She was rambling now! First tongue-tied and then a nattering ninny!
He laughed as though she’d said something clever. Her hand still rested upon his arm.
“And yet you are here. You aren’t afraid of experiencing new things?” he asked.
“Oh, no!” She considered her words a moment. “I would have died if Father hadn’t allowed me to come! How can a person grow up if he or she has never been to London? By simply being here, I realize there is so much more to the world than I could ever imagine.” She was a little homesick though. “I was so happy to leave home, but now that I am here, I feel a greater appreciation for all that is familiar to me. I think, perhaps, home will mean more to me for having left it.”
She paused and took another sip of the bubbling liquid in her glass. Tilting her head, she met his gaze boldly. “What about you?” She wanted to know more about him. “Are you looking forward to going home after your time away?”
His jaw clenched a few times before he spoke. “My father’s home, where I grew up, will one day belong to my brother. He is soon to be betrothed, and I won’t want to intrude…” The captain seemed to look off into nowhere for a moment. “My father will stay there, of course, but I no longer consider Summers Park my home. I do have a property of my own…south, but closer to London. I’ve only been a few times to check in with the steward. I hadn’t thought about settling down there yet.”
Lilly looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Well, you hadn’t met me, so why would you have?” She laughed. It must be the champagne! She was only partly joking. She didn’t know how she could say something so bold, but in that moment felt as though they’d known each other a lifetime. She expected him to laugh as well, but instead, he looked deeply into her eyes. He glanced at her lips and then back to her eyes again.
“Quite true, Miss Bridge, quite true.”
Chapter Three
A Well-Needed Bath
1824
Michael let out a slow sigh of relief as the door closed behind the last of the inn’s servants who had filled his bath. The harried maids had unpacked the bags left by his valet, turned down his bed, and placed towels and soaps within reach of the tub. Having been an army man earlier in life, he was more than capable of handling his own toilette.
God, what a day it had been!
Enjoying the privacy, Michael shed his filthy garments and stepped carefully into hot, fragrant water. His entire body ached, causing him to wince while lowering into the copper tub. Not since first returning from the war had a bath felt so heavenly. As the water eased his muscles, he began to feel human. Perhaps later, he’d even feel like a duke again.
She’d changed.
With his eyes closed, and his head tilted back, he could not shake himself of her image.
This disturbed him.
He slid down and immersed his head beneath the steaming water. Perhaps it would wash away the torrent of memories assaulting him. Perhaps it would distract him from rehashing her betrayal.
With tightly closed eyes, he held his breath and allowed the water to embrace him.
Why now? Why after all these years? He’d known she’d married. He’d even known where she lived. She’d made her choice. She’d made the choice for both of them.
When he could hold his breath not a second longer, he burst out of the water and then shook his head like a dog. The droplets flew away from him, onto the floor and privacy screen.
She and her stepdaughter were to join him for dinner.
Michael rubbed his face and groaned. It had taken him years to forget. Of course, she would turn up in his life again now! Her timing couldn’t be worse!
He had finally set his mind on a woman to marry and—of course!—he ran into Lilly again.
He’d put it off for years, frankly unconvinced another woman existed who could hold his interest long enough to merit entering the institution. He’d persuaded himself his efforts and time were better spent improving his estates. Hundreds depended upon the ducal lands for a living, and Michael took this very much to heart.
But this past year he had also decided, for that very same reason, he needed an heir. He needed to ensure the future as well as the present. And so, in a rational and calculated manner he had chosen his future duchess.
Closing his eyes, Michael endeavored to bring Lady Natalie Spencer’s image to mind.
The girl had turned one-and-twenty this past winter. She was pretty and pleasant. Her father’s lands abutted one of Michael’s larger estates and combined they could increase efficiencies by thirty percent. And then there was her astoundingly large dowry. Not that he needed the funds, but if one is to marry, one might as well make an excellent business transaction out of it.
But what did she look like, for heaven’s sake!
Blond hair, yes, but it was yellower than Lilly’s. Natalie was taller, slimmer. He’d glimpsed her ankles on a few occasions and decided she must have fabulous legs. They had danced together several times, and Michael had enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. She was very graceful but a bit aloof.
Her face was…Dammit, what was the color of her eyes? He tried to picture her lips, but images of Lilly intruded. Suddenly, his mind’s eye pictured golden eyes.
Had she been too young to realize what they had had together? She’d come to London and easily acquired a devoted, lovesick beau. He’d happily followed her from one social event to another throughout the entire season. Had she not experienced love as he had?
And then he recalled how she had yielded to him both physically and emotionally. She’d held back nothing. She’d been his, completely: heart, mind, and soul. Or so he had thought.
When he’d first met Lilly, she had been a vivacious, gorgeous girl.
She’d grown into a hauntingly beautiful woman.
Dressed as a matron, she’d not fooled him with her shapeless gown and severely styled hair. In fact, the utter lack of frivolity about Lilly’s person merely pronounced her delicate features all the more.
Rosebud lips which had once opened so generously for him, and only him, couldn’t help but stir his desire. He tortured himself further with the memory of how those golden eyes had stared into his very soul.
