly, Dom’s doings apparently forgotten. Which they were as the maid knocked and entered.

  Briskly pulling out a chair from the small davenport between the windows she bade Sheri sit sideways on it with her back to Dom and Augusta. Standing a little to the side the maid placed the spray above the chignon and then to the side.

  ‘What do you think, my Lady?’

  Dom was glad she hadn’t addressed him for his tongue had stuck to the roof of his mouth and he couldn’t have spoken if his entire fortune depended on it. If the front of Sheri’s gown was modest—as it always was—the back wasn’t. From wide on her shoulders it dipped in a deep vee to just below the curve of her waist, the whole held in place by three narrow, interlaced strips of the same gold braiding edging the overskirt. She was not wearing a corset or even a chemise. He was deeply thankful all attention was on her and the placement of the corsage so he could work at getting his unruly body back under his usual iron control, unobserved.

  It wasn’t difficult to work out why his rigid self-governance had slipped.

  Sitting with her head tilted slightly forward and with the creamy expanse of her back exposed, she could have been the model for the trio of subtly erotic paintings he’d found in Ralph Puttick’s gallery on Bond Street, which told the story of a young woman’s awakening to her sensuality. Only the model’s back was exposed, a little more in each picture and the erotica was all in the angles and shadows of the delicately feminine body, the tilt of her head. The pieces were cleverly suggestive, the allure all in what had not been portrayed rather than in what had.

  Though he knew without a doubt Sheri could not have been the model for those paintings, something about the curve of her neck and shoulder, the angle of her head, tripped the same responses that had drawn him to the works in the first place, the responses that had caused him to request Puttick to beg the artist to complete the story with three more paintings.

  Having a moment to spare while visiting his tailor in Bond Street this morning, he’d called on Mr. Puttick and was delighted when the man had assured him he expected to have another for him very soon.

  ‘What do you think, Dominic?’ Augusta interrupted his thoughts and he realized he’d been staring at Sheri as if he’d lost his mind.

  Damn if he wasn’t afraid that could be true!

  ‘Perfection,’ he said briskly. ‘I’m not sure about the dress however, Sher!’

  He couldn’t seem to stop himself from imagining other men thinking what he was thinking when they watched her walk away from them. God’s blood, he’d never had a jealous disposition!

  ‘You—don’t like it?’ she asked, her gaze blandly innocent.

  There was that unusual husky tone to her voice again, which belied any tendency to innocenc
e, and he devoutly wished they were alone so he could respond as instinct demanded.

  ‘Mmm,’ he said instead. ‘A little too much!’

  Color flared in her cheeks and her lashes swept down hiding her eyes—her thoughts—from him. Again he was reminded of the paintings, specifically the third one entitled ‘Awareness’. She appeared to be the epitome of cool innocence when in fact, she was adept at masking the sensual woman within.

  ‘It will probably be extremely modest for the Regent’s Ball.’

  He could only agree.

  ‘Let us be away then,’ he said, offering his hand and assisting her to her feet.

  ‘Thank you for the flowers,’ she said. ‘It was a lovely thought.’

  The tense tremor in her fingers where they lay along his arm belied the cool, even tenor of her voice. He briefly touched his other hand to hers in acknowledgement then offered it to Augusta.

  ‘Are you ready, Aunt Gussy?’

  She smiled brightly up at him and rose to accept his free arm.

  Chapter 8

  Carlton House was an ostentatious blaze of light and overstated elegance, indecently embellished by the opulence and splendor of the guests. There were satins, silks and exquisite laces in every hue imaginable and at every turn one was blinded by the dazzle of diamonds and other precious jewels. Sheri felt underdressed, even wearing the exquisitely delicate diamonds Dom had given her as a betrothal gift.

  ‘Lady Sherida!’ the Prince Regent greeted her. ‘That gown is absolutely inspired on you!’

  ‘Thank you, Your Majesty,’ Sheri murmured, dipping into a low curtsey.

