The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series

by Jillian Hunter

  Gabrielle’s mouth dropped. “If it isn’t the lady who had to keep a man in her closet to force a wedding proposal from him.”

  “You’ll make a fool out of yourself if you pursue Gideon after he’s married,” Jane said crisply.

  “Maybe he’ll pursue me,” Gabrielle said with a careless shrug. “He knows where to find me.”

  “So do I,” said Chloe.

  Gabrielle tossed back her hair. “He needs an heir, and once that bun is in the oven, he’ll be done with his duty.”

  “I doubt it,” Jane said, her voice clipped.

  “I’ve known him longer than you,” Gabrielle retorted. “He isn’t a man who deprives himself of pleasure.”

  Chloe smiled. “The fault with that line of thinking is that the pleasure you give can be bought on any street corner.”

  “No.” Gabrielle smiled back at her. “He has expensive tastes. The schoolmistress is in over her head.”

  “And so is he,” Jane said, giving Gabrielle her shoulder. “He hasn’t looked at you once all afternoon. In fact, I doubt he’d notice if you walked into the lake.”

  Early that evening, as Charlotte was mulling over Gideon’s confession, her brothers paid her a call. Ogden, the academy’s butler, deigned to smile as he ushered the two rogues into the drawing room.

  Jack took one look at Charlotte’s face and the handkerchief in her lap and sighed.

  “I thought you were happy about this engagement—even if from what I gather it did not come about in a typical manner. Lord above, Charlotte, how did you land in this place?”

  “What are you weeping about?” Caleb said, dropping down on the couch beside her. “Aren’t you supposed to save that for the wedding?”

  Jack settled down on the other side of the couch. “You could still marry Phil—”

  “No,” she said forcefully. “I couldn’t.”

  “He claims that he’s turned over a new leaf,” Caleb said.

  “I’d rather turn over a stone and marry what hides beneath than him,” she said.

  Jack coughed. “Didn’t Wynfield refer to Phillip as a grub in the theater?”

  She caught them exchanging glances over her head.

  Caleb let a few moments elapse before asking, “Did Wynfield do something to make you cry?”

  She didn’t want to break Gideon’s confidence by explaining that she would soon become a mother to an outspoken girl who spit at people and had been left to her own devices. Her heart clenched at the thought of the young girl being brought up without any parents. Her brothers wouldn’t understand that Charlotte hadn’t shed tears for herself but for Gideon and Sarah and the young woman who had been taken from them too soon. No one could take a mother’s place. Was it any wonder that the child misbehaved?

  She sat forward in annoyance. “Stop crowding me.”

  “I suppose we should prepare ourselves,” Caleb said.

  “For what?” she whispered.

  “Everything started with a diary that may never be found. If it isn’t we will have to bear up and endure.”

  “That’s easy for you to say,” she muttered.

  “The deed is done,” Jack said unhelpfully. “Our house has endured the slings and arrows of outrageous scandal since the first Boscastle was born. No doubt we shall cause, and live through, a multitude more.”

  “That’s the longest speech I’ve heard from you since…forever.”

  He gave her a taut smile. “Then let it be the last, at least regarding your guilt. You are a lady. Any scandal you’re anticipating will not come to fruition. You couldn’t have written anything in your diary that would cause you more embarrassment than we’ve brought on ourselves.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on that,” she whispered.

  Jack removed a clean linen handkerchief from his long jacket and offered it as a replacement. “Charlotte, look at me. Has Heath been ruined because his wife drew a risqué picture of his male parts that was printed and distributed at random throughout London?”

  She pressed his handkerchief to her face.

  “Well?” he asked, waiting for her to react.

  She bit her lip hard to no avail and burst into laughter. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful to Heath, but…but…it’s different for a man.”

  He nodded. “Good. I have made you forget yourself for a moment. Now, as to your impending marriage, I take it that you are still not opposed?”

  “No,” she said, her unseemly giggles subsiding.

  Caleb arched his brow. “Then all is not lost. And one more thing, Charlotte.”

  “Yes?”

