The Infamous Duchess

by Sophie Barnes

“Really?” She spoke as if her voice was disconnected from her body. Florian had never mentioned any connection to Robert, but then again, he might not have known all of his brother’s acquaintances. Or maybe he’d decided not to share the information with her because he didn’t want to give her additional reason not to like Henry.

  “We were school friends. Attended both Eton and Cambridge together.”

  “Mmm-hmm . . .” What else could she possibly say to that? As it was, she was trying not to judge herself too harshly for enjoying Mr. Lowell’s company when the truth was she ought to have known better. His reputation alone should have warned her he’d be the sort of man with whom Robert had likely caroused before leaving England. Every article she’d read about him in the papers over the years ought to have done so as well, not to mention Mrs. Richardson’s comment about his notoriety and her friends’ words of warning. And yet Viola had ignored it all in favor of playing cards. And in so doing, she’d let down her guard and allowed herself to like the scoundrel.

  “Tell me,” he was saying, “how on earth did you manage to build a hospital?”

  The change in subject startled her slightly. “I, um . . . My husband left me a generous inheritance.” She did her best to focus on what she was saying and ignore the fear creeping over her skin. “When he died, I spent most of it on purchasing this building, renovating it and employing competent people, like your brother.”

  “An impressive feat, to be sure. The people of London are indebted to you, Viola.”

  While the compliment sounded sincere, Viola could not ignore the softness with which he spoke it. There was an element of enticement present, perhaps unintentionally, but there all the same.

  He will know precisely what to say in order to seduce the most defiant woman straight into his bed.

  Viola stood so quickly the movement pushed back her chair with such jarring force that it squeaked against the floor. She’d known to be careful and yet somehow he’d breached her defenses. How on earth could she have let that happen?

  Mr. Lowell stared up at her while she stared back down at him. “All the more reason for me to remember my duty.” There was a slight quiver as she spoke, which couldn’t be helped.

  “Viola.” His voice implored her to stay even as she walked to the door.

  Viola continued out into the hallway without looking back, acutely aware she was being a coward but also knowing she had no choice but to flee.

  Chapter 4

  Henry’s thoughts lingered on Viola as the day wore on. He pondered the way she’d reacted when he’d revealed how well he knew Robert. Panic had flickered in her eyes and her entire body had seemed to retreat as if he suddenly posed a threat. It had been curious to watch and equally alarming. It had also resulted in Emily coming to tend to his wound that evening, and when he’d inquired about Viola, he’d been told she had other patients to see to.

  He did not encounter her the next day either, at which point he grew concerned. Because if he was correct and it was his connection to Robert that had put her off, he feared discovering what his friend might have done to distress her so.

  He knit his brow and considered the possibilities. As lads, Robert had been the wilder one—the one who snuck brandy and cheroots into the dorm at Eton and bravely took the blame the one time when they’d gotten caught.

  Later, at Cambridge, Robert had started a private group that selected its members based on position and wealth. Joining had been a natural thing for Henry considering his longstanding friendship with Robert by then. And it had been fun for a while. He’d enjoyed the parties and the women Robert had managed to procure. Until he started becoming aware of Robert’s temper. Henry had witnessed it on a few occasions, like when Robert refused to pay for a woman he’d bedded because she’d failed to meet his expectations. A fight had ensued in the brothel they’d visited, and eventually they’d both been tossed out with a warning to never return.

  Two days later, Henry had happened upon the demimondaine at the heart of the conflict. She’d been begging for coin when he’d gone into town. Bruised and with her lip cut, she’d screamed accusations at Henry as soon as she’d seen him, pointing to her beaten face and claiming his friend was to blame for her losing her job.

  Shocked and embarrassed by the unwanted attention she’d drawn to him, Henry had fled. When he’d mentioned the incident later to Robert, Robert had said that such lies were what one could expect from a whore such as her. He’d denied ever laying a hand on the woman, but something in his eyes had made Henry wonder. It was part of the reason why they’d drifted apart in the years that had followed. Because somewhere deep down inside, Henry had known that his friend had returned to that brothel and taken revenge. He just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

  Regardless of his wishes, Viola didn’t return until the following morning. Even though she’d pulled her hair back in the tightest knot he’d ever seen and her face conveyed nothing but the utmost professionalism, he still thought her stunning. A curious alertness pulled at his gut the moment her eyes found his. For although her expression was guarded and she seemed intent on refusing to smile, warmth emanated from her gaze—a testament to how she truly felt about him.

  “You look well today, Mr. Lowell. According to what Emily tells me, you have continued to improve since I saw you. Having discussed your progress with her, I have concluded that you are ready to be discharged the day after tomorrow.”

  Henry’s heart fell. He didn’t want to go home. He wanted to stay here and talk to her. He wanted to watch her gray eyes come alive with mischief, shrewdness and irritation. It didn’t matter which emotion she emitted, as long as it was directed at him.

  “Perhaps you should check her prognosis yourself,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “No need. I trust Emily completely.”

  “But . . .” He knew he was grasping for excuses now. Any would do. “My brother left me in your care. Surely you owe it to him to ensure my health is as sound as Emily claims.”

