That kiss.
That brief, sweet, wonderful kiss.
And Blake’s face when he drew back. It was as though someone had told him they were at war with France again or, actually, up was down and he’d been wrong all his life.
Head down, she marched on. Though she enjoyed a healthy walk around the park when in London, she didn’t usually push herself until her legs burned. While Chastity sat and spoke with some of the other ladies and her husband fussed over her, Demeter had already done two loops of the entire park.
Cassie hadn’t been able to come as she was planning a ball and Eleanor had opted to stay home with their father. She did not mind the lack of company, though. Her sisters might be used to her being quiet but they knew her well and would surely pick up on her strange mood.
She headed down the short slope toward a grove of oak trees, toward the shade, folded up her parasol and rested her back to the tree trunk. Tilting her head upward, she squinted to eye the leaves swaying gently above her. It was bad enough to be in love with Blake from a distance but to have experienced a real life kiss...how was her life ever going to be the same again?
An abrasive laugh drew her attention toward the path sweeping past the trees and Demeter shrank back against the trees.
Lady Fenwick and Mrs. Crisp. She shuddered. They were amongst the worst gossips in the ton and had most certainly partaken in the rumors about Eleanor last year, if not started some of them. They were never openly rude to any of the Fallon sisters—they dare not given their father’s rank—but they were snide and often talked deliberately slowly to Demeter as though she were slow indeed. She loathed dealing with them on the best of days and considering how addled her wits were from that kiss, this was most decidedly not a best day.
She shifted around the tree trunk, tucked herself behind it, and watched the two ladies walk past, their arms looped and their laughter breaking through the rustle of leaves and gentle trickle of water from the river like a horn splitting the air. She waited a few moments longer, ensuring they would not notice her dart out then paused.
Michael Foster strode up the path not far behind them. She should talk to him really—ascertain if Blake’s instincts about him were correct—maybe even subtly question him about his mother.
Whether it was the kiss or the swirling sensations in her stomach or simply the fatigue from too little sleep, she could not say, but she couldn’t face playing investigator today. She waited for him to pass too, watching him as she had the other ladies from the protection of the tree.
He moved with a modest confidence and his cheeks were rosy from his walk. Everything about him indicated a man unused to wealth and trying to adjust to a new life from the shiny new buttons on his jacket to the over styled look of his hair. It wasn’t that she did not believe Blake as such, but it was so hard to picture this boyish-looking man doing anything wrong.
Foster stopped and Demeter held her breath. Had he spotted her snooping? Would he think her awfully strange? But his gaze looked past her and when she twisted her head, she spotted a hoop bouncing down the gentle slope of the grass and heading straight for Mr. Foster.
He didn’t move out the way and let it hit his leg. The hoop bounced off his calf and landed harmlessly on its side. A boy followed swiftly after, stick in hand, and snatched up the hoop with a look of concern. Demeter couldn’t hear anything but she imagined the boy was offering bashful apologies from his expression.
Mr. Foster picked up the hoop and handed it back, his expression sour. Then he snatched the stick from the boy. Demeter frowned.
The boy made to grab for it but Mr. Foster snapped it clean in half, the sound reverberating all the way to her. She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth as he handed the two halves of the stick back to the child then bent low to say something in the child’s ear.
Whatever it was, it made the boy turn ghostly white and he ran away as speedily as he could. Mouth ajar, Demeter watched Mr. Foster as he straightened, tugged his waistcoat, and let a gentle smile flicker on his lips as he continued his walk.
Demeter flattered herself against the tree, a hand still to her mouth. Her heart thudded so hard she felt it pound against her ribs. Blake was right. There was something nefarious about the man.
And he needed to know that.
Now.
***
“Do make yourself at home, Mother,” Blake drawled, leaning against the doorframe of the drawing room, and taking in the scene before him. The last time a woman had been draped across the chaise, it had been in entirely different circumstances and recalling that image whilst his mother did the same made his stomach turn.
Embroidery in hand, a cup of tea on the table to her left, and an empty, crumb-scattered plate set upon the plant stand to her right, it seemed she had settled in for the day.
He rubbed his forehead and sighed. His bachelor residence had not been designed with embroidery and tea and mothers in mind. Even the decor in the room had been chosen to create an intimate environment, ideal for entertaining ladies and enjoying sordid parties with dark wood, red draperies, and plush, luxurious fabrics.
But instead of lovers or friends, he had his mother.
They’d already spent more time together this Season than the past ten years. What was going on?
“Are you ill?” he asked abruptly.
Why had it not occurred to him previously? She was dying. It was the only reason. His gut twisted. They might not be close and he could not claim to know his mother that well, but he didn’t wish death on her. Lord knew, being married to his father was enough punishment for her neglect of him as a child as it was.
“Of course not. I have an excellent constitution.”
“Then why—” he moved into the room “—are you here?”
She lifted her embroidery as though he was stupid.
“I do not claim to know much about needlework but I am fairly certain you can do that anywhere, Mother.”
She sighed, set the hoop on her knees, and removed her spectacles so they hung upon their delicate gold chain around her neck. “I am worried for you, Blakey.”
“Since when do you worry for me?”
