by Gayle Callen
“There are ladies present, after all,” the duke replied blandly. “The sight of your blood might bother them.”
Lord Fillingham just laughed. “Who wishes to be my second?”
“This isn’t a duel,” Lord Shenstone said, frowning. He glanced at the duke. “Are you certain this is a good idea? He might have overimbibed.”
“He hasn’t,” the duke answered, even as he stripped off his coat, encouraging the titters of the women. “I remember him drunk. No, he’s been hinting at this ever since I returned, and tonight he crossed a line. If he wants to be so publicly put down, I’ll gratify him.”
The duke gave her one brief glance that she felt clear to her toes. He wouldn’t have agreed to the challenge but for the silly slight against her, she was certain. What was he thinking to call attention to her like that?
“Oh, this will be fun,” Lady Duncan said, rubbing her hands together gleefully.
Faith almost gaped at her. “Fun? Someone could be hurt.”
“Pshaw, my nephew won’t allow that to happen.”
Surely Lady Duncan knew what he was capable of, but Faith felt a little sick inside. She stayed beside the elderly woman, who could barely stand still, she was so excited.
And then the two men stepped out into the center of the floor and faced each other. Lord Fillingham grinned, and even the duke offered a faint, confident smile. Then they both raised their swords and stepped back.
“Shouldn’t they be wearing padding of some kind?” Faith murmured.
“The tips are covered—do you see that?”
Faith didn’t care—the edges of the rapiers were sharp, weren’t they? But she couldn’t say another thing. Otherwise she’d sound far too nervous on the duke’s behalf.
And it was soon obvious there was no need. He met Lord Fillingham’s sword with confidence, parrying each thrust, even jumping a low swing once, to the oohs of the onlookers. The steel clashed and rang out, and soon he was driving Lord Fillingham back across the room, until the man was bent backward over the grand piano.
And then the duke stepped back and waited for his opponent to right himself. That seemed to make Lord Fillingham angry, for he ran and slashed, and Rothford neatly stepped aside, then caught him by the arm when he would have fallen into the audience.
Rothford held his arm from behind and said something quietly into his ear.
Lord Fillingham nodded, and when the duke released him, he kept his sword low and bowed stiltedly. “You have won, Your Grace. I cannot deny your prowess with the blade.”
The duke nodded, then put his hand out for the sword. Lord Fillingham offered it to him hilt first. As the duke took the swords out of the room, Lord Fillingham forced a grin and stared about him.
“We put on a good show, did we not? Come, lads, let’s set the duchess’s drawing room back to rights.”
He led the men in replacing the carpet and furniture, but the other guests did not stay long. By twos and fours they left, giving Lord Fillingham pitying looks, off to spread the news of the latest little scandal. Faith watched as the duke spoke to several guests, including Lady Emmeline, who breathlessly praised his skill and swore she’d never seen two men in combat.
“We weren’t in combat,” he said shortly. “True combat is far more uncivilized, desperate, and bloody.”
One of the last to leave the room was Lady Duncan, who seemed to want to offer consolation to her nephew, though she didn’t understand his grim mood.
“You did nothing wrong, Adam,” she assured him. “Put on a good show when that lout wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
The duke glanced at Faith and away, and she knew in her bones he put on that “show” because of her.
She was escorting Lady Duncan upstairs when the woman said, “Oh, drat, I left my needlework in the drawing room. Will you fetch it and leave it on the table outside my room? I fear I will be falling into bed before you can return. Such excitement!”
By the time Faith walked back into the drawing room, only Rothford was there, leaning against the mantel, a drink in one hand as he stared at the coal grate.
He looked up and met her gaze. “Forget something?”
She nodded and searched several sofas and chairs until she spotted it, then held the needlework up.
He took a healthy swallow of his drink, looking back into the hearth. And for some reason, she couldn’t make herself leave.
“Your Grace . . . are you well?”
He nodded, glanced up again, then for the first time that evening, perused her gown in a leisurely but bold manner. She inhaled at the sudden heat that seemed to make her corset too tight.
“I couldn’t say it earlier, but you look lovely in that gown.”
“It is a gift from your sister. I promise, it was not my choice, but she insisted—”
“And she was right to insist. You needed garments, and the improvement is striking.”
She lifted her chin. “I do not want to look striking.”
“I know. But you were striking even in ill-fitting gowns.”
He said that wearily, without passion. She almost couldn’t take offense—almost.
She looked at the open door, then stepped closer to him, saying softly, “Don’t talk like that.”
He ground his teeth for a moment. “You are right, I know.”
She turned toward the door.
“Why was my sister spending an inordinate amount of time with Shenstone? He is not for her.”
Faith hesitated, unwilling to break a confidence. “She knows. But I think she plans to make her own decision.”
He sighed, then took another drink, though he didn’t appear drunk.
“I am glad you care for your sister,” she began slowly. “If you don’t mind my interference—”
He chuckled without true amusement.
She frowned at him. “You would do well to confide things in her. She’s hurt you will not discuss your time in the army.”
