Pride & Passion

by Charlotte Featherstone

  “LOOK, SHE’S COME, the Ice Princess herself. The Sussex Spinster.”

  “She is at least thirty now. Quite past any hope of marrying.”

  “Haughty creature, isn’t she? Look at the way she holds herself, above everyone, as though she were the highest ranking here. Everyone declares her an angel, but angels are not filled with hauteur.”

  “Blind to the world as well as her own failings,” someone snickered behind them.

  They had been in the Sumners’ music room less than five minutes, and already Lucy could hear the whispered taunts, filtering around them like a poisonous cloud. Alone, Lucy was forced to listen, and endure. She had thought it providence when Sussex had promptly abandoned them upon entering the room. She hadn’t cared a whit, that by leaving them alone, he had left them standing on the peripheries of the crowd, watching, as if they were on the outside, not permitted amongst the ranks of the ton. But now, she wished him back, his steady, cool eyes glaring iced daggers into the harpies behind them.

  “Plump as a hot buttered bun,” a woman with a rasping voice whispered nastily. “Not so grand a lady as she once thought herself. Quite lost any beauty she might have once possessed. And those eyes…eerie, aren’t they, seeing them open and perfect and knowing she can’t see a blessed thing out of them?”

  Lucy stole a glance at Elizabeth who stood tall and proud beside her. She was serene, not even a faint blush to mar the perfect porcelain of her cheeks while Lucy’s fair complexion was growing red and hot with indignation. A redheaded failing. She possessed the temper, and the skin tone that impeded any sense of serenity when riled.

  “Acts as though she were the daughter of a royal duke,” the rasping voice said once again. “Her mother was nothing but a generation removed from a disposed French aristocrat. French,” she spat, “not even good-quality English blood.”

  “I’ll wager she rues the day she turned down that young viscount. Look at her, plump and blind, and a spinster, while he is happily married with a lovely wife and a passel of beautiful children.”

  “Thought herself too good for him, just a lowly viscount. Well, serves her right for being such a snob. Look at her now, firmly on the shelf. No one would want her for a wife, or the mother of his children.”

  Lizzy raised her chin a fraction higher, the only movement Lucy could discern as they stood side by side waiting for the hostess to announce it was time for them to take their seats. Lucy, unable to bear it any longer, turned to send the gossiping biddies a scathing set down, but was stopped by the feel of a leather glove on her bare arm.

  “Pay them no heed,” Lizzy whispered. “It is naught but the hateful words of empty-headed women.”

  “How can you bear it?” Lucy snapped. “I am livid with them for what they’re saying.”

  “I bear it, because I am better than them. I would never dare disparage another, unlike them. I won’t stoop to their level, and I would not have you do so, either. Let us annoy them by not remarking upon their comments. Indeed, they’ve said them loud enough. One could only surmise that it was purposely done. The best and most exasperating thing to do is to ignore them completely. Act as though they and their thoughts are utterly insignificant, that they are beneath our contempt.”

  “Lizzy—”

  Her friend merely patted her arm. “I feel pity for them, that they must occupy their time being so vengeful and hateful. Imagine how empty their lives must be. How unhappy. Imagine taking delight in cruelty as they do.”

  Gripping Elizabeth’s hand, Lucy tried to stem the flood of anger that threatened to spill over. How dare they, those gossiping fools, say such things about Elizabeth? Elizabeth who was everything that was kind and pure.

  “You’re vibrating like a tuning fork,” Lizzy murmured. “Pray, let it be, Lucy.”

  “I cannot. If you could only see the self-satisfied expressions on their faces. It…it quite makes me feel violent.”

  Smiling, Lizzy kept her unseeing gaze straight ahead. “That is possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. And I do wish to thank you. But I have a very thick hide, and their taunts no longer have the sting they used to. But I would like to clarify one thing. The viscount—Newbury, it was. I refused him not because he was merely a viscount, but because there was no affection between us. He was down on his luck, and needed a fortune. He was one step away from running to the continent in an attempt to flee his creditors. I suppose he felt that the blind sister of a duke would be easy prey.”

  “But he discovered something else?”

