Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  When Blake opened his eyes, he discovered not the mocking visages he had anticipated. Rather, his brothers looked on him with a mix of sympathy and understanding.

  “While I am loathe to remind you of certain unpleasant events in our family history, I must profess I experienced a similar phenomenon when I stood on the quarterdeck of the Hera, as you argued with Caroline, the morning you found us in my cabin.” Trevor blushed—he actually blushed, and Blake suspected he glimpsed his future. “God, she was glorious, as she went toe to toe with you and defended me, and I knew, without doubt, she was mine. In retrospect, I believe I loved her then, only I did not recognize it.”

  “For me, it was the night Rebecca, wearing naught but a sheer robe, walked into my private apartment, declared me her choice, and gave herself to me.” Dirk stared at the floor and frowned. “And when I thought her lost, part of me died, too.”

  “My moment came when I happened upon Sabrina in the Hawthorn’s maze and claimed a kiss. In that instant, I was hers every bit as much as she was mine.” Everett chuckled and then sobered. “When I returned to Beaumaris and discovered her gone, I cannot describe the depth of my anguish, when I realized how I hurt her. However irrational, a very real fear strikes me whenever I arrive home, and she is not there. I suppose that is why we live in each other’s pockets, but I would have it no other way, as I love her.” With that, he stood and adjusted his coat. “Blake, I wish you as much happiness with Lenore as Sabrina has brought me, and I look forward to meeting your bride-to-be at the dinner party, tomorrow night. Now, I believe I shall seek my most unlikely lady and make love to her until dawn.”

  “That is an excellent notion.” Dirk stretched upright, as he gained his feet, and Trevor did the same. “May I offer some advice?”

  “No, you may not.” Blake signaled the waiter for a refill, as he could not dock in Lenore’s harbor, and he wanted no other. “I know all I need to know of seduction, and Lenore is mine.” Without a word, Dirk dipped his chin and splayed his palms, and he and Trevor departed White’s. Alone, Blake plotted his next move as, one way or another, Lenore would be his duchess.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Lenore would never be Blake’s duchess.

  As she stood before the long mirror and assessed her appearance, she should have been elated. The sapphire satin gown, adorned with tiny seed pearls about the bodice and the hem of the skirt, manifested every young lady’s fantasy, and it fit as though tailor-made for her figure. Under normal circumstances, the sight would have summoned a squeal of joy. Except the dress was not hers.

  Clothed in a borrowed garment, she had never felt more a charity case in her life. And the expensive item loaned by Caroline only served to emphasize Lenore’s low status, not that she needed the reminder.

  “Oh, my dear, you look marvelous. The slippers match to perfection.” Her Grace stood in the doorway from the sitting room. “And your hair is a work of art.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” As always, Lenore curtseyed. “But I wish you did not spend so much money on my wardrobe, as I can never repay such a debt.”

  “Posh.” Her Grace neared. “You are to be my successor, so you must wear the part, in trim. And there is nothing I enjoy more than spending my son’s money.”

  Lenore considered the new shoes, hosiery, garters, gloves, chemises, nightgowns, and the massive order of fashions and almost swooned. While her father never coveted a lavish existence, he made sure Lenore and Lucilla lacked for nothing. But never had they traveled in the same sphere as Blake.

  “Well I am grateful for your support, but I know not why I have it.” Wringing her fingers, she rotated to face Blake’s mother. “Your Grace, forgive my impertinence, but I must speak the truth. I am but the daughter of a general, and while my relations come from good stock, I have not the connections His Grace brings to the marital state.”

  “You think yourself unworthy? And I prefer Sarah, as you are to be my daughter-in-law.” The duchess cupped Lenore’s chin and smiled. “While your concerns might have merit in some circles, and they do credit to your character, they matter not in this family, as we marry for love.” She took Lenore’s hand, drew her to the chaise, and sat. “I was once like you—as I caught the special attention of an estimable specimen, hell bent on claiming me as his own.”

  “Blake’s father?” Eager to calm her frazzled nerves, Lenore welcomed the diversion. “What sort of man was he?”

