Beguiling the Beauty

by Thomas, Sherry

  “You have met Mr. Grant, one of His Grace’s dear friends from his school days, have you not, Your Grace?” Lady Somersby asked her.

  “I do not believe I’ve had the pleasure.”

  “Mr. Grant happens to be my late husband’s nephew—a very fine young man, and very close to myself.”

  She raised a very superior eyebrow. “Is he?”

  “And do you know what we learned from Mr. Grant recently?” Lady Somersby went on, an infernal gleam in her eyes. “That the duke has been obsessively in love with you, ma’am, for the past ten years. In view of the turns of events of late, it is my firm opinion that he engineered this entire enterprise with the express purpose of making you his own.”

  Lady Avery’s teacup rattled. Christian was torn between an urge to violence and a numb horror. Had he? Was this what his action had been all about? To force her to pay attention to him? To bring her into his proximity without stooping to court her?

  He wanted to protest. But his tongue must have swollen to a size that not only made speech impossible, but also blocked his airway. He could not breathe.

  His wife cast an incredulous glance his way. Then she faced Lady Somersby. “Explain yourself.”

  “You are the one woman he’d always coveted. By creating this particular tempest, His Grace easily put you in an awkward and vulnerable position, ma’am. All the better, then, to rescue you from this dilemma, no?”

  “Brilliant, my dear, brilliant,” murmured Lady Avery. “Now everything makes sense.”

  “I hate to burst this pretty bubble of self-congratulation,” said Venetia, “but what dross. What rubbish. The duke had never given me a thought in his life before he spoke to Mr. Townsend—and very few since.”

  “I beg your pardon?” cried the gossip chroniclers together.

  “Mr. Townsend had been an awful husband, but His Grace had no cause to know such a thing. Therefore one cannot blame him for taking Mr. Townsend at his word. And why, when asked a direct question, shouldn’t he have used Mr. Townsend’s account as a cautionary tale? After all, appearances are deceiving.” She inhaled deeply. “Now we come to the part of the tale that you, Lady Avery, should have put together for yourself but did not: I was there that day at the lecture.”

  Lady Avery gasped. “You jest, ma’am.”

  “I do not. Ask anyone. Miss Fitzhugh was gathering material for an article on the graduating class of Radcliffe, and Lady Fitzhugh and I were her chaperones. You can well imagine our reaction to the duke’s accusations. Miss Fitzhugh would have torched his properties had he any on the other side of the pond. But I had the better idea. I would make the duke pay with his heart. To that purpose I booked a passage on the Rhodesia.”

  Lady Somersby leaped up. “You were the duke’s mysterious veiled lover?”

  “I see you have guessed at long last,” said Venetia with cool sarcasm. “My plans, however, went awry. The duke, I’m sure, enjoyed himself. But I was the one who fell in love. He is everything I want in a man—and much, much more, if you know what I mean.”

  Lady Somersby’s eyes were the size of eggs. Christian’s jaw dropped. His wife paid him no mind.

  “I was desperately in love, but I could not approach the duke: Were we to rendezvous in London, he would demand that I remove my veil—and you can well imagine the scene that would ensue. But I followed him about, to the British Museum of Natural History, and to the Savoy Hotel where we were to dine together in honor of his birthday.

  “When the scandal broke, the duke came to my aid—despite his many reservations concerning my character. He danced with me once and took me for a carriage ride in the park, but that was the entire extent of interaction he allowed between us. Our marriage came about and only came about because I found myself in a delicate condition.”

  Lady Avery’s hand slapped against her roomy bosom. “Oh my goodness gracious me.”

  “Precisely. Mr. Townsend had convinced me that I could not conceive. The duke quite proved otherwise. And if you doubt me, feel free to speak with Miss Redmayne at the New Hospital for Women. Faced with such consequences, I had no choice but to approach the duke and beg him to marry me. He was understandably furious, but he did the honorable thing and made me his wife. This was why he married me, not because of some deep, dark fixation he’d carried with him for years uncounted, but because he is a man who does not let personal opinions stand in the way of obligation.”

