by Gayle Callen
“I don’t think so. I saw your bare hands at dinner.”
She clutched them together, though they were now hidden under gloves. “You could not have—we were too far apart.”
“Not that far. You are embarrassed about their roughness, embarrassed about what you do.”
“I may not like the look of my hands,” she insisted, “but I am not embarrassed by respectable employment.”
“I’ve offered you better employment.”
“And I’ve refused.”
He took a step closer. “I could push the matter.”
She groaned and wished she could childishly stomp her foot. “And I will still refuse. I cannot make you feel better about yourself.”
“That is not the point—I can make your life better.”
She stared up at him in confusion, wondering how long it would be before he’d take her at her word. And then she realized she was standing too close, that he was leaning over her to make his point, that if anyone saw them—
And worst of all, she was actually flattered by his persistence.
Outraged at her own ridiculous sentiments, she mustered her dignity, stepped away, and said coolly, “No, thank you, Your Grace.” What was wrong with her? The man’s folly had caused the death of her brother, had made her what she’d become. “I do believe it’s time you return to your triumphant tour of London. You are the talk of the town, which you must certainly enjoy.”
He shrugged and leaned against the wall with that indolence that grated on her nerves.
“You know it is meaningless and it will soon die away. No one discusses anything of importance with me; after all, I was a scapegrace before India, and returning as the duke is of more interest to them than anything I might have experienced in the jungles of a foreign country.”
She hesitated. “Anything you experienced—you mean anything you did.”
“Yes, as you know, there are things I don’t wish to relive by speaking of them,” he said somberly.
She didn’t want to hear that he suffered for what he’d done—it shouldn’t matter to her. She took her leave, but couldn’t get away from him, certainly not that evening, when the carpets had been rolled up in the drawing room for the dancing to begin. Adelia was flushed with excitement and happiness, more than once gushing into Faith’s ear about possibly dancing with a duke. Faith at last moved away from Lady Warburton and her daughter and retreated to the row of chairs that followed one wall into the corner. It was the wallflower row, where girls without partners waited with the elderly, the chaperones—and the companions. Charlotte was already there, an open seat waiting for her.
Sweet Miss Bury, the wispy-haired lady she’d conversed with before dinner, patted a chair beside her and Faith smiled as she sat, sending an “I’m sorry” glance at Charlotte. Not that Charlotte would stay seated for long. Her respectful employers consulted her frequently for her knowledge of eligible men, the best families, and everything Charlotte had learned over a lifetime in London. She was in demand and respected—the things Faith wanted for herself.
“I see your Miss Warburton is all atwitter about the Duke of Rothford,” Miss Bury said conspiratorially.
“Yes, she is.” Even a woman hard of hearing would have understood Adelia’s words.
“He cuts a dashing figure.” Miss Bury clucked her tongue and shook her head as the duke swept past, partnered with the prettiest girl there.
Faith nodded, but found herself reluctantly watching them. He knew the steps of the quadrille as if he hadn’t been an army officer for several years—she wasn’t sure how long he’d actually been gone.
They made a handsome couple, and many people seemed to be watching them, even though others lined up in the dance. Then he “graciously” offered his skills to other young ladies, including Adelia, who flushed and seemed to be breathing so rapidly she might have set off a swoon.
Then he started on the wallflowers, coming closer and closer to her chair with each dance. Miss Bury was beside herself at his generosity and consideration, talking about each young lady’s future delight at being so singled out.
But Faith’s unease and trepidation was growing as he came closer. He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t dare ask her to—
For a moment, a sense of exhilaration swept over her, the feeling of being the focus of a man’s attention, something she’d seldom experienced.
Then she caught site of Charlotte’s white face, the way she pressed her lips together in disapproval. At the duke’s outrageous behavior? Or did she think that Faith had somehow called it down on herself?
Two seats down from her, His Grace bowed over the hand of a plump girl whose mother swooned into her husband’s arms at the honor of it all.
The duke met Faith’s shocked gaze and smiled. She inhaled sharply, then escaped the instant they stepped onto the dance floor.
In the corridor near the ladies’ retiring room, she leaned against the wall and simply breathed, her eyes closed with exhaustion—mental and emotional exhaustion at least.
Why was he focusing on her like this, teasing her—practically flirting with her? Of course he wanted his own way, a salve for his conscience, but was this how rakes got whatever they wanted?
And she wasn’t innocent, though she was not married. As an adolescent, she’d become close to her neighbor, Timothy Gilpin, son of a baron. She’d spent her childhood exploring their library, and later, she’d explored more than that with Timothy. She’d been without a dowry, not pretty, with no prospects for the future. And her curiosity—and his—had led them both to an afternoon concealed near the river.
Closing her eyes, she dropped her chin to her chest and sighed. She’d always been too curious for her own good. But she didn’t think her curiosity had led to her problems with the duke—no, that was all on his head. Surely he would grow bored with her soon enough.