  “Identical to my son, much to my chagrin.” Her Grace met Lenore’s stare, and they laughed. “Stubborn, arrogant, and temperamental.” After a quiet pause, the duchess sighed. “Benedict was also kind, generous, faithful, and loving, so very loving.”

  Lenore recalled Blake’s tender care, when she suffered seasickness. While he had been quite brutish, holding her so Dr. Avery could pour the grog down her throat, Blake also had been gentle once the worst of the malaise had passed. And he purchased her favorite tea and the coconut rum, to ensure she had a pleasant trip home.

  “It would seem Blake is very much like his father, in all respects.” Then a series of exaggerations and salacious suggestions inspired the burn of a blush, and Lenore exhaled. “Oh, what am I to do with him, as he plans an event I have yet to reconcile in my heart?”

  “Wait a minute.” The duchess opened her mouth and then closed it. “Am I to understand you have not accepted his proposal?”

  “What proposal?” Lenore shrugged. “He never asked me anything—just issued a series of edicts.”

  “I taught him better than that, but he suffers from a selective memory, as did Benedict.” Sarah squeezed Lenore’s fingers. “Here is my suggestion. Since your uncle has yet to arrive, you are our guest for the unforeseeable future, so make the most of the opportunity. Spend some time with Blake and our family, and keep an open mind. And while my son may attempt to bully you to the altar, make your decision for yourself, when you are ready. And whatever course you choose, I will help you survive the outcome. But I must warn you, I am delighted by the prospect of your nuptials, so I am no disinterested spectator. Yet I shall try, for your sake, to be fair.”

  “Thank you for your candor, Sarah.” Lenore fretted she might cry, as she needed a friend just then. “I suppose we should adjourn to the drawing room, as I am dying to meet Caroline.”

  “Oh, she is downstairs and just as anxious to make your acquaintance.” The duchess stood. “And I daresay you are tonight’s featured player.”

  “Am I?” Likewise, Lenore rose and made a second appraisal of her appearance, before following her hostess into the hall. “I cannot imagine why.”

  “You really have no idea of the monumental significance of your presence, do you?” Wrapping an arm about her shoulders, Sarah gave Lenore a gentle nudge. “Never has my son brought home a woman, in any capacity. Thus everyone is eager to meet the lady who captured him.”

  “Is that what I have done?” With each successive step down the grand staircase, Lenore grew unseasonably warm. “Because it feels quite the opposite.”

  In the foyer, they turned right and crossed the threshold into the primary reception chamber, and the group of elegantly garbed ladies and gentlemen halted their conversation and gazed on Lenore. When she swayed, the duchess kept Lenore upright.

  “Well, there you are, and not a moment too soon.” A heavily pregnant, stunningly coiffed young woman grinned and hugged Lenore. “I am Caroline, Blake’s sister, and I do so look forward to the day I can count you my sibling.”

  “Darling, what are you doing on your feet?” Gorgeous was too pale a word for the man who doted on Caroline, as he offered her a glass of milk. “I told you to rest on the sofa.”

  “Trevor, stop fussing long enough to welcome Lenore to our family.” Caroline inclined her head, and he kissed her cheek. The couple, obviously in love, was nothing like the pair Blake described aboard ship. “But I thank you for caring.”

  “Of course, I care.” After pressing his lips to Caroline’s forehead, Trevor peered at Lenore a
nd bowed. “It is a pleasure, Miss Teversham. I have heard quite a bit about you.”

  “And I have had reports of you, though I now see they were grossly exaggerated.” But the primary offender remained conspicuously absent. “However, I must correct your assertion that—”

  “Ooh, it is so wonderful to meet you.” A raven-haired beauty with shimmering blue eyes stepped to the fore. “I am Sabrina Markham, but you can call me Brie, like the cheese, you know. And this is my husband, Everett, the earl of Woverton.” She pointed to another handsome duo. “That is Dirk and Rebecca, the viscount and viscountess Wainsbrough.” Then Sabrina half-turned to an older but distinguished twosome, and Lenore marveled that the wife was with child. “And these are my parents, Admiral Mark and Lady Amanda Douglas.”

