“Yes, ma’am.” His gaze held hers as he asked blandly, “And just how many days does Captain Everleigh expect to remain in London before being recalled to the peninsula?”
Her lips thinned. This was the problem with having servants as friends—friends who knew all one’s history and heartaches. “First Barnaby and now you! I am aware this is temporary. Don’t deprive me of my small pleasures.”
Her steward’s expression softened. “No, ma’am. I should never wish to do that.” He straightened and turned to leave.
She could never abide conflict of any kind with those who honestly had her interests at heart. “Greyson,” she murmured. She held out her hand toward him, and he stilled, his head cocked to listen. “I promise. This time, I will guard my heart.”
Her steward shook his head and looked down with a long sigh. It was quite clear he put no stock in her declaration. He cast a gentle smile over his shoulder and with a nod, left the room.
Florence flopped back on the sofa and crossed her arms over her chest. Drat the man. I will guard my heart. She winced at the inner voice that reminded her she’d never previously been successful in doing so. With a huff, she burst upright and strode out of the drawing room, her skirts swirling around her ankles until she lifted them high and attacked the staircase to her bedroom at a trot. “Tillie! Tillie, help me plan my ensemble for the morrow. My looks must devastate the senses. I’m spending the afternoon with Captain Duncan Everleigh.
Chapter Four
Lady Lloyd-Smith was the goddess of lascivious allure, salacious infatuation, and carnal lust, and Duncan thought he’d transformed into a satyr with one of that creature’s particular characteristics—a permanently erect phallus. Worse, the intimate interior of this vehicle had allowed him no escape from her proximity for five excruciating days. He shifted uncomfortably and adjusted the wings of his coat over his lap. The subject of his lewd and scandalous musings offered him an innocent smile that fooled him not one jot—the saucy hoyden.
Duncan regarded the enchantress sitting across from him in the carriage with a degree of wariness and a pernicious desire, barely held in check, to spend the foreseeable future in some bedchamber where their privacy might be assured. He thought a fortnight might sate his lust. Their initial afternoon together had illuminated the gross inadequacy of the time he’d allotted to such a task, and the last five days spent in the company of Lady Florence Lloyd-Smith had proved a harsh tease of his baser instincts. He’d fled to the War Office every morning, loitering about the quiet halls hoping for some news of reassignment. Those few hours had been his only reprieve from the continual assault by an earthly Aphrodite embodied in the luscious female form of Lady Lloyd-Smith.
He’d always taken great pride in his self-discipline, his ability to remain above the temptations of the flesh that ruined men of lesser character. He groaned inwardly that he’d ever held such a prideful opinion of himself. He’d simply lacked a worthy opponent. Lady Lloyd-Smyth illuminated his pompous self-delusions as she shattered his self-control. She drew him in every way. God help him. He challenged any gentleman with a pittance of masculine potency to remain indifferent to her enticements—both physical and intellectual. The woman had a damn fine brain to accompany her decidedly provocative physical charms. While some men might consider an intelligent woman something of an anathema, he found her fresh and her conversation stimulating.
Damnation, the woman even smelled good—some soft floral scent with an undertone of exotic spice that seemed to waft from the mounds of her breasts—breasts displayed to great advantage by the cut of her gown. While he’d never made it a habit of scrutinizing ladies’ attire, it seemed as one day followed the next, her décolletage had dipped lower and lower. By God, today, she’d outdone herself. He thought he’d likely go mad with frustration as every lurch of the carriage threatened to pop those delectable mounds out of her gown entirely. As a gentleman, he was forbidden to pay undue attention but as a healthy male? He could hardly draw his eyes away. He must, perforce, fix his gaze out the window though he saw nothing of what passed. He should have indulged his libidinous interest. His imagination presented him with visions that proved far more scandalous than any reality of her could have been.
At the courtyard of her townhome, while the carriage was rolling to a stop, Duncan briskly exited the carriage door and jumped to the ground with a wince. Settling his hat more firmly on his head, he turned to assist her.
