by Regina Darcy
For Cassandra, the kiss was a revelation. The Duke had never kissed her; James was the first man to take such liberties. She had not expected his kiss to be as powerful as it became, the longer that their lips were joined. She was confounded by the eruption of sensations which exploded within her. So, this is what it feels like to desire a man.
For James, it was something just as potent but in an entirely different way. He realised within mere seconds of kissing Cassandra that she was innocent, inexperienced, and untouched. But the ardour of an innocent woman was no less arousing than that of a woman of experience, and he found his body responding to her beguiling tenderness. Taking a deep breath, he pulled away and smiled ruefully.
“I apologise,” he said. “I have succumbed to your charms, and I can only blame myself.”
“Blame?” she whispered, blushing fetchingly. “Is this a matter for blame?”
For she had learned something in the encounter. She had never felt this way when she was in the company of the Duke.
She had, if anything, felt trapped and smothered even though he had never attempted to kiss her or even embrace her. She recalled the repugnance she had felt at the touch of his hands upon her neck as he had fastened the diamond necklace. That could not have been any more different than what she felt now, with her colour bright in her cheeks and her heart beating to a rhythm which was unfamiliar.
“It will be,” he said, “if I do not leave now before I lose control and cannot vouch for the consequences.”
She looked at him with bright eyes. As the meaning of his comment sank in, she quickly ducked her head, staring at her feet.
He smiled in return. There was none of the outrage of the insulted virgin from her, and from him, there was no predatory sense of conquest. There was something instead which was inexplicable and unnamed. Neither could identify it. James did not know if he wanted to do so. Cassandra, never having been in love, could not ascribe that emotion to this sensation.
“Actually,” he said as he rose from his seat, “I have come to beg a favour of you. I must shop for a present for my young nephew, Neddie. I am sure that, as the vicar’s daughter, you are much more cognisant of the interests of young children than I am, and I ask for you to accompany me in my quest.”
“I should be delighted to do so,” she answered, blushing at the intensity of his gaze and her own response to it.
EIGHT
Playing with fire was a trick best left to circus performers. James knew this, and yet, as he left the inn and walked back to the Imperial, he found himself so elated by the episode with Miss Bennet that he was impervious to the cold wind cutting through the wintry afternoon. The sun chose not to make an appearance, leaving the grey, sullen clouds to carry on without its light.
You are a fool, he told himself giddily as he returned to his office and his accounting records. You are in danger of angering one of London’s most well-connected peers. You are not a lord, an earl, or a duke; you are only the half-brother of a marquess, and you have no claim on the absolution which members of the aristocracy regard as their due. Miss Bennet belongs to the Duke of Cantenberg as surely as if the banns had already been announced and she was en route to the ceremony. You are no green lad; you know very well how these matters are arranged.
Had not Michael rescued his Honora from a wedding which was not to her liking?
She had been in flight from the Duke of Ivanhill, a man of a nefarious reputation for the mysterious death of his first wife, when Michael had come to her aid, fallen in love with her, and courted calamity by marrying her. Yet, there they were, blissfully happy in Dennington. No curse had befallen them, no ill-luck had pursued them.
But Ivanhill… well, no one could fault a woman for not wanting to be his bride. What woman sought to end up first a wife and then a corpse? And Michael was a marquess. He had his own entitlement, which, although not comparable to the status of a Duke, was significant in its own right.
Ogden was a shallow man and a self-centred one, but he was not under suspicion of murdering a wife. James had no title.
Therein lay the differences.
But did it matter? If he was falling in love with Miss Bennet, could he allow her to marry another? He had not proposed to her nor intimated that there was an understanding between them. And yet, he knew that something had transpired that afternoon, something which had not been cowed by the humbleness of the inn or the threat of ducal displeasure.
Without words, their kiss had served as a pledge.
***
There were interruptions during the course of the afternoon which required his attention, and it was not until later that evening that he returned to the subject which had commanded his thoughts after lunch, as Heaton brought him food and ale so that he could eat while he worked at the figures in the ledger.
James did not indulge in either food or drink while he was working during the club’s busy hours. He did not spend all of that time out in the rooms, but he moved through them often enough for his authority to be recognised.
He closed the book. His mind was not on debits and credits.
“Heaton,” he said after summoning the man. “Is Pratt about?”
“Yes, sir, he’s just arrived.”
“Excellent. Would you ask him to come back here? I wish to speak to him on a private matter.”
Oliver Pratt came to the office shortly after Heaton informed him that his presence was requested by Mr Dalton.
“Good day,” Oliver greeted genially. “You wanted to speak to me?’
“Yes,” James said, gesturing to one of the chairs in front of the fire. He poured brandy for the two of them and sat down across from his friend. “What do you know of the Duke of Cantenberg?’
Oliver’s round face showed bewilderment. “Cantenberg?” he repeated as if sure that he had not heard correctly.
“Yes. Jeffrey Ogden.”