  “Let these be the last tears you shed for a very long time.”

  She saw the nuisances to the door and returned to the drawing room to pour a small glass of sherry and extinguish the lamp. It was past time to check on the girls and retire for the night. The visit had buoyed her spirits, and she knew that paying distress calls was not typical of the male nature.

  Nothing had been solved. But still she felt better. Gideon would protect her from scandal, and for all she knew the diary had been tossed into the Thames by an itinerant peddler. But then, not knowing its whereabouts would follow her forever like a storm cloud.

  For all—

  A noise at the window penetrated her thoughts. It was a noise reminiscent of Gideon’s light tapping at the pane. She turned, vacillating briefly before she hurried to draw back the curtains at the window where he stood. She could just make out a portion of the hand that pressed against the glass. He faced the street and then, as if he sensed her watching, he turned his head. It struck her that he was acting rather strangely. Had he been waiting for her brothers to leave? She couldn’t quite make out his face in the darkness. Or had one of them forgotten to tell her something that couldn’t wait until the next day?

  Sir Christopher Fenton, master at arms of a popular fencing salon, ordered his assistant to crack open a bottle of porter when he entered the school and saw Gideon practicing his lunges in the gallery. “What’s the matter?” he called out jovially. “Couldn’t think of another excuse to visit Miss Boscastle tonight?”

  Gideon shot a wry look at his friend. “Let’s not use foils tonight. That way I can hurt you and pretend it’s an accident.”

  “I was thinking the same thing,” Kit said. “Except I was going to hurt you so that you’d have a genuine reason for Charlotte’s sympathy. Women love to take care of reckless men like us.”

  “I don’t think we need to go that far.”

  Kit grinned. “You’ve missed several practices. I would have been worried about you if we hadn’t met at the park. Some of the lads thought you’d given up the sword.”

  “What are you grinning about?” Gideon straightened from a lunge. “I’ll be giving up more than fencing practice after I’m married.”

  “I don’t see anyone holding a pistol to your head,” Kit retorted.

  “And the fact that you work for my betrothed’s cousin does not influence your opinion?”

  “Well—”

  “And,” Gideon continued, “the fact that Grayson used his influence so that a commoner like you is now Sir Christopher and not ordinary ‘Kit’ has not swayed your point of view?”

  Kit rested back against the wall. “If this is how you behave when you’re away from the lady, I don’t think I want to see the pair of you together.”

  Gideon ignored that. He wasn’t about to admit he would have given in to the temptation of visiting Charlotte again if he could think of an excuse.

  Kit Fenton was a hard man to fool. He’d been orphaned at birth and brought up in a workhouse, where he’d lived on his wits and brawn until he had been adopted by a retired cavalry captain. It was Captain Fenton who had taken advantage of Kit’s skill with the sword to reform his ways.

  Gideon suspected that there wasn’t much Kit hadn’t seen in his time. He’d turned around the lives of many young men attracted to ruinous adventures. He demanded that his pupils train hard and follow a code of honor
.

  Gideon was sure that he wouldn’t be the man he was now if not for Kit’s influence.

  Even now his friend saw through him. “Your mind is not on your blade, Gideon. If you can’t pay attention, go for a walk.”

  “I’m afraid of where I’ll end up again.”

  “Then for God’s sake, go to her.”

  “No.” Gideon shook his head in refusal. “I can’t do it again. I’ll appear to be desperate.” Which they both knew he was. “Did I tell you about my incident at the theater?”

  “I saw the broadsheet.”

  “The other man was her first love. He didn’t return her desire at the time.”

  “And he does now?”

  “To his misfortune, yes.”

  “It’s only been what? One day? Three?”

  “What can he do?” Gideon asked with the aristocratic negligence that seemed to define his nature.

  “Challenge you?”

  “Good. I’d enjoy that.”

  Kit frowned, drawing up his shirtsleeves. “It would be unpleasant to duel right before your wedding. Bloodshed and brides do not mix.”

  “If my memory serves me well, you fought a match on your wedding day.”

