One Fine Duke

by Lenora Bell

  “Where can Rafe be?” asked Beatrice.

  That was the question of the evening. Mina searched for Drew in the crowd, as if the sights of Vauxhall paled without him by her side.

  “Do you think Rafe left London for a spell?” asked Beatrice. “I wonder if he took a foreign mistress? He could be in the graceful arms of a French actress.”

  “Perhaps.” Mina was fairly certain that Lord Rafe’s sudden journey had nothing to do with a mistress and everything to do with espionage.

  She caught sight of Drew in the distance and her heart flip-flopped. He stared at her as he approached, holding her gaze, a secret smile on his lips meant only for her.

  “I ordered a Burgundy instead of that diluted arrack punch,” said Drew, returning to the table and sitting across from Mina. “Where’s Mother?” he asked Beatrice.

  “She chased after Fitzbart—thought he might know where Rafe’s gone.”

  “I already questioned him. He knows nothing. Ah. Here’s the wine.”

  A waiter held out the bottle for Drew to inspect.

  Mina accepted a glass and took a small sip. The earthy fullness of it surprised her. She drank more. “Cherries,” she said. “Cinnamon.” She sniffed the glass. “Worn leather.”

  “Leather?” laughed Drew.

  “Saddle leather. Warmed from body heat.”

  He swallowed more wine. “I can taste the cherries but nothing so fanciful as leather. Maybe a hint of coffee? Coffee ground with rose petals.”

  “Strong, yet delicate.”

  He raised his glass to her. “Like you, Miss Penny.”

  If you like the taste of roses, you might try my bosom.

  Wayward mind, wandering down forbidden walkways.

  He stared at her with something hungry and untamed in his eyes. He’d said that he was frozen and he didn’t feel appropriate emotions. But his gaze was heated.

  It made her conscious of every movement she made—the angle of her fingers on the stem of the wineglass, the press of her breasts against the edge of her corset.

  Her reaction to him was impossible to suppress and defied all logic. It wasn’t something she could control. She longed to touch him.

  Tip the brim of his beaver hat up until it toppled off his head. Tear off her gloves. Bury her fingers in his thick, dark hair.

  His hands had been between her thighs when she’d been trapped on the chair.

  Huge, roughened hands.

  She’d wanted them to wander.

  He’d become the forbidden, exciting prize and she wanted to drag him off into the shadows and have her way with him, or let him have his way with her, or a combination of both.

  “What are you thinking about, Miss Penny?” Drew asked.

  Getting lost with you in the woods and never finding our way home.

  “I approve of this wine,” she replied.

  Beatrice watched them with a satisfied little smile on her lips. “Who needs a novel when a romantic scene is being enacted before my eyes?”

  Mina dropped her gaze to her glass. Had she been so obvious?

  “You’re causing quite a stir, Mina.” Beatrice nodded her head at a nearby supper box where a group of ladies was watching them. “If looks could kill, Lady Millicent would be a murderess. It makes me so happy. Carry on, you two.” She waved a hand at the bottle. “More wine. More compliments.”

  Drew cleared his throat. “There’s a group of the new Metropolitan Police Service in their long blue coats. I heard they were organized last year by Robert Peel as the first professional police force. They have a new headquarters that backs onto Great Scotland Yard Street.”

  “Is that so?” Beatrice giggled softly. “Very neat change of subject, brother dear.”

  Mina approved of the new topic. “Will they replace the Bow Street Patrols? What kind of weapons will they carry?”

  “I’ll go ask them,” said Drew. “I see a man by the name of Langley whom I knew before I left London. It appears he’s risen to the rank of inspector. I’ll report back.” He rose and made a short bow. “Miss Penny.” He narrowed his eyes. “Beatrice.”

  He walked toward the group of policemen.

  “I frightened him away,” said Beatrice. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  Lady Millicent left her seat and headed in the direction Drew had taken. Now who was the obvious one?

