Edward swept her with an assessing gaze. “Beautiful. Although given the colour in your cheeks and lips, everyone will have a rather good idea what it is we’ve been doing out here.”
Her fingers fisted at her sides. “So long as they only suspect, then there’s no harm done.”
He smiled before turning serious again. “Surely you’re not returning to the dancing?”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Your Grace, I shall be on my way.”
Reaching out, he took hold of her arm. “Not without me, you won’t. And not before I have your promise that you shall have no further contact with Islington. If I see you anywhere near him, you’re going home immediately.”
Slowly, she withdrew her arm from his grasp. “His lordship may have already departed for all I know. However, I give you my word that I shall see no more of him this evening.”
As for other occasions in the future, she mused, I cannot say. Holding her breath, she waited to see if Edward would make further stipulations regarding her association with Lord Islington.
Instead, he gave a nod and took her hand in his, laying her palm onto his sleeve. “We shall return to the ballroom together.”
Briefly, she considered refusing. “As you wish, Your Grace.”
“Edward,” he growled. “One of these days, I’m going to make sure you say nothing else.”
Meeting his gaze, she gave him a wide, unrepentant smile.
Moments later, they returned to the ball.
Chapter 14
“Ha ha, I won!” Claire laughed as she pulled the curricle to a halt with a little spray of Green Park gravel. The painted wooden cherries on her stylish chip-straw bonnet swayed gently, their colour an excellent foil for her pink-and-cream striped carriage dress and matching, long-sleeved sarcenet spencer.
Lord Blevins—the loser—drew his own rig up beside hers nearly half a minute later.
Glancing over, Claire saw the expression of surprise and begrudging respect on his face. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to be soundly beaten by a novice driver and a woman to boot. Not just any woman, though, since he’d been bested by Claire the Dare, as Society had taken to calling her.
Over the past month, the Ton had arrived at the conclusion that Lady Claire Marsden was wildly out of control. Which I am, Claire conceded with a secret smile, recalling the myriad scandals she’d kicked up in her efforts to free herself from Edward.
To date, she’d shot pistols with a trio of Corinthians, who’d smuggled her into Manton’s; smoked cigars with Lord Oxnard and Mr Carstairs behind a row of rose bushes at the Pettigrews’ garden party; and thrown dice in the company of a quartet of rather tipsy young men at a masked ball. Luckily, she’d gotten away before they’d decided to turn their attention to anything more than gambling—and most importantly, before Edward had managed to locate her after she’d slipped away from his watchful eye.
And only four days ago, she’d engaged in a rowboat race across the Serpentine with the infamous Loreena Lovechild, one of London’s most beautiful and notorious Cyprians. With poor Cousin Wilhelmina and Mallory looking on in helpless astonishment, Claire and Miss Lovechild had each selected a gentleman champion to row them across the lake, seating themselves in the bow while they urged their chosen man on with encouragement and cheers. To her delight, Claire had won. In celebration, she’d given her champion a kiss on the cheek, her wild actions bringing on swoons from a pair of fainthearted young ladies who stood watching on the opposite shore.
As for Edward, she kept expecting him to explode and send her packing, each new escapade the one she was certain would drive him beyond his limit. Instead, he maintained a seemingly stoic countenance, never displaying more upset than a mild furrowing of his brow—at least not in public.
As for their private encounters, he was far less forbearing, clearly infuriated by her continued defiance. He threatened to lock her in her room, but they both knew he wouldn’t. Not only would it be useless, it would simply cause more scandal. The duke’s ungovernable fiancée is imprisoned in his house, everyone would whisper. Why, the story would be delicious enough that it might tempt Mrs Radcliffe to use it as inspiration for one of her upcoming gothic romances.
No, in that regard, Edward’s hands were tied.
However, he had other rather diabolical ways of exacting retribution. She shivered now, squirming a bit on the curricle seat, as she remembered another particularly intence, intimate encounter during which he’d had her literally begging for release. She might still be a virgin, but she blushed nonetheless to recall the things they’d done together.
