Dancing in The Duke’s Arms

by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel

  He took Kitty’s hand and bent over it. “Charmed to see you again, Miss Hunter. Welcome, both of you, to Teversault. I hope you enjoy your visit.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Quite a pretty young woman now that she’d outgrown her schoolroom days.

  “It’s more beautiful here than I imagined, and I assure you I imagined a great deal.” George threw one arm wide in a gesture that included the whole of Teversault. “Hugh and Lord William did not do it justice. Nor you, Your Grace.” Miss Hunter widened her eyes at her sister, and George moderated her enthusiasm. “I mean to say, this is a house of taste and elegance.”

  He studied her, working out how she could be at once undistinguished and intensely appealing. The curve of her bosom, the shape of her lips, that cleft in her chin, the clear, pale brown of her eyes. Put all together, and he never failed to think of darkened rooms and bodies sliding along sheets. One day some rogue was going to decide that he wanted to know if she could be persuaded to put that mouth to corrupt uses.

  She looked to his brother. “Lord William promised us a tour later.”

  William put a hand over his heart. His handsome, charming brother must have had such thoughts about her. How could he not? The idea that George and William were suited made his stomach tighten in an unwelcome manner. “So you shall have one,” William said. “I keep my promises, George.”

  William’s gaze connected with his, and it was appallingly apparent that his brother was in a fair way of fancying himself in love with George and that he was matchmaking for Revers and the younger girl. William fell in love with a different woman every fortnight, it seemed. So Stoke told himself. There was no cause for concern. He would be out of love before the prince arrived.

  His greater worry was how determined Revers would be in pursuing Miss Hunter. The women were under his protection here. If Revers thought to seduce either of them, the viscount would find in him an implacable enemy.

  Chapter Two

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  At Teversault, even the door hinges moved as if they knew they’d best open crisply and with respect. They had certainly better, hadn’t they? George led her sister into a parlor twice the size of the one at Uplyft Hall. Both of them stopped, awed by their surroundings.

  The parlor, smaller than the saloon they’d gathered in earlier in the day, had a view of the famous tree-lined driveway and a portion of the front lawns. Sunlight glittered off the distant serpentine. Cream walls were trimmed in dark lilac with touches of gold, colors repeated in the carpet and upholstery. If only she could pack up the colors and decorations and take them home with her to Uplyft Hall. One of the windows was open, and it was late enough in the day that the fragrance of the Nottingham Flycatcher growing on the outside walls scented the air.

  “What if we’ve come to the wrong room, Georgina?”

  “We haven’t. I asked for directions before I knocked at your door. Besides, Lord William said we were to meet in the Grecian parlor, and behold.” She pointed upward. A panoply of the gods of Olympus gazed upon them, arrayed in brilliant color and drawn with unnerving realism. One could but pray Zeus would refrain from throwing thunderbolts at such imperfect mortals as walked beneath their painted eyes.

  “You might have mentioned that.”

  “Kitty. Dear sister. You’ve no need to be nervous.” She faced Kitty and adjusted one of the tiny bows around the sleeve of her gown. Not even the duke could deny Kitty’s beauty, inside and out. “You are too lovely not to be universally admired.”

  “Georgina.” Kitty squinted and tipped her head to one side. “Your hair is crooked.”

  “No it isn’t.” She put a hand to her head and found that, yes, the cascade of curls at the top of her head was not where it ought to be. Attempting to repair herself made matters worse, for she could feel her hair shift.

  “Stop. Let me fix you.”

  “Please.”

  Kitty pushed around pins and the like, which was not difficult since George was much shorter. “There.” Kitty considered her. “Better now.”

  She patted her head. She was forever falling apart, much to Kitty’s dismay, and the best intentions in the world did not stop her peculiar gift for unintended disasters of wardrobe. “I too am perfect.”

  Kitty plucked straw from the side of George’s skirt and huffed. “You promised you’d stay away from the stables.”

  “And so I did.”