  Silly, frivolous thing to love, being the girl the duke had chosen, the one whose wine he poured.

  Mina knew he hadn’t chosen her. She was the thorn in the beast’s paw that he couldn’t shake loose, here by dint of persuasion and subterfuge.

  But no one else knew that.

  She looked like the chosen one. The queen of the night, as Grizzy had crowned her.

  In a few more nights, he’ll be all yours, ladies.

  Though there was something possessive in her that wanted to claim him.

  Eyes off. He’s mine.

  The two positions grappled in her mind, vying for dominance. It didn’t matter if she wanted to grab him and kiss him every time she saw him. He was the road to respectable rustication and convenient abandonment, and she was searching for the road to daring international intrigue.

  Stories from his boyhood, the strong circle of his arms, his wicked kiss . . . none of it brought her one step closer to setting her plan for her future in motion.

  But it did bring her closer to finding Drew. The real Drew, the one she sensed underneath his gruff, taciturn exterior. There was pain in his eyes and a depth she could detect but couldn’t reach. He obviously couldn’t trust anyone because of the kidnapping.

  But he’d trusted her enough to tell her some of the details. And he trusted her to be with him here tonight, to help him hand over the money.

  There was a tightrope stretched between them and if either one of them lost control they would both fall.

  It felt as though everyone in the other boxes along the colonnade, every member of the orchestra, every person promenading in the gardens must be aware of the tension between them.

  “Miss Penny, is it?” asked a cultured female voice.

  “Yes.” Mina turned to find Lady Millicent standing near her. Drew had taken Beatrice to see a fountain with a light show, but Mina had lingered in front of the orchestra, enjoying the dulcet, lilting tones of Miss Doyle, an Irish soprano.

  “I’m Lady Millicent Granger.” She pronounced her name as if the whole world should know and acknowledge her consequence. She was a beauty, to be sure, with fine green eyes, radiant skin, and honey-colored ringlets piled fetchingly atop her head and dotted with strands of lustrous pearls.

  “How do you do?” asked Mina politely, immediately on her guard. This was the lady who had always been horrid to Lady Beatrice, the one who’d set her eye on Mina’s prize.

  Not my prize.

  “Oh, simply divine.” Lady Millicent smiled. “Are you enjoying the gardens?”

  “They’re magical, are they not?”

  “It’s all paint and paste. Merely a clever illusion of grandeur,” said Lady Millicent. “I shouldn’t want to see it in the harsh light of day.”

  Worldly. Sophisticated. Elegant. Lady Millicent was everything Mina aspired to become and yet . . . her eyes were cold and her smile felt more like a sneer.

  “It’s my first time,” Mina explained.

  “Oh, believe me, I’m well aware of that. I’ve been doing some research, you see. I know all about you, Miss Wilhelmina Penny, ward of Sir Malcolm, of Sutton Hall, formerly of Berwick Street, London.”

  “Er . . . research?”

  “Know thine enemies, Miss Penny. One of my mottos.”

  “Are we enemies, Lady Millicent?”

  “We are.” Lady Millicent kept her voice pitched low, so that only Mina could hear. “Don’t think you can arrive fresh from the countryside, with no education, no accomplishments, and claim the greatest prize on the marriage mart. I’ve worked too hard for this. I was born t
o become a duchess, and who are you? A nobody.”

  “Do you feel threatened by me, Lady Millicent?”

  “Ha. Of course not. I only want you to know that I recognize your tactics. If I had known that Thorndon would arrive in London so suddenly, I certainly would have befriended the sister. Don’t think I don’t know about what you’re doing tonight.”

  For a brief moment Mina thought she might be referring to the exchange of coins for information, but then she reminded herself that Lady Millicent would have no way of knowing about any of that. “Whatever do you mean, Lady Millicent?”

  “Befriending Beastly Beatrice to insinuate yourself into the duke’s inner sphere.”

  Mina’s body went still. “Don’t call her that.”

