The Duke's Secret Seduction

by Donna Lea Simpson

  “But why did you not marry again after your . . . after your husband’s demise?”

  “Until I can grow myself a suitable husband like a rose, then I must go where I may to live. If you have a stray gentleman around who would not mind a thirty-one-year-old widow of no means, no family and no background to speak of, then I will be happy to marry again. But as long as men continue to be men, and prefer young, dowered women of title or gentility, then I will do what I must to survive.”

  Unexpectedly, a grin curved his mouth upward and he laughed. “So, Bernard is not the only one with claws in this garden. Very well. I was, perhaps, discourteous in my close questioning. I will retreat.” He bowed, then turned and strolled up to the house, whistling a jaunty air.

  • • •

  Alban was still smiling as he found his aunt sitting in the morning parlor, a sunny room with large windows overlooking the south garden. He entered and gazed at her.

  She had heard him and stilled; then she said, after a brief hesitation, “Alban?”

  “How do you do that?” He strode across the room in two steps and leaned down, kissing her cheek before taking a chair opposite her at the small table in front of the window.

  “Nothing more than a parlor trick,” she snorted. “Quite literally, since I am in the parlor. When, nephew, did you become a cheek kisser? You never were one before.”

  He gazed at her, examining the face he had known and loved for so long. He had thought of her as unchanging and unchangeable, but her hair was iron gray now, when in his youth it had been dark, almost black. And her skin was pursing around the mouth, showing the affects of age. He took her hand up and caressed it absently with his thumb. “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “Not enough to visit before now.”

  “I know, and I deserve that rebuke. I don’t know what happened. Three years seem to have gone by in a flash. I suppose I was so tangled up in affairs in London . . . it has not been a good few years for our king and his family.”

  “No. You used to be close to him, Alban. Are you still, in his infirmity?”

  “I’m afraid not. My last visit to him was awful, just awful.” Alban bowed his head and stared down at the floor. He had not intended to speak of such dark topics to his aunt, hoping to entertain her, but he had been mistaken. She didn’t need coddling now any more than she did before she became blind. “He accused me of . . . of plotting with Napoleon to poison him and Amelia. Said I was to blame for her . . . for her last wasting illness. It was terrible.” He passed one hand over his face.

  “Oh, Alban,” Lady Eliza said, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was so bad. And he used to love you so, treat you almost like another son.”

  Alban drew in a deep breath. “I can’t help but think that that was my undoing. There are many who would not discourage his mad ideas once he had them in his head.”

  “You suspect they are deliberately poisoning his mind against you?”

  “No. No, not really. I’m only saying that once the idea had taken hold, there are many who would be happy to have him focus his madness on me, rather than others in court.”

  “Mm, jealousy, as usual. It is what I do not miss about court life.”

  He made an impatient noise. “Scandal and gossip will always be there, but it’s not so very bad. There is so much more . . . you’re missing so much,” he said, emphasizing his words with a pat of her hand. “And I have heard you were legendary for your wit and vivacity. Even Her Majesty remembers you fondly, and you know how few people she considers adequate even, outside of her precious girls and sons. I’ve never understood why you came up here, so far away from everything and everyone.”

  “I had my own reasons. Perhaps they no longer exist, but I did have them. And I’ve made a life for myself here.”

  He knew the tone too well to argue with her. He couldn’t help but suspect a failed love affair, or maybe a love that was impossible for one reason or another. Perhaps the man was married, or maybe he even deserted her. It was too long ago for him to know. To him, she had always just been his spinster Aunt Eliza up in Yorkshire, there for him in ways no one else ever was.

  “I saw your Mrs. Douglas out in the garden” he said, releasing her hand and wandering the room. “She has made a wonder out of the gardens.”

  “She has a rare talent with flowers,” she admitted. “Tell me, is she still as lovely as I remember?”

  Alban flashed a look at his aunt. What did that question mean? As innocently as it was couched, it still had an odd, stilted tone to it. “If you like red hair.”