“I am your mother.” She rose from the chair and dropped the embroidery on the seat behind her before stepping close.
She reached for him but he ducked back. He might not hold any ill will toward his mother, however, he wasn’t sure he was ready for hugs. There had been a distinct lack of them as a child and he wasn’t sure he even knew how to partake in an embrace.
A flicker of disappointment shuttered her gaze and her lips pressed together.
“Well, your concern is unwarranted,” he said firmly. “I am perfectly well and I have little idea why you should feel any worry over me.”
Fingers twining together, his mother glanced to the floor then up at him, biting on her bottom lip. “I know Iris’s death was hard on you. You were close.” Her throat bobbed. “Your father’s sister gave you what...” Her chest rose and fell and tears shimmered in the corner of her eyes. “What I could not.”
Blake turned away swiftly as his throat tightened. He didn’t want to think about Aunt Iris or his mother or any of the past if he was honest. Of course he missed her. She’d been the one kind adult in his life and even as he’d grown, their relationship remained strong.
Straightening, he forced a neutral expression. “I am fine, Mother,” he insisted. “Aunt Iris was old. It was her time. She even said she was ready.” He eased out a shuddery breath. “We’d all be lucky to go in our sleep.”
His mother stretched out a hand, her bony fingers weighed down by a jeweled ring on almost every finger. He ignored it and she clasped her hand back to her chest.
“Jacob,” she said softly.
The doorbell chimed through the house and Blake allowed himself a long, less shuddery breath. With any luck it would be Ashford and they could escape whatever the devil was going on with his mother. He didn’t even wait for the butler to bring in a card before striding to
the front of the house.
Unfortunately, Ashford had not arrived to rescue him and whilst he was grateful for the conversation to be over, he wasn’t certain he was ready to have both Demeter and his mother under one roof. Especially as it seemed Demeter’s aunt had come to play chaperone. He managed a polite smile but all he found himself doing was staring at Demeter’s lips.
They’d been so soft.
They’d tasted of ale—bitter and cool.
They’d been so, so soft.
It was odd. Kisses were for seduction. They were fast and fierce and hot. Yet that briefest touch of lips lingered in his mind more than any of the previous kisses in his life.
Demeter clutched a delicate beaded reticule in one hand while a string of white fabric flowers were looped about the other wrist, matching her pale lace gown. He’d noticed that she always had flowers about her person as though encouraging him to do a hunt for it. It couldn’t mean much, after all, women liked flowers, but he did not need the encouragement to rove her body with his gaze to see if there were more, or where they were next.
He looked swiftly away. Her aunt smiled serenely, as though she hadn’t noticed the lascivious looks he’d been unwittingly bestowing upon her niece.
Demeter gave a tight smile. “Mr. Blake, I hope you do not mind us calling unannounced but I was hoping I might discuss a m-matter with you.”
He scowled. She did not wish to discuss the kiss, did she? Surely not. What was there to even discuss? No one saw them, and unless she had confessed all to her brother or father, nothing would come of it.
Good Lord, he’d been a fool. What had he been thinking kissing an innocent like Demeter? Especially while dressed as a boy. If anyone had seen them, he’d have more things to worry about than an arranged marriage to a duke’s daughter.
“Ah Mrs. Blake.” Mrs. Knighton darted around him to take his mother’s hands. “How pleasing to see you here. I was hoping to take a little stroll around the gardens and now I shall have some company. We can leave these two to discuss...things.”
His mother looked perplexed then her eyes widened and she smiled softly. “But of course. It is such lovely weather and it has been so long since we have talked.”
Blake narrowed his gaze. He was certain he’d seen them together only the other day at the park. By the time the two women had bustled outside, he realized quite what was happening. They thought they were getting involved in some sort of matchmaking scenario.
He shook his head to himself. It did not matter how much that tiny, brief kiss had rocked the very foundations of his world or how he’d never experienced anything like it. He would never marry and he would never turn into his father.
Chapter Fourteen
Twin emotions of amusement and horror stirred in Demeter’s stomach. A smile insisted on curving her lips as Blake’s mother paused to tweak his cravat before he left but then she gave Demeter an approving look and her stomach pitched to the floor. Her aunt had never been a subtle woman but when two experienced women made it obvious they saw her as a love match for Blake, she wondered what chance she really stood.
Well, about as much as before she supposed. Just with an added hint of humiliation when Blake made it clear he had no desire to marry her. His horrified expression after kissing her was enough to end any silly, girlish ideas she might have secretly harbored. She had to be realistic. As much as she loved Blake, they were a terrible match. He must think so too if his reaction to their kiss was anything to go by.
He motioned to the room to the right, started to say something then stopped himself. She moved into what turned out to be a drawing room, furnished in wholly masculine tastes.
“Not surprising,” she murmured to herself.
“Pardon?” he said from behind her.
She twisted and motioned to the darkly furnished room. “I was just saying...I should have expected such decor.”
A brow arched and she turned to eye a nearby painting of a grand stately home.
A far better option than looking at his lips or getting lost in his eyes.
“I did not realize I was so predictable.”