  “Yes. How formidable a blind woman can be, and how enraged her brother can become. Sussex tossed him out after planting his fist into Newbury’s nose.”

  “Sussex?” Lucy gasped. She could not imagine the proper duke engaged in fisticuffs. Why, it was positively undignified.

  “You sound astonished, Lucy. I assure you, Sussex can be very unducal at times. Beneath the title, he is just a man.”

  Just a man…. Lucy couldn’t countenance it. The duke was everything that was proper, but she could not deny that he had possessed a certain edge she had never seen in him before.

  “Now tell me, how is the room decorated?”

  Lucy stole a glance behind her, sent the rasping voice woman a lethal glare before turning her attention back to her friend. “It’s really rather glorious, Lizzy. The room is circular, and the ceiling is domed glass—the sky beyond the glass is like rippling black velvet, the stars, silver gems twinkling amongst the folds.

  “Oh, how nice.”

  “There is a bank of French doors and between each set of doors are Corinthian columns, made, I do believe, out of marble.”

  “Not too bad for the youngest son of an earl, is it?”

  Lucy smiled and squeezed Lizzy’s hand. “Not bad at all, I would say. Now, the walls are a very pale blue, with white plaster work. The ceilings are high, crowned with thick plaster moldings that contain images of fruit and flowers. On the walls, family portraits hang, and the pianoforte dominates in one corner. On top of the piano is a large bouquet of white lilies and pale pink roses in a gilt vase. Overall, it feels stately and elegant, but not at all stuffy.”

  “I can picture it, Lucy.”

  “It’s grand, truly elegant. And there are so many people here. Quite a crush.”

  “I can feel the heat,” Lizzy said. “It is quite a crush. Now, the gowns, if you please.”

  Lucy glanced around the room, her gaze skimming from person to person, taking in the array of colored gowns, the velvets and silks, and the elaborate edgings. She saw one gown that caught her eye, and she began mentally sketching how she might take the style and make it more becoming for her figure.

  “Nothing that stands out, hmm?” Lizzy said, a smile sounding in her voice. “Then let me ask, who are we listening to tonight? I assume Mr. Beethoven and Mr. Mozart?”

  Lucy glanced down at the program she held. “And Mr. Schubert. The queen adores Schubert, I understand. It was said Prince Albert courted her to Schubert.”

  “Mmm, yes. I rather think that must have been a very romantic courtship, don’t you?”

  Just as Lucy looked up from the program, her eye caught the fleeting image of a tall blonde woman in an exquisite dark blue gown. Lucy didn’t know who she was, only that she was the most stunning woman in the room, and she was headed directly toward the Duke of Sussex.

  Curious, she followed the woman’s progress through the room; the swath she cut; the appreciative smiles—and leers—of the men; the glares—and cut—direct from the ladies.

  When the woman’s gloved hand slid down Sussex’s arm, he turned, and the change in his expression gave rise to a very strange, very disagreeable feeling inside her, one that came swiftly out of nowhere.

  Rude as it was, Lucy could not stop herself from watching the two of them, of thinking how perfectly matched they were. The woman was tall, and Sussex did not have to incline his head to talk with her. Not like how he had to with her.

  The woman
then lowered herself into a deep and sensual curtsy, the dark blue of her silk gown glimmering in the gaslight. Lucy could not help but notice how the woman’s ample bosom was showcased to the greatest effect by her position. The duke reached for her hand, helping her to rise then lifting her gloved knuckles to his mouth, where he smiled so enticingly before kissing her hand. There was some mysterious, unspoken message in his gaze, and unconsciously, she crushed the delicate vellum program in her fist.

  Lucy was certain that her mouth gaped open like a floundering fish, and quickly she snapped it shut then cast her gaze around her, hoping no one was watching her. Thankfully no one was. Who would be, she wondered, when the duke and his lady were commanding their curious glances?

  After so narrowly escaping embarrassment, the prudent thing to do would be to look elsewhere, but her eyes were drawn to the spectacular couple like a moth was to a flame.