At last, she reentered the drawing room—where the duke wouldn’t dare to approach her, where she was free to watch him—and attached herself to Adelia. He spent much of the next hour with his sister and mother. His sister had a pretty vivaciousness that attracted much male attention. It was obvious that his mother still possessed the same lure, for she was no matron in a lace cap. Yet, she was still a mother, doting on the duke, and bringing him to the notice of her friends and their daughters.
Faith was very glad when the Warburtons decided to leave for home, so she no longer had to watch the duke and his family. But later that night, as she was washing out Adelia’s chemise, she found herself imagining having a houseful of servants to help her with such tasks.
No, she would not think of such temptations.
At Rothford Court the next afternoon, Adam almost escaped his sister. She’d watched him curiously at dinner the previous evening, but they’d had little chance to talk since. He’d breakfasted before her, and she’d had a luncheon elsewhere. But they passed in the entrance hall when she was on her way in with their sister-in-law, Marian, and he had no choice but to allow her to drag him into the small family drawing room, with its more intimate seating that encouraged confidences.
He didn’t have any confidences he wished to share, especially not in front of Marian, who had long ago mastered the art of looking bored and overly curious at the same time.
“You were quite the dance partner last night,” Sophia said.
“After six years in India and Afghanistan, you surely cannot blame me for enjoying such pleasures.” Adam walked to the window to stare out nonchalantly, making sure the women knew he had to be elsewhere soon.
“I hear the British Society in India is tolerable.” Marian sniffed.
“Bombay and Calcutta have dances and musicales, all the usual entertainments, but sadly, I was not often in those towns.”
“You wrote me from places with exotic names, like Mehmoodabad”—Sophia s
tumbled a bit over the word—“and Dubba.”
“Believe me, the names are the most exotic things about them. You don’t want to hear about such places,” he chided. He thought of the dirt and blood and death, Afghani mountains, Indian jungles—all things he’d put behind him.
“Then tell us about your dance partners,” Sophia said sweetly.
Trapped, he thought with admiration.
Marian eyed him. “You had a number of them, none of which were suited to your attention.”
“Marian,” Sophia said with mild reproof.
She shrugged. “It’s true.”
Sophia bit her lip.
“Ladies,” Adam said, “I danced with the women who seemed the most eager to dance.”
Sophia clapped her hands together. “It is rare to see the other men disgruntled because you showed them up so. I thought you were kind to dance with the wallflowers.”
He inwardly winced. He was glad to seem kind, when really he’d wanted to bother Miss Cooper, to force her to consider him and his offer. In the end, he was being kind, at least to her.
Or was he growing obsessed?
He glanced again out the window, wondering how much longer his sister would continue to tease him—and saw the actual object of his campaign. Miss Cooper was walking slowly past Rothford Court, staring up openmouthed, but not stopping.
He felt a rush of triumph—and attraction, which no longer surprised him. Miss Cooper was not your ordinary woman, though aligned with the wallflowers of Society.
“Ladies, excuse me,” he said, heading swiftly toward the door.
“But Adam,” Sophia called, “I wanted to ask you about Miss Fogge!”
“I’ll return later!”
He hurried past the footman, who betrayed no emotion other than a widening of the eyes.
“Your Grace, shall I fetch a cloak?” he called as Adam opened the door.
“I won’t be gone long.”
Outside, he hurried down the marble stairs and the walkway to the gates. The wind picked up near the street, penetrating his coat, but he didn’t mind the chill, because Miss Cooper had seen him. And increased her speed. The chase was on.
He glanced at the house once more, and saw the curtains move in the family drawing room. At the pace Miss Cooper was setting, he’d thankfully be out of sight of his sister before catching up with the woman.
Because who knew what Sophia might see?
And Adam felt himself coming back to life.
Chapter 4
He was coming for her—and Faith felt like an utter fool. What had possessed her to go out of her way to walk past Rothford Court?
But there was also a dangerous excitement making her breath come quickly, her heart pound, as she glanced over her shoulder and saw him threading his way through the light crowd, making people stop and gape at him. He wasn’t chasing her, she told herself. He was chasing the terrible mistakes of his past. She was a means to an end.
If she rationally understood this, why did she feel this way?
Because he was a man, and he was showing interest. She was disappointed in herself. The duke’s focus on her was bringing back excitement, the dark world of desire.
She was carrying a set of handkerchiefs wrapped in paper and string, finished with her errand for Adelia. Where else could she go? The duke was gaining on her slowly, as if he was enjoying himself, drat him.
The only safe place was the Warburton town house. When she reached the front door, she turned to give him a triumphant smile. It faded away when she saw him opening the gate. With a gasp, she fled inside, then managed to walk sedately past the butler and up the stairs toward Adelia’s room, even as she heard a knock at the front door.
She swallowed hard, but could not believe he’d ask for her. That would cause too much talk, even for a duke.
She knocked on Adelia’s door, and when the girl called for her entrance, she found her holding two different necklaces up in the mirror.
“Oh, Miss Cooper, do give me your opinion. I’m to have luncheon with Mama and her friends, and one of them is the mother of an earl and—”
Her flow of words was interrupted by another knock, and Faith hesitated before opening it.
