Lady Fuddlesby capitulated. “Very well, let us be off. But you must promise, my dear, to wake Felice the moment you arrive.”
Henrietta nodded her agreement, and when they pulled away from the curb, her ladyship thought her niece looked very pale indeed. It was highly doubtful the viscount would be boorish enough to press his attentions on an ill girl, she told herself. And Lady Fuddlesby did so wish to be in the colonel’s company. Her feelings for him were growing most affectionate, and she believed them returned by the handsome military man.
When the carriage pulled up in front of Grillons, Lady Fuddlesby could see Colonel Colchester walking up to the entryway. Pulling a key out of her reticule, she handed it to Henrietta, and a last-minute wave of doubt struck her. Her brows drew together in concern. “You are certain, my dear, that you do not wish me to accompany you?”
“I am certain, ma’am. Please go and enjoy yourself.” Henrietta managed a weak smile. She wished she could tell her she and Lord Baddick were engaged so her aunt might not worry.
Lord Baddick barely waited to see Lady Fuddlesby at Colonel Colchester’s side before moving off toward what he anticipated would be a very invigorating end to the evening.
The drive to the town house passed quietly and uneventfully. Lord Baddick did not wish to alarm his prey now that the moment had arrived.
At the door to the town house, Henrietta withdrew the key her aunt had given her. Lord Baddick took it from her cold fingers. “Here, allow me,” he said, turning the lock. The door swung open. The viscount waved his hand toward the inside of the hall, motioning Henrietta to precede him.
“My lord, perhaps you should not come in,” Henrietta began uncertainly as she crossed the doorway and turned to face him.
Lord Baddick obediently remained outside. “If you do not wish me to, then of course, I will not.” He spoke softly while he cajoled, “My heart, we are betrothed. I beg a moment to be private with you. I have decided to leave for my estate in the morning so I may place my ring upon your lovely finger without any further delay.” He grinned boyishly. “My mother will have questions for me about you, which I confess I know not the answers to. Can you not spare a few minutes for me?”
It did not seem an unreasonable request. “Very well, then.” Henrietta stepped back so his lordship could enter.
She led him upstairs to the drawing room where candles were lit and a fire burned low. They stood near the hearth.
When Lord Baddick moved close to her, Henrietta abruptly felt herself become nervous. “You are so young and fresh, Henrietta. Where is the pain in your head?” he asked in a whisper. “I will ease it.” His hazel eyes gazed intently into her blue ones.
To her dismay, when Henrietta tried to speak, her voice wavered. “There is no need. I am feeling a little better. What were the questions you wanted to ask?”
The viscount chuckled and delayed answering. A spark popped from a log in the fireplace next to them and Henrietta started. He smiled slowly at her. Reaching out, he captured a dark curl close to her face and wound it around his finger. “Have you ever been kissed before, my innocent?” His gaze moved from her hair and rested on her pink lips.
“My lord! Naturally I have not allowed anyone such a liberty.” She was becoming increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. She supposed he was within his rights to want a kiss from his fiancée but she did not want it.
She swallowed hard. Once they were married, he had a right to as many kisses as he wanted and much more. Although what that “more” might be, Henrietta had no idea. She only knew more than kisses were required to have babies. This aspect of marriage to Lord Baddick had not been considered, and her stomach clenched tightly.
Lord Baddick sensed her fear and it fed his desire. Moving his hand from where his fingers had been toying with the glossy curl, he held her head still and his mouth came down to hers.
At the last second, Henrietta twisted her face away from his and the wet kiss landed on her neck. His lordship did not seem overly concerned with this change in location, however, because he began kissing the slender white column with a frightening intensity.
Henrietta closed her eyes briefly to fight down a wave of fear and nausea. “You must help yourself to some claret while I fetch Felice,” she said, panic such as she’d never known before causing her voice to shake. The Duke of Winterton’s words suddenly rang in her head. His intentions toward you are the very worst.
“We do not need Felice for what we are going to
do, Henrietta.” The viscount’s voice sounded as if it were coming from far away, and his kisses moved to her bare shoulder.