  Christian was stunned. Ladies Avery and Somersby likewise so. At last, Lady Somersby said, “If you will excuse us for a moment, my sister and I must confer in private.”

  They took themselves to a corner of the room, behind a screen. Christian pulled his wife to the opposite corner.

  “Letting them know about your condition? Are you mad?” It was not easy keeping his voice down.

  “Possibly. But I can’t let them go around telling everybody that you’ve been in love with me since forever.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you would have hated it. And you must choose better friends. I am extremely disappointed in Mr. Grant.”

  “Grant doesn’t know a thing. I’ve not said a word to him.”

  “Then who could have informed those vultures? I can’t believe the dowager duchess would have done something like this.”

  “She didn’t—I’ve never said anything to her, either. I’ve never told anyone except you.”

  “Then—”

  “I did. They’d dug up all sorts of evidence that Townsend and I were indeed in the same place at the same time shortly before he died and that everything else Lady Avery asserted could also be supported. They were out to prove that they had their gossip right. And I told them that if they left the past alone I’d tell them something better worth their time.”

  She blinked slowly, her lashes long, sooty. “Why?”

  He swallowed. “I can’t have you hurt again. I won’t. And you, you ninny, you sweep in and undo everything I just did.”

  He made a throttling gesture with his hands.

  She covered her mouth, then she laughed. God, how he adored her laughter.

  “You do love me,” she said, her voice full of wonder.

  “Of course I do, you idiot. How can you think that I do not? Seen or unseen, you bring me to my knees.”

  “I can be on my knees sometimes, if you’d like.” She giggled.

  Lust jolted through him. “Be serious,” he said with some difficulty. “We are in a room with two she-wolves.”

  “I don’t care. They can’t hurt me. Nor can Mr. Townsend ever again.” To his shock, she wrapped her arms about him. “I love you. I love you madly. That’s what I came to tell you. I couldn’t help falling in love with you as soon as I got to know you. And I’m very sorry for acting the Great Beauty and hurting you.”

  The beauty of her words were almost beyond his comprehension. He embraced her fiercely. “I’m the one who should apologize. I started all the troubles and I was the stupidest numskull who ever lived.”

  Someone cleared her throat. “Your Graces,” said Lady Avery, “my sister and I have come to a conclusion.”

  He would have told them to bugger off but his wife took charge of the situation. She disengaged herself from his arms and stepped back, but not before she rubbed her thumb along his lower lip, a gesture of blatant promise. He was instantly hot with need.

  She turned toward the gossips. The smile was wiped from her face; she was once again the Great Beauty. “You will be swift about it. The duke and I have other plans for the afternoon.”

  Christian very nearly blushed. Lady Avery did blush, in fact.

  She had to clear her throat again. “We have been conveyors of fine gossip for more than twenty-five years, my sister and I. We see so many failings and shortcomings, sometimes we forget that not everyone is selfish. You each sought not to protect yourself, but to shelter the other. And for that, we are willing to tolerate a stain on our otherwise spotless record. We shall not bring up Mr. Townsend’s nam
e again, and when my son-in-law’s cousin arrives, I will escort him to the Continent instead of having him linger about London. In exchange, we ask that we be the first ones to inform Society of the duchess’s condition, in say, four weeks’ time.”

  Christian could not believe it. There was some humanity left in Ladies Avery and Somersby. Who knew?

  His wife nodded, as if in approval. “Accepted.”

  The three women shook hands on their agreement. The gossip chroniclers showed themselves out. But before Christian could say anything, the dowager duchess was shown in.

  “Stepmama, how did you know we are in town?”

  “I gave particular instructions to your staff that I be informed as soon as you return, although”—she looked with speculation toward his wife—“I did not know the duchess has also come.”