  “You always did, if I remember that serving girl you were infatuated with one summer. But Kittie’s is not that red; it is more like a bronze color, isn’t it?”

  “It is, and she is beautiful, if you like tall, sturdy, prickly wenches.”

  Lady Eliza threw back her head and laughed. “Impudent devil,” she rebuked him. “I think the earl likes her well enough.”

  “Hmm, yes. Orkenay has spent much of his time with her, hasn’t he? Even though she is not the type of woman he normally is attracted to, from what I have seen.” He rejoined her at the table. “Anyway, as I was going to say, I met Mrs. Douglas in the garden and relayed my invitation to her and her friends and you to all come to the house for dinner this evening. She said she thought it would be acceptable.”

  “Very good. You may go now, Alban.”

  The duke kissed her cheek again and stood.

  “But you did not answer my question. When did you become a cheek kisser? You never were before.”

  “I thought I answered it,” he said, moving toward the door. “We will be happy to see you ladies tonight, then.”

  “Evasive, impertinent rascal,” Lady Eliza said.

  “I heard that,” the duke replied as he exited.

  “I intended that you should,” she retorted.

  • • •

  The evening closed in early in September and the air chilled. Swathed in their finest evening attire, Rebecca and Hannah, Kittie and Lady Eliza entered the duke’s hunting box, though that humble appellation was too modest a description for the lovely house. As large and sprawling as it was, still it clung like a Swaledale sheep to the side of the fell and appeared to spring from the land, the deep gold Yorkshire stone of the walls glowing in the dying sunlight.

  Kittie had seen it in all seasons and had toured the home, visiting it often, with and without her employer. The duke occasionally sent instructions, and Lady Eliza had, since her blindness, left it to Kittie to oversee the changes, so she was as familiar with it as if it was her own home. But she had never seen it with the master of the house in residence and it was a far different place, the great hall humming with servants and blazing with warmth from the enormous fireplace that warmed the echoing chamber. As the ladies’ wraps were removed and taken away by serving staff, Kittie gazed around in bewilderment.

  The mere presence of the Duke of Alban seemed to have infused the old stone walls with grandeur. Those walls were covered in tapestries and the colors glowed in the firelight. The duke strode toward the ladies, dressed carefully in evening best, his coat black and plain, but his waistcoat a gorgeous figured silk and his cravat fixed in place with a large diamond stickpin.

  Kittie was suddenly happy that she had been goaded, by Lady Eliza, into wearing her best dress, a rather low-cut sapphire blue velvet gown with long fitted sleeves and white silk embroidery at the bosom and hem. Lady Eliza wore black silk, Hannah, green, and Rebecca was resplendent in her favorite gown, a ruby red velvet and satin. Rebecca had brought her maid—the girl was a marvel, she said, at hairstyling—north with her, and that woman had taken care of her own black locks and Hannah’s mousy brown hair.

  The duke, his manners formal, accompanied them into the withdrawing room, guiding his aunt on his arm. The gentlemen were there and came forward, each taking a lady by the arm. Mr. Norton renewed his acquaintance with Hannah, the earl took Kittie’s arm and Sir John bowe
d before Rebecca.

  Kittie, watching, was amused by Rebecca’s assessing look as she walked with the young man toward a seat by the fire. She privately thought that the baronet was more likely twenty-five or -six rather than in his thirties as Lady Eliza had surmised, and that made him at least ten years younger than Rebecca.

  Everyone chatted desultorily before dinner, and then moved to the dining room with their respective partners for the evening.

  Kittie couldn’t stop thinking of the duke’s questioning that morning. Was he so completely unaware that he didn’t even realize there were many women, and many more men, who had no other means of support than whatever they could sell their skills or abilities for? He was an intelligent man, and before meeting him, strictly on the evidence of his letters, she would have thought a compassionate one. Had he taken her in dislike for some reason?

  She glanced down the table to where he was seated, with his aunt on his right and Rebecca on his left. He and Lady Eliza spoke often.