The maid bobbed a curtsy and looked past Faith to say excitedly, “Miss Adelia, you have a very important visitor—a duke!”
Faith gritted her teeth even as Adelia’s mouth dropped open and the necklaces fell unheeded to the floor.
“Shall I tell him to return when your mother is at home?” the maid continued.
“No! Oh, dear, Miss Cooper, whatever shall I do? Mama would hate for me to miss such an opportunity—what if he never came again because I would not see him? Oh, oh, yes, I have you to sit with us, do I not?” she said with an eager smile. “I cannot believe it—a duke, come to call upon me!”
And what could Faith say to that? It seemed a cruel trick upon the girl, and Faith felt a party to it, which irritated her no end. She’d led the duke on a merry chase, and now she would be punished for it.
For punishment it was. Soon, she was curtsying before Rothford, allowing Adelia to introduce them as if they’d never met. Her cheeks were hot with a blush, and she imagined Adelia must think her flustered to be meeting such a lofty personage.
And what was the duke thinking? Surely he was pleased with his teasing—perhaps he thought all of this would make her simply give in to him. And that would not happen.
Like a good companion, Faith tried to pick up her needlework and retreat to a chair near the window, away from the two of them.
“Come, come, Miss Cooper,” Rothford said, “I shall feel cruel to ignore you, is that not right, Miss Warburton?”
“Of course,” Adelia gushed. “Miss Cooper is my dearest companion.”
Faith reluctantly sat on the sofa next to Adelia, whose smile was so bright as to be brittle, while the duke took his seat in a chair opposite them. He and Adelia exchanged remarks on the weather until the maid brought a tea service, which Adelia poured prettily. She was trying so hard and Faith felt worse and worse that the duke might simply be using her.
Or maybe he was using Faith to see Adelia—why did that give her thoughts of ill humor? But he’d been known to be in a fast crowd, to do reckless things, had he not? Perhaps he did not care if he hurt a girl’s feelings. Everyone had flaws, including her—and her flaw seemed to be liking men such as he. She’d never known that about herself, had never met a rake and scoundrel before.
But he’d seemed so sincere in his grief at her brother’s death, in his need to make amends. Which was the true man?
“Is this your first Season in London, Miss Warburton?” he asked after taking a sip of his tea.
“It is, Your Grace. If not for the trains, it would have taken us so dreadfully long to arrive. Are not modern conveniences wonderful?”
“I must certainly agree. Before the steamship, it took six months to reach India a few years ago. Imagine my delight on returning home, it took only six weeks.”
“India must be a beautiful country,” Adelia said dreamily.
Faith could not help glancing at Rothford’s face, knowing what she did about his experiences in that country.
“I was not prepared for its beauty,” he said solemnly. “There are temples within the mysteries of mango groves, boating along the river at night, colored lanterns at the prows on the return, like many-colored fireflies. The native people often had their women dance for us, nautch-girls draped in scarves and jewels that winked in the torchlight.”
Faith felt under the spell of the images he wove in her imagination, and saw that Adelia was all agog.
Then the duke’s gaze focused back on them, and he cleared his throat before sipping again at his tea.
Was he embarrassed? She could not believe it o
f him, he of the bold, teasing words, and the determination to have his way, regardless of what she wanted. Didn’t most men simply talk of their horses and carriages? That seemed the normal conversation Adelia had with her occasional young man.
But Rothford had found something to admire in India, even though it had cost him the lives of friends—although she couldn’t quite imagine Mathias good friends with a duke.
“You make me quite want to visit India,” Adelia said politely.
“Many young ladies do. There is a whole British Society in Calcutta and now Bombay.”
“The heat, though—I do not do well in the heat. I much prefer the English countryside at the height of summer.”
“And what about you, Miss Cooper?” the duke asked.
She pricked her thumb with the needle at his question, then hid it in her skirt pocket with her handkerchief. He smiled at her knowingly.
“Forgive my concentration, Your Grace, but what was your question again?”
Adelia shot her horrified look, as if Faith’s conduct toward a duke shamed her.
“I wondered if you like the heat of summer or prefer the cool countryside?”
“Why . . . I imagine I do not have a preference. The summer’s warmth can feel lovely after a long winter, but a woman’s garments do not make the enjoyment of it easy.”
Color stained Adelia’s cheeks, and Faith realized it might be improper to discuss clothing with a man.
“Uh . . . I mean—I meant—”
“No, no, I understand your meaning,” he said heartily. “Wool can be deuced uncomfortable in a man’s suit, as well. A refreshing honesty you have there. Miss Cooper must be easy to talk to, eh, Miss Warburton? But then that’s why you chose her as your companion.”
“Very true, Your Grace,” Adelia said softly. “Might I pour you more tea?”
He took his leave after the appropriate quarter of an hour, bowing to them both, until Faith could have rolled her eyes. After the butler saw him out, the maid pressed herself to the window of the small entrance hall to watch him walk away, until the butler sent her off with an ominous frown of disapproval.