How could she ever have thought she could marry him! Her hands came up to push at his strong shoulders, but his arm was a steel band around her waist. “No! You must not,” she cried sharply. His hands seemed all over her, and then one made its way to her breast. She pulled away with all her might, hearing the sleeve of her dress tear. Without thinking, she drew back her hand and slapped his face.
They stood there, breathing hard, stunned. Then an evil look appeared across Lord Baddick’s features. Henrietta felt as if a mask had dropped from his face and she was seeing the true man for the first time.
“Now, fairest one, that will not do at all,” he stated furiously. Something in his posture reminded her of a wild animal about to spring on its prey. “You have tried my patience, you little vixen.”
His voice and manner changed back into that of the charming gentleman. “Henrietta, accept your fate and be merry. You will enjoy yourself, I promise.”
A sheer black fright swept through Henrietta. She opened her mouth and screamed.
Lord Baddick lunged for her, but the shock of that cultured voice in the middle of his barbaric attack caused Henrietta to feel a cold courage. She grabbed a brass candlestick off the fireplace mantel, stepped back, and hurled it at him with all her might. The viscount ducked, cursing all the while, and the heavy candlestick flew harmlessly over his head to smash one of the drawing room windows.
Henrietta turned to run, but the enraged Lord Baddick caught her by her dress’s skirt, causing them both to tumble to the floor.
At that moment Knight, his sleep disturbed by Henrietta’s scream, raced into the room. He threw himself, needle-sharp claws extended, onto Lord Baddick’s head. A bloodcurdling yell erupted from the viscount.
Henrietta scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest, and ran from the room.
While these horrible events transpired, the Duke of Winterton sat in a rented hack outside in the street in front of Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, calling himself every kind of fool. Upon leaving the opera, he had ordered his astonished mother to make use of his carriage and driver to convey herself home.
Giles felt convinced there was something shilly-shallying about the “betrothal” between Miss Lanford and Baddick. When he had studied her face after Baddick’s announcement, he could detect no joy. She did not love the viscount, he was certain. Why, then, had she agreed to marry him? Was it to obtain a title? In his experience most women married for a title or money or both. Somehow, though, he had not received the impression Miss Lanford was mercenary.
The fact of the matter, the duke decided, was that Baddick most likely had no intention of going through with the marriage. Giles shrewdly guessed the viscount had probably blurted out the information in anger when he had demanded to speak to Miss Lanford in private.
These deductions, and fear that it was all a ruse on Baddick’s part to further a physical intimacy with Miss Lanford, motivated the duke to hire a hack and keep an eye on Lady Fuddlesby’s town house. The ladies were in Baddick’s care this evening, and he wanted to be certain they arrived home safely.
Now, as he sat watching the house, his white cravat gleaming in the darkness, he questioned his judgment and his sanity. What was this unfamiliar, protective feeling he felt for Miss Lanford? The blue-eyed squire’s daughter was dominating his thoughts, causing him to behave in ways foreign to him. Neve
r before had he cared one whit for the fate of any young miss.
Abruptly his attention was caught. Had that faint sound been a scream?
All at once one of the windows of Lady Fuddles-by’s town house shattered. An icy dread washed over him, and the duke vaulted out of the hackney and raced up the front steps of the town house. The front door was mercifully unlocked. He flung it open, dashing into the hall in time to catch a breathless Henrietta, who rushed headlong down the stairs into his arms.
Chapter Eight
The Duke of Winterton’s usual cool and aloof manner fled. As he held the trembling petite figure close in his arms, his mind registered her disheveled appearance. An acute wave of fear struck him.
“Miss Lanford! What happened? Where is Lady Fuddlesby?”
Henrietta did not want to speak or move from the security she felt in the circle of his arms. She desperately clung to him, burying her face in the soft cloth of his evening coat, feeling safe and protected from the monster upstairs.
Winterton decided the girl was in some sort of shock. Disordered thoughts whirled in his head. Where the deuce was everyone? No servants had appeared at the commotion.
