by Diana Quincy
“I will make the decision.” Abbie tended to have a managing nature if one didn’t stand firm. “Let us leave this topic for now.”
* * *
—
Isabel successfully avoided Sunderford for two days until he sent for her, bidding Dowding to send her to his study. She could hardly refuse a ducal summons from her employer.
As she made her way to the study, Isabel tried to settle her nerves with long, deep breaths, but the technique was of no help at all. All it did was make her feel as if she couldn’t get enough air, which only served to make her more anxious when she was not, by nature, an anxious person. Blast Sunderford!
She was standing before the large door, steeling herself, when the door opened and she found herself staring into the duke’s broad chest. She lifted her head to meet his gaze. It never failed to surprise her just how similar the vibrant silver in his eyes was to that of the girls’. Something pulled in her chest. She felt a sense of connectedness to him that had nothing to do with the sexual energy that suddenly crowded the chamber.
She broke eye contact. “You asked for me?”
“Yes.” He stepped away, putting his desk—and more distance than was necessary—between them. The invisible icy shield he’d erected between them was quite enough. “Welcome home.”
She forced herself to look into his face. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She could not read the expression there, but couldn’t help noticing how the angles of his face seemed more sharply cut than before, his chin strong and defined.
“I’ll come straight to the point, if you don’t mind.”
As she stood quietly, waiting for him to continue, her gaze wandered to his mammoth rosewood desk. I want you bent over the desk in my study. Her cheeks felt hot at the memory of the duke’s words and her own answer. What if I told you I want those things as well? Unfortunately, she still wanted them, and him, in the worst way.
“About the evening of the ball,” he began.
She forced herself to appear calm and serene—at least outwardly. Inside, a jumble of nerves tightened painfully in her stomach. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I acted reprehensively. I realize now that you may have felt that you had no choice in the matter. That certainly was not my intent.” He held himself very stiffly. “I took grievous advantage of your position in this house and for that I am truly contrite.”
It took a moment for her to register the meaning of his words. When she did, she could not have been more surprised. Of all the ways she’d imagined this scenario would play out, this one had never occurred to her. She could never have conceived that the duke might have enough of a conscience to feel guilty about what had occurred. “It was my choice,” she said softly.
His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“You did not force me. I participated fully. And willingly.”
“Thank God.” The tension seemed to flow out of his body. “When you fled, I feared the worst. I’ve been in knots about it since you left.”
The room went quiet for a moment. It seemed neither knew what to say next.
The duke cleared his throat. “I didn’t hurt you?”
She met his gaze and shook her head. “No, not at all. I…it was…very good.”
His brows rose. A powerful current of sensual energy arced between them. He took a step closer. It was all she could do not to close the distance between them and propel herself into his arms. It was as if a gale-force wind was at her back, urging her toward him.
But then she remembered what she’d witnessed their first evening back. The duke in his element, a place she would never belong, nor could she bear to be an occasional dalliance while he cavorted with other women. Her times with Ben, and then the girls, demonstrated that she was a woman who attached—and loved—deeply and strongly.
“However, given our present circumstances,” she said softly, “I think we both can agree that what occurred between us, while pleasant—”
“Pleasant,” he echoed.
“Very, very pleasant,” she acknowledged, and he smiled at that, a bit of mischief sparking in his beautiful eyes. “But I think we both comprehend that it cannot happen again.”
She watched that invisible icy shield harden around him. “If that is what you wish,” he said stiffly, “then, of course, that is how it will be.”
“You are a man who enjoys many women, as is your right.” She did not owe him an explanation, but she wanted no misunderstanding between them. “I cannot be one of them. I value myself too highly for that.”
“As well you should.” His expression gentled. “You are clearly a lady and should be treated as such. Things shall remain as they were before the very pleasant evening of the ball.”
She smiled at his gentle teasing and suddenly couldn’t bear the thought of them resuming an adversarial relationship. “Perhaps we can learn to be friends of a sort.”
“What a novel concept.” He seemed to roll the idea over in his head. “I’ve never had a female friend before…at least not in the way you suggest.”
“Maybe now would be a good time to try, Your Grace.”
“I should like that. Very much.” He paused. “My friends call me Sunny.”
She dipped her chin. “Sunny it is then.”
* * *
—
“You believe war taxes are inevitable.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Hector Booth, Sunny’s political advisor, stood with files in hand, watching as Sunny laid down the tiny planks that made up the polished wooden floor of Prudie’s doll’s house. They were in Sunny’s playroom, which of late served as his woodshop.
“Is there no other way to avoid huge loans and the ensuing interest payments that would burden the country?” Sunny asked.
“Pitt believes borrowing would leave an unmanageable national debt.”
Sunny lined up another tiny plank. “So the idea is to raise as much money as possible now, rather than borrowing as we go, in order to decrease the nation’s burden in the long term?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I’ve prepared a document outlining the issue.”
