Duke of Her Own, A

by Lorraine Heath

  “Depends on the lighting.” Jenny turned around, holding up a lovely gown of pink tulle and black velvet. “This should do nicely. Where are the accessories?”

  Without hesitation, Kate walked to a dresser.

  “Honestly, this is simply too much,” Louisa said, clutching her hands to prevent her fingers from reaching out to touch a gown more beautiful than any she’d ever worn. To wear a Charles Worth gown had long been a dream of hers, but if she wore it, how could she return to her simpler gowns? Was it better to have one night of feeling like a princess, then spending the remainder of her life knowing what she would never again have, or was it better never to have and never know?

  “If you don’t like it, we can find another,” Jenny said.

  “It’s lovely, but the duke—”

  “Again, he can wait. Believe me, gentlemen appreciate us much more when we make them work a bit to gain our attention.” She smiled brightly. “Surely you wouldn’t deny Kate and me the fun of transforming you into an American heiress.”

  “But your mother—”

  “I asked Father to take her out for the evening.”

  Kate approached, holding pink kid gloves, pink silk stockings, and pink silk slippers with black bows. Louisa had accessories, but they did not match any particular outfit down to the tiniest detail. Rather she purchased items so they had multiple uses, could be interchanged without seeming out of place. These accessories could be worn with only this gown.

  “Jenny feared Mama would push the duke into asking for her hand before he left,” Kate said.

  “Your mother isn’t that bad,” Louisa said, again not certain why she took up for the woman. Perhaps because she had no mother to see after her, and a part of her envied these girls, thought they should appreciate their mother a bit more.

  “She’s awful,” Kate said. “Now, Lady Louisa, do let Jenny and me have our fun. We often dressed each other when we were younger. I must admit that each of us takes pleasure in making the other look her best. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “It seems like so much trouble—”

  “Nonsense. Besides, won’t the duke be the envy of everyone when he arrives at the opera house with two lovely ladies on his arm?” Jenny asked.

  Louisa knew that she should leave this room immediately, but for three years she’d worn the same gown to every evening function that she’d attended. To have one night—

  “Is it truly a Worth?” she heard herself asking.

  Smiling warmly, Jenny said, “Are ladies such as we deserving of anything less?”

  He was unaccustomed to waiting being forced upon him. During the hunt, he would often bide his time before making his calculated move, but as a rule, ladies did not seek his displeasure by delaying their entry.

  Jenny Rose was another matter entirely. She had the upper hand, and well she knew it. Hawk stood in the entry hallway, holding his top hat and walking stick in one gloved hand, attempting to rein in his impatience. He was anxious to be about the seduction. It had even occurred to him to seek out her parents and ask for their daughter’s hand in marriage.

  If a title was what they desired for her, then why was courtship even necessary? It was a colossal waste of his time and energies and simply delayed the introduction of his own sister into Society.

  Hearing light footsteps, he glanced up at the sweeping staircase and felt as though someone had taken his walking stick and given him a hard jab in the chest. She was absolutely stunning. A vision in pink. Her hair was swept up off her alabaster shoulders, a band of gold circling the top of her head, holding pink ostrich feathers so they curled over her hair. She came to stand before him, the hue in her cheeks matching the hue of her gown. Had he ever seen so much of her shoulders, her throat, her chest? The swell of her breasts was merely a hint, yet his body reacted as though all were revealed.

  “—lovely, don’t you think?”

  He jerked his head around, the heat of embarrassment traveling along his neck, threatening to strangle him. What had Jenny Rose been saying?

  He forced himself to nod, smile, and hold her gaze when he desperately wanted to take another long, lingering look at Lady Louisa, from the silly ostrich feathers perched atop her head to the tiny pink satin slippers peeking out from beneath her hem. “Miss Rose, my apologies. I must confess that I’d not expected your chaperone to dress so…”

  “Becomingly?” she offered.

  “Inappropriately,” he stated succinctly.

  “Oh, come, Your Grace. I find your custom of chaperones tedious, and this way I can simply pretend I’m going out with a friend and a gentleman.” She winked. “Much easier to escape the watchful eye of a friend, don’t you find?”

  Her eyes and the moue of her mouth held promises of mischief not spoken. He couldn’t understand why he wasn’t enthralled with the prospect.

  “If we do not get on our way, we shall be tardy and miss the beginning of the opera,” he pointed out.

  She laughed lightly. “I daresay that my interest in the opera is such that it has never bothered me in the least to miss the beginning.”

  “If you have no interest in the opera, then why did you consent to accompany me?”

  She wound her arm around his. “Why because I have an interest in you, Your Grace.”

  He felt the heat intensify at his neck and darted a glance at Lady Louisa. She was studying a glove as though she’d never before worn one, and he couldn’t help but realize how awkward it was to be a chaperone—a young chaperone—when a couple was engaged in a courting ritual.

  “We should be off,” he announced, and thought Lady Louisa looked as relieved as he felt.