She smiled as he handed her down. “The last stop was necessary, Captain Everleigh. Even you must acknowledge you cannot attend formal functions in boots or even half-boots. It would be a social mis-step of the worst sort. You would not have been allowed into the Assembly Rooms at Almacks. You needed several pairs of shoes suitable for evening dress.”
She raised her eyebrows and gazed at him until he was forced to concede with a nod of his head. “Agreed, but what am I to do with three dozen cravats, ten pairs of gloves, five hats and three canes?” She sighed heavily, and he was forced to laugh. “I did caution you I’ve been long out of polite society. Do I have your promise this was the last of the tailors, cloth merchants, cordwainers, cobblers, and bootmakers?”
“Yes, you have my promise and my praise.”
“Praise?” He took her arm and walked her up the steps to the door. “Whatever for?”
“For the last five days, you have been a delightful and agreeable shopping companion whilst I have dragged you from one end of London to the other. You have endured an endless mob of clothiers traipsing through Eleanor’s townhome for one fitting upon the next, and I’ve yet to hear you utter one complaint. I would like to reward you by inviting you to dinner this evening. I have a wonderful cook. I promise you a delicious meal. Say, six o’clock?”
“It would be my greatest pleasure.”
“Until this evening. Oh, and Captain Everleigh, I believe we know each other well enough to dispense with formalities. Please call me Florence.” She dropped a slight curtsy and entered her home.
As he turned to re-enter the carriage, a smile of satisfaction accompanied his rapidly forming plans for an intimate tête-à-tête following dinner. He intended to indulge more than his appetite for food.
When he arrived at the townhouse of Lady Lloyd-Smith some hours later, every window blazed with light. It was his first clue that he’d need to cast aside his plans for a cozy tête à tête. He had thought to walk as the distance was not far, but his sister-in-law’s very proper butler had muttered something about “courtesies due his station” and had called for a carriage. Thus he waited in line for guests to alight from several other vehicles before his driver could pull up to the front door. This was the second clue. The mass of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen drinking brandy and sherry in the drawing room comprised the third. By this time, even a dullard would realize his guns had been thoroughly spiked and he would need to plan an attack on a different front.
Lady Lloyd-Smith greeted him with evident pleasure. “Captain Everleigh. I planned this impromptu soirée so that you might be introduced to some of the important hosts and hostesses still remaining in London. Polite society is very thin this time of year, but there are some notables still in residence. I would particularly like you to meet a dear friend of mine, Lady Lavinia Dacosta. She is hosting a ball for a French refugee in two weeks, and I have great hopes of seeing you there.”
“As you have granted me the liberty of your first name, please call me Duncan.”
She nodded with a smile.
“Thank you for your efforts on my behalf. It will be my pleasure to attend should I be so fortunate to receive an invitation.”
The next few hours, while enjoyable and highly useful, were anything but intimate. He purposely waited until he was the last to leave. “Florence, I was hoping to have a moment with you alone.”
She regarded him pleasantly. “Will my study suffice?”
“Does the door lock?”
Her eyebrows rose dramatically, and she choked on a l
augh. “Yes. Please, follow me.”
The study was an unexpected display of almost masculine furnishings. He closed the door behind him and watched as Florence crossed to an imposing mahogany desk, opened the top drawer and brandished a key. Without comment, she crossed back to him and placed the key in his palm. The well-oiled locking mechanism of the door engaged with a slight click. He left the key in the lock and turned to her.
“Madam, for the last five days, with single-minded purpose, you have teased me without mercy. No doubt you thought to rely on my honor as a gentleman to hold me in check.” He stepped to within a hand’s width of her. Her neck tilted as she returned his gaze, a faint smile on her lips. Gad, but she was a tiny thing. A veritable pocket Venus.
“Do you wish an apology?”
