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 fillin
g 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 advantage.”
“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—”
“Release me now, or I shall be forced to slap you, Your Grace,” she said.
He did release her, as though she’d suddenly become too hot, a fire that could scorch.
“My apologies.” He leaned back slightly. “You are the way to Jenny, yet, I seem to insult and offend you at every turn.”
“Perhaps because you do not truly wish to marry her,” she said quietly.
“What a gentleman wishes and what a gentleman must do seldom coincide.”
“The same holds true for a lady.”
“An unfortunate state of affairs.”
“Indeed.”
“I think it would be best if I return to my chair.” He took her hand and this time, although he merely pressed his lips to her gloved knuckles, still she felt the moist heat of his mouth. “Pink becomes you.”
She wondered if he’d say the same if he could see that she was pink from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, pink with embarrassment, flushed with pleasure.
“Thank you, Your Grace.”
She thought she heard him chuckle quietly as he
returned to his seat, giving her the impression that he did know that more than her gown was pink. She glanced back over her shoulder, cursing Jenny for taking so long. It seemed her chaperone was in need of a chaperone.
“I have to go,” Jenny whispered.
“Another moment more,” he said quietly, nibbling on her ear, causing incredible sensations to travel the length of her body.
“I’ll be missed, and what if they come looking for me?”
“They won’t find you back here in the shadows.”
They were in a hallway, ensconced in a dark corner, near an empty box that was reserved for royalty, who’d had the good graces not to attend that evening.
“I can’t believe your chaperone let you come out alone,” he said.
Laughing lightly, she leaned her head back, giving him easier access to her throat. “As most, she believes it is the gentleman who is the cause of mischief, not the lady.”
“And you like to cause mischief.”
“As I have told you. I require passion, and one cannot test the waters of passion with a chaperone looking on.”
“You Americans are so bold.”
Smiling wickedly, she pushed him away. “We know what we want, and we’re not afraid to go after what we want.” Reaching out, she touched his cheek. “Now I must go.” She kissed her gloved fingertips and pressed them to his lips. “I will send word when I can determine how to arrange another meeting.”
“Even if it is for no more than a moment, it will be enough.”
She felt her heart being crushed and shook her head. This was not love, it was passion: the manner in which he looked at her, touched her, kissed her. They’d not known each other long enough for it to be love. “It will be soon, I promise.”
Before he could say anything to convince her that a few more moments wouldn’t put them at peril of being discovered, she lifted her skirts and hurried down the hallway until she reached the doorway that led into the duke’s box. She slipped inside and took her seat.
Lady Louisa leaned close. “What kept you?”
“I’m sorry. I had a bit of a headache brewing, and the performance wasn’t helping matters, so I sat for a while with my eyes closed.”
A Duke Of Her Own-[Rogues and Roses 01] Page 9
