“The money I lent you was only because of my investment in you. That’s over now.” He regarded her coldly and then walked away.
“Mr. Ratherford!” She ran after him but her slippers did not make good traction on the floor and her evening gown restricted her stride. He disappeared quickly through the doors.
She followed, into the night. Rain poured from the heavens, frigid, soaking her as she ran down the street. Her delicate hat quickly became drenched. Worthless. Her hair became waterlogged, too heavy for the pins. It fell into her face, blinding her. She raked it away.
Sheets of rain and fog obscured her view. She could never find Ratherford now. Besides, what good would it do to catch up to him?
Ratherford had abandoned her.
Washed his hands of her.
Her book would not be printed now.
Maybe never.
She stumbled along the side of the street, unable to think of anything else. Then an icy gust of air brought her back to her senses. The wind cut right through her pelisse and evening gown.
She was so far from her cozy little garret and with no money to hire a hackney. What good would it do to complain to the watch about Ratherford having stolen her money? He was an established man of business and property. They would take his word over the word of a twenty-one-year-old harlot?
A sound echoed on the wind. It sounded a little like her name. She turned and her hair sloshed into her face. She whipped it away.
A tall man holding an open umbrella was striding quickly towards her.
“David.”
He quickened his pace. And then he was with her.
A large, heavy garment fell over her shoulders and swallowed her up. Still warm from his body, it smelled of wet wool, spicy-citrus cologne and him. The rain drummed on the umbrella. He touched her cheek.
“Come, Jeanne.”
Still a bit shocked, confused, she let him lead her, putting one foot in front of the other. Her slippers were soaked and her feet were fast becoming frozen. Her steps slowed. He stopped, handed her the umbrella, and swept her up into his arms. She’d never been carried by any man except for him. The air was cold and he was warm. She buried her face in his evening jacket. It felt so natural, so right to be in his strong arms. As if she’d always been there.
The drum of rain stopped. She pulled her face away from his broad chest and opened her eyes to the radiant chandelier light. They were in the lobby.
He lowered her until her feet touched the floor. She let the umbrella drop. She was dripping all over and she glanced about nervously. A couple of elegant, colorfully dressed women were talking to a small group of young men.
David took her hand. “I’ve called for my carriage. It will be here soon.”
* * * *
David helped Jeanne into the carriage. Warmth instantly surrounded her, making her bones melt in blissful relief. The interior was well lit. Fine velvet seats of royal blue. Jeanne became aware of her clothes, her dripping hair.
She wasn’t fit for such a fine conveyance.
David removed his greatcoat from her shoulders and replaced it with a dry blanket. He sat beside her, took her hands, and pulled the gloves from them.
The driver closed the door. David reached into a compartment near the braziers and retrieved a flask and a cup. He poured steaming liquid from the flask into the cup and handed it to her.
She clutched it and more warmth soaked into her frigid hands.
“Have a good deep drink of that.” David’s deep voice was gentle. “Who was that man who handled you so roughly?” His terse tone made him seem like a stranger again.
She clutched the silver cup. “He was my publisher.”
“Was?”
“He has just told me that he will not publish my works now.”
“Why not?”
“Because of that cartoon.”
David’s jaw tensed. A motion so brief, she almost missed it. He tapped the cup. “Drink that.”
Jeanne lifted the cup to her lips and took a small sip. The brisk tea tasted divine and she took a deeper drink. The sharp aftertaste of brandy burnt her throat like fire and she struggled not to choke.
“Slowly,” he said. His expression softened.
Gradually, she drained the cup.
“Jeanne, you must allow me to furnish you with a house and carriage. It is a larger matter than you or I. In order for me to be effective politically, my reputation must without question be that of a man of honor and breeding. If it is known that I allow my mistress to live in squalor, well then I don’t appear very respectable, do I?”
“I think most people will assume that girl in the cartoon was a passing fancy and not your regular mistress.”
“I don’t like to take chances with such matters.”
“I think you are using this whole matter to try and manipulate me into accepting the house.”
“You’ve also become a target of my political opponents. The cartoon makes that obvious. I would prefer if you were under my protection.”
“They have already done the worst possible thing they could do to me. It’s too late for your protection now.”
He folded his arms over his chest and sat back. His powerfully built frame seemed to dominate the carriage interior. “Any other woman would jump at my offer. Why are you being so difficult?”
“I don’t want any obligations.”
“Who says anything about obligations?”
“All men place obligations on their help. You’re a man like any other.”
“Well, they are certainly not any onerous obligations.”
“Oh, do tell.”
“Just Wednesdays. Perhaps the odd Saturday.”
“Ha! I knew it.”
“You cannot deny that we’ve had some lovely times together.”
“Had some lovely times, Your Grace, had.”
His handsome, distinguished features tightened. A mild vexation. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Do not call me ‘Your Grace.’ Not while we’re alone like this.” He drew his dark heavy brows tightly together. “I told you that I cared for you.”
“You also said that you didn’t want to find out how much.”
