But the damnable look wasn’t there after all. His dark eyes shone with a gentle smile and no flirtatious quip slid from his lips. “Quite all right, Miss Ashbrook?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “How trite, don’t you think?”
He tucked her arm into his elbow and followed the other ladies along the walk. “What do you mean?”
“You must have ladies falling into your arms all the time.”
“Oh, yes. They are fairly flinging themselves out of trees and off balconies constantly.” The duke’s tone was droll, and he affected a comical parody of tonnish ennui. “It never does grow old.”
Her laughter wasn’t forced. Like all the world’s notorious rascals, he had the gift of putting a lady at ease and off her guard. They had scarcely divested themselves of their wraps and hats when a squealing blur slipped past them and launched itself at the duke.
“Unca Chris.” The blur dissolved into the shape of a boy not more than three years old. The child wore a nightdress and bare feet.
“Well, little man,” the duke said, and gathered the boy in his arms. “What’s new, chum?”
“I have a frog.”
The duke’s eyes grew wide. “A frog? Where?”
“In the garden. He’s green. Want to see?”
“Do I get a hello?” the duchess asked with a laugh.
The child glanced about him, finally acknowledging the other people in the foyer. “Hello, Gramama,” he answered sheepishly. “You want to see the frog, too?”
His grandmother kissed the child’s cheek and squeezed his knee. “No, lovey, that’s quite all right.” She turned to Thea and explained. “He can see no one else once his Uncle Christian is in the room.”
“And if Anthony knows his uncle is coming over, he can’t be contained in the nursery either.” The new voice belonged to a lovely flame-haired lady, a younger version of the duchess introduced to Thea as Francesca, Countess of Harrington. “Back to bed with you,” she told her son.
Before the boy worked up a good protest, the duke assured him, “Show me your frog, and then I’ll tuck you in.” The finely tailored Duke of Morewether, fabled lover of women and rogue extraordinaire, ascended the stairs with the boy in his arms, the child hugging his neck, chattering away with each other. “What do you call your frog?”
“Herbert.” Their voices grew fainter as they made the next landing.
“Herbert? Why Herbert?”
The boy shrugged. “That’s what he said his name was.” The two of them disappeared but she plainly heard the man’s answering chuckle.
She stared up the stairs at the curve in the wall where she’d last glimpsed the duke. Well, she hadn’t expected that. Not that she could ever have imagined the scene she witnessed, but if the scenario had ever occurred to her, the duke’s devotion to his nephew would not have been the expected reaction from the man whose reputation suggested he thought of little beyond the pursuit of pleasure.
Lady Harrington merely laughed at Thea’s look of confusion. “Christian is a doting uncle. I’ll be impressed if we don’t eventually have to send a footman to the nursery to fetch him for dinner.”
“Really?” Thea blinked at the lady.
Suddenly a look of dread altered the lady’s happy countenance. Lady Harrington looked to her mother and Anna. “You don’t think … He wouldn’t … Not to my sweet Anthony.”
Anna’s tinkling laugh filled the room as she slipped between Thea and Lady Harrington, linked their arms, and propelled them further into the townhouse, three abreast. “I’d check under my covers well tonight, if I were you.” Then, in answer to the puzzlement surely showing on Thea’s face, “Christian used to put frogs and such in Francesca’s bed at night when they were children.”
Thea couldn’t help but laugh. “His Grace wouldn’t really tell the boy about that, would he?”
“Yes,” Lady Harrington answered emphatically. “He was a wretched brother.”
Lady Morewether tsked at her daughter. “No worse than any other brother, Frankie. Besides, you must admit he’s a conscientious uncle these days.”
“Precisely why that result seems completely plausible,” Lady Harrington argued.
“What result is that?” A baritone voice inquired once they entered what must be the family parlor. An overflowing basket of embroidery and a gaily painted ducky pull-toy sat on the floor next to a stuffed chair. A stack of the daily news sheets lay near a massive leather arm chair.