“Yes… his father died when he was at Oxford, leaving him the estate. His parents were not at all amicable and lived apart. After the father met his demise, Jeffrey inherited the title and his mother married her lover and they moved to Bath. The on dit is that they were encouraged to do so by Ogden, who gave his mother an allowance in exchange for her pulling up roots and leaving the county. I believe she knows that she is not welcome in London.”
“I thought there was some discord in the family; that would explain it.”
“Ogden has no sentimental feelings for his dear Mama, but perhaps under the circumstances, that is to be expected. However, he also seems to lack any feelings at all—at least, that is what is said of him.”
“Mistresses?’
Oliver shrugged. “He has not deprived himself of female companionship if that is what you are asking. But I would not describe his bits of muslin as mistresses.”
“Why not?”
“A mistress has some standing in a gentleman’s life,” Oliver explained earnestly. “Even if she is not the sort of female one brings home to meet one’s parents, she has a position, and it is, in London at least, recognised. But the Duke’s… bed partners, let us say, are no more than passing fancies.”
“Will he be a faithful husband?”
“I’ve heard that he is pursuing an exquisite young lady from the country, no name or fortune, but a regular Helen of Troy for looks. There are those who are surprised that he would marry someone so beneath him in station, but there are others who feel that this is exactly the sort of wife that would suit him.”
“Why?”
“She will owe him everything, will she not? To be taken from the ranks of country maids and raised up to the peerage, why, is that not what every woman dreams of? Except if you are a duchess already, I grant you,” Oliver acknowledged realistically. “They want to be princesses and princesses want to be queens. But the divine Dresden shepherdess, now she will have no ambitions except to please her lord and master, and that, the gossips say, is what Cantenberg wants.”
“Dresden shepherdess?”
“It’s what they call her. For her beauty,” Oliver explained. “She’s accounted as fair beyond measure, far surpassing the looks of the debutantes, who as you might imagine are not at all happy being supplanted by a damsel who has nothing but flawless skin, shimmering golden hair, eyes like jewels, a form like a goddess, an angelic countenance—”
“Have you taken to sonnets, Oliver?” James asked in amusement.
While the description was justified, James was surprised that Miss Bennet’s assets were discussed so publicly.
“I’m only telling you what I hear, and if you didn’t decline so many invitations, you’d have seen her yourself,” Oliver retorted. “I saw her once at a supper given by the Duke of Devonshire, and I can attest to the veracity of the comparisons: goddess, angel…”
“Shimmering hair?” James challenged.
“You have never seen hair like hers,” Oliver said. “It’s spun gold, I tell you. The debutantes are simply pea-green with jealousy. They’re used to having the superlatives but there’s nothing like this lady. And to think that she comes from country stock; father is a vicar or something, mother has no connections. I believe there are four daughters who may stir up marital interest because of their sister’s effect on society, but I haven’t seen them and cannot vouch for their attributes. But La Bennet, now I have seen her, and I can confirm that having seen her, one does not forget.”
“Helen of Troy, you said.”
“Yes, well…” Oliver said evasively, “she is perfection, and naturally, one thinks of Helen, the woman whose beauty rivalled that of the goddesses of Olympus.”
“And caused a war as a result.”
“I don’t claim that the debutantes who have their noses put out of joint by the charms of Miss Bennet are in any way going to launch a thousand ships,” Oliver clarified. “I simply state that she is beautiful and the Duke has chosen shrewdly.”
“Shrewdly? An odd way to describe a love match, surely.”
“Oh, no one credits it for being a love match,” Oliver disputed. “Where have you heard such a thing? Not from me. You know as well as I do that Cantenberg hasn’t the makings of a love match in him. He’s rich enough that he needn’t marry for money, so the girls with rich papas need not consider themselves eligible. No, he’s marrying her because she’s the most beautiful woman in London now and because she will be in his debt.”
“That’s what people are saying? What do his friends say?”
Oliver made a disparaging sound. “Friends? What need does the Duke have of friends? He is a duke and rich. Friends would be of no use to him.”
“You are being cynical.”
“I am merely repeating to you what others say. You know that Ogden is not well-liked. He has no friends and sees no purpose for them. He has no links which arise from his heart to anyone. Beg pardon for speaking like a poet, but you know, even a duke ought to recognise that he’s of the species, oughtn’t he? Cantenberg is quite open in his view that no man in England has bluer blood. He’s even derided the Hanovers for the impurity of their royal strain.”
“Everyone derides the Hanovers.” James dismissed this comment; it had no bearing on the Duke’s relationship to Miss Bennett.
Oliver was offended. “Yes, of course, and with reason,” he said logically. “They are imprudent, dull, and in the case of the Prince Regent, laughable. But one does not mock their claim to the throne.”
“Surely Ogden does not believe that he has a right to reign?” James was incredulous.
“Oh, he hasn’t said that, but he has not hidden his family relationship to the Stuarts, the Tudors… even the Plantagenets, I believe.”
“What utter nonsense. Every titled family in England has those same blood ties, but they are not in line for the throne.”
“Oh, he’s not saying he ought to be the heir,” Oliver said. “He’s only saying that he has a better right to being the monarch than the monarch has.”