“Circumstances forced me to discover just how much I do care about you. How much I want you. I can give you a luxurious life.”
“I don’t need luxury.”
“All women adore luxury.”
“Well, I am different.”
“You’ve never had luxury, Jeanne. You may find you like it very well.”
“That’s just the thing. If I have been able to get along without luxury, why should I open myself up to being accustomed to it? To becoming a slave to it?”
He stared at her as if she were some strange creature that he needed to categorize. “What do you want?”
“I want peace, solitude, freedom.”
His features sharpened as if with irritation. “It would only be an afternoon or two a week.”
“Yes, but you’ll try to dictate how I live.”
He seemed to freeze. To pause. Did he look guilty? Or was that her imagination seeing what it feared to see?
“What the devil makes you think that I want to dictate how you live?”
“Because you are already attempting to have your say.”
“I just want to see you comfortable and safe. Nothing more.”
“Nothing more? Are you sure?” She smiled at him, a teasing, seductive smile. A smile she‘d never given anyone. He awoke the natural temptress in her. She’d never dreamed she could be a temptress.
His eyes seemed to darken and he shifted in his seat. “Well, if you are determined to be an authoress, I would like to have Mr. Packer find you a better publisher. Someone who will have your best interests in mind and who will help you develop your talent.”
“Do you see? I knew it. My mother was an artist. A far better one than my father. But he insisted that he could develop her talent, if only she would
allow it.”
“I take it that didn’t work out well.”
“She ended up being his assistant, his servant, his slave. His works never sold well. What might have happened had she been the one allowed to follow her muse with the support of a constant helpmate?”
“But our situation is very different. I don’t want you to cook, clean, or bear children for me. I just want one or two afternoons a week.”
“Mistresses end up as unofficial wives all the time, burdened with a litter of children.”
“I shall do my best to refrain from planting my seed in you.”
“Accidents have been known to happen.”
“If they happen, I shall provide you with a staff to help raise the child. I will give the child an inheritance. I am not an insensitive man.”
“David, I am very tired and all this talk is giving me a headache.”
“We shall be at my house soon.”
“Your house?”
“You cannot think I would simply drop you off at your dismal, drafty little garret when you are dripping wet and shivering. I shall see you taken care of tonight and my physician shall see you in the morning to make sure you’re not going to take a fever from this night.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“I insist. Now tell me, what is this publisher’s name, this man who left you alone and without funds at the theatre.”
“That’s unimportant. It is all over.” She leaned back against the seat and closed her eyes.
* * * *
At the soft click of an opening door, Jeanne awoke in with a start. She’d always slept lightly ever since Papa’s illness. The bed was huge and so soft, she wasn’t sure if she liked it or not. Thick, velvet bed drapes created darkness. Last night, David had put her into the care of Mrs. Alligood. The woman had stripped her and then prepared a steaming bath scented with rosemary oil. They’d given her a huge mug of heated, spiced wine and she’d grown so sleepy.
The bed curtains parted and light filled the space. Mrs. Alligood smiled at her. “Good, you’re awake. His Grace has sent some clothing for you and he wants you ready within the hour.”
“Ready?”
“Dr. Jones is coming to have a look at you. And then I believe his Grace expects you to go out with him this evening.”
“Oh.” Jeanne slid from the bed and had to hold the too-long nightdress up as she walked towards the wardrobe. Two gowns hung there. One white with tiny blue flowers, a broad blue ribbon sash, and lace trim. A day dress. She touched the fine, India muslin. The other was a rich blue velvet evening gown with a whisper thin overdress of darkest blue lace. The bodice bore elaborate embroidery and was encrusted with pearls and sparkling clear beads.
It must be a very costly garment. She stepped back and turned to Mrs. Alligood. “Where is my gown from last night?”
“His Grace left orders that it be sent to the dressmaker first thing this morning, so they could take the measurements from it for these garments.”
“This morning? What time is it now?”
“A quarter to four in the afternoon.”
Goodness, had she really slept that long?
“Did they send my dress back?”
“No, they did not, Miss Darling. Please, won’t you let me help you dress now? His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.”
* * * *
“I want to go home now.”
“Now, Miss Darling, I explained.” Mrs. Alligood spoke in tones as if to an impatient and very young child. “His Grace wants you to dress in the other gown and join him later for his evening meal.”
Apparently, it was unthinkable to Mrs. Alligood that anyone would disregard His Grace’s wishes.
“No, I want to leave now. Either call a carriage for me or I shall simply leave and find a hackney.” Jeanne had had her tea and the doctor had declared her fit, as if there had been any doubts. She’d had no time since last evening to let what had occurred with Mr. Ratherford settle in her mind. She needed time alone to think about what she would do next. One publisher had wanted her work; surely there would be others.
So what was she doing here playing at being a duke’s whore? Didn’t she want to prove Dr. Edmonton’s prediction wrong? She was meant for better things than simply being a man’s plaything.
“I shall go tell His Grace of your wishes.”