  The footman opened the door, and the ladies preceded Hawk into the night. Lady Louisa’s gown dipped almost as low in the back as it did in the front, and with the help of the gas lamps bordering the walk, he could make out the line of her spine. He’d always favored a lady’s neck, her shoulders, trailing his mouth along her spine, feeling her shiver beneath him. He was in a frightfully uncomfortable state by the time they reached his coach. He helped Miss Rose inside, then held his hand out to Lady Louisa. He seemed unable to stop himself from squeezing her fingers, halting her progress.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you look quite so lovely,” he said quietly.

  Her eyes widened, and she ducked her head as though suddenly embarrassed. “My charges are determined that I should reap the benefits of living within their household. My attire was their idea, not mine.”

  “So you did not wish to take my breath away?”

  She seemed momentarily flummoxed. Not that he could blame her. What had he been thinking to reveal that sentiment?

  “Quite honestly,” she finally said, “my only thought was to do whatever necessary to get Jenny down the stairs. She is quite headstrong.”

  “Not unlike you.”

  “I prefer to think of myself as determined.”

  “Are you two coming?” Jenny called out. “I thought we were in a hurry.”

  Indeed he was most anxious to get this night over with. He helped Louisa into the coach, then made his own way inside, taking the seat opposite them so he traveled backward. A footman closed the door, and before Hawkhurst had taken a breath, the coach was on its way.

  It irritated him that he could smell Louisa so distinctly, that he was so much more aware of her. He should have invited both sisters; then perhaps they could have left the blasted chaperone at home.

  “You don’t strike me as a man who would enjoy the opera,” Jenny said, suddenly bursting into his thoughts with a voice much too loud for his tastes. It was the way of these Americans to speak as though the entire world wished to hear what they had to say.

  “I inherited the box from my father. My mother enjoys the opera.”

  “Oh, is she in London then?”

  “No, she prefers the country, but I keep the box available for when she might come to the city.”

  “It seems you are a most thoughtful son,
much more so than my brother, I daresay.”

  He shifted his gaze to Louisa. She was staring out the window, her profile limned by the light from the streetlamps. He’d never sought to seduce a woman who brought a chaperone along. It was a rather uncomfortable endeavor.

  He turned his attention back to Jenny. It was difficult to tell in the shadowy confines of his coach, but it seemed she was watching him quite intently. He wondered if his appearance pleased her. Then he cursed himself for caring. She wanted only his title. It was all he intended to offer.

  “I was unaware you had a brother,” he said, only because the silence stretching out between them was beginning to test his patience.

  “Yes, Jeremy. He’s twenty-eight. Unfortunately, I don’t see him nearly often enough. He spends a good deal of his time traveling. He just returned from a lengthy sojourn in Europe.”

  “How fortunate for him that he is in a position to do as he pleases.”

  “You are not in a position such as that, are you, Your Grace?” she asked.

  “No, Miss Rose, I am not.”

  “Neither am I. I find that to be most unfortunate. What would you do if you could do as you pleased?”

  “It is not so much what I would do as what I would not do. I would not marry.”

  “Truly? My brother is of the same mind. I don’t understand. Why do men abhor the thought of marriage do you suppose?”

  “Why do women adore it so?” he countered.

  “Because we have been brought up to believe it will bring us happiness. Will your wife be a happy woman, Your Grace?”

  Louisa swung her head around, and even in the darkness, he could sense the dare in her gaze. To reveal the truth: that any woman married to him would be more likely to be miserable than happy.

  “I’m certain she and I could come to an understanding that would result in her happiness,” he finally admitted.

  “Well, that is all a woman could ask, I suppose.”

  But he feared that beneath her words, he heard the censure and the acknowledgment that a woman—especially a woman in her position—could ask for a great deal more.

  It was an awkward thing to be a chaperone, to be privy to conversations that should have been private. To witness a gentleman’s attempts at seduction, a woman’s flirtations. To be present and yet invisible. To hold one’s tongue when it wanted to wag incessantly. To be merely an observer, not a participant in the evening.

  It was especially awkward when the gentleman insisted that she sit beside her charge at the front of the box while he sat at the back. Louisa had wanted to be irritated with Hawkhurst; instead, she’d been touched that he refused to relegate her to the role of inconsequential companion.

  She fought to focus on the performance, to appreciate fully this rare moment of actually attending an opera, but instead she found her mind drifting to thoughts of the man sitting behind her. The way his gaze had roamed over her as she’d descended the stairs: almost feral in its intensity, it had set her heart to racing. She was not a newcomer to men’s attentions, but they rarely lingered long once the reality of her financial situation became apparent.

  Even wrapped inside the shadows of the coach, she’d been aware of his gaze, homing in on her with startling precision. She’d been acutely aware of his scent filling the small confines. When she closed her eyes, she could see the fierce pride in his stance as he’d stood in the entryway, a man at a disadvantage who failed to give quarter. She’d been cognizant of her own position, its unfairness; but she’d never considered how difficult it would be for a man to pretend interest, for a man literally to hold his hat in his hand and hope he would be found worthy.

  She nearly leapt out of her skin when Jenny touched her arm, leaned over, and whispered, “I’m going to visit the ladies’ toilette.”

  “Can you not wait for the intermission?”