  “Please, you must call me Amanda.” Sabrina’s mother smiled. “And I am honored to make your acquaintance.”

  “So many titles.” Lenore’s head spun, as Lucilla shared a bit of amusement with Sabrina, and they giggled. “How should I address everyone?”

  “Lenore, if I may be so bold?” When she nodded, Trevor responded in kind. “We do not stand on formality at family gatherings. While I am the earl of Lockwood beyond these walls, herein I am but Trevor.”

  “Or Caroline’s husband,” his wife stated, as she poked him in the ribs, and how Lenore envied their playful exchange. “Which I prefer.”

  “First and foremost, sweetheart.” With his hands on her hips, Trevor walked her to the sofa. “Now, will you sit down? You have been tired, of late, and I worry about you.”

  “Oh, all right.” Caroline pouted, until Trevor bent and kissed her. Then she glanced at Lenore and flicked her fingers. “Join me, please.”

  Just as Lenore relaxed, the footmen entered the drawing room and stood at attention.

  Adopting a regal stance, Jennings squared his shoulders. “His Grace, the duke of Rylan.”

  With his characteristic, irritating grin, Blake strolled into the chamber.

  In a proper show of respect, Lenore and Lucilla curtseyed.

  “What on earth?” Caroline scoffed. “Brother, are you foxed?”

  “Blake Thornton Deverell Elliott, just what are you about?” The duchess stretched to her full height.

  Everett whistled in monotone. “Someone is in trouble.”

  “What?” Blake thrust his chin. “Am I not the duke of Rylan?”

  “A title you inherited as a direct result of my suffering through more than thirteen hours of labor.” The duchess caught Blake in a lethal stare, and Lenore winced. “Do not make me regret it.”

  “Mama, I only wanted to give Lenore a taste of the fun that awaits her.” He waggled his brows and winked. “And I love it when she bows before me.”

  “So you are to wed?” Caroline shot to her feet and hugged Lenore. “May I be your matron of honor?”

  And then the young ladies, as a whole, converged.

  “We simply must go shopping for your trousseau.”

  “And I have so many ideas for your gown.”

  “Have you set a date?”

  “Do you like to fish?”

  Lost amid the harmless but disconcerting interrogation, Lenore rubbed the back of her neck. Then she retreated a step. Their voices seemed to merge into a single mutating squall, until the room spun out of control, the floor seemed to shift beneath her slippers, her ears rang, and Lenore swooned.

  A comforting blanket of darkness and silence enfolded her in its arms, for countless minutes, as she floated. Slowly, Blake’s rich tenor beckoned, repeating her name in a sweet refrain. A pungent aroma jolted her from the peaceful solitude, and she opened her eyes to discover the source of her confusion looming a tad too close, and she shrieked. While she wanted to chastise him for his breach of decorum, instead, she covered her face and wept.

  “Lenore, please, do not cry.” In seconds, Blake lifted her into his warm embrace. “I am so sorry, darling. I was only teasing and did not intend to frighten you.”

  “This is dreadful.” Could he not understand her hesitation? Could he not fathom the complications surrounding a possible union? She was no daughter of a gentleman. Rather, her sire was a soldier. “I fainted in front of everyone. What must they think of me?”

  “They think nothing of it, as I am an ignorant ass.” Rocking back and forth, Blake shifted and caressed her cheek. “What is wrong, Lenore? It is not as if we have never discussed marriage, as we talked of myriad plans for our future, during the voyage, so this is no surprise.”

  “Yes, but you led me to believe we were from equal backgrounds. You know everything about me.” And that was the crux of her dilemma, as his world was utterly foreign, and she could glean no place for her in it. “But you hid the truth of your status from me. You neglected to mention you are a duke, and our circumstances could not be further apart.”

  “Wait a minute.” Blake met her stare, and she shrank beneath his scrutiny. “Do you mean to tell me you do not wish to marry me because I am a duke?”

  “In a manner of speaking—yes.” Accepting the handkerchief he offered, she eased from his hold and sought refuge from his relations. “Where is everyone?”

