Lady Priscilla's Shameful Secret Page 6

  Veronica frowned at her, as though recognising that she had been caught in her own trap. But she released Priss’s arm and allowed her to proceed under her own power to the main floor. When the footman opened the door to the salon, her unwanted suitor half-turned to see her entrance, clearly interested but using his status to remind everyone that he expected to see those around him scurry to attention and not the other way round.

  It annoyed her no end. She took her time with the short walk to his side, turning the last few steps into a dawdle as the doors closed behind her, leaving them alone. ‘Your Grace?’ She made a proper curtsy, feeling much as she had on the previous day, only perhaps a little more desperate. This meeting should not be happening. Her revelation should have put an offer well out of reach.

  Which might mean he had other things than marriage on his mind. It might amuse him to keep the daughter of an earl as a mistress and would certainly tell the ton just how high above them he considered himself. If he made an inappropriate advance, she could do little to counter it. Her only chaperon was hiding on the other side of the house so that she would be unable to stop an indiscretion until it was far too late.

  She watched him uneasily, waiting for him to speak.

  ‘I have a gift for you.’ The duke seemed almost childishly pleased with himself as he pulled a long thin box from under his arm and held it out to her.

  She took it cautiously and lifted the lid just a crack before letting it fall closed again as her worst fears were realised. ‘I cannot accept these,’ she said flatly.

  ‘Why ever not?’

  ‘They are too intimate.’

  ‘They are gloves.’

  ‘Yes. I know.’ Long, spotless and white. She was sure, if she touched them, they would be of the finest and most perfect kidskin and a rival to anything she might have bought for herself. She placed her hand on top of the box lid so that she could not be tempted to open it again and pushed it back towards him. ‘A lady would never accept a gift of clothing and a gentleman would never offer.’

  His brow furrowed, as though struggling with an unfamiliar concept. ‘They are hardly indecent.’

  ‘That is not the point. They indicate an interest in my person.’

  ‘Of course they do,’ he said, still surprised. ‘Because I am interested in your person. It would make no sense to marry a woman who did not interest me in that way.’

  So he was still talking about a wedding. That was some consolation, since it proved he would not spring across the room and fall upon her like a ravening beast. If she had actually wanted to marry him, she’d have been in alt. But clearly he did not understand what he must do, when making a proper offer to a lady. ‘If you really wished to marry me, you’d have brought another sort of gift entirely. A book, perhaps. Or flowers.’

  ‘Flowers will die,’ he said firmly. ‘That cannot send the sort of message I would wish. And as for books? It is not that I never read, but I doubt that the things I favour would hold any interest to you. What would you have said if I’d brought you a stack of stock journals, tied up with a pretty ribbon?’

  ‘I’d have thought you mad.’

  ‘There. You agree with me.’ He pointed to the gloves. ‘Those are pretty, practical and will last you longer than the average bouquet. And do not argue modesty, for they cover an extremity I can see quite plainly now.’

  Which left her wishing she had changed to a more appropriate gown with full-length sleeves. He was staring at her hands, her wrists and the length of her arms in a way that felt strangely as if he was staring inappropriately at some other more personal part of her body.

  She hurriedly opened the box, removed one of the gloves and slipped it on, so that he would cease ogling her.

  It was a very nice glove. Though his manners were abominable, she could not fault the man’s taste. The leather caressed her hands and hugged tight to her arm like a second skin. The top was finished in a carefully punched scallop, so delicate that it almost seemed like lace. Hardly thinking of what it must look like, she put on the other glove as well, then held her hands out in front of her to admire them.

  ‘Here. Let me do up the buttons for you.’ He took one of her hands and turned it over, doing up the line of mother-of-pearl buttons at the wrist.

  She felt the little hitch in her breath as his large hands worked cautiously over the tiny buttons and brushed against the sensitive skin at her pulse. Then it was gone and he was holding her hands just by the fingertips, so that she could feel the heat and pressure through the thin leather that covered them.

  ‘They are lovely on you,’ he said, with little passion. ‘And though I can imagine a bracelet of diamonds resting there, it is hardly necessary to improve the beauty of your wrists.’

  That was more the sort of flattery she’d expected from a potential suitor. It annoyed her that she felt moved by it. And the gloves were not helping, for they made her feel both cherished and caressed. She hurried to undo the buttons and take them off again. ‘They are still inappropriate. But I thank you for them.’ Now that she had seen them on her hands, she did not really want to give them up. She cursed herself for the weakness, but put the gloves back in the box to set aside for later.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he responded. ‘And why did you run away with your dancing master?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, your Grace?’ She dropped the box in her haste to be rid of the gloves, then looked quickly around the room, fearing that someone might have heard.

  He must have seen her guilty flinch, but made no comment on it. ‘It is a simple enough question, I am sure. And one that only you know the answer to. I will repeat it more loudly, if you wish.’

  ‘No.’ It was quite possible that Veronica was listening at the door. Of all the topics of conversation she did not wish to open with her stepmother, it was the one that would lead to another rant on the foolishness of her elopement. ‘You do not need to repeat yourself. I heard your question quite clearly.’

