Читать книгу The Brooding Duke Of Danforth - Christine Merrill - Страница 14

‘That went well,’ Abigail said, as she held the taper aloft to light their way down the long corridor to their rooms.

‘Sarcasm is not a virtue in young ladies,’ her mother said, peering into the gloom. ‘I have had far too much of it from you already.’

‘I was not being sarcastic,’ Abby replied. It was more an outright lie, as was the smile she’d pasted on her face so she might look sincere. ‘I was quite satisfied with the outcome.’

‘You alienated yourself from a lady who is esteemed by the Countess and her guests. You will find Lady Beverly to be quite charming, should you decide to speak to her.’

When put that way, it sounded almost reasonable to accept Lady Beverly’s friendship. Since things between herself and the Duke had come to a permanent end, the presence of his mistress should not really matter at all.

And yet it did. It still hurt to think of the two of them together, smiling and laughing, and even worse, doing the private, secret things that men and women did together. The rest of society might be able to forgive the charming Lady Beverly for her disgraceful behaviour. But they had not spent weeks wondering if the man they were to marry would stay with them long enough for the bed to grow cold.

But there was no point in living in the past or the future. To maintain her fragile peace of mind, she must concentrate on the present. She forced herself to smile at her mother, opening the older woman’s door and lighting a candle at her bedside. ‘You must console yourself on one point, at least. I will not be able to do anything else disgraceful until morning. Now, ring for your maid and get a good night’s rest, Mama. You will need all of your wits about you to mollify whomever I manage to offend at breakfast.’

Her mother’s mouth opened, ready with a scold. But before she could manage it, Abby had exited her room and shut the door after her. She leaned her back against the panel for a moment, listening to the sounds beyond until she was sure that her mother was settled. Then turned to go to her own room.

Suddenly, there was a scrabbling and clicking of nails on the oak floor of the hallway and the little black and white dog she had seen earlier came trotting out of the darkness towards her.

‘Hello, little fellow,’ she said, stooping down to pat him. ‘Have you been sent to guard our rooms? I do not think you are big enough to prevent a liaison, should I choose to have one.’

The idea was both bold and optimistic, since her public fall from grace had gone past the point where a man might consider her seducible. Even a rake would think she was more trouble than she was worth. But the little dog seemed to like her well enough and wagged his tail as he worried the toe of her slipper.

‘Be careful,’ she whispered. ‘They are silk and cost me all of five pounds.’

The dog was clearly unimpressed by the warning. When he looked up at her, he had a ribbon rosette clenched tightly in his teeth.

‘You little beast. Give me that before you ruin it.’ Then, as she usually did, she opted for rash action instead of discretion and lunged to grab him.

The dog proved too quick for her, darting between her outstretched hands and running further down the hall, pausing at the edge of the candlelight. There, he dropped the ribbon on the floor and offered a lopsided doggy grin of challenge.

‘I am not playing,’ she said, walking towards him more slowly this time so as not to startle him. ‘Give me that flower.’

His tail wagged slowly from side to side like a Maelzel metronome, timing her approach.

She slowed and the tail stopped, the little legs of the terrier tightening for a sprint.

‘Good doggy.’ It was a lie. Judging by the narrowing of his little black eyes, even the dog knew that. If she could not manage to make nice with the Countess’s guests, the least Abby could do was try to befriend her horrible little dog.

But not to the point of sacrificing a shoe. She ran the last few steps towards him and made a grab for the rosette. Her fingers touched the drool-damped silk for only a moment, then the dog grabbed it and tore down the hallway deeper into the house.

She ran after him, her candle waving wildly in her hand to light the way. In a house of such enormity, she would never see the thing again should she let the dog out of her sight. There were too many beds and sofas to hide it under and acres of lawn to bury it in.

Ahead of her, the dog reached the end of the corridor and went skidding around a corner. She hurried to catch up, turning to the right, then pulled up short. Halfway down the hall, the glow from a single candle revealed a man blocking the way. The dog was sitting in front of him, wagging his tail as if seeking a reward for the decoration that had been dropped at his feet.