“I fail to see the difference.”
“That is because your head is full of figures and not the tittle-tattle of the ton,” Oliver said indulgently. “You are consumed by facts, James, but you do not understand that society does not fuel itself by facts.”
“Facts.”
“Yes, facts. Facts can be calculated. If the Duke was a gambler with debts—”
“Which he is not, at least not at the Imperial.”
“—then the amount that he owes and the person to whom he owes it would be a fact. A matter beyond dispute. Nor is he in debt to any other club or to the bloodsuckers either. He has a bit of a flutter, but no more. It is because the Duke gives nothing away.”
This, while not directly bearing on the Duke’s intentions regarding Miss Bennet, nonetheless had a connection to the matter, and James pursued the line of reasoning.
“Gives nothing away,” he repeated thoughtfully. “But you say he gave his mother an allowance in order to see her remove herself from London?”
“Oh, but that is a business arrangement. He got what he wanted. It was a transaction, which is all. He received something in return. You are a man of business, James; this ought to be quite plain to you.”
“Running a gentlemen’s club is not quite the same as distilling facts from fancy. I believe that what you are saying is that the Duke has chosen this Dresden shepherdess, as you call her, and he will not relinquish her.”
“Quite so,” Oliver agreed. “You have it. But why are you interested in the marital motives of Cantenberg?”
It was a question which, James knew, he must answer delicately. “I have been invited to Dennington for the Christmas festivities,” he said. “My brother and sister-in-law are so in love with one another that they cannot resist urging matrimony on everyone they know who has, as of yet, eluded the nuptial knot. If I go to Dennington, I am sure to be asked about the match and I wish to have my facts,” he smiled at his friend, “in order so that I am properly weaponed against their remarks.”
“If you go to Dennington?” Oliver repeated, not hearing the rest of the statement. “But of course, you will go, surely? They are your family.”
“Yes, well, they would want me to stay for the full Christmas holiday, until Twelfth Night, and I must be back in London before then. If weather intervenes, as it well might, if this snow is any indication of the potential for inclement conditions, I should be stranded in the country.”
“And so would everyone else be,” Oliver returned. “London will empty out soon as everyone goes home for Christmas. Why should you stay here?”
Why indeed? James thought to himself.
NINE
He had intended to shop for Neddie’s Christmas gift the next day, but despite Oliver’s prediction that the gentlemen who frequented the clubs in London would soon be returning to their country homes to celebrate the holidays with their families and neighbours, there seemed to be a determined effort for one final fling of fortune before the holy season took them away from their pastimes. The Imperial was filled with men who crowded the rooms with their eagerness.
James sent his apologies to Miss Bennet, regretting that he was unable to get away to visit her. He hoped that she was doing well in the meantime, and he understood that this was not an easy time for her. He sent her a basket filled with books, as well as a sketchbook and drawing pencils for her diversion.
He had little knowledge of what a young woman who was nostalgic for a butter churn might wish to do with her time, but mindful of her domestic practices, he added yarn, fabric, needles and thread, scissors, patterns, and buttons to the contents of the basket.
In his note, he wrote that he still wished to keep her to her promise to help him select a gift for his nephew as soon as he was able to leave the club.
Her note in reply was appreciative and gracious, thanking him for the basket and assuring him that her days were productive. She voiced her concern that her parents and the Duke would wonder where she was—she did not particularly care that the Duke might be inconvenienced
by her absence, but she did not want her family to worry on her account. Any advice that James could provide would be most gratefully accepted.
Although he was busy keeping the club well stocked in liquor and making sure that all of the rooms were as enticing as ever in their gaming, James went to his office to send her a reply as soon as he received her message in the post.
My dear Miss Bennet,
I perfectly comprehend your concerns regarding your family. They are, as you have noted, likely alarmed at your disappearance. If you can trust in their ability to keep your whereabouts and the reason for it in confidence, I would encourage you to send them a letter to that effect. Or, better yet, can you send the letter to someone in your family that you can trust? One of your sisters, perhaps? You do not want anyone to give your secret away, and you do not want the Duke to discern if your family is aware of your hiding place.
I believe that you are safe because the inn is so near to the club that no one would likely connect the one to the other, especially since no one in your circle or the Duke’s is aware that you and I are acquainted beyond that introduction in front of Rundell and Bridges.
Pen your letter, and send it to me, if you prefer, and I shall see that it is delivered, with no one the wiser as to the route by which it travels. I have access to channels of communication which are not available to you, and I will be happy to discharge this errand for you.
James trusted his servants without a qualm, not only because they were paid well for their discretion, but also because he had hired them with that trait in mind. They had been instructed by Heaton, at James’s direction, to understand that whatever passed under the roof of the Imperial was not to be shared, under any circumstances, with those outside of the club. He had no doubt that this rule would be observed. He sent one of his servants to hand-deliver the message to Miss Bennet at the inn, but cautious as always, he instructed the servant to give the missive to the innkeeper. He trusted them to deliver it to their hidden guest.