  Kitty shook the straw at her with familiar anxiety. Even as a child, defects in one’s dress, manners, or deportment had caused Kitty no end of distress. Nothing could be done about their modest antecedents, but for Kitty, to be held in high regard in all other respects was like water and air. A necessity. “You’ve been to the stables.” She removed more from George’s skirt. “Honestly. You’re not to be trusted.”

  “I am. I am the most trustworthy sister you have. On my honor, I have not been.” She shrugged when Kitty held up the straw. “I visited the kennels.”

  “Not one word about horses or hounds, Georgina.” Kitty, whose taste in all things was innate and irreproachable, believed George’s shortcomings were due to a lack of attention to detail rather than unchangeable fact. “Not in front of Lord Revers or the duke. Please. Best behavior. You promised.”

  “I only went for a moment.” She smoothed her skirts and gave them a little shake in case there was more straw.

  “You need only a moment to become completely undone.”

  “Alas, true.” George had every intention of visiting the kennels again, and the stable block as well to confirm the duke’s horses were as healthy and gorgeous as Lord William claimed. She took the straw from Kitty and dropped it into her pocket. She could have sworn she’d managed to brush off all the detritus of her visit before she returned to the house. “There are puppies. Adorable puppies. The kennel master let me play with them. You cannot expect anyone to resist puppies.”

  “You could have waited for me.” If she had, Kitty would have prevented her from going, and they both knew that.

  “I was outside not somewhere inside. You were upstairs putting on that lovely gown. Why shouldn’t I have a look at the hounds while you were otherwise engaged?”

  “You know what I mean.” With their brother Hugh in Paris these past two years, the management of the farm and lands attached to Uplyft Hall had fallen to George. She’d learned a great deal about property management during her marriage, and she now spent hours in conversation with their own steward and the managers at neighboring estates, discussing the latest problems, ideas, and innovations. Her new bull, a Lincolnshire Red procured winter before last, was producing excellent offspring, and she had high hopes for the second generation. Two farmers had recently asked about breeding rights, and wasn’t that a vindication?

  She crossed the room and, staying sideways to Kitty, slid a hand along the top of the marble mantel. Marble columns on either side of the fireplace soared upward with chimney glass in between that reached all the way to the ceiling. Twin marble Titans held up the mantel. “Did you ever see such a fireplace as this?”

  “I won’t allow you to distract me. When do you think of anything but horses and dogs and cows?” Kitty shook her head in despair. “Or the best time to plant turnips?”

  “At the moment, I am thinking of Greek gods and marble fireplaces.” She faced the edifice in question and, hands on hips, admired the pink-veined marble. On the mantel itself was a statue of Hermes. “Therefore, Kitty, you could not be more—”

  Lord William’s familiar voice rumbled through to the parlor. George looked over her shoulder, smiling, and then quickly not smiling at all, for Lord William was not in conversation with himself.

  “—mistaken.” Let his companion be Lord Revers, who was so charming, wealthy, and taken with Kitty.

  “Please, please, behave while you are here,” Kitty said. “No talking about bulls or hunting dogs or the proper method of mucking out stalls.”

  “I promise.” She picked another bit of straw from her skir
t and put that in her pocket with the others. Perhaps she ought to have looked in a mirror before she returned to the house. Not that it would matter much. She wasn’t bad looking, she knew that, but she hadn’t Kitty’s beauty or brilliant eyes. Since she had no intention of marrying again, she felt not the least inclination to behave, as Kitty said, for any reason but decency and her sister’s peace of mind. She’d had her chance to dance with handsome men and to be flattered and found interesting. Now, it was Kitty’s turn, and Kitty must, could only be, an absolute triumph.

  The door hinges whispered with the utmost respect. As George and Kitty faced the entrance, the Duke of Stoke Teversault strode in. Lord William followed on his heels.

  What a fierce man the duke was. Once upon a time, his icy gaze had filled her with trepidation. Since her husband’s death, her opinion of him as cold-hearted and unpleasant had altered greatly. She’d not seen him but once or twice since that terrible time in her life, but marriage and tragedy had given her new eyes. Not cold, but reserved. Not unpleasant, but quiet and direct to a fault. There was a center to him, a solidity that one could rely upon. He would never act against his conscience.