  The woman was draped in jewels; the long diamond ear bobs reached her delicate shoulders, which were bare. Lucy watched how the diamonds grazed her skin, how they twinkled in the light, giving the woman a seductive radiance. She saw, too, how the duke’s gaze dipped to the earrings, then the bared shoulders, and lower, to the voluptuous bosom that was barely contained beneath blue silk.

  The gown, while very plain, was elegant in its simplicity, tailored to showcase the woman’s figure. Her golden hair was piled high, showing off her long, slim throat, and the diamond pendant necklace that nestled provocatively in her décolletage.

  Courtesan… The word screamed at her. This was a woman of the world, sensual, sophisticated, and she had Sussex eating out of the palm of her hand.

  “Who is that woman that Sussex is talking to?” she blurted out in a somewhat peevish tone, before she could help herself.

  With a quiet chuckle, Elizabeth said, “As I am quite blind, Lucy, I have no idea.”

  Flushing, Lucy stiffened beside her friend. The woman was inching closer to Sussex; he was dropping his head as the woman reached up and whispered something in his ear. What would those gray eyes be like now, she wondered, with that sinful creature’s lips whispering against his ear? No doubt his gaze was fixed on the expanse of flesh the woman seemed intent upon showing him.

  And what did she care? she asked herself.

  “If you would describe her, Lucy,” Lizzy suggested, “I might be able to help you.”

  No, she didn’t care to—she did not want to look at the woman any longer than she already had. But then came the dawning horror: she could not seem to make herself look away.

  “Perhaps it is Dorthea Abernathy? She has made somewhat of a nuisance of herself lately.”

  “He doesn’t appear to be annoyed by her presence,” she grumbled.

  “Is she dark-haired? It might be Lady Greaves. Recently widowed, and looking for a new a husband.”

  “No, the woman is blonde.” A very beautiful, very sensual, very skilled blonde, quite at home in her own skin…

  Lizzy frowned. “Well, then, I have no notion who it could be. Sussex barely leaves the house, unless it is to go to his lodge, or his club.”

  Or Brethren business.

  “It is of no consequence.” Lucy winced, hearing the superfluous tone she’d used. Lizzy was smiling now.

  “Is it not?”

  “No. It is absolutely not.”

  The dynamic couple parted, and she stiffened as the duke turned his head and found her watching him. Willing herself not to blush, she looked at him as though she were seeing right through him. She would not give the man the satisfaction of thinking she thought anything about him, and the little scene that had just played out with the woman.

  And he claimed to be sincere in his compliments. What utter rubbish! Raising her chin, she looked away, conscious of a strange trembling that had somehow taken over her hands.

  “Ladies.”

  The duke’s velvety voice swept over her from behind, and she jumped, not realizing he had even moved from his spot.

  “Shall we find a seat?” he asked. “I would be honored to escort you both.”

  Lucy fought the urge to search the room for the woman. Would Sussex find a seat close to her, so he could watch the mysterious woman during the performance? Would she then be forced to bear witness to the nauseating scene?

  Really, there was nothing more revolting than a man of Sussex’s stature and reputation slobbering over a beautiful woman. She had thought him better than that, above the sort of base temptations that rule so many of the men of their sphere.

  Perhaps you were wrong, a wicked voice inside her taunted. You thought him devoid of any passion at all, but perhaps…

  Oh, do shut up! she wanted to shout. She was becoming quite unglued, her mind a rambling collage of idiosyncratic thoughts! You do not like Sussex, she reaffirmed. You do not care who he speaks to or who he spends time with. In essence, you don’t give a damn about the Duke of Deliciousness.

  “Shall we?”

  Reluctantly Lucy placed her gloved fingers on the duke’s left arm. Lizzy curled her forearm around his free one, and they then proceeded to the chairs. Sussex haughtily claimed the best seats in the room for them. She noticed the blue goddess was nowhere in sight.

  “Champagne? Punch?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” Lizzy replied. Lucy merely shook her head.

  She was in a devil of a mood now, and she couldn’t reason out why. She had been relieved at the duke leaving them to their own devices when they had first arrived. Hadn’t she? She didn’t want to be with him, to have to make conversation with him, and play the part of a polite well-bred young lady. Right?

