by Gayle Callen
“Lady Frances, is that you?”
The girl crawled out of her hiding place, wearing a dressing gown over her nightdress. She crossed her arms over her chest and looked mutinous. “Go ahead and tattle. It won’t matter.”
“I don’t plan to tattle. I, too, am seeking solace in the library. What is wrong with that?”
Frances looked uncertainly past Faith, as if she thought someone would jump out at them. “I’m supposed to be in bed.”
“Me, too. I imagine we’ll each find a book and take it back to our rooms. No one needs to know but us.”
“I—very well, thank you,” she added in too polite a voice.
She snatched the first book off the first shelf she could reach and fled. Faith stared after her, then, on a hunch, knelt down and looked beneath the table to find a collection of rock crystals piled neatly. So the girl hadn’t just come for a book. But of course, that was none of her business.
“Hiding?”
Faith started at the deep male voice, dropping her head with a wince before slowly rising to her feet. Twice today the duke had overheard her speaking far above her station. She didn’t want to come to his notice at all, didn’t like being beholden to him.
But then she raised her gaze to his face, and once more, she felt the unsettled, nervous flutter in her stomach. She told herself it was because he now had power over her. His coat was gone, which seemed vaguely scandalous. His shirtsleeves looked so very white against the somber brown of his satin waistcoat.
“No,” he said, smiling. “I know you’re not hiding. I saw who ran out of here. I keep overhearing you with members of my household today.”
She thought of the way she’d overstepped her bounds by talking back to his rude sister-in-law.
“Is Frances well?” he asked, looking thoughtful as he glanced at the door where she’d disappeared.
“I don’t know,” Faith answered. “She was quite upset thinking I might tell her mother—”
“As if you have anything you want to say to Lady Tunbridge.”
Faith felt herself blush. “She’s a little girl who feels safe in a library. I will certainly not ruin that for her. Will you?” she asked boldly.
“Of course not.”
She took a deep breath. “As for her mother . . . I imagine you were quite shocked when you heard our discussion. I should not have—”
“Yes, you should have. She deserved your set down. I almost applauded, but I worried that upon discovering me, Lady Emmeline might chase me down the corridor.”
Faith covered her mouth before a laugh could escape.
“Ah, you do have a sense of humor. I was beginning to wonder.”
She tried to recapture her distance. “And I should let down my guard with you?”
His smile faded. “No. No, you should not do that.”
He was studying her too closely, too thoroughly, and she was glad for her poorly styled hair and awful gowns. She didn’t want him to truly see her, to think he could know things about her. They shouldn’t be speaking at all.
But she couldn’t make herself leave. “I like your library.”
His smile returned, but faintly this time, his eyes still too intense. “I’m certain my ancestors appreciate that.”
A silence too full of awareness rose between them—and she was also vastly aware of the chasm in consequence, in fortune, in everything that mattered in Society.
“Did you see the conservatory?”
She inhaled sharply. “You have one here in the city?”
“Of course. What self-respecting ducal mansion doesn’t?” He walked to the far end of the library and threw open a set of double doors.
Faith moved forward as if in a dream, inhaling the rich scent of damp earth, then the sweet scents of exotic flowers. When she stepped across the threshold, the air grew moist and warm, and trees rose up above her as if to touch the sky through the panes of glass in their cast-iron frames. Gas-lamp globes seemed to hover in line along curving gravel pathways. Ferns swayed as they passed. Straight ahead rose a fountain that gently splashed like music, its basin a tiled pool with golden carp swimming amid conch shells.
As they stood there in peaceful silence, she felt strange being shoulder-to-shoulder with such a man, a duke. Yet he never made her feel inferior to him. She wondered if this, too, had to do with his military service, his grief at his mistakes, or if perhaps as a younger son, he’d never acquired the “airs of an heir.” Thinking that almost made her laugh, and he glanced at her from beneath his light brown wavy hair, which seemed burnished in the low light.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Nothing, really, it’s just . . . I would not have imagined myself like this just a few short weeks ago.”
“Like what? Nothing much has changed for you. You still insist upon working, when I could—” He broke off.
“I assume you realized how that sounded and stopped yourself,” she said coolly.
“Yes, though I did not mean as my mistress.”
The word seemed to hover between them. She knew he thought her an innocent; and she shivered to wonder how he might treat her if he knew all her secrets.
“I’m sorry if I’ve offended you,” he said in a low voice.
“You’re forgiven.”
“But I did hear you discussing your position and that of your friends at dinner. I was glad you made Marian realize what a fool she can be.”
“I imagine she’s been privileged her whole life, and doesn’t know any different.”
“There’s a way to raise children where they understand their privilege and are humble, grateful, and glad to help others. She is the daughter of a duke, and our fathers had an understanding since her childhood that she would marry my brother Cecil, that she would be the duchess someday. He died an hour before our father.”