Michael opened his eyes as a servant entered the room.
“Would you care for some brandy, Your Grace?”
“Scotch,” he answered. “Might as well bring the decanter.”
What a fool he’d been! He couldn’t help remembering the first time they’d met.
****
Spring 1815
If the white dress hadn’t given her away as a debutante, then her wonder and excitement would have. So open in her appreciation of her surroundings, she sparkled. Everything about her sparkled—her dress, her hair, even her skin.
This girl failed miserably at feigning even the slightest ennui.
Michael couldn’t help smiling as he observed her.
She was going to tug one of the pearls off the back of her gloves if she continued fidgeting with them. She was either restless or nervous, likely a little of both.
Tipping her head back to examine the artwork on the rounded ceiling, she dislodged a few ringlets from her coiffure. The graceful arc of her neck had him unconsciously licking his lips. Her hair shimmered like silk, nearly the color of her pearls. She was utterly delightful.
And then, after dragging her attention away from the ceiling, her gaze drifted around the room and she caught him watching her.
The color of her eyes surprised him. They were such a light brown as to be golden. Michael’s heart jumped as though coming to life after a long slumber. In some way, a connection already existed between them. Surprising himself, he turned away.
She had somehow stolen his equilibrium. Besides her fragile beauty, she possessed an intangible allure he could not identify.
Casting his gaze downwards, he took a deep breath. He’d fancied himself a bit of a rake, not a complete degenerate, like some of his acquaintances, but somewhat of a ladies’ man. He�
��d never failed to maintain his composure where a woman was concerned. And so, when he looked a second time, he openly admired her. This time it was she who quickly turned away.
Her chaperones chose that moment to pull her along the line, and she disappeared into the throngs of guests.
Occasionally, while in France and especially during his years at Oxford, Michael had flirted and even dallied with alluring young ladies—regardless of class. It had been the exotic actresses and dancers though, who appealed to him almost exclusively. They were safer by far than ladies of gentle birth. Having seen a few gentlemen caught in parson’s traps, Michael had learned to take care with his attentions when among the beau monde. Regardless of a lady’s charm, he never let it appear he had singled any one of them out.
None had compelled him into pursuit so much as this one.
He would require an introduction. He needed to discover if that intense spark was real or if it had only been an illusion.
By the time he maneuvered into the ballroom, it was already stifling and crowded. Candles flickered everywhere, in sconces and on the huge chandeliers dangling overhead. His eyes searched with a deceptively lazy intent. She was not alone, of course. She attended with two matrons, a mother and aunt perhaps, as they had some physical similarities. Ah, yes, the smaller woman must be her mother. An older, muted version of her daughter—without the golden eyes. The taller of her chaperones was encouraging his angel to fill her dance card as quickly as possible, introducing the poor girl to every dandy in the room.
Luckily, the dragon was also acquainted with an old friend of his father’s. Perfect! Just what he needed. He sidled over to Lord Gifford and greeted him cheerfully, striking up some casual conversation. “My lord, I’m surprised to see you in town this season. I’d heard you were permanently rusticating in the country these days.”
Lord James Gifford shook Michael’s hand and smiled. “Good to see you, Redmond! Even better to see you made it back in one piece. Your father mentioned you had joined up. His Grace was proud to boast his younger son had joined the effort against old Boney! Are you home for long?”
Michael was momentarily distracted at the mention of his father’s praise but quickly recovered and answered vaguely. Questions like this were always difficult when he didn’t know the answer himself. He exchanged a few more platitudes with Lord Gifford, all the while keeping the blond girl in his sights.
Lord Gifford took notice of the direction of Michael’s gaze and changed the subject accordingly. “Beautiful little gel, isn’t she? The niece of Lady Sheffield. I imagine you’d like an introduction?” He laughed. “I was once a young buck myself. Think I wouldn’t notice? Well, come along then.”
As Michael moved closer to her, that spark, whatever it was, flared up inside of him again.
Lord Gifford moved aside and allowed Michael to step forward. “Miss Lilly Bridge, it is my honor to present to you the younger son of my good friend, the Duke of Cortland, Captain Michael Redmond. Captain Redmond, this is Miss Lilly Bridge, the niece of Lady Eleanor Sheffield.”
Graceful and poised, she curtsied low before him. Michael took her hand briefly. He wanted to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist, but he dared not.
Next time.
Her name was Lilly, like the flower of innocence. It was perfect for her. She smiled at him as if they shared a secret. Then she commented on the candles and the warmth of the room. Michael leapt on the opportunity to offer to escort her away from her chaperones.
She would not refuse. There was a pull between the two of them. Neither of them would resist it.
Winging his arm to escort her to the other end of the ballroom, he was acutely aware of her delicate hand as she slid it into the crook of his elbow. He had escorted ladies thusly hundreds of times before, but never had he felt the rightness of the noble gesture as he did then. When he thought they might be jostled by the crowd, he reached across with his other hand to protectively cover hers.
This brought them closer together. Her perfume was a mixture of citrus and something warm, something subtle that he couldn’t identify. The scent of her made him think of sunshine.