“Would you discuss it, if you were me?”
“Maybe I would. It might help to confide in someone.”
“I already have.”
She stiffened. “If you mean me, it’s not the same thing.”
“And my aunt.”
“Then maybe Lady Sophia is feeling left out of your confidences, and you’re the only brother she has left.”
He nodded. “I take your meaning. I will consider it. Good night.”
And when she realized she wanted to stay, to comfort him, that made her turn and flee. Upstairs, she lay Lady Duncan’s needlework on the table as instructed, then hurried into her own room and leaned back against the door.
To her surprise, Ellen rose from the chair before the hearth.
Faith jerked in response, then gave a sigh. “Oh, Ellen.” She’d never had her own lady’s maid before, and the girl’s unexpected presence continued to startle her.
“You need help to get out of that gown.”
“I do. I appreciate your remembering, because I didn’t.”
When even her corset strings were loosened and at last she could take a deep breath, she dismissed Ellen to her own bed with gratitude, then finished disrobing and donned her nightdress. By the light of a single lamp, she silently took down her hair and brushed it out, stroke after stroke, staring at herself in the mirror.
What kind of woman was she becoming? This man who’d forced her to take employment in his home, who blamed himself for her brother’s death, who’d altered every path of hers these last few years—she could not stop thinking about him. She thought of him as a man—she wanted him to touch her, she wanted to feel his lips against her mouth, against her breast.
With a groan, she buried her face in her trembling hands. She was wanton—she’d never wanted to face that about
herself. She’d thought herself a spinster forever when she’d let Timothy Gilpin take her maidenhead. She was lying to herself even then.
When the duke had practically defended her against a minor insult, she’d watched enthralled at the graceful movement of his body, the muscles that flexed beneath his shirtsleeves. He’d been unable to control his temper, had perhaps reverted to the wildness of his youth.
Maybe that wildness called to her, because in her own way, she’d been wild. She should go now, simply leave and be done with him and with her own passion.
But she couldn’t. She was her mother’s only support.
And perhaps that was too convenient a reason, she thought bitterly, tiredly.
Chapter 11
Adam didn’t take his breakfast in the breakfast parlor, but instead retreated to his study, with the mullioned windows overlooking the garden. He wanted only coffee to help clear his aching head. He’d drunk too much after everyone had gone to bed. His memories were hazy—oh, he knew he’d fought Fillingham, like a fool. He’d had no problem resisting the taunts until the man had insulted Faith.
Adam winced and rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. Who had noticed that mistake? Surely Faith. He remembered talking to her afterward, had seen her concern and wished he hadn’t. It had taken everything in him not to go to her, to tell her he’d never permit anyone to hurt her again.
But that would hurt her, he knew. He’d caused her enough pain. He’d told her she looked lovely; maybe even his admiration was pain to her.
There was a faint knock at the door.
“Come in.”
Seabrook entered, holding something in his hand. “This was delivered to the servants’ entrance for you, Your Grace.”
Adam frowned. “The servants’ entrance? That’s unusual.”
Seabrook handed it over with a bow, then left the study. Adam frowned at the plain, rough paper, sealed with a formless blob of wax. He broke it open, and the childish scrawl made him blink in surprise.
Faith is lovely. Wherever she goes, you can’t stop looking at her. But I’m watching you.
Surprised and confused, he read it again, and anger joined the mix of his emotions. What the hell was this? Someone was spying on him, trying to intimidate him.
Someone had noticed his interest. Had they been looking for a return to his old ways?
He fisted his hand on the paper, wishing he could crush it into a ball. But what would that do?
He rang the bell for Seabrook and then asked him to send for Cook, a large, husky man who obviously enjoyed his food.
Cook bowed. “Your Grace.”
“Thank you for coming. Do you know who left this note?” he asked, holding it up.
“A scruffy young boy, sir. I thought it was strange and tried to question him, but he ran off.”
“Thank you. If this happens again, please keep the boy with you and send for me. You may go.”
Seabrook lingered after Cook left, a faint frown the only thing showing his concern. “Your Grace, might I help in some way?”
“No, but I appreciate the offer.”
Seabrook left Adam alone with his thoughts. He wasn’t going to tell Faith, of course. She’d resign her position, even if it meant living on the streets.
And what was there to tell? Someone who knew him wanted to rattle his chains. But it was a good reminder to avoid being seen too much in public treating Faith as anything other than his aunt’s companion. He thought he’d been doing a decent job of showing his disinterest, but maybe not. Though the note had come after his mother’s dinner party, he knew everyone there and couldn’t believe it was one of them. Could a more distant acquaintance have seen him talk to Faith in Hyde Park? Or when he’d met up with the ladies’ shopping trip on Regent Street? Or when he’d gotten her alone in a corridor at the Randolphs’ dinner party to convince her to work for him? There were too many instances of questionable behavior on his part.
But who the hell cared if he flirted with someone in his employ? Many peers did worse than that and suffered no ill consequences. The women always suffered, of course, and he would not let such notoriety befall Faith. He would have to be much more careful the next time they were in public together.