  “In the dining room.” He tucked a wayward tendril behind her ear. “They thought we might benefit from some privacy.”

  “They are correct.” Glancing about the well-appointed home, she sighed. “Blake, while my father provided a normal education, nothing I learned could have prepared me for all this, and I am completely out of my depth. I know not how to be a duchess, and I refuse to bring shame upon you and your family, after you have done so much for Lucilla and I.”

  “Lovely Lenore, you could never shame me.” To her surprise, and silent thanks, he drew back and gave her space. “And my mother can mentor and instruct you on the responsibilities associated with your role.”

  “She offered to do so.” At the prospect, she inhaled a shaky breath. “But there is one thing that puzzles me, and I must ask you to explain yourself. Why did you choose me, when I am sure there are plenty of women in the ton that would suit your purpose, and they would need no period of adjustment? Given we have known each other for just over two months, how can you be so sure of your position?”

  “In light of Mama’s expertise, you should rely on her counsel.” Blake inched to the edge of the sofa. “And as for your assertion, you are correct. There are more prospective candidates than I can count, but I have never met one who fascinates me, as do you.” He took her hand in his. “And I cannot say how I know, but I am certain, as sure as I know my name, you are mine. So permit me to make a suggestion.”

  “Oh, dear.”

  “Now, hear me out.”

  “Have I a choice?”

  “No.”

  “All right.”

  “Come here.” Blake pulled her from the couch, anchored his arms about her waist, and rested his forehead to hers. “While you labor under the false impression that you are somehow my lesser, the truth is you are my match. I knew it when you cursed me in the middle of the street, when you spent the night in my lap, vomiting, belching, and snoring, as you fought seasickness, and later when you kissed me in my cabin. You will be my wife, my lover, my friend, my partner, and my duchess.” He tightened his grasp and chuckled. “So I will not pressure you, as the decision is yours to make, but neither will I cede the fight. I will win you, Lenore. I dare you to try and leave me, because when I am done, you will never let me go.”

  #

  It was a particularly cold December night, when Blake stomped into White’s, no longer confident of victory. For the past fortnight, he had tried everything to induce Lenore to proclaim her acquiescence to his proposal, and yet she persisted in an unrelenting, albeit admirable, state of resistance to his brand of passive persuasion, which weighed heavy in profuse bouquets of roses, jasmine tea, coconut rum, and the sweetest kisses he had ever tasted. While his efforts had certainly aroused him, the woman had not budged. So he had nothing more to lose, opted to swallow his
pride and, at last, sought advice from the Brethren husbands.

  In the same backroom, Blake found his allies, Dirk, Trevor, and Everett, along with Jason Collingwood, who had just returned from a mission. As Damian remained at sea, Blake ventured into the shark-infested waters known as courtship on his own.

  “Good evening, Blake.” Trevor smirked. “Did not expect to see you here, this evening. How go the wedding preparations?”

  “Very funny.” After situating a chair, he sat. He crossed and uncrossed his legs. Then he folded and unfolded his arms. Raking his fingers through his hair, he shifted his weight and cleared his throat.

  “Something wrong, brother?” Dirk grinned.

  Blake reached the end of his tether. “Oh, dispense the bloody advice and have done with it.”

  “I thought you had no need of our counsel.” Everett cast a side-glance at Trevor. “Did you not proclaim to know all you need to know?”

  “I was wrong.” Smacking his lips, he shuddered, as the statement left a horrid taste in his mouth. “Despite my best attempts to woo my prospective bride, she refuses to accept my offer of marriage.”

  “Never thought I would live to see the day he would admit it.” Everett emptied his glass of brandy and dragged his sleeve across his mouth. “As my Sabrina would say, ‘Holy Mother.’”

  “If you make one more wise remark at my expense, I will break your nose.” In no mood for verbal jousting, Blake wanted answers. “I want constructive criticism and useful advice—now, and if I do not get that, arses will be kicked.”

  “Oh, I say.” With an expression of unutterable confusion, Jason tugged at his cravat. “I thought they were joking. I mean, what woman, Alex excepted, does not live in anticipation of catching a duke?”