  “I could not bear to be parted from my bridegroom during our honeymoon,” said Christian’s wife, smiling at—and thoroughly dazzling—him. “So I’ve chased him to London.”

  “I only came to take the tetrapodichnites out of storage and bring them to you.”

  Her smiled widened. “You were going to do that?”

  “Of course.”

  “The tetrapo-what?” demanded his stepmother.

  “Fossilized saurian footprints. My bride has a passion for prehistoric monsters.”

  His bride dipped her head and peered up at him from underneath her magnificent lashes. “The duke encourages it. He is going to take me on his expeditions.”

  The dowager duchess looked from Christian to Venetia and back again, her lips beginning to curve into a smile. “I see I’ve been worried over nothing. You could have told me all is well, Christian.”

  He could scarcely take his eyes off his Venetia. “My humblest apologies, Stepmama. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  The doors of the drawing room opened again, this time to admit Lord Fitzhugh, Lady Fitzhugh, Miss Fitzhugh, and Lord Hastings. Venetia gave a delighted squeal, embraced them one by one, even Lord Hastings, and performed introductions.

  “And how did you know to come so quickly, Lord and Lady Fitzhugh?” asked the dowager duchess. “Did you also bribe someone on the duke’s staff?”

  Venetia laughed. “No indeed, ma’am. I cabled them before I left Derbyshire. There was something from my brother’s town house that I wanted. But I meant only for him to send it via courier.”

  “As if any of us would stay behind when we know you are in town,” said Miss Fitzhugh.

  “It’s excellent to see you, Venetia.” Lord Fitzhugh placed a hand on his sister’s arm. “You, too, Lexington. I see marriage agrees with the both of you.”

  “A very pleasant state of affairs, I must admit,” said Christian, his gaze again straying toward his wife.

  A look that his brother-in-law instantly comprehended. “And since you are still on your honeymoon, I believe we should make ourselves scarce. Shall we, Helena?”

  Miss Fitzhugh complied reluctantly. “All right, if you say so, Fitz.”

  “I left Mr. Kingston in the middle of a game of chess. That would never do. I’d better head home myself,” added the dowager duchess.

  There was another round of hugs. Miss Fitzhugh handed her sister a wrapped package. Christian and his wife saw everyone to their carriages, then, side by side, they walked sedately up the stairs. The moment they were in his room, however, she leaped onto him and kissed him wildly.

  “Shouldn’t you take more care in your condition?” he managed when he surfaced for air.

  “Hmm. Not yet.”

  He laid her down in his bed. “I am about to make love to you while you are visible. I’m not sure I’ll survive the experience.”

  “You will.” She clutched his face between her hands. “And when there is light, you can see how much I love you.”

  He kissed the pulse at her throat. “In that case, I could get used to it.”

  Afterward they held each other tight.

  “I wanted you for my sister, you know,” she murmured.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “Your sister who is in love with a married man?”

  “You remember that?”

  “I remember everything you said to me on the Rhodesia.”

  “Yes, that sister. My sister-in-law and I rather wistfully believed that if she’d only meet you, all would be well. So when we saw a poster for your lecture, we had to drag her to it.”

  He kissed her eyelashes. “How did she like me before I began to slander you?”

  “I’ve never asked her, but I was quite solidly impressed. So much so that even after you’d compared me to the Great Whore of Babylon—”

  “I did not.”

  She giggled. “So that even after you did that, I still found myself drawn to you.”

  “And believed me to be propositioning you even when I was not.”

  “You can’t possibly understand—I take that back. You can very well understand what it is like to be repelled yet compelled by a person at once. I was beside myself.”

  “Was that what made you wild in bed?”

  She snuggled closer to him. “Probably. And I was wild, wasn’t I?”

  “And wounded. And conflicted. And indomitable. When we were apart, I thought constantly of how you solved all your problems with your own hands—and made sure to emulate you.”

  “Serving as an example to the Duke of Lexington—you don’t know how proud I am.” She laughed as she raised herself on her elbow. “Now where is my photograph?”