  “Everyone knows she only has half a pretty face and half her wits as well.”

  “You need to stop talking now,” said Mina.

  “Or what, you’ll slap me in full view of everyone? My, wouldn’t that cause a scene.”

  Mina’s fists clenched. Lady Millicent was goading her, taunting her. She wanted her to make a scene.

  Stay calm. Walk away.

  Mina drew herself up to her full height, though she was inches shorter than her statuesque opponent. “If you were a man, Lady Millicent, I would throw down my glove and challenge you to a duel. Since you are a lady, I shall turn the other cheek and walk away.”

  Lady Millicent burst into laughter. “A duel? You can’t be in earnest.”

  “I’m deadly in earnest. I’ve a pistol in my reticule.”

  Lady Millicent laughed harder. Heads swiveled toward them. A lovely brunette lady wearing glowing pink silk approached. “What’s so funny, Millie?” she asked.

  “Miss Penny wants to challenge me to . . . a duel, Chloe!” gasped Lady Millicent between giggles.

  “Hush,” said Mina. People were beginning to stare.

  “Says she has a . . . pistol in her . . . reticule!” More peals of laughter. Lady Millicent was deliberately causing a scene.

  “Petticoats and pistols at dawn,” said Chloe. “What shall we call her, Millie?”

  “Let me see . . . I’ve got it! Beastly Beatrice and her defender, the Dueling Debutante. A match made in misfit heaven.” They dissolved into giggles again.

  Dueling Debutante. They’d spread the name throughout the ton, repeating the story of her challenge, embellishing it, making her out to be a hotheaded hoyden.

  She was a hotheaded hoyden, she’d always been one, always had trouble controlling her temper. So many things made her angry—being locked out, held at arm’s length, laughed at . . .

  Bursts of anger and humiliation sparked in her chest.

  She must remain calm. She shouldn’t let them goad her into a scene.

  “I’ve always said you can take the girl out of the countryside,” said Lady Millicent.

  “But you can’t take the countryside out of the girl,” rejoined Chloe.

  People stared at them. Mina’s face heated. She would probably break out into red blotches soon. She always did when she was angry.

  She didn’t belong here.

  She didn’t fit into their world and they could sense her otherness, these polished ladies with sharp tongues.

  The sound of their laughter echoed in her mind until she wanted to scream. Before she did something she would truly regret, she spun around and dashed away into the welcome darkness of the gardens.

  She must be able to exist in this world, as her mother had, disguise her emotions, learn to be witty and elegant. She had to learn those things because that’s what a spy did and she’d never be a good spy if she couldn’t disguise her emotions.

  She’d thought she was the queen of the night.

  But she was really the court jester.

  Drew saw Mina run into the gardens by herself. It was nearly time for their assignation with the extortionist. What was she doing?

  “Stay here with Corbyn,” he said to Beatrice.

  “Gladly, brother dear,” replied Beatrice with a knowing glint behind her spectacles. “Run after Miss Penny. And please don’t come back for at least a half hour, is that clear?”

  “Not very subtle, sister dear. You’re trying to push us together.”

  “It’s selfish, really. I’m doing it because I don’t want to lose you again. I think Mina’s your best hope. If anyone can melt that cold heart of yours, it’s Mina.”

  Drew walked swiftly away and broke into a run when he was hidden from the central grove by tall trees whose branches met overhead in shadowy archways.

  He caught a glimpse of silver through the trees.

  “Why did you run off like that?” he asked when he reached Mina.

  She wiped her cheek with an ungloved hand. “I wanted a stroll through the trees.”

  Her gown was shot-silk in a silvery color that matched her eyes. There were ruby eardrops at her ears.

  He had to touch her or he would die.

  He caught her fingers in his hand. “Something upset you.”

  Give me a chance to defend you, to loosen some of this knot of tension coiled in my chest.

  “It was nothing, really. Someone made a snide remark and I lost my temper. I’m not as cool and detached as you are.”