Thea turned towards the voice to see another dark-haired giant. This one was delivering a glass of amber liquid to a third man, one with golden hair, who immediately rose from his seat when the ladies entered the room.
Lady Harrington introduced the dark man as her husband, Earl of Harrington. “Anthony is showing Christian his new frog.”
“Herbert,” Lord Harrington interrupted with a chortle.
“Yes,” the lady continued in irritation at her husband, “and Anna reminded me how you two used to leave your frogs in my bed.”
“Ah.” Lord Harrington made no effort to diffuse his smile. “And you’re afraid he’ll convince your son to do the same.”
The lady then sighed heavily before turning back to face Thea. “Let me introduce you to the rest of the rabble.”
Right on cue, a petite lady entered, proceeded in the room by her enormous pregnant belly. “What a lovely cloak room, Francesca. I adore how you redecorated.”
Francesca clasped her friend’s hand in hers while making the introduction. “Marquess and Marchioness Dalton, this is Miss Althea Ashbrook.”
The blond man bowed slightly and gave a bright, sincere smile.
His wife beamed at Thea in obvious greeting. “Please forgive my appearance,” Lady Dalton indicated her increased belly. “I wouldn’t normally be out, but this is family …”
“You look lovely, Lady Dalton.”
“Oh, please.” Lady Dalton eschewed her address with a toss of her hand. “Anna says you’re family, and we don’t stand on ceremony in family. I am Olivia, and my husband is Dalton.”
“Quite right,” Lady Harrington agreed. “If you’re in the family parlor, then you’re family. Please call me Francesca and the tall one over there is Thomas.” Her husband nodded with a smile.
This was not the sort of reception Thea expected, nor was she led to believe it was possible. Here were three of the most influential peers in London and their wives and family being almost absurdly gracious and welcoming. “Well, I am Thea to you then.”
The conversation rolled along comfortably after the introductions and everyone retook their seats. Thea felt immediately included in their circle, without reservation. Anna regaled everyone with the tale of Thea’s ancient collection of Greek artifacts. Thea extended her invitation to tour her collection to all present and the group enthusiastically accepted.
All too soon, the gong rang for dinner and, once again, the group did not follow traditional hierarchy. Instead, they all wandered in to the dining room in a chatty clump with no regard for title or seating arrangements. Thea found herself seated between Henry and Thomas with an empty seat directly opposite her at the long table.
Francesca signaled for a footman. “Go and tell my brother if he doesn’t allow my son to go to sleep and present his ducal self at my dinner table within five minutes there will be trouble.”
Thea was amazed no one seemed to think anything of this exchange. Her father hadn’t been anything as lofty as a duke, and yet no one would have ever been so familiar with him as Francesca had been with her brother. In fact, there hadn’t even been a break in the conversational rhythms around the table. Minutes later, the Duke of Morewether appeared. He kissed his sister’s cheek as he passed her chair.
“Did Anthony finally go to sleep?” Francesca asked.
“Yes.”
Francesca’s eyes narrowed on her brother sitting next to her. “What did you talk about up there for all that time?”
The duke gave her a brief mysterious smile
which seemed ominous in its brevity nevertheless. “Wouldn’t you like to know, sister dear?”
Francesca’s mouth opened in what Thea assumed was in preparation of a dressing down, but she was interrupted by her husband. “Sweetheart, he’s teasing you.”
“I did not tell him to put Herbert in your bed if that’s what you’re concerned about.”
Francesca gave him a sheepish look that did everything but say out loud that that was exactly what she was thinking. “I’m sorry, Christian. You know you’re his favorite person in the whole world.”
“It’s hard to believe I would be so fond of your and Thomas’ spawn, but there you have it,” Christian teased. Thea heard a snort come from the man at her right, but Thomas didn’t say anything.
The Duchess of Morewether spoke, “My grandson is not spawn, Christian.” Her statement only brought a round of laughing from the table.