Michael garnered two glasses of champagne and then located a quiet place to sit. He wanted to keep her to himself—he wanted to know her.
She, apparently, was perfectly fine with this.
The rest of the world disappeared while they sat together. All that existed in those moments were her eyes, her voice, her lips. Intent upon this woman alone, he managed to mute the chattering of the other guests in the ballroom, the sounds of the dancers, and even the full orchestra as they played their lively tunes.
Surprisingly, they talked, almost like old friends. But they also flirted like future lovers.
Could it have been fate that brought them together? Did he even believe in such a thing?
He learned she was adventurous and kind-hearted. She loved her family but wasn’t afraid to meet new people. When he spoke of the war, she listened with compassion and understanding, not pressing him for details. She was graceful, warm, and beautiful. She possessed a sense of humor.
They spent an unfashionable, if not scandalous amount of time in each other’s company that night.
He spoke of his estate, Edgewater Heights. “I do have a property of my own…south, but closer to London. I hadn’t thought about settling down there yet.” The second the words left his mouth, a different perspective of Edgewater Heights began to evolve in his mind. As a young bachelor, he’d only considered the property as a source of income, a financial asset. He had a duty to visit and ensure it was cared for properly. But in this moment, he could picture it as a home, a future home for himself and his family. Until now, he’d kept the concept a distant probability. But meeting this particular woman, looking into her eyes, and listening to her sweet voice, an image began unfolding in his mind.
He suddenly could envision very blond children running about the grounds. He could picture Lilly nurturing the garden, decorating for Christmas.
Warming his bed.
Throughout the evening, he managed to claim three dances (scandalous!) and take a few turns about the room.
Eventually, they slipped out to the garden for a stroll in the cooling air. And again, she tucked her tiny hand through his right arm.
She belonged at his side.
They walked quietly, enjoying the fragrant breeze and moonlit gardens. The energy sizzling between them rendered moot the need for polite conversation. Finally, he halted and turned her so they stood face to face. Keeping one hand on her arm, he let his other drift to her waist. The smooth silk of her dress was light and flimsy; he could feel the ridges of her corset beneath it.
The hour had grown late.
“I know you are excited for the season…I know there are all these new people in London you are dying to meet.” He looked off into the darkness before continuing. “Every man you meet will be eager to put his name upon your dance card. Your home will overflow with flowers and gifts.” He reached up to play with the tendrils of hair that curled around her ear. Such tender skin invited his touch. “But I am giving you notice tonight: I intend to court you. And when you are ready, I will speak with your father.”
He spoke with absolute certainty. His words, a vow.
She stared solemnly into his eyes. “As a debutante, I am supposed to be demure…but…” She seemed to hold her breath. Her silence was suspended as leaves rustled nearby and the murmur of the Willoughby guests floated atop the flowerbeds.
“But…?” he whispered, leaning closer to her. He was going to kiss her.
Her palms rested flat against his chest. With such expressive eyes, she would be horrible at cards. When she tilted her head back, Michael knew exactly what she wanted.
“You are a dream,” she whispered.
Or that was what he thought she’d said.
For just then, a group of revelers interrupted their privacy as they traipsed along on an adjacent path. At their approach, s
he stepped back abruptly.
Her eyes had grown large. She covered her mouth with one hand, apparently stricken with herself. “What am I doing? Aunt Eleanor and Mama are likely frantic!” She glanced rapidly from left to right as though expecting one of her chaperones to jump out from behind the hedges. “Oh, Lord! I may very well have broken every rule drummed into me!”
She enchanted him, such an innocent temptress.
“Not every rule, Miss Bridge,” he teased, causing her eyes to widen further.
“Captain Redmond!” She spoke before he could finish.
But he merely laughed. “I’m fairly certain you used all the right utensils at supper.”
She rolled her eyes and shook her head at him. He laughed softly.
Not willing to push their luck, he escorted her back to Lady Eleanor’s and her mother’s side. As he went to take his leave, he apologized for monopolizing the most beautiful lady present. “I shall be calling tomorrow,” he added, “for that carriage ride in the park, Miss Bridge.”
Lilly smiled and looked him squarely in the eyes. “But of course, Captain.”
Chapter Four
Dinner with a Duke
1824
After giving Glenda a brief narrative of her prior association with the Duke of Cortland, Lilly struggled to dismiss him from her mind. She’d known there was always a possibility of seeing him in London, but not in a million years had she imagined running into him along the road! Even seeing him covered in dirt, nearly a decade later, she’d known who he was the very moment she’d caught sight of him. And when he’d spoken, his voice had thrown open the portals of time and swept her into the past.
She’d nearly fainted.
But that would not do. She was the responsible one here, the matron, a guardian. She mustn’t succumb to the momentary urge she’d had to throw herself into his arms tragically. No propriety existed in such wantonness. Nor could she lambaste him for his cruel and heartless desertion years ago.
She’d addressed him as though he’d merely been an old acquaintance—one who’d aged better than a fine scotch.
Nobody's Lady Page 3