  “Afraid not, but I won’t be long.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No need for you to miss the performance when the gentleman who could get me into mischief will be staying behind.”

  “But still, to let you go out alone—”

  “I’m only going to the room designated for ladies to freshen up. I’m hardly likely to be ravished in the hallway. I’ll be fine. Besides, it’s the duke you’re to keep an eye on and keep in line. Not me.”

  Louisa had to admit Jenny had made a valid point. What mischief could the lady get into when the main mischief-maker remained? Louisa nodded. “All right then.”

  Smiling sweetly, Jenny patted Louisa’s arm before rising. She took a step back, whispered to Hawkhurst, then disappeared through the curtains at the back of the box.

  Louisa was suddenly very much aware that she was alone with Hawkhurst. She forced her attention to the stage. It would not do to fantasize, even for a moment, that she was the reason he was in attendance this evening. She heard a scuffling sound, then he was sitting beside her. She was incredibly grateful that she wore gloves to absorb the sudden dampness of her palms. She focused more intently—

  “Are you enjoying the performance?” he asked quietly.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  “I have never understood the appeal of opera.”

  “And yet you keep the box.”

  “For my mother, as I said.”

  “It seems an unwarranted extravagance when one is having a difficult time making ends meet.”

  “On occasion I…sell the seats for the evening for a good deal more than they are worth.”

  His voice was tight, and when she looked at him, she could see what it had cost him to admit what he did, and she couldn’t understand why he had chosen to confess to her. Perhaps because their situations were so alike. “To Americans?” she asked.

  “No. To my fellow Englishmen who suddenly find themselves with more money than they know what to do with.”

  “I assume you’re referring to the upper class that has emerged through hard work.”

  “Indeed. They have means but not the legacy. It is an odd arrangement, and they are encroaching ever more upon our…small, intimate society.”

  “Mr. Rose says that our aristocrats must accept that their future holds work if they are to survive.”

  “He may have the right of it. Still, it is a dismal prospect.”

  “Less dismal than starving to death.”

  He flashed a grin. “Are you a realist, Lady Louisa?”

  She straightened. “I like to think so, yes. It’s the very reason that I took a position as chaperone. Because I grew weary of waiting for life to offer me something when I was fully capable of acquiring my own happiness.”

  “Being at another’s beck and call brings you happiness?”

  “It brings me independence, Your Grace. I cannot say that marriage would have done the same. While I will admit that being waited upon is quite pleasant, I find it exceedingly satisfying to know I’m in charge of my actions in a way that I have never been before.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at the still curtains. What was keeping Jenny?

  “How did your brother fare with Miss Rose yesterday afternoon?” Hawkhurst asked.

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  He leaned nearer, bringing his wondrous scent with him. She wondered why she’d never found the scent of any other man quite as appealing.

  “She did not fancy him?” he asked.

  “Her mother did not fancy him. Unfortunately, Mrs. Rose had chosen that moment, shortly after his arrival, to come out to the garden. She was less than impressed with his title. She forbade him to call upon them again. I felt rather sorry for him.” His pride had been bruised, his manhood battered, and while Louisa questioned his appropriateness as a husband for her charges, she’d still taken offense at Mrs. Rose’s treatment of her brother.

  “A pity,” Hawkhurst muttered.

  “There is insincerity in your tone, Your Grace. Do not for one moment think that I do not recognize that Mrs. Rose’s attitude gives you an advanta
ge.”

  “As I said, I enjoy the thrill of the hunt, and without competition—”

  “Make no mistake,” she said smugly. “You have competition.”

  “With whom?” he fairly growled, coming even nearer, until she could almost feel the heat leaving his skin.

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “Damnation, Louisa—”

  “Do not use profanity or that tone of voice with me. I have been honest regarding my opinion of you as a prospect. I will not reveal anything that might give you a further advantage than you have already gained.”

  “I’m not as bad as all that.”

  “Do you deny that you imbibe to excess?”

  “On occasion, perhaps, I drink a bit too much.”

  “Do you deny that your sexual appetites are insatiable and that you take more than one woman to your bed at a time to appease your needs?”

  Closing his eyes, he pressed two fingers against the bridge of his nose as though to push back some sort of pain. “What else has your brother said?” he asked, with the low growl she was coming to recognize that he used when he was incredibly displeased.

  “I should think that was quite enough.”

  “Indeed.” He took her hand, turned it, and placed his fingers against her gloved wrist. She could feel the heat of his touch. “Your heart is racing. Is it the thought of such wickedness or my nearness that causes such a reaction?”

  “Neither. I simply have a very rapid heart.” She tried to tug free, but he held fast.

  And worse, he managed to draw her nearer, until she felt his breath skim over her cheek.

  “I was all of twenty,” he rasped in a seductive voice. “It was one night, and they were twins who proposed the notion to me. I’m not one to turn away opportunity, especially when it comes in the form of a lovely lady…or two.”

  She was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Jenny will be returning at any moment. It would not be wise to be found in this compromising position, and if someone else should look over—”

  “They will think we are merely whispering about the opera. They cannot detect your blush, or the speed of your heart, or the scent of desire that is growing—”