Shaking off the memory, she turned a cheerful smile on Lord Blevins. “I believe our wager was for ten pounds, my lord. If you haven’t sufficient cash on your person, you may, of course, send it ’round to me at Clybourne House. Just be sure to put my name on the missive and not the duke’s.”
Blevins gave her a wry smile, reaching into his coat for his purse. “I had best settle up with you now. Somehow I suspect Clybourne will take offense if I have one of my footmen knocking at his door to pay off vowels I owe you.” Opening his purse, he extracted a ten-pound note and handed it across the space separating them. “You may have no compunction about provoking Clybourne’s ire, but I cannot say the same.”
Leaning forward, she accepted her winnings with a gracious smile. “Then I’m surprised you agreed to race me this morning, my lord. Particularly since there were witnesses to our competition.”
A few of whom were even now regarding her and Blevins with undisguised interest. Meeting the gaze of a pair of middle-aged gentlemen on horseback—who she knew to be every inch as gossipy as any woman—she sent them a jaunty, unrepentant wave of her gloved hand. Plainly startled to have been caught staring, they tipped their hats, then rode on.
She smirked inwardly, no longer sensitive about being the focus of Society’s omnipresent gaze. After all, her current goal was to draw attention to herself and her outrageous schemes. Once she succeeded and was no longer affianced to Edward, she could go back to being plain Lady Claire again.
At least I hope I can, she thought with a hint of a frown. Once a person becomes notorious, can they ever go back to being just their ordinary self again?
“As to my reasons for racing you, Lady Claire,” Blevins said in response to her comment, “my only defence is that you have a way about you that is utterly impossible to resist. Once you challenged me, I was powerless to say no.”
She laughed again.
Blevins joined her, a bit of ruddy colour spreading into his cheeks. Moments later, his smile vanished, as he looked ahead along the lane. “Um…unless I am mistaken, I believe Clybourne is riding this way.”
Her hands tightened reflexively against the reins, as she glanced up and caught sight of the approaching horse and rider. “Ah, and so he is,” she remarked on a breezy tone. “Someone at the house must have told His Grace where I’d gone. One of the servants, no doubt.”
Blevins hunched forward a bit, as though bracing himself for the approaching encounter.
“If you’d like to take your leave, my lord, pray feel free to do so. I won’t mind in the slightest.”
He hesitated. “Are you certain? I can’t help thinking that I would be deserting you.”
“No, no, not at all. Clybourne is my fiancé. I am eminently safe in his hands.”
Lord Blevins didn’t look wholly convinced by that statement, but obviously his sense of self-preservation was better developed than his gallantry. “Well, if you are sure,” he said, darting another glance toward Edward, who was now only a few yards distant. “I…um…do have an early nuncheon engagement today.”
“By all means then, you ought not delay. Go on, and I shall see you again one of these times soon.”
With a nod, he gathered his reins. “A pleasure, Lady Claire. Please send my best regards to Lady Mallory and her cousin when next you see them.”
“You may count upon it.”
Coward, she thought, watching him exchange passing greetings with Edward as the two men rode by each other. Then Blevins was gone and Edward arrived, drawing his great roan stallion to a halt at her side.
The large, deep-chested steed pawed the ground and tossed his head to establish his dominance in front of Claire and her carriage horses, both of whom were mares. Edward didn’t need to put on a show, his innate dominance always on display, together with his unassailable masculine good looks. Attired in a coat of Spanish blue superfine with fawn trousers and black Hessians polished to a near-blinding gleam, he would have drawn any woman’s eye.
And, in fact, he already had, a trio of ladies in an open barouche sending him admiring looks as their coach rolled past.
However, he paid them no heed whatsoever, his interest focused squarely on Claire. Leaning slightly forward in his saddle, he met her gaze. “I thought we had an understanding that you were forbidden to drive out without me to escort you?”