“No, but I will have some slight revenge.” He didn’t wait for her response but pulled her into him. She came without protest, indeed, readily conformed to his body in a maddening press of breasts and thighs. With one arm wrapped around her torso and his hand at the nape of her neck, he angled his lips to meet hers. He brushed them slightly against the soft plush of her mouth, again and again until she gasped and opened her lips, rose on her toes and fully pressed her mouth to his, meeting his desire with equal fervor.
His extensive experience with women had always been limited to the demi-reps, the courtesans, dancers, thespians and opera singers upon whom the ton frowned—or rarely, the prostitutes who followed the armies, though being fastidious in both his person and his requirements for those who shared his bed, such a female seldom rose to his standards. He’d never trespassed on a respectable gentlewoman’s favor and ran in the opposite direction from virgins of any position of birth. He’d expected some hesitancy, some resistance, from Florence…and was wholly prepared to stand down the instant she indicated any hint of reluctance. When the object of his passion answered his lust with her own, well, it was his undoing.
Their tongues caressed each other in a pallid imitation of a more engaged carnal knowledge suggested by the repetitive grind of his groin into her soft abdomen. His hand rose to cup the lush flesh of a breast, and his thumb grazed an erect nipple. She moaned into his mouth, and he shook with the force of will required to hold himself in check. He must have her. He could all but feel the monstrous pleasure of sinking into her hot flesh. His hands dropped and gathered the skirts of her gown to bare her legs before an awareness of the specific type of disaster that awaited him should he take this action to its culmination bludgeoned his fervid lust with common sense. Oh good god, he couldn’t…
Widow or no, Florence was a woman of quality and a friend to the family, and he was an officer of high rank and bred to be a gentleman, even if out of practice with behaving like one. With women of the ilk of Lady Lloyd-Smith, the act he contemplated with indecorous ardency had consequences, as in an expectation of marriage. Marriage. He pulled back abruptly, sucking air like a winded horse, and held her away from that part of him that reviled his cowardly retreat, protesting that he remain on the field of engagement to enjoy the spoils of sure victory. He groaned softly. The remainder of his evening would be uncomfortable in many ways.
The force of their kisses had left her lips plumped and glistening. She opened her eyes, at first not seeing anything, and then bringing him into focus. She smiled. “You stopped.”
He stepped back, and his hands fell away from her hips to hang clenched at his sides. With a deep, steadying breath, he straightened. “You play with fire, madam.”
Her blue eyes widened, and she stood relaxed with her arms hanging in front of her, her fingers interlaced, disappointment beginning to paint her every feature. “Ah.”
Unsettled by her lack of appreciation for her perilous escape, he retreated from her until his back hit the door and he could go no further. He lectured her sternly, “You have no idea the danger you court. You should never be alone with a man such as I.”
She lifted her head in a slight nod as though he was saying something commonplace. “Mmm.”
“Have you no sense of self-preservation? You would be within your rights to…to… demand marriage. You are a lady of quality. I am a high-born gentleman. I was going to… was going to…” he stammered to a stop, halted by her bemused expression. “Damn-it, woman. This is serious!”
When she shrugged and grinned, he closed his eyes, flipped the key to unlock the lock, and with a shake of his head, opened the door and strode out. He didn’t slow his strides until he was home. He was well into a decanter of whiskey when a messenger arrived with his top hat, walking stick, gloves, and coat. An ecru envelope bore a single piece of heavy cream-colored paper with the message:
“You have a singularly strange way of exacting revenge. I believe I shall strive for a reward. Perhaps it will not end so precipitously.”
FL-S
Once his laughter started, he had a hard time containing it.
Chapter Five
His all-too-efficient butler, or rather Lady Miles’ all-too-efficient butler, rapped on the door to the cozy sitting room on the second floor that Duncan used for an office. It was a pleasant, and by virtue of a bay window overlooking the street, well-lit, space at the front of the house, equipped with multiple, built-in bookshelves and a small writing table where he had spread out his traveling inkwell and pens. A pair of large, well-worn wing chairs of faded green velvet had been set in front of the fireplace.