That same morning, Faith was in the entrance hall, adjusting her shawl and tying her bonnet ribbons, when Lady Sophia came down the broad staircase.
“Miss Cooper, are you going somewhere?”
“I’m running several errands for your aunt. Could I do something for you?”
“No, no, but that’s sweet of you to offer.” She reached the marble floor and paused. “Would you mind if I accompany you?”
Faith blinked at her, then smiled. “Of course not. I would enjoy the company. But honestly, if you need me to pick up something for you, it’s not inconvenient.”
“And you’re sweet to offer. Let me fetch my shawl and I’ll be right back.” Halfway up the stairs, she turned around. “Did you send for the carriage?”
“No, I was going to walk or hire a hackney.”
“Nonsense, you can use a carriage anytime you’d like.” To the young footman who stood at attention, she said, “Hales, please have Tallis bring a carriage around.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Not a half hour later, they were riding in the carriage, when Lady Sophia put her arm through Faith’s.
“We don’t need to be so formal, do we? Please call me Sophia, and I will call you Faith.”
Faith smiled. “I’d like that.”
Sophia was so easy to be with, so friendly and intelligent. But she wasn’t sure one could be friends with a relation of one’s employer—the duke’s sister. But obviously Sophia was trying, and Faith appreciated that.
Sophia’s smile faded into an expression of earnestness. “I actually had a reason to accompany you. I wanted to speak in private. I—I came back to the drawing room last night and overheard you and my brother discussing me.”
Faith stiffened. When had she come in on their damning conversation? Hopefully not too early, when he’d been saying her looks were “striking.” But Sophia did not seem upset or wary.
“I—I was trying to help,” Faith said at last. “I know you want him to freely discuss his troubles with you. It’s not my place, I know, but . . . it came up.”
“Yes, you deflected him away from my plans with Lord Shenstone. I appreciate that. You encouraged him to talk to me. But . . . it’s very obvious you and he have had discussions about the war, and I was confused.”
Faith didn’t know what to say, how to defend herself. Did Sophia think Faith was . . . pursuing the duke? “My lady—”
“Wait, let me finish. And it’s Sophia, remember?” she said, a faint smile returning.
Faith tried to relax.
“It struck me as odd, because he has not known you long. But then I thought about the war, and suddenly your name struck a chord. I went back to his letters, and there I found mention of a Sergeant Cooper. Your brother?”
Faith nodded warily.
“So our brothers served together,” Sophia said with satisfaction, as if a riddle had finally been solved. “You told us that your brother died in the war. Did you . . . come to find Adam?”
“No! Sophia, no. My brother was not much for letters, and I didn’t even know he’d served with the duke. His Grace . . . found me.”
Sophia looked startled.
“He just wanted to help,” Faith hurried to say. “He felt badly about Mathias’s death. I told him I didn’t need his help, but he persuaded your aunt to become involved, and I accepted her offer of a position without realizing . . .” She let that sentence fade away. Was she trying to prove her own good intentions by casting doubt on the duke’s?
Sophia shook her head. “Oh, he can be so frustrating, always thinking he know
s best. I don’t remember it so much when he was younger, before he left England. Let me tell you, he’s not going to manipulate me into the marriage he thinks is correct.”
“Has he tried?”
“Well . . . no, but he’s been vocal when he sees me with someone of whom he disapproves.”
“You mean Mr. Percy.”
Sophia narrowed her eyes. “There’s been nothing for him to truly disapprove of, since Mr. Percy always keeps far too respectable a distance between us.” She said the latter with some bitterness. “But I don’t mean to bring all this up again, except to say that Lord Shenstone has agreed to pretend to court me whenever Mr. Percy is near.”
Faith frowned. “You must know his lordship better than I do, to trust him so.”
“Well, he’s not exactly every maiden’s dream husband, but he’s titled, and I do not think he’d take advantage of his friend’s sister’s dilemma. Did I say that right?” And she laughed.
Faith smiled in return, relieved that Sophia was not angry with the subterfuge of how she’d won her position. Together, they alighted from the carriage at a stationer’s, then proceeded to the bookstore and the dressmaker’s, where Lady Duncan had an altered gown to be retrieved.
And though Sophia chatted happily, waving at friends, introducing Faith everywhere without revealing her position in the household, Faith should have been pleased and content. But . . . she kept feeling as if she needed to look over her shoulder. This was the second time she’d felt watched—or was it followed? But she could never see anyone suspicious, just other shoppers enjoying the day.
Maybe people they’d left behind were simply curious about who she was, and how she knew Sophia, and were studying her as she left. Surely that was it, she told herself, and tried to relax as they completed their errands.
Adam was determined not to let a cowardly message bother him. He was going to be very careful to treat Faith as the companion of his aunt that she was. He would not think of touching her smooth skin again; he would not remember staring into her silver-gray eyes as if they contained the secrets of the world; he would not imagine her parted lips on his, the taste of her in his mouth . . .
