Linnette, The Lioness

by Lavinia Kent

  The Real Duchesses of London

  LINNETTE, THE LIONESS

  LAVINIA KENT

  CONTENTS

  The Real Duchesses of London

  The Maids

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  The Maids

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  The Maids

  About the Author

  Also by Lavinia Kent

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  THE REAL DUCHESSES OF LONDON*

  Kathryn, The Duchess of Harrington

  “I am the perfect duchess. I am beautiful, rich, well read, well spoken, and have a civilized relationship with the duke. What more could a woman want?”

  Elizabeth, The Countess of Westhampton

  “I may not be a duchess, but I am more of a lady than any of them. You’ll never see me in the scandal sheets. Mind you, I am not saying I haven’t ever been scandalous—just that you’ll never know.”

  Georgianna, Lady Richard Tennant

  “My son will be a duke. It doesn’t matter if I get to be a duchess as long as I know my son will inherit from his uncle, will hold the title. My husband may have broken many of his promises to me, but that one is absolute.”

  Linnette, The Dowager Duchess of Doveshire

  “I have no intention of giving up what is mine. I’ve run the house and the estates for years. Why would I ever give them up now? I don’t care who the new duke is.”

  Annabelle, The Marchioness of Tattingstong

  “They say that, because I am American, I have no taste, no grace, no style, no refinement. I have every intention of showing them just how wrong they are—and when the time comes I will be the perfect duchess.”

  *All quotes as relayed to Miss Jane White, more or perhaps less accurately, by Miss Mary White, lady’s maid for the Duchess of Harrington

  THE MAIDS

  Jane White, newly hired upstairs maid in the house of Lady Smythe-Burke, resisted the urge to twirl as she strolled down the street. It was her first half-day in the week she’d been at her new employment. Normally a maid had to wait a full fortnight to be given a half-day, but her employer apparently had some modern ideas and Jane certainly wasn’t going to complain.

  She’d arranged to take the same half-day as her friend Abby Dobbs and the two women were going to walk through the park and enjoy the early summer air. Jane had even grabbed some bread crusts from the kitchen in anticipation of their treat. There was nothing like feeding the ducks to complete an afternoon of laughter and frivolity—maybe they’d even see that footman she’d had her eye on.

  Jane paused for a moment at the apothecary just down the street from her former employer. There were a couple of new cartoons and prints in the window. She hurried up to the glass eagerly.

  “Ooh, is that another one in the window?” Abby’s voice called to Jane from behind, causing Jane to step away from the shop’s large window.

  “Do you mean the one of the Dowager Duchess of Doveshire? I am surprised you haven’t seen it before. This one is mean—just like the last couple. And not nearly as well drawn—not like that first one with all the duchesses. Do you really think the dowager duchess could have one in the oven? And to say that the father is a married man! My sister, Mary, saw her last week at Harrington House and didn’t say anything about her belly. She is young enough, but I’ve never heard that she wants to marry again,” Jane responded, her thoughts returning to the pleasure of the day to come. She wondered if she had enough pocket change for some fresh chestnuts. They were more fun in the winter but she had a hankering.

  “But who’s the gentleman? Do you think his shoulders are really that wide?”

  “He’s the Duke of Harrington. That’s what makes this one so awful. I believe he loves his duchess—I think I even saw a different print of him making lovey eyes at her. I’d tell you some of the things my sister has whispered to me but they are too shocking. I can’t believe that he’d have a child with another woman. If he is the father, I think that’s just horrible.”

  “No,” Abby said. “I saw that one days ago. Look more closely. The cartoon is almost the same, but this time it’s a different man. The pose is the same, and it looks like he’s wearing a ducal cornet, but it’s not Harrington. This one looks like a man who’s worked hard in his life.”

  Jane peered more closely, thoughts of chestnuts forgotten. “Oh my, I see what you mean. No, I don’t know who he is. Maybe Mary will know.”

  “Why would they show the dowager duchess with two different men? Do you think she’s been sleeping with both?”

  “I told you I don’t believe she was sleeping with Harrington—although it would be a good bit of gossip if she was. Can you imagine two men?”

  “I have trouble when I even think about one. Cook always says that’s what men are—trouble.”

  Jane thought about her handsome footman. Lady Smythe-Burke did like a footman with a well-shaped leg. “You may be right about that. And,” she turned to look more closely at the print, “I would like to know who he is. You are right about the coronet—hmm, what duke aren’t we thinking of? I thought I’d learned them all by sight—at least the way they look in cartoons.”

  Abby suddenly grew very still. She turned to Jane with wide eyes. “You don’t suppose he could be . . .”

  CHAPTER ONE

  “I am not with child.”

  The words struck James before he’d even walked across the entrance hall of the house. The door to the south parlor swung open and Linnette, the Dowager Duchess of Doveshire—and his secret lover—stood and stared at him. She must have seen him arrive.