  Where once she had preferred a man who was robust and active, she now saw much to admire in the duke’s lean body. His features, which she’d once thought too sharp and uneven, were, in fact, commanding. His self-mastery, once mistaken for hauteur, was the sign of a man who understood himself and was satisfied with the accounts.

  Her changed appreciation of Stoke Teversault, she understood, was the result of maturity and experience of life, yet also, she must admit, in respect of his appearance, a puzzling state of affairs. A man who held honor and duty above all else was a man who must be admired, no matter how difficult he was to like, this was no mystery. But she’d always preferred men who inhabited the social whirl, handsome men of fashion such as Lord William or Lord Revers, who amused and flattered and made one laugh. She had no ready explanation for why, when she saw the duke, parts below came alive with unseemly interest.

  Today, as ever, the duke’s attire was sober to the point of plain. Black trousers, black shoes with silver buckles, a black coat, and a black waistcoat embroidered with tiny silver dots. A black tie wound around his white neckcloth. He was deliciously forbidding. To gaze upon the Duke of Stoke Teversault was to see a man born to coronets, castles, Orders of the Garter, and robes with ermine tails.

  “George!” Lord William crossed the room, arms outstretched, and she was in his embrace before she could react. He swept her into a mock waltz. Her stomach swooped as he whirled her past the windows, and she breathed in the sweet scent of the Nottingham Flycatcher.

  “Lord William.” She managed, at last, to extricate herself from his arms and take several steps back. He’d whipped her around so fast she was short of breath. He grinned at her in that puppyish way of his that never failed to smooth the path for him. She couldn’t help smiling back. “How delightful to see you after”—she consulted the clock on the mantel—“only an hour and a quarter.”

  “A long and sorrowful eternity, George.” He’d ended up close to Kitty, and he leaned over and kissed her sister’s cheek. “What a pretty blush. Is that not a pretty blush, Stoke? Kitty, delight of my heart, how are you? It’s been an age since I saw you.” He looked over his shoulder at her. “George, did I remember to write you that my favorite bitch whelped as I said she would?”

  “You did not.”

  “I’m sure I did.”

  “Perhaps your letter was lost in the post. Or you wrote to Hugh and not to Kitty and me. But never mind, I’ve been to the kennels and seen the puppies. They’re rascals all four.”

  “Two females, two males, as perfect as anyone could like, which I am certain you saw. By the time you go, old enough for you to take one home if you like. Pick of the litter.”

  From the corner of her eye, George saw His Grace raise his eyebrows. He kept his hair too short for her tastes, but she shivered inside when his penetrating eyes connected with hers. Oh dear. Perhaps that hadn’t been quite the thing for Lord William to say. Surely, the duke knew his brother would forget his offer before it was time for her and Kitty to return home.

  Lord William had Kitty in his arms now, though his attention remained on George. “The kennel master will know which one best suits a Hunter of Uplyft Hall.”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s excellent. Is this not excellent, Stoke? Miss Hunter.” His eyes softened, and George shot another glance at the duke to see what he made of his brother’s tenderness. Not much, it seemed. “What a treat you are to mine eyes, Kitty. I never knew a woman could be as lovely as you.” He gave Kitty another kiss on the cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

  Kitty gazed at him, besotted.

  The duke’s frown deepened. Well, what had he thought would happen? That his brother would call at Uplyft Hall during all this time and never notice that Kitty was sweet and beautiful and all that was generous? Did he not know his brother at all? Apparently he did not. She hoped to see Kitty through this visit without a great disappointment. In matters of the heart, Lord William was inconstant.

  “Stoke. You ought to say something, or are you saving your breath for the grand tour of Teversault?”

  “This is the Grecian parlor,” the duke said. “So called because of the Ionic columns there, and the fresco on the ceiling. Painted by a student of Piero himself.” He pointed and, in practiced tones that were not the least warm, continued his well-rehearsed speech. “The mantel was carved from a single block of marble. Winged Hermes was made from marble quarried from the same location. The carpet is said to have been looted from a palace owned by Darius the Great, but that is rank speculation.”