  Viola’s jaw tightened and he could see her struggling with her decision. Eventually she sighed and went to clean her hands. “I do not like having the competence of my staff questioned, Mr. Lowell.”

  “Forgive me. It is just, I believed we were getting along rather well, you and I, and then all of a sudden you were gone and refrained from coming to check on me for one full day and—”

  “Running a hospital keeps me busy.” She set her supplies on the table next to the bed. “Socializing with my patients is a luxury I do not always have.”

  “And yet you took the time to play cards with me.”

  When she didn’t respond, he resolved to change the subject. Perhaps if they could discuss something else, something less personal and of greater interest to her, he could lure her conversational side back out again. It was worth a try.

  “Florian says you’re building a rejuvenation center.”

  She pulled at his sheet and tugged on his shirt, wrestling the fabric into the desired position with mechanical movements. “Yes.” She began untying his bandage while carefully avoiding making contact with his skin in a way she’d never bothered to do before.

  Interesting.

  “So how is it coming along? Is it almost finished?”

  She glanced at him briefly and quickly averted her gaze once more. “It is.”

  So much for encouraging her conversational side. He sighed and determined to try again with a different sort of question. “What prompted you to consider such a project?”

  The bandage came off and she carefully pulled back the compress to study the wound. “It wasn’t my idea. The duchesses of Huntley and Redding came up with it when they learned the hospital needed a steadier income.” She explained why this was important, changing the compress to a clean one as she did so.

  “From what I understand, this center will offer saunas, the relief of muscular aches through hand pressure, invigorating tonics, herbal compresses and other such things. Is that correct?”
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  She tied the fresh bandage she’d used to hold the compress in place and proceeded to pull down his shirt. “It is supposed to provide an alternative to going to Bath.”

  Henry said the first thing that popped into his head. “I think it’s genius.”

  Her face turned more fully toward him, just enough for him to see she was smiling. Not a lot, but enough to convey her appreciation. He tried to think of what to say next and settled on “What else are you planning?”

  She straightened her posture and studied him for a brief moment as if unsure whether to encourage more conversation. Holding himself completely still, Henry gazed straight up at her with what he hoped would be construed as innocent curiosity rather than a deliberate attempt at increased contact.

  To his relief, it worked after what felt like the longest pause he’d ever had to endure.

  “I am thinking of having enriched spring water bottled and brought to London so we can serve it to our customers as an added exclusivity.”

  “That would certainly encourage people to come through your door.” Henry regretted seeing her clean away her supplies and wash her hands once more because he knew this meant she would soon depart. “Location is important as well, of course. I trust you’ve found a good one?”

  She spoke while she worked. “I managed to acquire a reasonably sized building on Swallow Street.”

  Henry stared at her while doing his damnedest not to smile too broadly. “Really?” He hesitated, aware that she’d turned in response to his comment and that she now watched him expectantly. Ah well, she’d discover the truth soon enough, so he might as well tell her. “That’s the same street my own place of business is on.”

  She shook her head with incomprehension.

  “The Red Rose?” he prompted. She continued to look like she had no clue what he was referring to. “I opened it a few years ago with the intention of creating a social club for ladies and gentlemen alike. It offers meals and entertainment.”

  “I wasn’t aware.” Her words were pensive.

  “It’s at the Piccadilly end of Swallow Street. I expect your rejuvenation center is at the Oxford Street end?” She nodded mutely. “Then we are practically neighbors.”

  He was thrilled, while she was clearly a bit uncertain about this new development. Which made him all the more eager to understand her. Because he sensed there was more to her sudden reluctance to socialize with him than his reputation alone. She’d gotten over that enough to keep him company, after all. But when he’d brought up Robert . . . There was definitely a complicated past there, and while Henry generally refrained from interfering in his friends’ past indiscretions, he liked Viola too much to ignore any possible wrongdoing on Robert’s part.

  “I would not go quite that far, considering there must be at least a hundred yards between our properties,” she said.

  He rolled his eyes. “Must you ruin my enjoyment with such a minor detail?”

  To his immense satisfaction, the edge of Viola’s lips quirked. “Have you not realized yet that my greatest pleasure is ruining yours?”

  Recognizing a playful lilt to her voice, Henry pushed up onto his elbows and gave her the cheekiest smile he could muster. “That does not bode well for our future together.”

  The blush flooding her cheeks was delightful. “Mr. Lowell.” And her voice, while reprimanding, was equally breathless.

  A spark of intense awareness raced through him. Now they were making progress. “Fear not, however,” he murmured, “for although my pleasure may not be your highest priority yet, Viola, I can assure you that I intend to take yours most seriously. Now, how about we go outside for a bit. Is that possible? The sun is shining, so it looks like a glorious day, and being confined to this bed is starting to wear on my nerves.”

  She stared at him as if he’d just dropped from the ceiling. “I, er . . .” Her eyes darted around the room looking at anything else but him, which only proved the flustered state he’d put her in, which further proved the effect he was having on her. She was far from immune to his suggestion that they were destined to be more than friends.

  “Is there a garden for us to visit?” he asked when he saw she was having some trouble composing herself.