Even before she could see him clearly, she had no doubt as to who it was. When lit by candles, the Duke of Danforth’s skin had a golden glow about it, as if he had been cast in bronze. The faint glints of copper in his hair that matched the flecks in his verdigris-green eyes only added to the illusion.

That first time she had seen him across the crowded room at Almack’s, he’d been so still and quiet that she’d imagined that someone had draped a burgundy wool coat over a metal statue. He had been a little too large and a little too perfect to be a living, breathing man.

Then, an equally inappropriate thought had struck her. Would the comparison to well-cast bronze hold, should he remove his garments? Without shirt and breeches, would she be able to find some flaw in him? Would he seem small and ordinary? Or would he have the deeply ridged muscles of a Poseidon, the commanding presence of a naked god?

Then she’d realised that he was looking at her.

Perhaps her speculation upon his person had been obvious on her face. For just a moment, his composure had slipped. Though he’d made no effort to cross the room, he had stared back at her, the rest of the room forgotten. Their gaze had locked for what seemed like hours. And then he had turned back to the woman next to him, offering a quiet aside and a last glance in her direction.

Lady Beverly had looked at her as well. Then, immediately back to him, offering information.

He had asked about her.

She had looked away, momentarily shaken by the attention, and enquired of the patronesses who he was. After learning that he was the ranking peer in the room, she began to hope that the night might not be the disaster she’d been fearing.

But nothing had come of it. As the hours ticked by, he had not come to speak to her. He’d not enquired as to the huge gaps in her dance card or the fact that her hands were empty of refreshment. He had not made even the most banal comment about the closeness of the crush, the quality of the music, or the beneficence of the hostesses. So, she had forgotten him.

At least, she had tried. Since he was a duke, he was not the sort of man it was possible to forget.

A week later, he had come to the Prescott town house to speak to her father. And before she had understood what was happening, she was engaged to him.

Now, he was staring at her out of the darkness with the same impenetrable expression he had worn that night, watching her approach without a word of greeting.

‘What are you doing here?’ she whispered, glancing around her to be sure that they were not observed.

‘Waiting for you,’ he said in a normal volume. The statement was accompanied by a bland look that implied the answer was obvious. ‘The Countess assured me a meeting would be arranged.’

If her idea of an invitation was to send that annoying little dog, then perhaps it had been. It had been surprisingly effective. Had the Countess of Comstock suggested that she come to an isolated part of the house to speak to him, she’d likely have refused. ‘What did you wish from me?’ she said at last, then waited for him to explain himself.

His answer came without polite preamble. ‘I suspect you are eager to get away from here. In the morning, my carriage will be at your disposal. You may be on your way before breakfast has ended.’

It had been too much to hope that he’d wanted to apologise for his part in the embarrassment before dinner, but she had not thought that he would be so eager to be rid of her. There was some consolation in his bluntness. She was far too annoyed by it to feel nervous. ‘Why wait for morning? I will wake my mother and we can be gone immediately.’

There followed a moment of silence that seemed to last an eternity. ‘You are mocking me,’ he said, at last. ‘It is pitch-black and pelting rain.’

‘How perceptive of you to notice,’ she said.

‘The weather, or the mockery?’

His riposte threw her off balance, for it had almost sounded like a joke. But it could not have been, for she had yet to see evidence that Danforth had a sense of humour. She blinked, marshalling her thoughts. ‘The weather is fearsome. I know, because I came in from it just a few hours ago. Do you have some prescience about tomorrow that you can assure me that the roads will be any more passible or the journey less of a threat to my safety?’

When he did not immediately reply she added, ‘Or do you simply want me to go away?’ The worry she felt in the ensuing silence was strange, for there was no reason to fear his answer. If she had cared what he thought of her, she should have found a less public way to cry off.

‘I thought I made it clear enough, when I offered for you, that I desired your company.’ Though she heard no trace of sarcasm in his voice, she was sure it was there. ‘You were the one to leave me. I am merely giving you the opportunity to do so again.’