  “Would you like a drink of wine, Mrs. Douglas?” the earl said.

  “Hmm? Oh, certainly, my lord,” Kittie replied, in the necessary way, as he took up his glass and held it up. They both sipped, her acquiescence freeing him to drink down his glass of red wine as they ate the beef course.

  “I must compliment your seamstress, my dear; that blue is simply spectacular on you. It matches the color of your brilliant eyes.”

  “Thank you,” Kittie replied, still eyeing the duke and his aunt.

  Until she felt the hand on her knee. She gave a little gasp and glanced over at the man beside her. The earl smiled and winked.

  Sir John’s steady gaze was on them, and so she could not be as fierce with Lord Orkenay as she would have liked, but, teeth gritted, she muttered, “Please, my lord, release my knee.”

  With one lingering caress, he did so, merely murmuring, “I’m so sorry if I offended you, my dear Mrs. Douglas. I did wish to gain your attention, though, and I must say it is so obviously fixed on the duke that I saw no other way.”

  “I wasn’t staring at the duke, my lord.” But she had been. She glanced at her dinner companion in consternation.

  He nodded, his pleasant smile masking a deeper meaning, she felt. “I only meant it as a warning, my dear,” he said. “For Alban would surely take it amiss if you kept staring in that way. He’s a most peculiar man in some ways, and feminine . . . er . . . boldness in any way is very disagreeable to him.”

  “But I didn’t mean . . . I wasn’t intending . . . in short, Lord Orkenay, I was only thinking over something the duke said to me this morning.”

  “And what was that?”

  “He questioned me very closely on the reasons behind my miring myself, as he called it, in Yorkshire, and he asked why I did not marry again after my husband passed away. I found it most strange.”

  “Did you think there was a hidden meaning behind his questions?”

  Kittie toyed with her beef. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “What hidden meaning could there be?”

  “Does he think you are an adventuress?”

  “An adventuress? What do you mean?”

  The earl shrugged. “I suppose he is being careful of his aunt. Perhaps he suspects you of some intention toward his aunt of which he would not approve.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The earl, a faint, kind smile on his thin lips, patted her hand. He was elegantly dressed in charcoal gray, and his sandy hair, silvered at the temples, was perfectly dressed. Kittie didn’t think she had ever seen a man more carefully and perfectly dressed and coifed. The duke was competently dressed, and his clothing was immaculate, of course, but it appeared that the earl was really the leader in fashion among the company of gentlemen that night.

  “I would merely suggest that you be careful, Mrs. Douglas, where Alban is concerned.”

  She frowned. “Careful? Whatever can you mean?”

  Orkenay shook his head. “I will say no more. Just be careful. I would not like to see a lovely woman like you hurt in any way.”

  “He is your friend, is he not?”

  “Oh, I’m not saying he would do anything deliberate,” Orkenay assured her, hastily. “He is the best of men and the soul of propriety, in most ways. But he is very haughty, you know, and if he thinks for a moment . . . but I will say no more. Just be on your guard in his presence, please.”

  Seeming interminable to Kittie, dinner was finished, finally, and they all moved to the drawing room for coffee and sweetmeats. Rebecca, urged by Sir John, moved to the piano and Hannah and Mr. Norton were engaged in examining a book of watercolor plates of Yorkshire.

  Kittie was pleased to see her friends so well engaged, but she was undecided herself where her duty lay. She moved uncertainly toward Lady Eliza.

  “Kittie, dear, come here,” her employer said, holding out one hand.

  Kittie gladly joined her. The duke stood by her chair.

  “I have been telling Alban that I set you to overseeing the improvements to the house while he was gone, since I didn’t truly think he wanted a blind woman choosing new paint colors for his bedchamber and other rooms.”

  “I must thank you, Mrs. Douglas,” the duke said with a bow. “Lafferty has praised you most lavishly. He told me that you have been valuable, gave the woman’s touch, I think he said.”

  Flustered by the praise, Kittie remained silent.