  Kit grimaced. “I didn’t have a choice, did I? And don’t be modest. I doubt I could have concentrated if you hadn’t been watching over my bride.”

  “What else was I supposed to do?” Gideon shrugged. “I know you would stand as my second in a duel.”

  “Every pupil in the salon would. But that doesn’t mean I’m encouraging you to challenge anyone.”

  Gideon shook his head, listening to the laughter of students and the clatter of their foils from the lower rooms. “There are times when honor is an unpalatable brew to swallow.”

  “Love is far worse, Gideon. At least with honor one has warnings along the way.”

  Gideon made a mocking bow. “Thank you, O wise king, for the belated advice that doesn’t do me a damned bit of good.”

  He straightened with a grin that quickly faded when he recognized Devon Boscastle pounding up the stairs toward him. “And here comes my fairy godmother. I think he’s waiting for me to thank him for giving up the rest of my life.”

  Devon reached the top of the stairs. “Is that any way to greet a member of the family?”

  “Excuse me. I should have referred to you as the ‘evil fairy.’”

  Devon was impossible to offend. “Anyone care to practice?”

  “Yes,” Gideon said. “Stand right where you are and let me find the darts.”

  Devon regarded him with approval. “You look well these days, Gideon. Stopped drinking, did you?”

  “I look the same as I did two nights ago. What do you want with me now, you wretch?”

  “First off, I want to apologize for calling you a hopeless philanderer.”

  “I didn’t know you had,” Gideon said. “But now I really would like those darts. Or a set of Gypsy knives.”

  Kit walked between them, shaking his head. “Gentlemen, either air your differences outside or desist. If it is action you crave, then I suggest you put your stubborn heads together and concentrate on finding a certain lady’s lost epistles instead of creating new fodder for another scandal.”

  “Pax?” Devon said uncertainly to Gideon.

  “Why the hell not?” Gideon said, throwing up his free hand.

  “What are you waiting for?” Kit asked Gideon as he led the descent down the gallery stairs into the main area of the salon. “Why don’t you go to her? You’re damned useless as you are. I’ve fenced with seamstresses who ply a needle with more threat than you do your sword.”

  Gideon glanced at Devon, who shrugged, shook his head, and said, “Well, don’t look at me. You have the wedding license. I know that I would not be kept from the lady I desired.”

  “Go,” Kit said. “It’s inevitable.”

  “Idiots,” Gideon muttered, and strode out into the street, where his carriage waited.

  He wouldn’t dare visit the academy at this time of night. Then again, he wasn’t comfortable calling in the middle of the day, either. A compromise, perhaps? Yes. He would drive past the house and not call.

  If he was fortunate he would catch a glimpse of Charlotte in the window, and that would have to hold him until the next phase of their courtship began.

  The lady’s full-bodied screech rattled every bone in Nick’s body. It froze the blood in his veins. Lord God help the neighborhood, but she had a pair of lungs. He wouldn’t be surprised if she shattered the windowpane with her hysterical shrieking. He stumbled back in the flower bed, grateful he hadn’t been tippling or he’d have wet himself from the fright. He hopped over the wall and darted into the street, waving off a dog that ran after him.

  “Hey, you, move out the way!” a coachman bellowed, or something to the effect. Nick hadn’t heard a single hoofbeat or carriage wheel approach. He swore his eardrums had sustained lasting damage.

  As had his heart, pounding through his body like a military parade.

  Who’d have guessed that his beautiful lady of the lustful page could make that ungodly blast from hell? He hadn’t decided who would offer him the most coin for the diary, or if he would sell it at all. All he’d wanted was a peek at her, to see the face and form that matched her earthly confessions. And him thinking she was on the quiet side. He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he had her under the blanket and she went to that voice.

  He stopped, hands on his knees, drawing in draughts of air to still his pulse. Had she gotten a look at his face? He doubted it. He hadn’t but glimpsed hers before she lost her senses.