Startled out of her thoughts, Jeanne frowned and tilted her head. “Is His Grace here?”
Mrs. Alligood pursed her lips, then turned and left without answering.
Well, Jeanne ought to wait and at least tell him thank-you for the new day dress and good-bye. She sat in a wingchair and tapped her slipper-clad foot on the floor.
At the sound of the door opening, she looked up.
David entered and closed it. His cheek bore a reddish mark that had not been there the night before. Determination showed in every angle and sinew of his face. One could well imagine him wearing such an expression immediately before addressing the House of Lords on a weighty measure.
Her heart began to beat rapidly. From the intimidation and nothing else. She would not feel attraction for him. As he approached, she gripped the edge of the chair.
Was she supposed to jump to her feet and give him a curtsey? She wasn’t going to do that either.
“You can’t leave.” He stood and stared down at her. He was so tall. His body was so large, strong, elegantly in proportion…She remembered to close her mouth and pressed her lips together.
She would not feel attraction for him. She would not give in. She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the day dress.”
He smiled slightly. “You can’t leave until you let me feed you.”
“This sense of protectiveness on your part is entirely unnecessary.”
“Ah, Jeanne, you’re so very cool and brittle with me.”
“I simply want to go home. I have much thinking to do now, David.”
He put his hands on the arms of the chair and knelt. Her heart began to beat even faster and she became all the more aware of his large, broad-shouldered frame. By not arising, she had effectively allowed him to block her ability to exit at all.
She glanced at his large hands then gasped. “What happened to your hand? Your face?”
He followed her gaze to the knuckles on his right hand. Two of them bore slight bruises. “I had some business to clear up.”
A little shiver of horror shuddered through her. “Business?”
“With the man responsible for that cartoon.”
“You thrashed him? With your hands?” The sight of his knuckles made her chest ache. What if he’d been hurt? But she was more fascinated that a duke would fight someone with his own hands. Covertly, she flickered a glance over his powerful frame, his well-muscled arms. A little breathless sensation swirled over her. One couldn’t really call it a swoon.
She stared at his hands again.
He chuckled softly, the sinister sound at odds with his normal polished, superior manner. “I warned him not to involve you.”
“Who is he?”
“He’s not important.” The sudden, impassioned fire in his eyes, made her catch her breath. “Jeanne, don’t leave just yet.”
“Please, David, it is really for the best. For both of us.”
“Stay and dine with me.” He bent and placed a quick, deliberate kiss on each of her knees.
She wished she could say that the ridiculous gesture left her unaffected. But her gaze drank in his handsome features and warmth melted into her belly. She couldn’t deny what that warmth was. It was relief. He didn’t want her to leave.
There was also some joy in seeing the depth of his passion.
She wanted to leave but she was relieved that he didn’t want her to. It made no sense.
He laid his head in her lap then slowly pressed his face into the apex between her legs. He blew heated air and it leaked through her clothing. A tickling sensation tingled over her folds, awakening her desire. Her nub began to stiffen. Hot ch
ills rushed over her. Her face flamed. She squirmed and then giggled. Actually giggled like some silly chit.
“Oh goodness, David, really.”
He lifted his head. “Don’t leave yet.”
“I don’t see a good reason for me to stay.”
“Do you know that I spend all my time surrounded by people, and yet I am always lonely?”
She touched his midnight black hair, smoothed the disordered locks.
He grasped her hand and pulled it away from his head.
Frustration smoldered through her. He would never simply let her touch him…
He turned the palm up, and began to trace small circles. “The only time I don’t feel lonely is when I am with you.”
Burning flared in her throat. She couldn’t speak.
“I should like to spend some time with you away from a bedchamber.” His handsome features contorted into a pained expression. “I haven’t wanted to know anyone deeply for years. With so many people, the more I discover about them, the less I like them. But it’s not that way with you. The more I see you, the more I want to see you. I want to know you, Jeanne, inside and out.”
How could she possibly say no now? “Of course I shall stay to dine.”
His features relaxed, his eyes shone like bright emeralds. “And you’ll wear the gown?”
“It is so costly. And it will just be you and I …” A tingling spiral of pure alarm sprung in her abdomen, dampening her arousal. “Won’t it?” she asked with a smaller voice.
“Of course, just you and I. I cancelled my evening plans.”
He said that last as though it were a gesture of monumental effort and significance. Well, for a duke it must be. “I want to see you in the gown. You’ll wear it, won’t you? To please me?”
To please me.
The words resonated deep inside her, tiny starbursts of heat that slowly caught fire. Flames licked from her womb to her nub. Moisture seeped from her core to trickle over fast-swelling nether lips. She nodded. “Yes, I’ll do it to please you, David.”
* * * *
She stood in the opulent drawing room, dressed in that evening gown, too afraid to sit and ruin it. Nervousness caused a fine sheen of sweat to moisten her skin and she fretted about how that might affect the obviously expensive cambric shift and, goodness, silk stockings. She had never worn silk stockings in her entire life.
Her Mystery Duke Page 12