  ‘Then I expect an answer. You must have had a reason. Or is this merely the sort of whim that you are prone to?’

  ‘I ran because I wished to escape a tyrant.’ If he’d meant to warn her of her father on the last visit, he must understand what she meant by this statement.

  ‘You wished to trade one for another, more like,’ the duke said, watching her reaction closely. ‘Did you have reason to think that the man would be a kind and generous husband? If he was crafty enough to have taken you away, he had designs on your fortune.’

  ‘Gervaise lacked any craft, I assure you. It was I who engineered the elopement. And I had no intention of marrying him. Not really. I expected to be caught before we could wed and dragged back in disgrace, which is exactly what happened. Then I would be sent with my sister to rusticate in the country.’

  ‘You said you do not like the country.’

  ‘Not particularly. But the city was intolerable, as long as my father was in it.’

  ‘And you thought, if you had shamed yourself sufficiently…’

  ‘That I could avoid a situation just like this one, where I was forced to marry a man I hardly knew.’

  ‘You wished to avoid me.’

  Because it must be about the man and his enormous self-importance. She rolled her eyes. ‘I suppose now you will tell me that you are hurt. But you asked for the truth and I gave it to you.’

  ‘Then I will give you truth as well. That seems like a surprisingly stupid and convoluted plan. Much could go wrong.’

  ‘Much did. I was caught, as I expected to be.’ And Gervaise had decided that there was no reason to wait for Scotland to assert his conjugal rights. She pushed that particular unpleasantness from her mind. ‘But I did not take my sister to the country. She’d met Mr Hendricks, in the few days I’d been away.’ She looked into his eyes, wonderi
ng how much he understood of her sister’s life before her marriage. ‘It was far worse for Drusilla here than it ever was for me. It pained me to see her constantly belittled and punished for my mistakes. And I made many, I assure you. I was a wilful child and I could not manage to control my own temper, when listening to his unreasonableness. But she bore the brunt of his anger. Her marriage got her out of this house, which was the thing I’d hoped for all along.’

  ‘You thought, by eloping, that you would help her?’

  ‘I thought that it might be good for both of us. I assumed that she could be chaperon to my disgrace and that we would be sent off together.’ She gave a helpless shrug. ‘Instead, she was happily married and I have been all but incarcerated, to prevent it happening again.’

  ‘I see,’ he said.

  ‘I doubt you do. You are a man and can never really understand what it means to be so totally under the thumb of another human being. You have freedoms that I cannot even imagine.’

  He laughed. It was an empty, bitter sound for a man so normally free of emotion. ‘The freedom to walk in a dead man’s shoes, you mean.’

  ‘The shoes of a duke,’ she said. ‘They are hardly a hardship.’

  He gave her a disgusted look. ‘I came to that position because two men I loved and respected died before their time. And a baby as well. Perhaps, in your family, heartlessness and calculation are the orders of the day, but I would happily trade the title to give any one of them life. And to have my old life back as well.’

  Of all the things she’d thought to feel for the man, she had not expected sympathy, or the sudden rush of kinship. She reached out and clasped his hand and felt him start in surprise. There was a moment’s awkwardness as they both adjusted to the unexpected contact. Then she said, ‘I am sorry for your loss. You are right. I am being selfish again. It must have been quite difficult for you.’

  ‘You as well,’ he agreed. ‘Having met your father, I doubt he grieved overlong for the man who held the title before him. Now he is willing to barter you for the small advance that a connection to me might bring.’

  He sighed and looked at her. ‘Of course, I am not much better. I was willing to take you nearly sight unseen, if it meant the best thing for my own name.’

  ‘Thank you for admitting it,’ she said, surprised yet again by his inappropriate candour.

  ‘But now that I’ve met you, it is something quite different,’ he added. ‘I wish to know you better and it has nothing to do with your father’s name or title.’

  She had been waiting a lifetime to hear someone say something just like this. Why, now, must it be this particular man? The undercurrent of fear she felt when she looked at him was still greater than any tender feelings. ‘That is very flattering,’ she said cautiously.

  ‘But…’ he said, placing a finger upon her lips to seal them against further words. ‘I already know you so well that I can predict your next words will be an attempt to put me off. So let us stop before we get to the equivocations that I am sure will follow. Will you admit that you barely know me?’ When she made an effort to speak, he added, ‘A nod will be sufficient for an answer.’

  She nodded.

  ‘And will you agree that sometimes it is possible to change your initial, and might I add totally illogical negative opinion about a person, after further acquaintance?’ He saw the militant glare she gave him and clarified, ‘You do not need to think of any particular person. I just wish you to admit to the possibility.’

  She gave another helpless nod.

  He removed his finger from her mouth. ‘Then will you allow me a week, or perhaps two, to dance with you, to visit with you, to spend time in your company. If I cannot persuade you in that time, I will admit defeat.’

  And in that time, Veronica and Benbridge would grow more and more certain. The inevitable failure would not sit well with them and she would pay the price for it, she was sure. ‘But my father—’

  ‘Will not be part of our discussion,’ he said firmly. ‘In the time we are together, I will keep you safe from the intentions of others, while seeing to it that you are more regularly welcomed in society. If we must part, I will make sure there are no repercussions from your family.’ He was glaring again, looking large and dark as a bear. She did not want to think what it would feel like to have that anger directed at her.