  He hawked in the gutter and resumed walking, contemplating his future. The next thing he knew a gang of thugs had fallen in line behind him, asking what he had planned for the night, and how they could be of help. He looked at them and slowly the lady’s voice receded. Nick could never concentrate on any one thought for long. It was about time he got in a good knife fight and impressed the band of homeless street boys who considered him a hero.

  Chapter 22

  “Miss Boscastle! Miss Boscastle!” Daphne Peppertree was beside herself with concern. “Charlotte, speak to me! What has happened? Did that duke break in here and take advantage of—”

  “Do not utter another word,” Charlotte said from the depths of the tufted couch to which Ogden and the footmen had borne her after bursting into the room. “There was a face at the window.”

  “The duke’s face?” Miss Peppertree demanded in a smug tone.

  “No, it was not,” Charlotte replied, struggling to sit up. “It was a leering face, a face with…”

  Miss Peppertree sniffed at her in suspicion. “Do I smell spirits on you?”

  “You certainly…” Charlotte stared down at her ruffled silk overskirt in dismay. In her panic she must have spilled her glass of sherry on herself. To make the situation worse, two or three of the girls stood listening at the door.

  “Where is he?” Miss Peppertree whispered, backing up a step. “Is he hiding in this room?”

  Charlotte sank back against the cushions, scowling at the preposterous question. “Do you see him hiding anywhere, Daphne? Is there one piece of furniture behind which a grown man could hide?”

  Miss Peppertree’s eyes narrowed. She couldn’t see two inches in front of her without her spectacles, let alone distinguish Gideon from a gargoyle. “A man?” She gasped, drawing her hand to the bosom beneath which it could be assumed that her heart was racing in maidenly consternation. “There was a strange man staring at you through the window?”

  Charlotte nodded weakly, the explanation nearly as exhausting as the ordeal.

  “A genuine prowler? Charlotte, are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said grimly. “His face was— Oh, Daphne. The expression…I can’t think of how to describe it. You’d have had the shock of your life if you had seen him.”

  “I had enough of a shock when I heard you scream.”

  Charlotte shutte
red. “I feel violated.”

  “That makes two of us,” the other woman said. “Violated by a man I’ve never met.”

  Miss Peppertree continued to stare at her in myopic sympathy. “Rankin has gone to fetch Sir Daniel. It’s his night to patrol. He’s probably down at the pub. And speaking of which…” She edged closer to Charlotte and sniffed the air again. “Is that sherry I smell? Is that odor of spirits coming from you?”

  Charlotte glanced down at the dark brown stain glistening in the fold of her skirt. “I’m afraid that it is.”

  The infamy.

  She had lost her diary, snagged a duke, and now appeared to have given herself to drinking and going into hysterics over a stranger at the window.

  “Trenton,” Miss Peppertree said to the footman standing helplessly behind the tea table. “Go and have a look about the house, and take a cudgel.”

  “I feel sick,” Charlotte said.

  “I would, too, if I were drinking this late at night. I never knew you liked to imbibe.”

  “Well, I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

  “As everyone is aware.” Miss Peppertree glanced up. “There’s a carriage pulling up now. It must be Sir Daniel.”

  “That was fast,” Charlotte said, sitting up again. “Daphne, find the glass I dropped, and please don’t bring up my drinking. I didn’t even have time to take a sip.”

  “Here.” Miss Peppertree gave her a cushion. “Hide the stain with this so that Sir Daniel doesn’t see it. We don’t want him thinking you’ve taken to the bottle.”

  “I haven’t—”

  The girls huddled in the doorway retreated suddenly into the hall to make way for the arrival. Charlotte’s heart lifted as Gideon cut across the room to the couch, moving with power and purpose. She didn’t know how or why he had appeared, but she had never been so glad to see anyone in her life.

  “I saw the lights on and noticed Trenton running down the street,” he said, the pitch of his voice gruff and oddly soothing. “What is wrong?”

  “A prowler, Your Grace,” Miss Peppertree answered before Charlotte could reply. “How fortuitous that you happened by at the same time.”

  “Oh, Gideon!” Charlotte whispered, staring up at his worried face. “I’m all right.”