  Oh, where was Isabella at these moments, to inflict her calming, rational influence upon her? She was utterly befuddled, and she didn’t like it. Frowning, she felt the duke’s body brush against hers, and she didn’t like the sensation that shot down her flesh at the contact.

  “Is the seat not satisfactory? You’re frowning.” He was seated between her and Lizzy, and when he inched to his left to whisper that, she was overwhelmed by the cloying scent of perfume. The blue goddess’s perfume. Well, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing what she thought of him and his goddess. Like Elizabeth, she would rise above, and provoke him by ignoring the fact he had made a spectacle of himself with that woman.

  “The seat is perfectly fine. Thank you.”

  His brow furled, and he pulled away. Lucy kept her gaze focused straight ahead, wondering when the music would begin. She wanted to get lost in the mindless minutes that would follow. She wanted not to think of Sussex and his paramour, but of her lover. Thomas. Who she had seen that afternoon. Who she intended to make plans to meet.

  How had she almost forgotten the event? How, when the last eight months had been consumed with finding a way to be with him once more.

  “You look lovely in this shade of crème,” Sussex whispered. “Champagne silk and pale pink,” he murmured, and to Lucy’s horror she saw how he discreetly rubbed his fingers along the nap of fabric. “Exquisite. Your modiste is very gifted. She’s designed the most beautiful dress here tonight.”

  More lovely than the blonde’s blue dress? she wondered sourly. It wasn’t like her to be petty, but suddenly the emotion took hold of her. In reality she should thank him, and glow at the compliment, for she was the modiste who had designed her gown. But something irked her about that brazen woman saddling up to the duke. She had always found it quite easy to ignore him, but lately…lately she had found her thoughts were more and more drawn to him, and that gloomy morning in the parlor when he had returned the handkerchief to her. They had become enemies that morning, but it was a strange sort of opposition, one that seemed to be drawing them closer to one another, not pulling them apart.

  Perhaps that was his plan, like a spider drawing its prey into its web. Perhaps it was the method of the Brethren Guardians to keep those they distrusted the most within arm’s reach. Whatever it was, this new…acquaintance that had unwittingly been forged between them
had to stop.

  Lucy was aware of the way Sussex’s gaze stayed focused on her, aware the moment his gaze lowered, lingered over the tiny rise of her bosom, and the decadent Irish lace she had used for a flounce along the neckline. He would be sadly disappointed if he were looking for the same sort of voluptuousness his blonde goddess possessed. Greatly disappointed, she reminded herself, for Lucy had been shortchanged in that department, by being given two small, firm apples for breasts.

  “You really do loathe me, don’t you?”

  He’d murmured that, and she wondered if she was meant to have heard it. Turning her head, she studied the man seated beside her. Normally his gray eyes possessed a chilly tone, but now…they were downright glacial. Something compelled her to honesty—perhaps it was the flicker of pain she saw in those cold depths. “Loathe is a very strong word, your grace.”

  “As strong as your dislike of me?”

  Cocking her head, she tried to understand this perplexing exchange and her response to it. “Is this a continuation of our discussion this afternoon? If so, I have no desire to finish it. I thought we said everything that needed to be aired out between us.”

  “Everything? Hardly,” he rasped. “All that was said was that you will not countenance the idea of a marriage between us because you despise me.”

  “I never claimed to despise you, your grace. That’s a rather strong feeling.”

  “Then, may I ask what it is you feel? If it is not contempt, or loathing, or ambivalence? What is it?” His fingers rubbed against her skirts while his gaze stayed pinned on her face. “What have I done or said that makes me so abhorrent?”

  She flushed, glanced nervously about her. But the guests were all talking amongst themselves, and it was impossible that they would have heard him. “Can this not wait until another time?”

  “No, I don’t believe it can. You see, it has been the most frequently asked question in my mind, ever since that night I escorted you to that séance. Do you recall?”

  Inwardly Lucy groaned. He would have to bring up that night.

  “I made it very clear that I desired you, and when I kissed you, you slapped my face. What have I done to make you feel this way?”