  ‘Very inspired!’ he added with a wolfish smile as she came upright. ‘Will you save me the first waltz, my Lady?’

  ‘The first—and every waltz—is mine, your Majesty,’ Dom said, his voice sterner than usual.

  ‘Wolverton, you dog!’ the Prince laughed and clapped him on the back. ‘You won’t let your fiancée waltz with me?’

  ‘Nor anyone else,’ Dom confirmed.

  ‘The Tabbies will not like that!’ the Prince noted with a sly wink at Sheri.

  She lowered her lashes. The Regent was baiting Dom, but a sideways glance at her fiancé showed him gazing out across the already crowded ballroom with a challenging glint in his eyes.

  ‘Just send them to me, Your Majesty, if they dare complain to you. Perhaps the quadrille?’

  ‘You don’t trust me, Your Grace?’

  ‘No, your Majesty, I don’t,’ Dom said bluntly.

  Sheri sighed. It was as well he and the Prince knew each other well. Surely Dom wasn’t going to be one of those jealous, controlling husbands who hovered! She needed to show him now she’d not stand for it.

  ‘Your Majesty,’ she said, ‘I should very much like to dance the first waltz with my fiancé but if you would agree to partner me for the second I would be honored.’

  The Prince’s hooded gaze slid from Sheri to Dom, amusement causing his considerable paunch to dance.

  ‘Thank you, Lady Sherida,’ he said, bowing elaborately over her hand. ‘You will make the perfect Duchess for the Wolf, I believe.’

  Dom led her along the edge of the ballroom and stopped where they were partially hidden from the throng by a column flanked by two of the largest potted palms Sheri had ever seen. Although the casual observer might not have noticed a change in his appearance, she was aware of a tautness in the arm at her back and a whitening of the scar down his cheek. She could not let the moment pass if she was not to find herself relegated to the matron’s corner once they were married and forbidden to dance unless Dom was in the mood to indulge her.

  There was rarely any middle road in ton marriages, she’d noted. The wife was either dominated and jealously guarded, or completely ignored and left to her own devices. Sheri cared for neither way. While she’d long dreamed of marriage to Dominic Beresford, she had no intention of acting the besotted ninny.

  ‘Dominic,’ she said, looking up and engaging his stormy green gaze. ‘I’ve been managing my dance card and my partners for several years now. I don’t anticipate any difficulty with the Prince—indeed, have never encountered any before.’

  ‘You were not married before. Why do you think Hertford took his wife to Ireland once they were married and kept her there for all those years? It did no good in the long run. She still became George’s mistress!’

  Annoyed at Dom’s distrust of her integrity, she retreated behind her usual icy shield.

  ‘I do not, and never have had, a hankering for notoriety, prestige, acclaim, power or whatever it is one would gain through such an alliance. The man is old, fat, and not particularly handsome. I’m surprised I’d have to explain he holds no appeal for me at all. Agreeing to become your wife means I have pledged you my honor and respect and my fidelity and loyalty always. I also trust I will receive the same consideration from you. I’m not an ingénue who lacks the skills of self-preservation in this—societal menagerie of vipers and flesh-eating beasts!’

  To her relief a lop-sided grin softened the harsh lines of the Duke’s countenance.

  ‘Vipers and flesh-eating beasts?’ he asked, his delicious mouth quirking in amusement.

  ‘Such terms are mild compared to how I often think of them—in private of course!’

  ‘Of course!’

  The smile died from Dom’s eyes as his attention was snagged by something across the room beyond her shoulder.

  ‘Let’s go and join Aunt Gussy,’ he said abruptly. ‘I see Lord Hadleigh has found her already.’

  In an unusually precipitous manner for the ever controlled Duke of Wolverton, he placed her hand back on his arm and led her directly across the floor to her mother, who was indeed being entertained by Lord Hadleigh.