“Well, good day to you too, Your Grace,” she said in pleasant reproof. “I see you left your manners at home this morning. And your good humour as well.”
His jaw flexed. “Actually, my humour was in excellent form until I learned you had taken the curricle and left your maid behind as well.”
She’d known both would irritate him, since a proper lady never went anywhere unaccompanied. Increasingly, she was having to push her actions farther and farther past the bounds of acceptable decorum in hopes of breaking his resolve.
So far, he’d held fast to his pledge that nothing she did could make him repudiate her and break off their engagement. But just because he hadn’t tossed her out yet didn’t mean he wasn’t angry over her escapades—blisteringly so at times.
Gauging his level of irritation by the intensity of his midnight blue eyes, she gave a negligent shrug. “Penny wasn’t feeling well,” she said in reference to her lack of a maid.
“And Mallory?” he intoned, low and deep.
“Mallory was still abed. You know as well as I that we didn’t get home from last night’s ball until nearly four this morning. I couldn’t possibly have made her come out with me.”
“What of you? Are you not tired from all your dancing?”
“Not in the slightest. I need very little rest, rather like yourself, Your Grace. I can’t help but notice that you’re an early riser as well.”
His mouth tightened, but he made no effort to respond to her observations or admonish her for not using his given name, aware now exactly why she insisted on maintaining the formality. Releasing a breath, he glanced back along the lane. “So what did Blevins want? Did he merely stop to pay his respects? Or to express his concern over finding you here alone?”
“He did seem mildly surprised when I arrived without at least Penny in tow. But no, actually his lordship and I were engaged in a race.”
Edward’s eyes darkened to the shade of thunderclouds. “What kind of race?”
“With our carriages, of course. I won ten pounds from him.” Reaching into her pocket, she withdrew the folded Bank of England note and gave it a little waggle. “I haven’t decided yet how to spend it.”
Before she could react, Edward reached out and snatched it from her hand. “And you won’t either. This money will be returned to him today. I’ll see that a messenger is sent over along with an accompanying note asking him to forget this morning’s caper ever happened.”
Her mouth opened. “You’ll do no such thing. I won that money fair and square. I beat him by two full lengths, I’ll have you know, so give me back my winnings.”
Instead, he tucked the cash into his coat pocket. “You shouldn’t have beaten him at all, since ladies do not race. Nor do they gamble.”
“Pish-tosh, of course they gamble. I see ladies playing cards every single evening, even the old women.”
“Not for significant stakes. Penny wagers are the standard fare.”
“I know what is standard. I also know that you can send ’round all the notes you like and it won’t expunge my race with Lord Blevins, even if he should come down with a case of gentlemanly amnesia. There were lots of people in the park. They all saw my triumph.” Smiling, she showed her teeth.
He showed his teeth as well, though with far less humour. “Which reminds me of another infraction,” he said. “As I recall, you were expressly told to stay out of the park after that benighted spectacle you staged last week, rowing across the Serpentine against that courtesan.”
“Miss Lovechild was delightful and an excellent sport. She confided in me afterward that she hopes to marry a duke someday too.” A laugh rippled from her throat at his nonplussed expression. “As for your draconian edict concerning the park, you only said I couldn’t go to Hyde Park again. You didn’t say anything about Green.”
Growling low in his throat, he walked his horse back a few paces, then dismounted.
The smile fell from Claire’s face. “What are you doing?”
“Seeing to it you go home.”
Taking the reins in hand, he led his mount around to the rear of the curricle and with a murmur to the animal and a pat on his neck, secured him to the vehicle. The horse tossed his proud equine head and stamped his hooves before he settled down to the notion of being made to walk behind the carriage.
Edward strode forward. “Scoot over. I’m driving.”
Her shoulders drew tight, her hands fixed on the ribbons. “I am perfectly capable of driving myself.”