“Very well.” Sunny leaned back to inspect the flooring from a distance. “Leave the information, and I’ll take a look this evening.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Once Booth departed, Sunny refocused all of his attention on his project. The innate pleasures of crafting something with his hands, of holding the wood and inhaling its scent, had all come back to him once he’d started building Prudie’s doll’s house. He found he’d retained much of what Jonas, the Parkthorn Hall carpenter, had taught him.
The work on the doll’s house certainly helped pass the days. Now that his nights were considerably shorter, Sunny was up earlier with more daylight hours to fill. Aside from twice weekly meetings with Booth, his political advisor, Sunny read both newspapers each morning and took more of an interest in running the multitude of properties that came with the dukedom. He also exercised daily, but ultimately spent most of his time working on Prudie’s doll’s house.
It was coming together beautifully. The woodworker he’d engaged had mounted the special trims, and he would soon engage artisans to paper the walls. After working for another couple of hours, once the flooring was down and he’d finished most of the staircase railing, Sunny decided to take a break.
A ruckus greeted him the moment he opened the door to find the twins racing up and down the corridor.
“Ahoy,” Patience called to her sister. “Quickly! Get on the ship before the pirates get you.”
Finch appeared and admonished the girls to be careful not to fall over the railing.
“A good sailor never goes overboard,” Patience announced to the governess, before cheekily adding, “Do you have permission to come aboard?”
Finch wore one of her terrible dresses with her hair p
ulled tight into a bun at her nape, but Sunny no longer saw her as plain. Now that he’d seen past her disguise, he had no trouble seeing the sensuous woman behind the façade.
Finch playfully wrapped her arms around the child and smothered her with kisses. “Here’s my permission to come aboard,” she said between kisses. “What do you think about that?”
Patience squealed and squirmed and pretended to protest, but it seemed to Sunny that she rather enjoyed the attention. Sunny couldn’t blame the girl. He wouldn’t mind being wrapped in Finch’s arms.
But he must keep his word and stay away from the governess, who’d made it plain that she had no intention of becoming one of his doxies. His attraction to her remained, but he’d contained it so that his desire for her was rather like the flame of a lantern turned so low that one hardly took notice of it, unless you touched it and realized how hotly it burned.
The two of them had reached something of a détente over the last fortnight. They’d managed to deal with each other in a courteous yet friendly manner. He’d even taken to accompanying Finch and the girls on the occasional outing. The nanny proved to be good company. She had a sharp mind and a wicked sense of humor that appealed to him…even if he couldn’t bed her.
At times, he found himself watching the way she smiled or bit her bottom lip whenever she concentrated, but he would catch himself and force himself to think of the latest ledger he’d perused, or the most recent news from the front—anything to keep from coming to a point in her presence. A cockstand between friends would never do.
Sunny came out of the playroom and closed the door behind him before turning the key in the lock.
Prudie spotted him. “Why are you locking the door?”
“To keep inquisitive little girls out.”
“Why?”
“Because.”
Patience grasped the railing with one hand and leaned her body away from it. “I want to go on a ship. Have you ever been on a ship before, Duke?”
“Once or twice.” He turned his attention to the nanny. “Good day, Finch.”
“Your Grace.” She caught herself with a self-conscious smile. “Sunny.”
“I want to go on a ship,” Patience repeated.
“Me too,” Prudie said.
“I am in possession of a great many things,” Sunny said. “Unfortunately, a ship is not one of them.” As he spoke the last words, an idea came to him. Sunny turned to Finch. “I’d like to plan an outing with the children for tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened. “You would?”
“Would you mind if we take the girls in the afternoon after their lessons?”
“I have no objection. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a smile, feeling very pleased with himself. “You will see.”
Chapter 19
“Where are we going, Duke?” Patience peered out of the window as the coach approached Leicester Square.
A smile played on Sunny’s lips. “You shall find out soon enough.”
Prudie jumped up and down in her seat. “Are we almost there? Are we?”
“Almost,” he responded cryptically.
Isabel, who was seated between the two girls in the forward-facing seat opposite the duke, could not help but notice that His Grace seemed very pleased with himself. “You are being quite mysterious.”
“That is the nature of a surprise.”
“Is it outdoors?” Isabel inquired, almost as curious as the girls. The jaunt had originally been planned for yesterday, but rain had forced them to put their outing off for a day. “Is that why you delayed until today?”
“No, where we are going is not out of doors.”
She could tell he enjoyed toying with her. He seemed as eager to show her the surprise as he was to share it with the children.
Although they’d settled into an amiable arrangement, Isabel’s palms still dampened whenever he was close enough for the scent of his soap to drift over her. Her attraction to him hadn’t diminished one bit. If anything, it seemed to grow stronger and more firmly entrenched in the way the roots of a tree spread like tentacles underground to strengthen their hold. At the moment, she was supremely aware of how his commanding form seemed to fill the carriage, his long legs nearly, but not quite, brushing her own.