  “It’s not in your nature. You’re passionate. I like that about you.” He liked how she attacked life and how she didn’t hide her emotions—he liked it too much. “Was it Lady Millicent? I saw you speaking with her.”

  She nodded. “She feels threatened by me, so she lashed out. We all lash out when we feel cornered.”

  “Why would she see you as a threat?”

  “Think about it, Drew. We’re here together in public. It looks to her as though you’re showing a preference for me.”

  “Oh, I see. I suppose it could appear that way.” Because he’d invited her to Vauxhall with his family. Because he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

  He liked the way she made his sister’s eyes shine and brought her out of her shell.

  When his mother looked at Mina, he could practically see the visions of plump infants parading across her mind, chubby little fingers grasping her finger, a babyish voice calling her “Grandmama.”

  When Mina was nearby he couldn’t look at anything else. He found himself smiling for no reason. He’d caught himself in the glass before he left this evening with an unfamiliar curve to his lips.

  How had she circumvented his defenses so easily, and so swiftly?

  He was accustomed to control in all things. Control over his body, particularly his lips. He decided when to smile—and it wasn’t a decision made often.

  She forced him to smile, to see the joy and absurdity in life. It was her boisterousness, her unpredictability. It should have set him on guard but instead it made him smile.

  There was magic left in London. Full-bodied French wine on the tongue. A symphony carried on a summer’s breeze.

  Mina’s eyes filled with wonder as she drank in the sights.

  “I’m rash and impulsive,” she said. “My uncle was always trying to force me to be more circumspect. Oh, I wish I didn’t care what people thought of me. You don’t give a damn, do you?”

  “I wouldn’t say that. When they call me half mad, it stings, even though there’s some truth there. I’m not whole, Mina. I haven’t been since the kidnapping. When I was a rake, London approved. They understood me then, they were able to classify me. I was fulfilling the right role. But now that I live in seclusion they think I’m mad for giving everything up—everything that they aspire to. They don’t understand something so they vilify it. London craves villains.”

  They couldn’t comprehend why someone would give up the things that everyone else wanted in life—the easy access to opulence, the sycophancy, the power.

  It wasn’t a true power. He’d given up trying to change things through Parliament.

  Now he worked from within the agricultural system, one cottager at a time.

  “Lady Millicent chose her wor
ds carefully, to wound me, but I allowed her barbs to reach their target.”

  “You’re not impervious, you’re sensitive and you feel things deeply. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I want to say the right things, to make the right impression, but awkward speech just flies from my lips sometimes. You have a laconic way of speaking, almost as if you think your words aren’t that important. That whatever you say will be the right thing to say. But then titled gentlemen are born with an innate sense of worth, of their right to be in the world, and to occupy a large space in the world.”

  “I try to always say exactly what I mean. My words may be sparse but they’ll never be false.”

  Her gaze moved to the treetops. “You’ll probably hear my new nickname soon. Everyone will call me the Dueling Debutante. I may have insinuated that I wanted to challenge Lady Millicent to a duel.”

  Drew snorted. “Oh Lord. Mina. You do know how to make an impression.”

  She grinned ruefully. “I’m not denying the suitability of the moniker. But I feel stupid for playing into her hands. I must learn to be more controlled and detached.”

  “Please don’t.” He touched her chin. “Don’t ever change. You have such an expressive face. Your every emotion scrolls across it like a magic lantern show.”

  “Lantern show,” she repeated.

  “You’re lit from within, Mina.” He traced the line of one of her eyebrows.

  He wanted to kiss her so badly. Wasn’t that what dimly lit, unchaperoned garden paths were for?

  A loud whistle sounded in the distance. They were alone.

  “They’re lighting the lamps,” he said.

  A thousand oil lamps, touched by cotton-wool fuses, the flame passing from one lamp to the next, illuminating the trees.

  Dimming the stars.

  His heart touched by her fuse, consumed by her flame.