  As always, his breath caught when he saw her. Even now, shimmering with rage, she was the most incredible thing he’d ever seen. Her coppery hair glinted in the morning light and her face was flushed. Her dark emerald eyes shone with more life than anyone he’d ever known. Her tightly pursed lips drew even tighter as she stared at him. She took another step forward, her grace almost feline, but not some tame house cat. No, Linnette moved like a lioness, strong, powerful, and sure—and very angry.

  Despite her anger, his body, as always, responded to her very presence. The desire grew to sweep her into his arms to kiss all her troubles away.

  “I repeat, I am not with child,” she said again, waiting for his response.

  “I don’t believe I ever said you were,” he answered with considered calm.

  She glared a second longer, then with her skirts flapping like a sail in the wind, she turned and stormed back into the parlor.

  What now? This was certainly not what he had hoped and expected when he had received Linnette’s note that morning. The note, summoning him far before normal visiting hours, had given him very definite hopes—hopes that seemed doomed to disappointment. Eight years ago, before he’d left, he’d known her every nuance: now he felt lost in a strange land. He might know her body, but her mind remained a mystery.

  He paused one more second, drew a deep breath, and walked into the parlor.

  He stepped slightly aside as he entered. Linnette had a temper to match her hair and he’d learned to be careful of it almost two decades ago. She’d had a propensity to throw things as a girl, and had always had the most wicked aim.

  “I am not with child.” Linnette repeated the words with even more vigor. She stormed back and forth across the room, hands on hips. She was fully dressed in a morning gown of flowered yellow muslin, but her glowing hair was still unbound, loose about her shoulders. Clearly, she was not quite herself at th
e moment, but then she hadn’t been herself since—

  Damnation, he knew what this was about—and it wasn’t about anything he would wish to discuss. And why had she summoned him about it?

  “This is because of that cartoon again, isn’t it?” he asked, his voice as soothing as he could manage. He knew how deeply hurt she’d been by the cartoon that shown her heavily pregnant. She’d never been a woman to court scandal—even with him. “The one of you and the Duke of Harrington that appeared a week ago. I know you must find it distressing, but I believed what you said about all your interviews involving the building of railroads and canals and have never even considered that you might be bearing his child.” He stepped forward, reaching out a hand to catch her arm, to hold her still—it was difficult to talk to a woman who seemed determined to cross the room a hundred times in less than a minute. She did not throw off his hand, stepping nearer to him if anything. His fingers warmed against her soft flesh and he fought the urge to pull her closer. She smelled of musk this morning, something womanly and mysterious. He wished he could pull her yet nearer, distract her from her displeasure. He gave a gentle tug.

  She did not move. “No. Its not about that one—and you are right I am certainly not bearing Harrington’s child.” She held still beneath his touch, but he could feel the anxiety and anger that coursed through her. She turned her face up to his, her skin bare of powder, her light freckles showing. Her jade eyes shone with even more emotion than usual, her lips pale, their centers reddened as if she’d been biting them all morning.

  “Then what is this about? Are you finally ready to talk about what—No, I see from your look that you are not. Why don’t you sit and tell me why you have summoned me?” He gestured to the dainty chaise under one of the high, heavily draped windows. The faster he got her calmed, the sooner—his gaze slid toward the hallway, his thoughts traveling up the stairs. It was an unlikely occurrence, but his body definitely approved of the idea. “It must be something quite important for you to summon me at such an early hour.”

  “This is important—and it is about us. I cannot believe you do not already know. I was sure everyone would know by now. My maid told me with my breakfast—not that I could eat after—.” She pulled from his grasp and began to pace again. “I cannot believe this. After everything that has happened—now this.”

  What on earth was she talking about? A sudden thought took him. “Did you miss your courses? Is that why you are talking about being with child? Is that why you are acting this way?” He dodged as she turned and swung at him. She was slight compared to himself, but even as a ten-year-old she’d packed a good punch.

  “You are such a man. Every time I am emotional it must have something to do with my being a woman. And if I’d missed my courses I wouldn’t be saying I was not with child. Do you really think that I’d believe everybody knew about my courses?”

  That required fast thought. He wished he knew how to help her. Although he was the last person she seemed to want help from. “I imagine your maid does—didn’t you mention your maid?”

  Linnette stormed to the window and stared down at the street. He could see her magnificent chest rise as she pulled in a deep breath, her breasts straining against the fine muslin.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I would confess I had other thoughts on my mind when I arrived. I am quite baffled by why you would have summoned me at this hour. I should have taken the time to listen.” The sentiment was heartfelt, but he also knew that an apology was the fastest way to calm her and to find out what had happened.

  She turned back to him, her eyes steady, considering his words. Her lips were still quivering with emotion and he found his eyes drawn to them. They were so full, so lush, so inviting, so—damn, Linnette was right—he was such a man, and as a man he could not help his thoughts straying out the door and up the stairs. Linnette with her fury spinning about her was more arousing than anything he’d encountered since—since longer than he could remember. He longed for the chance to give her another way to expend all that energy. He shifted, easing his trousers, as he forced his eyes back up to her eyes. It wouldn’t do to be caught staring at her mouth, his thoughts plain on his face.