Sunny adjusted his top hat, his gaze drifting toward the window. He seemed to be having no difficulty at all abiding by their agreement. While she fell asleep at night to the memory of him spreading her legs and pushing into her, while she relived the deliciously full feeling of Sunny stroking inside of her, he gave no indication at all that he remembered their coupling, much less had any desire to repeat it.
The truth was that he seemed to have lost all physical interest in her. She knew she should be pleased that he’d respected her wishes, but a significant part of her wished it hadn’t been so easy for him to set her aside.
The carriage came to a stop. Sunny jumped down first and swung each of the girls out, one at a time, to a stream of happy giggles. Turning back to the conveyance, he reached out to assist Isabel as she alighted. She placed her hand in his and, even though both wore gloves, a powerful sensation streaked up her arm. She resisted the urge to shiver with pleasure lest he notice what a fool she was to be so affected by his touch.
They were greeted by a man who’d clearly anticipated their arrival. He was as tall as the duke and held himself with the contained, upright posture of a military man.
“All is in readiness, Mr. Barker?” the duke asked.
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man answered. “A private showing, as you requested.”
Mr. Barker led the way to a small entrance situated between two buildings. He guided their small party into a narrow passageway that met a poorly lit staircase. Isabel gripped the twins’ hands, anxious not to lose hold of them, now more curious than ever as to why the duke had brought her and the girls to this cramped, dingy place. At least light shone up ahead at the top of the staircase.
When they reached the landing, the duke turned to her with a triumphant smile, waiting expectantly for her reaction. Isabel forgot to breathe. She’d never seen anything like the spectacle that surrounded her.
“Hurrah!” Patience scampered across the round platform with Prudie following close behind. “It’s a ship! We’re on a ship.”
They weren’t, but it certainly felt as if they were. An enormous panorama of the British fleet at sea surrounded them. The cozy entranceway and narrow stairwell had been deceiving. She saw now that they were in an immense domed building with skylights that allowed the sun to shine down on the painting making it seem incredibly lifelike. It felt as if they were in the scene, surrounded by waves and sun and magnificent ships. The edge of the viewing platform was constructed to look like the railing of a large naval vessel, creating the sensation that they were on the deck of their own ship. There was even a ship’s cannon, which the girls were already climbing on.
“Well?” The duke watched for her reaction. “What do you think?”
She could practically feel the wind on her face. “It’s truly magnificent.” She turned in a slow circle, taking in the scene. The platform itself was mostly in shadows. All of the natural light from above beamed down on the surrounding scenes; it was as if the sun’s rays emanated from the panorama itself. The scene around her seemed to spin, leaving her feeling queasy. She grabbed for the railing to steady herself.
“Easy now.” The duke caught her waist, righting her, and guiding her to the railing. The place where his hands touched her body burned through her clothes, all the way to her skin. Why did she have to find the scent of warm skin and overt masculinity so heavenly?
She gripped the rail. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“The proprietor tells me there are many spectators who become seasick because of the realistic effect of the disp
lay.” He paused, lowering his voice. He seemed to be calculating something in his mind. “Unless…”
She inhaled, feeling a bit more stable. “I think I am getting my sea legs.”
“Are you certain?” A troubled expression crossed his face. “Is it possible—” He swallowed. “Is it possible that you are…that there were…consequences as a result of what occurred at the ball?”
“No.” She quickly cut him off. She’d had her courses. She wasn’t with child. “It is not possible.”
He watched her carefully. “Are you certain?”
“I am. Very, very certain.” She’d been immensely relieved when her menses had come on at Abel’s. She had worried about the consequences of her tryst with the duke. Yet, somewhere in her, if Isabel were to be honest with herself, she’d also been somewhat let down. She was not a young woman. She’d fleetingly wondered what it would be like to carry Sunny’s child. Naturally, it was completely impossible. The governess bearing the Duke of Sunderford’s bastard would cause the scandal of the season. “There is no doubt. I am not with child.”
“I see.” His tone lightened. “I suppose it is just the effect of the panorama then.”
“Yes,” she reassured him. “It must be.”
Prudie came running over. “There’s another set of stairs. Can we go up?”
“You may.” Sunny offered his arm to Isabel. “Are you up to it, Finch?”
“Certainly.” She took his arm, surprised at how strong and firm his forearm felt, rather than somewhat soft, as she’d have expected of someone who lived the duke’s indolent lifestyle. “Lead on.”
* * *
—
The climb to the upper platform was not for the faint of heart.
With Finch on his arm, Sunny made his way to the second viewing area. Again, they moved up a narrow, dark staircase to reach the second circle. By the time they arrived at their destination, three flights up, Isabel was breathing heavily beside him. The children, scampering energetically ahead, didn’t seem at all affected by the rigors of the climb. To his own surprise, neither was Sunny. He’d taken the stairs as easily as a bird takes flight. It seemed that his rigorous exercise program had improved his physical endurance.