  But she rather enjoyed the idea that he wished to use it in defence of her. ‘What do you expect in exchange?’ she asked suspiciously, for she ought to know by now that no gift was ever offered without a cost to be paid later.

  ‘I expect a fair hearing,’ he said. ‘And that you wear the gift I have offered you when we dance tonight.’

  ‘Tonight?’ She shook her head. ‘Where is this dancing to take place? I have no outstanding invitations.’

  He gave her a grim little smile. ‘You will. See to it that you answer in the affirmative. And now, if you will excuse me?’ He offered her a low bow and reached for her hand, raising her fingers to his lips. She steadied herself against the kiss she was sure was coming, then relaxed in surprise as she felt the passage of nothing more than a warm breath from the kiss that he had directed to the air just above her knuckles. ‘Until tonight?’

  It was a question. ‘Tonight,’ she agreed. She was unsure of what might happen that would make any difference in her feelings, but she was curious enough to want to see it.

  Chapter Six

  Veronica proclaimed her well turned out for the evening; after admiring herself in the mirror, Priss could almost manage to agree with her. This Season, everything felt wrong. Tonight’s gown, a white silk embroidered with dainty sprays of white-and-pink flowers, was complemented by a single strand of pearls and a few pink rose petals in her hair. The effect was lovely and suitable for a girl of her age. In the hazy glow of candlelight she would give an appearance of innocence, but in her heart it felt like some bad joke.

  It still stung that she had not managed to procure vouchers for Almack’s this Season. Her friends were dancing there tonight. The crowd here was older, married and rather staid. She would have thought it to be just the sort of party that would have Dru in her stead. It made her wonder if there was a better event occurring somewhere nearby.

  She chided herself for that brief bitterness and set it aside. This was quite enough for her, she was certain. The champagne was cold, the ballroom glittering and the music lively. And she had to admit, she was enjoying her new gloves. They matched the dress, of course. To others they might appear quite ordinary. But when worn, the soft and supple leather was like a caress from a lover’s hands. They felt as she did: normal on the outside, but hiding a sinful nature.

  The company did not matter so much, any more. Once the rumour got about that Reighland was interested in her, there would be few men willing to compete with him.

  She should be happy, she knew. While he was not to her taste, it could have been much, much worse. He was not old, nor was he particularly unkind. Blunt, perhaps. But she had made several fatal faux pas in response and he had adjusted to each of them with barely a rise of his heavy black brows.

  ‘Lady Priscilla.’ Once again, the hairs on her neck stood up, as though the sound of his voice was a command to them.

  She turned. She dipped her head and curtsied. ‘Your Grace. I did not expect to see you there.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why not. You know it was I who saw you were invited. Asked the Hendricks to stand down for an evening, so that I might see you in candlelight.’

  ‘I meant standing so close behind me.’ And just as she’d been thinking of him. She felt a dull flush of embarrassment creeping behind her ears and stared at the floor. ‘Thank you, your Grace. It was most kind of you to procure this invitation.’

  He must have heard the reluctance in her voice, for he responded, ‘But it was m
ost mannerless of me to mention the fact. Sorry.’

  ‘Apologies are not needed.’ Where was her tongue? She should give him the sharp side of it, as she had before. Last year, the ton would have laughed along with her, thinking her impertinence to be charming. When had everything changed?

  There was another awkward pause and he took a swallow of wine from the glass he held. ‘If I am not in your black books, then you had best learn to look up at me when we talk. While the top of your head is very pretty, I would just as soon see your lovely face. If you can manage it, smile as well. It will be a longer evening than it already is if you mean to spend it frowning at my feet while I insult you.’

  To look up would remind her of his size, and of so many other things that she preferred not to think about. But he was right. Opportunities to get out of the house were rare enough and would be rarer still should she behave strangely. She forced her chin up to meet his gaze, summoned what grace she could from deep inside herself and let it flow out in a smile that she knew to be both charming and attractive.

  But no longer effortless.

  It was returned, from her companion, with little more than a solemn nod. ‘Very good. I was told that you were beautiful. But the word hardly does you justice.’ At one time, she’d have thought it flattery and responded with a flutter of her fan. But from this man, it was such a plain statement of fact that to react to it would be like blushing at a mention of the weather.

  He set his glass aside and offered a hand to lead her to the bottom of the set. ‘A dance, then? I imagine we can pull together in harness, for a few simple steps at least. Of course, you will find that I am no dancing master…’

  And there was the mention of her elopement again. Was it possible that he meant it as an idle comment? Or was it meant as a joke? Could he not see that her past was no laughing matter?

  He either did not notice her awkwardness, or pretended not to, leading her through a few turns and placing a hand upon her back. But the jibe stuck with her as they moved clumsily together. What had Gervaise said, in those stolen moments when he had taught her to waltz? That the movements of the dance were but an echo of the act of love. And remembering how that had gone…