“Miss Lanford, please, try to tell me what happened. Let me pour you a brandy to soothe your nerves, perhaps upstairs in the drawing room—’
“No!” Henrietta found her voice. “I fear he is still up there and... oh!” She broke off as sounds coming from the stairs reached them.
The duke gently put the girl aside and looked up the stairs at an incomprehensible sight.
Lord Baddick walked unsteadily down the first few steps. His face and neck were covered with bleeding cat scratches. Drops of blood spotted his white cravat. Knight had done his work well.
“Good God,” the duke uttered. He vaguely heard Henrietta’s whimper, for when the viscount’s treachery became apparent, a red mist of rage rose before the Duke of Winterton’s eyes.
In a second he was across the hall and up the stairs.
Lord Baddick recoiled in fright at this new threat. “The deed was not done!” he blurted to no avail.
The duke grabbed the viscount by the collar and planted him a facer. Baddick fell from the impact and rolled down the remaining stairs.
Winterton stripped off his jacket and tossed it carelessly aside. He hurried down the steps to where the viscount was attempting to rise. Before Baddick could accomplish this task, Winterton dragged him upright and began pummeling him with crushing blows.
Henrietta covered her mouth to keep from screaming. She watched wide-eyed, a part of her marveling at the strength, skill, and passion of the normally austere duke.
Suddenly she feared he would go too far. She started forward and cried out, “Stop! You must stop! You will kill him! He is not worth you, Giles!” Henrietta shouted, using the duke’s first name in her agitation.
Winterton let the viscount drop to the floor, where he lay moaning in pain. “You will leave this house... return to your lodgings... pack, and be on your way out of England by dawn,” the duke got out somewhat disjointedly as he steadied his breathing. “If you ever return, I shall kill you,” he finished.
Lord Baddick could not stand, but managed to crawl his way out the front door.
Henrietta rushed to the duke, her hands coming up to rest on his shoulders. “Are you injured?” she asked, blue eyes wide with concern.
The duke’s brain was in tumult. Since he was a lad, he had never engaged in fisticuffs outside of Gentleman Jackson’s. His emotions were normally kept firmly in check. Never, before this evening, had he experienced such a wide scope of passions. And the cause of each and every one of them now stood anxiously before him, clutching the cambric shirt above his waistcoat. He could feel her fingers through the thin material.
“Oh, I do so thank you. You and Knight saved me from that satyr. I never imagined...” Henrietta trailed off as she noticed the duke seemed to be peering at her intently. His gaze dropped to her bare shoulder exposed by the torn dress. She lowered her hands and reached for the torn material, making a feeble attempt to cover herself.
The duke found he did not like the way her hands left his shoulders. He took them in his and placed them back in their original position.
Without his permission, his left arm moved gently around Henrietta’s waist. His right hand, shaking ever so slightly, came up to tilt her face up to his. He muttered something unintelligible, then slowly he lowered his mouth to hers.
The touch of her lips was a delicious sensation that raced through his bloodstream. As Henrietta swayed against him, Giles fought down the need to deepen the embrace, then gave up the struggle. He pressed her tightly up against his chest and lost himself in the sweet warmth of her mouth.
Much too soon, the voices of Lady Fuddlesby and
Colonel Colchester approaching the front door reached his ears, hurtling him back to reality. The consequences of kissing Miss Lanford acted like a pitcher of cold water on his growing passion. He could not marry an untitled girl. His father would revolve in his grave. He owed the great name of Vayne more than a mere squire’s daughter as his duchess.
Abruptly the duke thrust the girl away from him. His eyes glittered before he dropped his lids down halfway to conceal them. Once more correct and formal, he drawled, “Miss Lanford, I beg your forgiveness. I fear I am foxed.”
Henrietta’s nerves were overset, and this preposterous statement sent her over the edge. Bursting into tears, she turned and ran up the stairs. Lady Fuddlesby and Colonel Colchester opened the front door in time to see her go.