  She blinked. “Yes. There’s a small one.” Her words were quieter than usual. Clearing her throat, she clasped her hands together before her and glanced at the door. “I will ask one of the other nurses to escort—”

  “No, Viola. I would like for it to be you.”

  “But—”

  “I am leaving soon, but before I do, I would like to have the honor of getting to know you better.”

  Uncertainty puckered her brow, but her eyes warmed with the wish to accept. To Henry’s immense satisfaction, temptation won. “Very well, Mr. Lowell. I will agree to accompany you, but I cannot stay more than half an hour.”

  “Then I shall cherish every minute all the more.”

  Her lips quirked. “You really are a scoundrel.”

  “In some ways, yes,” he agreed, “but I’m not nearly as bad as you may believe.”

  She nodded as if in agreement, or was it understanding? Henry wasn’t entirely sure. He was just pleased to have won her over, if only for a brief moment. For it meant that in spite of all the rumors she’d heard and her obvious displeasure at him calling Robert a friend, she instinctively trusted him somehow.

  And if this proved anything at all, it was that the wall she’d built around her heart could be scaled.

  Henry rose from the bed and dressed while she waited for him in the hallway. After a year of searching ballrooms and social events for the perfect woman to woo, he’d found her at his sickbed. No doubt about it. Viola was smart and had a good head on her shoulders. She ran a business, for heaven’s sake, which meant she would understand the meaning of money. She was not the sort of woman who was going to squander a fortune on unnecessary things the way his father had done. Rather, she would be more inclined to advise Henry on how to administer his own funds sensibly.

  Of course there was also the added benefit of her status. As a duke’s widow, she was more than an excellent match for a future earl. And since a physical attraction existed between them, Henry was hopeful that their relationship would also be filled with passion.

  One thing was certain. He wanted her more than he’d ever wanted another woman before, and by God, he meant to have her, no matter what he had to say or do to convince her that this was the best way forward for both of them.

  What on earth was she thinking, agreeing to accompany Mr. Lowell outside? After everything she’d learned about him, how could she have surrendered to his suggestion?

  Because she wasn’t thinking, she reminded herself. She was feeling and wanting and, oh . . . she should have been stronger and told him no. Except she’d swiftly dismissed that option and told herself that if his health started to fail and something happened to him, Florian would blame her and she would never forgive herself for the neglect.

  Which was rubbish, of course. Mr. Lowell’s wound was healing nicely. There was zero chance of him suddenly collapsing and taking a turn for the worse. It was all an excuse to allow herself a bit of indulgence. Because in spite of all that she knew, including his friendship with Robert, she genuinely liked him. More than that, she liked how she felt when she was around him, as if she was more than the cogs and wheels that kept St. Agatha’s going.

  Mr. Lowell’s attention toward her made her feel special, which was probably ridiculous considering the length of their acquaintance and all the women who probably waited for him to be discharged. But they weren’t here right now. She was. And she craved the way he looked at her, as if she was all he’d ever wanted, even though she knew that couldn’t possibly be true.

  As he walked beside her she realized how tall he was. She hadn’t noticed when he’d been lying in bed, but there was at least a head’s difference between them. And he was close, so close she could feel his heat pushing against her right shoulder and arm.
When they reached the door leading out to the garden, he opened it for her, and as she passed through it, the touch of his hand at the base of her spine made her insides quiver.

  It was fleeting, a simple gesture to guide her forward, yet the heat of it lingered for long moments after, provoking a yearning within her for more. God help her, this man was leading her straight into madness and she had agreed to willingly follow.

  “An extraordinary sanctuary,” he murmured, scattering her thoughts. “I never expected to find so much color out here. The flowers, hedges and fountains are all incredible.”

  “The idea was to create a soothing atmosphere to hasten recovery in our patients. The fountains were quite an expense, but I think they’re pretty and I love the sound that they make.”

  He glanced down at her and she looked up. The afternoon sun was behind him, casting its golden rays upon his dark hair and making it shimmer. “I quite agree,” he said, and offered his arm. “Shall we take a turn of the garden?”

  Viola hesitated only the second it took her to realize that while there were other patients and a couple of nurses about, none seemed to have much interest in them. So she nodded and placed her hand on his arm and tried not to think of how firm it felt or how well matched they seemed as they started to walk. Impossible, of course, since every cell in her body was keenly tuned to his masculine presence.

  “If you will permit, I would love to come back here one day with my sketch pad,” he said when they’d walked a few paces in silence. “The scenery is superb. I especially like that climbing plant over there. And the patients themselves would be interesting models, I think.”

  His comment surprised her somewhat. “I would not have taken you for an artist.” She’d rather envisioned him gambling away in a smoky room or lounging in bed with one of his paramours.

  “Does the image not suit your preconceived notion of me, Viola?” He met her gaze and immediately chuckled, proving to her that he’d judged her correctly. “I developed a fondness for drawing when I was a boy. Florian would bring all sorts of plants into the house and I would sketch them for him, since he had no talent with that at all. Together we catalogued all of the plants available at our country estate in a notebook. After I drew them, Florian wrote down their names and medicinal properties.”