Dinner conversation never lulled. Every topic was discussed, from the ladies surprisingly good showing in the previous spring’s regatta on the Thames, and Olivia’s lament that her condition precluded her from participating this year, to the addition, to the duke’s horse farm with the latest spring foals. Thea’s interest was piqued. Apparently she and the duke shared a fascination with fine horseflesh.
“How many were born this year?” Anna inquired.
“Four,” the duke said, proudly, “from excellent bloodlines. They’ll be outstanding racers. One in particular, a chestnut foal. Already you can see he has a stout heart.”
“I do hope I’ll be able to negotiate a donation from you.” Olivia looked to the duke across the table, her gaze sweet and charming but pointed just the same. Thea suspected Olivia was very confident she’d get what she was asking for.
“Certainly.” The duke nodded. “You can always count on a bank draft from me.”
Olivia sighed softly and hummed at the same time. “Thank you very much. You are exceedingly generous, Christian, and the foundation will never turn away your drafts. But I was thinking of something specific for the auction in addition to your earlier generosity.”
Thea had heard about Lady Dalton’s charity work, specifically her The Foundation for Women on Their Own, and the auction to benefit the cause that was coming in two months. Thea had planned to give a large donation herself, feeling the charity’s philosophies were near to her own heart.
The duke leaned back in his chair, his gaze pensive. “What were you thinking?”
Henry, Olivia’s husband, leaned over to Thea and whispered, “Watch this. He’s like a carp and she’s going to reel him in.” Thea heard another chuckle from her right. When she followed the sound, Thea found the duke’s brother-in-law highly amused. The group as a whole seemed avidly interested in the exchange between His Grace and Olivia.
“I’m trying something different with the auction this year.” Somehow Olivia’s smile was guileless and calculating at the same time. “I should think the famous Equus Stables could sacrifice one foal for the cause.”
Immediately the duke shook his head. “Oh, no, Olivia, my cash will have to be enough.”
The table’s attention turned back to the end of the table where the tiny blonde woman showed no signs of defeat. “I’ll take your money, Christian, but I think it’s your duty to consider the other donation as well. Think how much one of your magnificent horses, resplendent with your peerless breeder’s reputation attached, would bring to the benefit of so many women and children hungry and afraid on the streets of London. I imagine your horse will fetch the highest bid of any donation. What prestige that would be,” the lady mused.
The duke had nearly finished his glass. “Not one of the horses, Olivia. We’re talking about potential champions here.”
“Oh, here it comes,” Henry assured Thea in a whisper. He tossed his head in the direction of his wife and Thea saw the lady sit back in her chair and rub her swollen belly. “She is ruthless.”
“When I think of another woman, one like me, with child, terrified and alone with nowhere safe to bear her child when the time comes ….”
“Oh, Christ, Olivia.” The fine cut crystal glass slammed on the table in front of the duke. The lady didn’t even flinch. “Fine. Fine.” He pursed his lips together. “Fine, you can have a foal, but one of my choosing.”
“And the bank draft, too, right?” Olivia asked with absolutely no shame.
Christian looked to Henry, his mouth hanging open in amazement. Henry merely shook his head. The duke sighed, “Yes, the bank draft, too.”
“Look at it this way,” Thomas said. “At least this time you’re not taking the highest bidder to the theater.”
“Ugh,” Christian groaned, “that was awful. I’ll give you anything you want as long as you never make me do that again.”
Francesca told Thea about the previous year’s auction when Olivia had convinced Christian to put himself up for auction. Well, himself and his box at Covent Garden. Apparently, certain the event would put their daughters in front running for a marriage proposal from the highly sought after bachelor, every plotting, scheming mother in London bid on the opportunity. Anna added, though Thea barely understood her through her friend’s laughter, that once it was determined that no proposal would be forthcoming, the winning young lady and her mother devised a devious plan to win the duke via a scandal. Apparently the young lady shamelessly tore her own bodice and summoned hysterical tears in time for intermission hoping the throngs of theater goers would assume the worst. Christian had escaped by the skin of his teeth.
“I’d have chewed my own leg off to escape that trap.” Christian swore to Thea.
By now, everyone at the table was laughing, including Christian.