While he had not seen Florence in the flesh for over a week—a strategic retreat to allow him time to regroup—he had sent out card after card to the list of hostesses she’d recommended and for those hostesses who had responded either by calling or leaving a card, he had followed up with a brief courtesy call. The resulting flood of invitations was as she’d predicted, and he’d penned her a note expressing his thanks and inviting her to drive in the park with him. Miles had sent him a lovely pair of greys that he was itching to take for a spin. They’d be in an open vehicle in a public place, and he’d have his hands full with his animals. What trouble could he possibly get into?
Duncan looked up from composing yet another note of acceptance and regarded the butler. “Yes?”
“Sir, there is a gentleman by the name of Major Leeland Abernathy desiring to see you. Are you at home?”
“Leeland is here? Well, I’m delighted. Of course, please show him up. I am always at home to Major Abernathy.”
“Very good, sir.”
A soft tread of steps followed, and the grinning, sandy-haired head of his superior officer peered around the door, shortly followed by the rest of the man. Duncan jumped up and rounded the writing table to clap his friend on the shoulder. “Damnation it’s good to see you, Lee.” He stepped back and examined his friend. “You look none the worse for wear. A damned sight better than the last time I saw you. Have you just now arrived in town?”
“Yes. As reluctant as I was to leave Fairwood, after almost a month of lazing about, I felt obligated to observe propriety and also to join you should the War Office require any further explanation of our report, furthermore… I have something of a personal nature I wish to lay before you.”
“There has been nothing but silence from the War Office. I cannot pretend I am pleased as I fear the powers there will either ignore our observations or refuse to act on them. Sometimes I think our government is trying to start another war.” He shook his head. “But…on a more pleasant subject. My maman took good care of you?”
The major looked away for a moment, a slight blush appearing on his fair features. “Yes. That sweet angel of mercy made my stay so delightful I was disinclined to leave, but I could not in good conscience remain any longer.” He cleared his throat and shifted to stand and look out the bow window. “I cannot remember when I’ve been so …taken with a member of the opposite sex. She is the most beautiful, most kind, most compassionate, most intelligent woman it has ever been my good fortune to meet.”
Duncan gazed in consternation at his friend and superior officer. “Good God, Majo
r, did the loss of blood affect your upper story? What in God’s name has happened to you?”
His friend laughed. “I am bedazzled, mesmerized, enchanted by the fairest creature on earth. Julia has no equal among womankind. She is so far above the ordinary female as to fix her into the company of heavenly beings. I freely confess I have whole-heartedly fallen at her feet.” He turned to face Duncan. “I am in love, Captain, as I have never been before, and I have come to ask your permission to…” he paused for a moment and took an enormous breath. His words followed in a rush. “…court your mother with an eye toward asking her to be my wife.”
Duncan opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again. The major’s pronouncement had robbed him of words, and he was having great difficulty reconciling the effusive suitor before him with the forty-eight-year-old, taciturn, battle-hardened, cynical fellow spy whom he considered a dear friend. Before he could assemble anything close to a coherent response, the major continued, his words measured as he addressed Duncan with an expression of open appeal.
“I know I don’t deserve her. While I am of respectable parentage, I should never have dared look so high had it not been for… ah… for her encouragement. Julia…that is, Her Grace…led me to believe she would welcome my suit should I have your blessing…you and Lord Miles. I will be able to support her, though perhaps not in the fashion she enjoys now. I am landed…and I own a farm and small manor house in Ashford. With careful management, my funds are sufficient to provide a comfortable living for us. Should I have your blessing, I will, of course, resign my commission immediately. I haven’t been to Rutledge. I, ah, I don’t know your half-brother well. By the time I was aware enough to consider my surroundings, Lord Miles and his wife had departed. I thought to come here first and perhaps seek from you a recommendation as to my character that I might present to Lord Miles when I address him. Ah… should you favor my suit, that is.”
A Destitute Duke Page 4