  “Which photograph? Is that what you wanted delivered to you?”

  She nodded. “A photograph of my Cetiosaurus. I didn’t take it with me to Algernon House just after we married because I wasn’t sure whether I could ever be at home there. But this time, I was determined to take it with me no matter what. Just as I was determined to drag you kicking and screaming into my bed.”

  He rubbed a strand of her hair against his cheek and smiled. “Will you show me the picture?”

  “I see I’ve dropped it by the door.”

  She slipped out of bed, her hair loose, her person entirely naked.

  “My God, put on something.”

  Coquettishly she glanced over her shoulder. “So I won’t look like the trollop I am?”

  “So we will actually get around to the photograph. Well, too late.”

  He hauled her back into bed, and it was a while before either of them remembered the photograph again. This time, he left the bed to fetch it.

  She opened the package and drew out the framed photograph. He studied it closely. “You look happy and confident—rather as you do now.”

  “It’s because I feel now as I did then: that I have all my life before me and endless possibilities.”

  Looking at the fossil reminded him that the British Museum of Natural History was still open for the day. “If we hurry, we can have a good look at your Cetiosaurus in the flesh—or in the bones, rather. Then you are going to dine with me at the Savoy Hotel, to make up for what you owe me. And when we come home, I will give serious consideration to what you might do on your knees.”

  “Oh yes,” she cried. “Yes to all three.”

  He helped her dress, then pulled on his own clothes. As they approached the door, beyond which they must be proper and ducal again, he pulled her close for another kiss. “I love you, mein Liebling.”

  She winked. “And you will love me even more by the end of tonight.”

  They laughed and walked arm in arm out of the house, all their lives and endless possibilities before them.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Even though she has remarried, Christian’s stepmother is referred throughout the book as the dowager duchess and addressed as “Your Grace.” According to an edition of Debrett’s Peerage from the late nineteenth century, “A Widow who remarries loses any title or precedence she gained by her previous marriage. From this rule there is not any exception. Society, however, from pure motives of courtesy, sanctions the retention of former
rank, and … permits ladies who have remarried to be addressed as though their titled husbands were living.”

  Mary Anning, who lived in the first part of the nineteenth century, was a significant fossil collector and paleontologist. She is recognized by the Royal Society in 2010 as one of the ten most influential British women in the history of science. She had a more aristocratic counterpart in Barbara Hastings, Marchioness of Hastings and Baroness Grey de Ruthyn in her own right.

  Read on for a sneak preview of the next irresistible romance from Sherry Thomas

  Ravishing the Heiress

  Coming July 2012 from Berkley Sensation!

  Fate

  1888

  It was love at first sight.

  Not that there was anything wrong with love at first sight, but Millicent Graves had not been raised to fall in love at all, let alone hard and fast.

  She was the only surviving child of a very prosperous man who manufactured tinned goods and other preserved edibles. It had been decided, long before she could comprehend such things, that she was going to Marry Well—that via her person, the family’s fortune would be united with an ancient and illustrious title.

  Millie’s childhood had therefore consisted of endless lessons: music, drawing, penmanship, elocution, deportment, and, when there was time left, modern languages. At ten, she successfully floated down a long flight of stairs with three books on her head. By twelve, she could exchange hours of pleasantries in French, Italian, and German. And on the day of her fourteenth birthday, Millie, not at all a natural musician, at last conquered Listz’s Douze Grandes Études, by dint of sheer effort and determination.

  That same year, with her father coming to the conclusion that she would never be a great beauty, or indeed a beauty of any kind, the search began for a highborn groom desperate enough to marry a girl whose family wealth derived from—heaven forbid—sardines.

  The search came to an end twenty months later. Mr. Graves was not particularly thrilled with the choice, as the earl who agreed to take his daughter in exchange for his money had a title that was neither particularly ancient nor particularly illustrious. But the stigma attached to tinned sardines was such that even this earl demanded Mr. Graves’s last penny.