“That really was awful,” Olivia admitted, as she wiped tears from her eyes. “A badly conceived idea on my part.”
Her husband replied this time. “Bravo. I think this will be a much better auction on the whole, dearest. I couldn’t have imagined a lifetime destined to sit at family dinners with Christian and that awful Dewhurst chit.”
An undignified choking noise came from the head of the table. “Lord, me neither.” Lady Morewether rolled her eyes. “You know I hate to speak ill, but what an awful daughter-in-law she’d have been.”
“And I got a horse for the auction,” Olivia sang and clapped her hands in triumph.
The company erupted in laughter. The Duke of Morewether caught Thea’s eye from across the table. He smiled at her and shrugged his shoulders as if to say, “Isn’t that always the way?”
This was not the arrogant, debauched man she’d expected. The realization brought her up short. She allowed herself to consider there could be much, much more to the duke than she’d prepared herself to believe. For the first time, Thea let go of her prejudices and looked at the man as a whole rather than as a caricature.
My word, he’s beautiful.
Chapter Four
Thea smiled at him.
Her already impossibly lovely face was unparalleled when she smiled. At him.
Some unspoken suggestion brought the people around the table to their feet, still laughing at him. About him. With him — it was of no consequence, they began the short journey back to the family parlor.
She lingered as if she were waiting for him to round the table and come to her before following the others. He was an easy mark with Olivia and her foundation anyway, and ultimately he would have given his friend what she wanted, but now he was selfishly happy Miss Ashbrook had seen it happen.
“That was very generous, Your Grace.” Her husky voice was soft as if she didn’t want others to overhear their conversation.
Christian shrugged. “I generally give the lady what she needs, especially when it comes to her foundation. Olivia had a very rough time of it when she came to London, and now she does everything she can to make sure other women and children don’t suffer the same fate. It makes me feel good, so I win, too.” He took her hand and laid it on his forearm, then set an exceedingly leisurely
pace a good deal behind the rest of the crowd. Not that they would have noticed anyway. They were still cackling their fool heads off like a bunch of lunatics.
“I have heard quite a bit about Lady Dalton and her foundation. I’m impressed. I hope there is some way that I can contribute to her cause as well.” Her skirt brushed his trouser leg and a waft of the mysterious scent of the Mediterranean drifted to his nose.
“Be careful what you wish for, my dear. If she hears you, before you know it, you’ve committed to donate your left leg and a pound of gold coin.” His jest was rewarded with her low, husky laugh. He felt that ever-present twinge as parts of him took notice.
“Your family and friends are not what I expected.”
His naked hand covered her ungloved one on his sleeve and gently his fingers curled around her palm. “Did you expect flesh-eating trolls?”
This time she guffawed. “Certainly not. But it has been my experience tonnish society as a whole is not nearly as jovial as you lot.”
“We’re not ton when we’re together,” he explained. “I’ve known most of these people since we were in short pants. The others,” he paused to consider the relationship with Olivia and Dalton. He’d never done so before. He and Miss Ashbrook paused outside the door to the parlor and observed those dearest to him. “They seemed to fit in seamlessly.”
“I suppose I’m jealous.” When she didn’t explain, Christian lightly squeezed her hand and she continued, “Except for Anna, I’ve never had friends like this before. I was always on the outside looking in.”
Christian’s curiosity was aroused. Why not? Everything else about him was. So far, he’d learned little about the intriguing Miss Ashbrook, but he didn’t want to share her confidences with the others. He fancied uncovering the inner lady would be as satisfying as uncovering the physical one, and he wanted to savor the experience — alone with her. He envisioned taking each little nugget of information, each little parcel of knowledge, and wrapping it in a handkerchief and tucking it in his pocket to unwrap and devour in secret. Christian acknowledged silently to the part of his brain still sensible and aloof that, yes, he was an idiot and, no, he didn’t care. But in the spirit of self preservation, he took an emotional step back and filled the silence with a flirtatious quip.
The Duke of Morewether’s Secret Page 3