  Sheri made a quick scan of the room to discern what had displeased her fiancé. The likely culprit was, she decided, Lord Baxendene, resplendent in midnight blue and silver and watching them with eyebrows lifted and a wicked half grin curving his lips. The man looked positively dangerous and she could only surmise for some reason Dom thought so too.

  ‘Would you mind if Aunt Gussy were to marry again?’

  As a distraction the question was quite successful. Sheri brought her attention back to her parent and the man sitting, apparently relaxed and contented, at her side. Mama, on the other hand, looked more animated and happy than Sheri had seen her in a long time.

  ‘Not in the least—provided he makes her happy. She misses Papa dreadfully and gets quite lonely when I’m not around.’

  Lord Hadleigh rose to his feet as they approached and had barely come upright from bowing over her hand when Lord Baxendene spoke from behind them.

  ‘Lady Sheri,’ he crooned in his incredibly deep voice, almost brushing Dom aside to reach her hand and bow low over it. ‘You outshine all others. These affairs have been deadly dull without your beauty to grace them. May I beg a waltz?’

  ‘No you may not.’

  Dom’s voice, hard and flat.

  Bax slowly raised his head, gave her a direct look then a slow wink before turning to face his cousin, wide-eyed with surprise and spurious delight.

  ‘Wolf! When did you get back to town?’

  Dom wasn’t inclined to show a corresponding delight. Where now the easy camaraderie the two had always seemed to share? Whatever had happened between them at the time of her and Dom’s betrothal didn’t seem to have been resolved. White tension pulsed the scar on Dom’s cheek and his eyes were as cold as the North Sea.

  But the Earl’s grin only widened.

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘And you’ve only just returned yourself, have you not, Lady Sheri?’

  Sheri let her smile freeze to match Dom’s stare. As usual, Bax had no qualms about going too far. The wonder of it was he hadn’t openly accused them of going away together and pre-empting their wedding vows.

  ‘I’d just returned from Springwoods the day before I saw you during morning calls at Lady Holly’s, my Lord.’


  ‘And I’ve been north on Lord Hadleigh’s business—as you well know,’ Dom added, a steely edge to his voice.

  Bax inclined his head.

  ‘But I’ve missed our lovely Sher! Surely you don’t intend to refuse me one dance with her—in my arms?’

  ‘I do.’

  When Bax turned back to her he was smiling, as if quite pleased with himself. Sheri didn’t trust that smile.

  ‘The Roger de Coverley perhaps then?’

  ‘Thank you, Lord Baxendene, but I think it unwise we dance together. I doubt the Regent would appreciate the scandal should I forget myself and slap you senseless in the middle of all this elegance—as I was sorely tempted to do the last time we danced together.’

  The sly smile became an outright charming grin Sheri was quite certain had inveigled the Great Bax into many a woman’s good graces. Her own sense of self-preservation, however, was well-honed.

  ‘I’ve apologized for that,’ the scapegrace said.

  ‘You have, my Lord and I accepted your apology. But I think it wise we not risk a reversal.’

  ‘And that’s your last word?’

  ‘It is, my Lord,’ Sheri confirmed, unable to suppress her own smile. The big lummox had perfected the ‘endearingly mischievous small boy’ persona, which should have been totally incongruous with his size and yet was not. He was indeed far too likeable as many a woman had found to her cost.

  But Sheri was far more intrigued by the gradual easing of the tension she sensed around the Duke, who stood alert and watchful, like a lion protecting his mate from a rogue male of the species. In the interests of accord between her and Dom it would seem she’d taken the right stance with the Great Bax. It would be easy to convince herself her fiancé cared, but she reminded herself, as the afore-mentioned lion he was simply staking his territory.

  His heart still belonged to Jassie.

  …

  Sets were forming for a quadrille. At least three gentlemen were headed in their direction, eyes alight with purpose.

  ‘Promenade with me,’ Dom commanded, placing her hand on his arm.