In answer, he made a shooing motion with one hand, then leapt up onto the curricle rim. With him looming above her, she had little choice but to do as he demanded. Dropping into the now vacated spot, he settled himself beside her, then reached out to take the reins.
“This is completely unnecessary,” she said, as she was forced to surrender the ribbons, the team shifting slightly in recognition of the change of driver.
Edward’s eyes glinted as he sent her a look. “Not given the circumstances. From this time forward, my lady, your driving days are done.”
“What!”
“That’s right,” he told her, giving the reins a light flick that set the horses into a moderate walk. “You are hereby banned from driving this, or any other vehicle, without my express permission, which I can safely assure will not be forthcoming.”
“But Edward—”
“Oh, so I’m Edward now, am I? Not Your Grace? Or Duke?”
Composing herself, she swallowed the retort that rose to her lips. “But Edward, I am a very good driver. You have said so yourself.”
“Your ability is not in question. It’s your judgment that is lacking, and since I cannot trust that there will be no further races in the park, or other untoward vehicular excursions, the simplest solution would appear to be to take away your wheels, as it were.”
Her hands turned to fists in her lap, her teeth clenched so hard they grated together. “That is grossly unfair.”
“I don’t think it’s unfair at all. Considering all of your antics of late, I believe I’ve been amazingly forbearing up until now. I didn’t say a word about your pistol shooting at Manton’s or your dice play with those drunken imbeciles that night at the masque. As for Carstairs and Oxnard letting you smoke a cigar at that garden party, well, I thought the aftereffects of that were punishment enough. You looked positively green for hours after, so I doubt you’ll be trying that again.”
He was right. She wouldn’t be smoking again considering how ill she’d been. Not only had inhaling made her cough hard enough to expel a lung, it had also made her nauseous. Plus she’d never thought she’d get the disgusting taste out of her mouth no matter how much tooth powder and lemon water she’d used.
“But this predilection for racing that you’ve developed has to stop. And in case you’re already busy thinking up ways to get around my decision to end your driving, I would advise against it.
”
She crossed her arms over her muslin-covered breasts. “Oh? And what are you going to do about it, if I don’t obey?”
“Nothing to you. As for the servants, if any of them help you defy me on this point, they will be sacked on the spot.”
Her lips parted. “But th-that’s horrible. The servants shouldn’t be bartered in this fashion. That’s their livelihood. You can’t turn them out in such a summary fashion.”
“I won’t turn any of them out, so long as you don’t persuade them to disobey my instructions. If anyone loses his or her position, their dismissal will be on your head.”
“Oh!” She huffed out a breath.
That he would even threaten such a thing was monstrous. Then again, perhaps he was only bluffing in hopes of assuring her compliance on this point. Devil, she thought. Clearly, he was counting on her being too tender hearted to test his resolve and find out whether he was serious. He was right though. Her differences were with him alone, and she wouldn’t risk hurting someone else, not even to achieve her freedom.
“I never realized it before, Your Grace, but you are a bully.”
Glancing over, he met her gaze. “If I am, it’s because you have made me one.” His chest rose, then fell again on a sigh. “End this futile campaign of yours, Claire. You’ve more than lived up to your rebellious promise, but it’s not succeeding, nor is it going to. I am not going to jilt you, and all you’re doing is giving yourself a reputation for wildness. Even my irrepressible brother Jack would be awestruck by your audacity, but enough is enough.”
She swallowed, wishing that she could end it. What a relief it would be to stop all the games and schemes and be just like any other young woman. But if she gave up now she would have achieved nothing. She would have lost in every conceivable way that mattered.
Her head began shaking before the words had even formed on her tongue. “No, not unless you release me. The choice is up to you.”
Glancing ahead, she realized that their journey was nearly over, Clybourne House rising before them in imposing splendour. Drawing up in front of the residence, Edward stopped the curricle, then turned toward her on the seat.
At The Duke's Pleasure Page 17