“Her bitterness is quite sad.”
“Thankfully, she is a decent mother. She loves Frances and occasionally indulges the girl as a parent should.”
“But perhaps not in a library after bedtime. Lady Frances was quite worried about that.”
He nodded, but had no response.
“Might we walk the paths?”
“Of course.”
He put out his arm and she hesitated before saying, “I am in your employ, Your Grace, not a woman you are entertaining. But I thank you for your thoughtfulness.”
He put his arm down awkwardly, and though she felt silly, somehow she just knew she shouldn’t touch him, as if he were a match to her tinder. Side by side, they strolled the winding paths. Her skirts brushed against plants, causing a rustling sound that mingled with the water in the fountain.
“So, your brother had his bride chosen since birth,” Faith said. “Was it the same for you?”
“No, not at all. My father was good to me, and one of the ways was that he let me have my head in my youth. It was generally accepted that when I was ready for a wife, he’d help me find one.”
“But instead you went into the army. I know younger sons often do that.”
“But he didn’t want me to.”
She glanced at him, but in profile, his expression was unreadable. “And yet you were able to go against him?”
“It wasn’t easy, believe me. He didn’t want to believe in my reasons.”
“Your reasons? Oh, forgive me. You did not speak them quite deliberately.”
He nodded. “They are not so very secret. My brothers resented their stepmother—my mother—and expressed their displeasure to me.”
“But you were just a boy!”
“I tell you this not to make you pity me, for I think defending myself hardened me, even prepared me for the military. But by the time I was a young man of twenty-one, my brothers were openly telling me they woul
d be cutting me out of my father’s estate after his death. I began investing my allowance, but I knew it would never be enough. So I decided on the army, where a man could earn his living and his respectability.”
“Your father was against such a sensible plan?”
“In his own way, he loved me, and didn’t wish me harmed. Or he didn’t believe I could make it,” he added ruefully. “I finally told him about my brothers’ threats, but he didn’t believe me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “We all want our parents to believe in us.”
He eyed her, but didn’t question her, and she was relieved. She couldn’t believe he was speaking of himself so personally—she wasn’t about to do the same!
“So I began to spend wildly, and had the merchants send him all the bills. He changed his mind eventually. And soon I was a lieutenant in the Eighth Dragoon Guards.”
She didn’t want to talk about the army, didn’t want to hear about him side-by-side with her brother, so she said, “And then you became the duke and returned home.”
“And in the few months since my return, my mother has made it her mission to throw eligible young ladies before me. It’s hard to evaluate a woman’s merits when there are so many of them.”
She smiled. “I imagine you fending them off, wading your way through them. But are you being a dutiful son and duke by at least considering marriage and your heir?”
They stopped at the end of a path, where closed doors led outside, and a bench rested nearby. She imagined the view of the external gardens would be beautiful from there.
“Yes,” he said with an overly heavy sigh, “I am willing to wade through women for my mother.”
She found herself facing him before they turned back the way they’d come. The fountain was a more distant sound from here, and the crunch of their feet on gravel had died away.
His voice a low rumble, he said, “I’m quite capable of discerning worthy feminine qualities all by myself.”
She tried to make light of it. “Then what kind of woman are you looking for? I’ll make sure to put them in your way—although the Lady Emmelines of the world don’t have a problem doing this themselves.”
He arched a brow. “She isn’t very subtle. I can only see her as a little girl, Sophia’s friend.”
“She’s not a little girl anymore.”
“But I feel nothing when I look at her but a vague admiration for her prettiness, and a sense that there’s little going on underneath.”
“But she would look so lovely on your arm. She obviously has a skilled lady’s maid.” Faith touched her hair and winced.
To her surprise, the duke reached up to her hair. “Your style does make a person wonder whether it will all topple over.”
She held her breath, shocked at the intimacy of him touching her hair, when she’d known other intimacies.
“Your Grace—” she began, in too breathless a voice.
“Surely there’s a pin that needs adjusting. Ah, found one.”
He pulled, and to her shock, her hair tumbled down past her shoulders.
Chapter 9
Adam watched the fall of Faith’s hair as if it were dark water, and her shoulders like smooth stones to be tumbled over downstream.
He hadn’t been thinking when he’d touched her hair. Every time he’d seen her all day, he’d wanted to fix it.
And now he’d revealed its glory, freed it from imprisonment to show him its sensual, dark loveliness. The moon shining through the glass up above made her black hair shine, framed the pale oval of her shocked face.
Her lips were parted, as if she meant to speak, but didn’t know what to say. He felt the same way. Without knowing what he meant to do, he gently slid a long curl back behind her ear, and let his finger trace along the soft curve of her cheek and jaw.
She inhaled swiftly, then took a step back. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said, then turned and began to march quickly away.
“Wait, Miss Cooper!” He’d made a mistake—he couldn’t let her go with this between them.