She glanced at him. “You are a bachelor rake. What else would you have? Pastels and ferns in every corner?”
“I have one fern.” He pointed to a slightly tired-looking plant near the window.
She laughed. “Oh well that makes all the difference.”
“I do not mean to be blunt, Demeter, but what did you want? My mother keeps sneaking peeks through the window and if we are not careful, she shall wind up arranging our wedding breakfast by the afternoon.”
She looked to the window where her aunt and Mrs. Blake strolled slowly around the garden, arm in arm, both pretending to be interested in the plants and not what was happening in the drawing room.
“That would be terrible for you, no doubt.”
“And you,” he said. “Your sisters have quite the reputation for avoiding matrimony.”
Demeter swallowed. Her sisters had avoided it for good reason. In her case, mostly because she could not bear to be laughed at by the opposite sex when she stumbled over her words.
Oh yes, and because she’d been in love with Blake for an eternity. She couldn’t forget that.
“Chastity and Cassie are both married now,” she pointed out.
“My mother has never been interested in seeing me wed until now.” He made a face. “It seems she thinks I need looking after.”
I’ll look after you, she wanted to blurt and hated herself for being so pathetic.
“Maybe you would be happy with a wife,” she said vaguely. “You are nearly thirty after all. Surely you want heirs?”
He shook his head vigorously. “I was not designed to be married. I would be doing the woman an utter disservice.”
The firmness in his tone made her heart drop but she needed those words, the clarity they brought. She took them in and solidified them in her mind. Blake was not designed to be married and she should never, ever forget that.
“Anyway, I came because of your cousin.”
His brows lifted. “Yes?”
“I saw him at Hyde Park today during my daily walk.”
“I’ve never known anyone to walk so much and so fast,” he commented.
“Well—I...” She let her brow furrow. “It’s good for one’s health,” she said. “But that is beside the point. On my walk, I saw Mr. Foster and he had an altercation with a young boy.”
“An altercation?”
“The boy was playing with a hoop and stick and was being a little careless. It knocked into your cousin.” She paused and pressed a finger to her lips. “It was the oddest thing though because it was almost as though he wanted the hoop to hit him. As though he was looking to give the boy a scolding.”
“So he scolded the boy?”
“Worse. He snapped the child’s stick in half, then said something to him.”
“Something?”
“Blake, you should have been there. I’ve never seen a child look so terrified. And it was the manner in which he did it.” She stepped close to Blake and moved her face to his ear. “He spoke to him like this with the most threatening expression.”
Blake glanced sideways at her. She felt the heat from his skin on her cheek and smelled his cologne. Just a tiny movement, and he could press his lips to her skin and then down, along her neck and—
She stepped sharply back and swallowed the knot in her throat. “Worse, he acted as though nothing had happened afterward. He just smiled and ambled along, appearing, well, pleasant.”
He tapped a finger to his lips then shoved a hand through his hair. “I knew it.”
“You were right, Blake. Your instincts, that gut of yours, was right. There is something wrong and Michael Foster is not the man he says he is.”
His grin turned triumphant. “Instincts, Demeter. Always trust your instincts.”
“There’s no need to look so excited. He could be a murderer or…or…” She struggled to thin
k of something worse. “Or something.”
“Yes.” His grin widened. “And we are going to find out exactly what in a few days when we attend that meeting.”
We. Demeter pressed out a breath. Lord, if only such a simple utterance did not make her heart give a delighted little skip.
***
Before Blake could promise to send word to Demeter and put an end to the conversation that her aunt and his mother were not-so-subtly watching through the windows, the butler stepped into the drawing room followed by Ashford.
Ashford’s gaze darted between them then to the window behind. A slow smile crossed his lips. He ignored Blake, moved past the butler and fixed his gaze upon Demeter. Her eyes widened and Blake ground his teeth together. He’d seen that smile on Ashford too many times. He used it to charm and sway and ensure any number of women fell at his feet.
How dare he use it on Demeter.
“Lady Demeter, what a pleasant surprise.”
“Lord Ashford.” She dropped her gaze and dipped demurely.
He dipped his head and handed over his hat and gloves to the butler, ensuring Blake got the message—I’m staying.
“Lady Demeter was just leaving,” Blake said tightly.
“I was?”
Ashford chuckled. “My friend has the most beastly manners. I see you have not even offered her tea.”
“I’m hardly the sort to sup tea, Ashford.”
“I-I do not need any, really,” she protested. “And I was about to leave.”
“So soon?” Ashford motioned outside. “It looks as though Mrs. Blake and your aunt are having such a pleasant time. It would be cruel to part them.”
“So soon?” spluttered Blake. “How do you know she has not been here all afternoon?”
Ashford lifted a shoulder. “I just know.” He cocked his head and eyed her wrist. “What a charming bracelet.”
Demeter blinked and lifted her wrist, unwittingly offering Ashford a chance to finger the flowers around her delicate limb.
“Is there significance behind it?” Ashford ran a finger along the fabric flowers, almost grazing the inside skin of her wrist.
Blake’s teeth hurt. He forced himself to unclench his jaw.
Wagers of a Duke's Daughter (The Duchess's Investigative Society Book 3) Page 9