Though it should not have, his frank assessment hurt. Some part of her had hoped he was angered by her departure. She had wanted him to feel something, anything at all, over the loss of her. But there was no indication that it mattered to him at all. ‘I will leave when it is sensible to do so, with or without your help,’ she replied. ‘At the moment, the roads are inches deep in mud and were near to impassable even before our accident. Once the rain has stopped it will be several days before they are dry enough to be driven on.’

He considered the fact for a moment, then nodded his acceptance. ‘Very well. If departure is impossible, we must learn to make the best of our time together and avoid any more unfortunate incidents like the one before dinner.’

‘When you attempted to introduce me to your mistress?’ she said, not bothering with subtleties.

‘When you snubbed a marchioness, who has been welcomed and befriended by your hostess,’ Danforth corrected, in the patient tone one might use on a child. ‘Lady Beverly has no problem with you and is eager to be your friend. If you expect the other guests to take your side in a feud of your own creation, you will be sorely disappointed.’

‘I expect nothing of the kind,’ she insisted.

He raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. ‘Then I shall put it down to a flair for the dramatic and a youthful tendency to act without thinking of the consequences.’

‘And now you are referencing the end of our sham engagement,’ she said, feeling a tiny spark of the anger she had felt in the weeks before the wedding.

‘A sham?’ Now, he seemed more puzzled than angry. ‘I offered in all sincerity.’

‘Not to me, you didn’t,’ she replied.

‘I distinctly remember speaking to you on the matter,’ he said, his brow furrowing. ‘We met in the salon of your family’s town house. I offered and you accepted.’

‘What else could I do? The whole matter was settled before anyone thought to involve me.’ Now, the single flicker of irritation was growing to something much more like rage. ‘You spent more time talking to my father than you ever did to me. The day of the wedding arrived, and I realised that I had not seen you since the day you made the offer. But my father had spoken to you at least a dozen times.’

‘We share a club,’ he said absently.

‘And we were to share a bed,’ she snapped.

For the first time since she’d met him, the façade of perpetual ennui disappeared and she saw real emotion on his face. His eyes darkened to the deep green of the sea in a storm and his lips parted in a smile that had nothing to do with mirth. Then, he moved closer until she could feel the heat of his body through the air between them. ‘Yes, Miss Prescott, after our wedding, I would have taken you to my bed. But a meeting of bodies is one thing and a meeting of minds is quite another. I had hoped that, after some time together, the latter would develop from the former.’

‘And I hoped quite the opposite,’ she said, surprised. ‘It cannot be possible to enjoy the marital act with a complete stranger.’

In response, he laughed. And something deep inside her trembled in answer to the sound. ‘Would you care to wager on the fact?’

‘It is likely different for men,’ she added, taking a steadying breath to counter the odd sensations that the question evoked.

‘In a way, perhaps.’ He placed a hand on the wall beside her head and leaned even closer, until she felt his breath at each word. ‘In my experience, it matters little whether the woman is a friend or a stranger. But for a woman?’

His voice grew soft until it was barely more than a whisper. And against all modesty, she leaned closer to him, so she would not miss a word.

‘The pleasure of the act has much to do with the skill of the partner. I can assure you, Miss Prescott, you would have had nothing to worry about.’

Then he reached for her. And without another thought she closed her eyes and waited for his kiss.

When it did not come, she opened them again, feeling like the foolish young girl he seemed to think she was. He had not been about to touch her. Instead, his fingers rested lightly on the holder of her candle, steadying it to keep her trembling hand from dropping it.

He nodded, confident that he had proven his point. ‘I believe we have reached an understanding on one thing, at least. When we see each other tomorrow at breakfast, I trust that there will be no more embarrassing scenes. If we can bump along together for a few days in peace, this whole unfortunate incident will be over and we need never see each other again. Goodnight, Miss Prescott.’ Without another word, he stepped away from her and proceeded back down the hall towards the occupied portion of the house.

At her feet, the black-and-white terrier sneezed as if to remind her of his presence. Then, after one final snuffle at the silk rosette, he trotted after the Duke, leaving her alone.