  “I have not been here in some time, Alban,” Lady Eliza said. “I would very much like to see the house again, but I would ask for both your guidance and Kittie’s arm, as she can describe to me what she changed.”

  “I’m sure his grace can provide the necessary explication,” Kittie said.

  “I would like your company, my dear,” Lady Eliza said in a gentle voice that clothed the steel of her will.

  “She means that she will have you, whether you like it or not,” Alban said. “Such is the fate of a companion, is it not?”

  Hearing the barb in his words but not responding, Kittie simply replied, “I will certainly accompany you, my lady.”

  But of course the planned expedition could not be affected without an announcement to that affect, and equally as surely the other ladies expressed a desire for a tour as well. Lady Eliza’s expression was one of chagrin, Kittie noted, and wondered why.

  But go as a troupe they would, into the great hall and up the winding stairs to the gallery, their progress slowed by Hannah’s deliberate perambulation, Rebecca’s determined admiring of everything, and the explanations of their respective swains.

  Kittie had expected that she would be on the other side of Lady Eliza, supporting her in her progress up the stairs and along the gallery, but that woman changed her mind and demanded that Kittie be guided by the duke’s strong arm. Knowing her employer as well as she did, Kittie suspected some subterfuge but could not imagine what the aim was.

  And soon she forgot to even wonder. Though nominally keeping up her end of the conversation, pointing out improvements affected by Mr. Lafferty and guided by herself, she had far too much time to note the strength of the duke’s arm, his inimitable scent, the fine fabric of his jacket sleeve, and something more.

  He divided his time equally, careful of her comfort, supporting her as they climbed the stairs and his hand at her back as they walked the gallery. In that position she was almost tucked under his arm, and she realized that she had never quite felt so protected and sheltered. With her husband she had always, after the first weeks of marriage, had to fend for herself, for Roger, though cheerful and convivial, was not one to consider her comfort. And so she had learned to be self-sufficient. But there were times she longed to lay down her battle shield and rest, and there could be no better place than in the duke’s arms.

  She looked up at him, his strong jaw, the hooded eyes. What she felt was merely the residual attraction she might never entirely be rid of. And of course, her thoughts were not only improper, but foolish and fatuous. No doubt the duke’s wife had s
uffered the same abandonment as she did once the novelty wore off. It seemed it was what happened in a marriage, men taking their wives for granted, and it could have accounted for the duchess’s running away to find love with a paramour.

  Kittie had idealized the duke in these last three years, but in person he was a much more formidable presence. She stared up at him still. They stood at a wall and he was explaining to the company at large that the painting in front of them was of his great-grandfather, the fifth Duke of Alban. When he fell silent, Lady Eliza, from memory, described it, the rich tones, the quaint costume.

  The duke caught Kittie’s steady gaze. “Have I told you how lovely you look tonight?”

  She caught her breath, then let it out on a sigh. “No. But then I have not yet commented on your own sartorial grandeur.”

  He chuckled and rubbed her back with his free hand. She felt chills race over her skin. He cast her a quizzical glance. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Are you cold? Shall I have a maid fetch your shawl?”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  He rubbed her upper back, the skin naked to his touch. “You have lovely skin, like silk,” he murmured.

  She was wordless but a warm flush passed over her body.

  Lady Eliza finished her explanation and the company moved on. Kittie detached herself from the duke, uncomfortable with the sensations his touch produced. The earl’s words at dinner came back to her. He was warning her, but to what end? She turned and found Lord Orkenay’s gaze on her and their eyes met. He quickly smiled and turned away, but not before she caught the expression on his face.

  It was one of troubled concern.

  Eight

  “This is what I’ve missed,” Kittie said as the three friends sat together in the morning parlor after a late and leisurely breakfast.

  After the exertion of the night before, Lady Eliza had awoken with a head cold and was staying in bed with Beacon at her bedside to read to her, an unusual talent in a maid, perhaps, but one Beacon had perfected and appeared to thoroughly enjoy.