She didn’t stop, so he caught up to her with swift strides. He wanted to take her arm, to force her to hear him, but touching her would be a bad idea. So instead he got in front of her and she was forced to stop, her expression closed and mutinous.
“I did not mean for this to happen,” he insisted. “I want you to know I had no intentions of even touching you. But every time I see you, I wonder about your hair. Why do you even wear it styled so?”
She let out her breath, crossing her arms over her chest and speaking warily. “I wanted to do it myself, but didn’t have the heart to forbid the maid Mrs. Morton assigned to me. She’s still learning, and I intend to be patient with her.”
“That is kind of you. But you should not suffer because of a maid’s ignorance in my home.”
“Don’t make this more important than it is, sir. It will look bad for you—for both of us. You’re taking this too personally.”
“It is personal,” he insisted between clenched teeth. “I cannot forget what I’ve done, what I’ve caused.”
“If you feel so strongly, then remember that this sort of behavior is hurting me, risking damaging my reputation most of all.”
“I never intended that.”
“Then let us part reasonably, Your Grace. As you predicted, I enjoy your aunt, and my duties are light and pleasant. Please bask in your being right and leave it at that.”
She went through the doors to the library, and he stayed still for a moment, inwardly cursing himself for the mistake of allowing his attraction to her to overwhelm his good sense. It was much more difficult having her in his home than he’d imagined, and he knew it was due to his own weakness.
And suddenly, the house and his entire life seemed to close in on him. Gone were the times when every day was different, a matter of life and death, where only one’s skill and intelligence kept one alive. His restlessness—and he had to face it, boredom—were making him take chances.
And who would suffer? Not him, but the one woman who needed his protection above all else.
Gritting his teeth, he moved back through the house. Though the old butler should have been asleep, Seabrook was awake and in the entrance hall, as if awaiting any orders from his master.
“Go to bed, Seabrook. Don’t wait up for me.”
“Shall I alert the stables, Your Grace?”
“No, I’ll catch a hackney.”
“But Your Grace, your greatcoat—”
Adam was already out the door. Yes, it was cold, but his coat was warm enough, and he didn’t plan on being outside that long. He found a hack, and soon he was on his way to a dark side of London, where he hadn’t been since before he’d joined the army.
He told himself he didn’t know why he’d waited so long, but he knew. He’d been focusing on his title and his family, as well as the people who depended on him. It had been a little deflating to learn that his estate was so well run, the Lords so entrenched that Parliament paid little heed to him—that no one truly needed his intervention or guidance.
Until Faith. And look how he’d bungled that.
The hack let him off on a street where several of the gas lamps were strategically broken. But then he saw the half-closed door with the bright lamp overhead, a clear signal that gaming was going on. Shenstone had told him their old haunt was still active; Adam had insisted he wasn’t interested.
Yet here he was, fleeing his own house, looking for something to do that didn’t involve seducing an innocent.
He went through the half door and knocked on the inner. Someone peered at him through the eyehole.
“ ’Tis Rothford,” was all he said.
The door opened wide and a gracious “butler” guided him up the stairs into a room far more richly decora
ted, with handsome carpets, red and gilt paper on the walls, chandeliers over roulette and rouge et noir tables. Tobacco smoke drifted, the wait staff immediately came forward to offer him libation, and suddenly, it was as if he were still twenty years old, with the world fresh before him, trying to carve a place for himself against his brothers’ and Society’s expectations.
Why did it seem so . . . sad?
“Rothford!”
It was Shenstone, and somewhere deep inside, Adam had known his old compatriot would be there.
Shenstone clapped his back and grinned. “Couldn’t stay away, could you?”
Adam didn’t like to hear it said so honestly, but Shenstone was right, wasn’t he?
And why shouldn’t he be there? He had so much money he didn’t know what to do with it, and obviously he had a need for female companionship, if he couldn’t keep his hands off a woman under his protection.
And there were already women eyeing him, surely some of them the actresses he’d always preferred, good at hiding their true selves and playing whatever part they chose—being whoever he wanted them to be.
He tried to have a good time, and the gambling gave him a rush as he both won and lost. He flirted with women who knew what to expect, he drank until his new scruples cowered at the back of his skull.
But the thought of escorting one of those women to her home? He was uninterested, and couldn’t even be surprised by it. Shenstone seemed to be studying him through the night, but Adam had no apologies to offer.
He wasn’t the same man, who’d thought gambling and womanizing the height of excitement. He’d seen so much more on the other side of the world. Shenstone would never understand even if Adam tried to explain. And he didn’t want to hurt his old friend.
So in the early hours of the morning, he went home alone, feeling no better—in fact, feeling worse, ill-at-ease and confused.
And somewhere in that house was the one woman who seemed to make those feelings die down, who so fascinated him that all he could think about was her.