  “I am sorry also,” she said after a moment. “I am upset and I should have explained why before reacting in such a fashion. I should not take out my anger upon you.” She walked to the small table that stood under the window. Picking up a single sheet of cheap paper she turned toward him. “My maid brought it to me this morning. I wish I did not need to show it to you. I wish it did not exist at all. Things are already complicated enough between us.”

  He reached out to take the paper. “Is it more foolishness about you and Harrington? Nobody would be fool enough to believe it. Have you seen the way he’s been looking at his duchess these last days? I think there’s even a print of the two of them looking like lovebirds. A man with that look on his face is not involved with another woman—not even one as ravishing as you.”

  “Oh, stop flattering me and look at the damned thing.”

  Letting his eyes drop to the paper, he froze. Bloody hell. No wonder Linnette was so upset.

  He walked over to the window so that the sun was full on the paper and stared down at the cartoon, as a cold pit grew in his stomach.

  How had anybody known? He was sure nobody had seen them. No, he knew nobody had seen them. Perhaps they hadn’t been as careful as they should have been, but he was convinced they’d been lucky.

  “It’s awful, isn’t it? Although you look good—much better than Harrington did. You at least look proud, not like you’ve never had a thought above your waistline.”

  He kept staring at the picture—at the drawing of himself and Linnette. As with the other cartoon, she stood in the foreground, her belly huge and pregnant—very different from the lush but slender curves of her true frame. He stood behind, one arm wrapped around her, his hand splayed upon that full belly. She was right, he did look proud. How would he look if she were in truth growing his child? Could she be? It might just be possible.

  He lifted his head and stared at her pale face. “Do we need to talk about this?”

  Linnette caught his meaning quickly as she watched his eyes drop to her belly and then back to her face. He might only have been back from Canada for a few weeks, but she’d always understood the way he thought—sometimes too well. Had he not been listening? She was tempted to speak in single, well-spaced syllables. “How many times must I say it? I am not with child. There is nothing to talk about.” And oh how she wished that were true.

  Before James had returned, her life had been simple, but now it was anything but. She spent her days and her nights longing for James, for the uncontrollable passion—and peace—she found in his arms, in those few stolen hours that they managed to be alone. But those hours were so few—and could never be more. They shouldn’t exist at all. Nobody would ever understand their relationship, understand how the ever-proper dowager duchess had ended up leaning against a tree, her skirts about her waist within minutes of meeting the man again, everything abandoned to the flare of passion that had always consumed them. Even now, bristling with anger, she could feel her desires rise as she watched his long fingers tap against his leg, drawing her gaze. She pressed her legs tight together and folded her hands in her skirts, resisting the urge to reach out and stroke him—or hit him. Her emotions were never rational when he was about.

  James took a step nearer to her, the muscles of his thighs showing firm beneath his tight trousers.

  She swallowed, unable to draw her eyes from those powerful legs, from thoughts of them lying beneath her.

  “I must disagree. There are certainly still things to talk about,” he said. “Assuming you were with child, would it be mine?”

  Her head snapped up. “You, you, you . . .” She began sputtering, her pent-up emotions let loose by his audacity. How dare he! He might have only been in her life for a few weeks, but who else did he think was a possibility? Was there
anything she could throw? Her gaze darted about the parlor. If only they were someplace else. He was certainly not worth any of her carefully collected treasures.

  And there was no baby. That was the most certain thing of all. Whoever had created the drawing was seeking a scandal, nothing more.

  She closed her eyes, turned away from the temptation of staring at him, at his broad shoulders and understanding eyes, at his easy acceptance of all life would throw at him and his ability to manage it. Perhaps sending for him had not been wise. Experience had taught her better than to think she could depend upon him.

  “And who else do you imagine could be the mythical father of my mythical child? Do you have any suggestions?”

  James walked across the room and sat on the corner of a sturdy Tudor table, his long legs spread before him. “Well, the first cartoon placed you with the Duke of Harrington. He seems like a reasonable guess—even if you’ve already said otherwise, and I do believe you.”

  “I am glad, given that I have not been with the man in years.” As she spoke, she questioned herself. Did she mean for her words to wound him, as he had once wounded her? Is that why she had laid bare her past affair? Did she sound like a witch? Did she mean to make him jealous? “We were together only twice—soon after my husband died. It would have to be the longest pregnancy in history.”

  James’s face had stilled at her words, his thoughts unreadable. He turned away. “What about my distant cousin and heir presumptive, Mr. Swatts? I believe he calls on you frequently.” Staring up at the portrait of her husband’s mother over the mantel, he looked like he was actually contemplating the question. “His conversation has suggested a close relationship with you.”

  “It has? I’d sooner sleep with my horse. The only reason he came calling at all was that he kept hoping you would not be found alive and he wanted information from me. I’ve never seen a man so eager for a title. He could barely hide his delight when rumors surfaced that you might have died in battle.” She swallowed, fighting to hide how she had felt upon hearing those same rumors. “He still stops by and tries to wheedle any new information from me. He is determined to charm all my secrets from me, although he’s about as charming as that one-eyed stable cat that always has a rat’s tail between its teeth. I have as little to do with the man as possible.”