“Goodness! What has happened here? You are in your shirtsleeves, sir! My dear niece... oh!” Lady Fuddlesby sputtered before hurrying after Henrietta.
The duke walked over to where his coat lay crumpled on the floor and picked it up, absently thinking Tyler would turn in his notice when he saw it.
Colonel Colchester folded his arms across his chest. “Well, my boy, I am waiting for an explanation.”
The duke ran his fingers through his hair. In a tired voice he said, “It is as I feared. Baddick tried to force himself on Miss Lanford. Between us, Lady Fuddlesby’s chivalrous cat and I were able to prevent him from ravishing the girl. She is understandably suffering the vapors.”
His godfather’s eyes narrowed, studying the
younger man’s strained countenance. He’d wager there was more to the story, and he was not a gamester. “I assume England will see no more of Viscount Baddick?”
At the duke’s terse nod, the colonel was satisfied for the moment. No sense in trying to get anything out of Giles now. While his overall physical appearance gave no indication he had exerted himself unduly, his face was white and set. “We can do no more here, my boy. Best leave the ladies to themselves. There is a bottle of brandy, perhaps two, waiting for us at home.”
* * * *
Upstairs in her bedchamber, Henrietta finished telling her aunt almost all the evening’s events. Disconcerted, she left out the part about the duke’s kiss, her fingers coming to rest on her still-burning lips every so often. “So you see, Aunt, I am quite all right now. A good cry was all I needed to calm myself.”
The ladies sat together at the edge of the bed. Lady Fuddlesby’s arm was around her niece in a comforting hold. “Oh dear, oh dear, Henrietta, thank heaven the duke arrived when he did! Although one must wonder at the miracle of his timely intervention. I thought he was with his mama and the Mawblys. Well! I daresay I am grateful for whatever brought him here. And we will never have to see that dreadful viscount again!”
Henrietta turned her head away and stared down sightlessly at the blue coverlet. In a voice rich with bitterness she said, “Oh no, I am positive Winterton will be at whatever Society function I attend, ready to stand ‘brother’ to me.”
“What?” Lady Fuddlesby exclaimed, rising to her feet. “Henrietta, have your wits gone begging? I meant that vile Lord Baddick. You told me the duke has sent him out of the country!” At her niece’s nod, Lady Fuddl
esby continued in a more subdued tone, “Now, my dear, as that wretched Felice has slept through this entire nightmare— and believe me, I intend to have a sharp word with that woman—I will help you into your nightdress myself. And I am so proud of my gallant Knight. Did I not tell you he is protective? That is why I named him Knight in Masked Armour, you know.”
Lady Fuddlesby chattered on while helping her niece out of her torn gown and into a lace nightdress, tucking her under the coverlet and admonishing her to get a good night’s rest as it would not do to have dark circles under her eyes. Her ladyship finally closed the door softly behind her.
Henrietta’s mind sped her directly back to the duke’s arms. The memory of his lips pressed to hers was pure and clear and made her shiver with an urgent need to repeat the experience.
Unbidden, Winterton’s humiliating apology sounded in her brain, and her eyes closed in anguish. How could he express remorse at what had been, for her, a beautiful token of love?
Henrietta’s eyes snapped open as the truth struck her like a hammerblow. She loved the Duke of Winterton!
Hard on the heels of this discovery came the crushing conviction he did not love her. Was he not all but betrothed to Lady Clorinda? Confusion caused a crease in her brow. Why had the duke kissed her if he was to marry Clorinda?
As she lay in the darkness, Henrietta felt achy and exhausted. How was she to bear the long remainder of the London Season? Could she not simply cut her parents’ losses and go home to Hamilton Cross?
Settling onto her side, she realized the futility of running back to her parents. She must marry, and she was more likely to find a husband she could tolerate here in London. Not that it mattered whom she married when she could only love the duke.
Before sleep overtook her, a vision of a plain but kindly gentleman presented itself. One who would treat her considerately, not lecture her like a brother and then maddeningly kiss her like a lover.
* * * *
A Crime of Manners Page 11