  “The very best sort, if you—”

  Kitty elbowed her, not discreetly enough.

  George coughed. “Goodness. Something in my throat. Forgive me, Your Grace. Do go on.”

  The duke did something with his eyebrows, some minute twitch of displeasure, that convinced George he did not like her any better than he ever had, which was not very much at all.

  Chapter Three

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  At half past seven the next morning, a maid directed George to the morning room, and thank goodness, for she’d otherwise have stayed lost for who knew how long. She had her back to the open door as she thanked the maid, then whirled and entered at her usual brisk pace. Today, she meant to explore the whole of Teversault on her own.

  “Oh,” she said. She slowed, then stopped. “Oh my. Magnificent.” She barely glanced at the sideboard where the aroma and arrangement of food—eggs and bacon, fresh bread, strawberries, and jellies—put a sharp edge on her hunger. She went to the window, arms wide to embrace the scene. “Teversault,” she pronounced to no one but herself, “must be the most beautiful place in all of Britain.”

  Behind her, a chair moved across the wooden floor. Slowly, she looked to her left, willing that sound to mean anything but impending embarrassment. She was not so fortunate today. Of course not. This was her fate where the duke was concerned. He did not care for flighty women, and she knew for a fact he considered her a soft and feckless female. Which she had been before she was married.

  Stoke Teversault stood at the top of the table, a napkin in one hand, the morning paper beside his plate. He did not smile. The duke, like Kitty, found her too frequently undignified. So be it. Life was made of beauty, moments to be strung together and remembered so that one had them close in less happy times. She delighted in beauty, reveled in it and allowed her heart to crumble in the face of humbling perfection. God, she believed, lived in such moments as this. Edward had told her she wore her heart on her sleeve, and that was true. She did. Edward had loved her for it, and that, too, was written on her heart.

  The fit of the duke’s buckskins revealed powerful, leanly muscled thighs. Not as slight a man as she’d imagined, then. His midnight blue coat lent his eyes a soulful cast, and his buff waistcoat provided more color than he usually wor
e. She could not look away from him. His eyes entrapped her, robbed her of breath.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Lark.” His mouth twitched. She was sure of it. Kitty, if she were here, would be horrified. “I share your high opinion of Teversault.”

  “A happy circumstance, Your Grace.” Events in Hampstead Heath when Edward’s death had left her bereft had stripped away her ability to see him as His Grace the Duke of Stoke Teversault, personage of Great and Terrible Consequence. When she looked at him now, she saw a man who made the floor vanish from beneath her feet. She shoved aside her inappropriate reactions and sensations and managed to say with creditable carelessness, “I bid you good morning, Your Grace.”

  He dropped his napkin on his chair and went to her, dignity and restraint oozing from his pores. “Allow me to fetch you a plate.”

  One did not refuse a duke, and never this one. He extended his elbow. For several seconds, she stared at the blue wool of his sleeve, baffled as to what he meant by such a gesture.

  “I had rather not guess at your preferences for your morning repast, though I would be happy to bring you a selection, if you’d prefer.”

  “Oh. Well. Yes. I mean, no. Please don’t go to any trouble.” She placed her hand on his arm. He walked, sedately, to the sideboard. A footman who practically blended into the wall handed the duke a plate. She examined the array of delicious, aromatic food. Eggs poached, fried, and scrambled, three kinds of preserves, and sausage cooked to perfection. Delicate ladies did not pile food on a plate and eat every bite, but she wanted to. She was ravenous.

  “Eggs, ma’am?” he asked. “Toast for Mrs. Lark, John. I hope that was not presumptuous of me.”

  “No. That is, rather, not at all, Your Grace.” She adored a perfectly poached egg and these looked perfect. She wanted some of everything. In the back of her disordered and distracted thoughts, she knew that would not improve his poor opinion of her. What would Kitty do? There was her answer. “Toast, thank you.”