Читать книгу Daring To Love The Duke's Heir - Janice Preston, Janice Preston - Страница 14

Dominic stared in disbelief at the swooning woman in his arms, her head tipped into his chest. How in hell had this happened? He tightened his hold around her as she sagged. There was no other word for it—her head lolled back on her neck and he was certain her legs were no longer supporting her. He tightened his arms again, instinctively taking note of her womanly curves and her soft flesh.

He peered down into her face and recognition speared him. Miss Liberty Lovejoy. Her eyes were closed, her golden lashes a feathery fan against her creamy skin; her cheeks were flushed pink; her lips...plump and rosy...parted to reveal small, white, even teeth. And the urge to press his mouth to hers took him completely by surprise.

He tore his gaze away and scanned the faces that surrounded the two of them, noting the various expressions.

Eager—they were the gossips! Disgruntled—the young ladies who aspired to his hand. Envious—the rakes and...well, more or less every male within touching distance, damn them. As if he would relinquish her to their tender mercies. Speculative—he would soon put a stop to that! And concerned...

He focused on the nearest of those faces. Lady Jane Colebrooke, whom Dominic had known since childhood. Jane’s family were neighbours of the Beauchamps in Devonshire—she was a kind girl with not a spiteful bone in her body.

‘Lady Jane, would you come with me, please? I shall need your assistance.’

He bent down and slid one arm behind Miss Lovejoy’s knees and hefted her up into his arms, cradling her like a baby. He felt something inside his chest shift as her rose scent curled through his senses and his exasperation melted away. However much she had defied the conventions when she had called on him, he knew it was from love for her brother. His own family were large and loving and he could not condemn a woman who put her family first.

‘Yes, of course, my lord.’ Jane bent to scoop Liberty’s reticule and fan from the floor.

Dominic headed for the door, slicing through the crowd which parted before him—like the Red Sea before Moses, he thought sardonically. Through the door and out on to the landing—the fingers of his left hand curving possessively around the soft warmth of her thigh. Jane kept pace with him and thankfully refrained from bombarding him with inane comments or pointless conjectures. Then the pitter-patter of footsteps behind them prompted a glance over his shoulder.

Just perfect!

Not the lady—presumably the Lovejoy girls’ chaperon—he had seen Liberty with earlier, nor either of her sisters. Any one of those would be welcome at this moment. No, they were being pursued by two determined-looking young ladies, both of whom happened to be in Dominic’s final five. He had little doubt that their reasons for following him had everything to do with currying his favour and absolutely nothing to do with a desire to help a stricken fellow guest. In fact, he had overheard Lady Amelia being particularly scathing about ‘those common Lovejoy girls’ earlier that evening.

At least with them here as well as Jane, I cannot be accused of compromising anyone.

A servant directed them to a small parlour.

‘Send a maid to assist, if you please,’ said Dominic, ‘and tell her to bring a glass of water and smelling salts.’

He gently deposited Liberty on a sofa and Jane snatched an embroidered cushion from a nearby chair to tuck under her head while the other two hung back and stared, doing absolutely nothing to help.

‘Lady Sarah!’

The Earl’s daughter started. ‘Y-yes, my lord?’

‘If you have come to assist us, be so good as to fan Miss Lovejoy’s face. She appears to have been overcome by the heat.’

Lady Sarah moved forward, but thrust her fan into Jane’s hand. With a wry flick of her eyebrows at Dominic, Jane wafted the fan, the breeze lifting the curls on Liberty’s forehead. Her colour was already less hectic, but Dominic’s hand still twitched with the urge to touch her forehead and check her temperature. He curled his fingers into his palm and stepped back, yet he could not tear his gaze from her luscious figure. The fabric of her gown—the colour of spring leaves—moulded softly to every curve and hollow, revealing far more than it should: her rounded thighs; the soft swell of her belly; the narrow waist above generous hips; and above that...good Lord...those gorgeous, bountiful breasts...

Dominic quickly shifted his gaze to Liberty’s face, uncomfortably aware of both Lady Sarah and Lady Amelia watching him closely.

Liberty’s lashes fluttered and her lids slowly lifted to reveal two dazed eyes that gazed in confusion into his before flying open in horror. She struggled to sit and Dominic instinctively pressed her back down. Her skin was like warm silk, smooth and baby soft and he longed to caress...to explore...to taste... The hairs on his arms stirred as his nerve endings tingled and saliva flooded his mouth. Good God...how he wanted to—he buried that thought before it could surface.

‘Lie still!’

She collapsed back at his barked command, eyes wide, and he snatched his hands away.

‘Who should I request to attend to you, Miss Lovejoy?’

‘Mrs Mount.’ Their eyes met and his heart thudded in his chest as his throat constricted. ‘She is our chaperon. Thank you.’

She half-raised her hand and he began to reach for it before recalling their surroundings. Their witnesses.

‘My Lord Avon, you may safely leave Miss Lovejoy in our care.’ Lady Amelia inserted herself gracefully between Dominic and the sofa. ‘This is no place for a gentleman.’

Our care?

He controlled his snort of derision—he’d seen precious little care from either Amelia or Sarah—but he knew she was right. This was no place for him and Liberty would be safe in Jane’s hands, he knew. Jane, still gently fanning, caught his eye and again flicked her brows at him, clearly sharing his cynical reaction.

‘I have hartshorn here.’ Lady Sarah, on his other side, reached into her reticule.

‘Good. Good,’ he said, retreating. ‘Make sure she remains lying down. I shall send a footman to alert Mrs Mount. Jane, is there anything else you need?’

Both Amelia and Sarah shot resentful glances at Jane. Mentally, he scratched their names from his list although he would still pay them some attention, if only to divert the gossips from identifying the three names that remained.

‘No, thank you,’ said Jane. ‘I am sure Miss Lovejoy will soon recover.’

Dominic strode for the door, every step between himself and all that temptation lifting a weight from his shoulders. He had purposely avoided her tonight. He had seen her across the room with a spare-framed woman in her mid-forties and he’d taken care to keep his distance—partly for propriety’s sake, when they had not, officially, been introduced, and partly through guilt because he still had not fulfilled his promise to speak to Alex. And the reason for that, he knew, was because his innate cautiousness was screaming at him to keep his distance from Liberty Lovejoy. But, try as he might, he had been unable to entirely banish her from his thoughts and he knew he must remedy his failure as soon as possible.

For the first time he wondered if she had seen him, too, and had purposely swooned to force him to catch her. He cast a look over his shoulder. Eyes like midnight-blue velvet followed his progress from the room. No. He did not believe her swoon was faked—she hadn’t even glanced his way as she stumbled blindly through the group that surrounded him and, if he was absolutely honest with himself, there had been half-a-dozen fellows closer to her than him, any one of whom could have caught her when she swooned.

Except... His jaw clenched as he reviewed his actions. He might not have consciously recognised her but, by the time she collapsed, his feet had already moved him to her side, putting him in the perfect position to catch her.

He paused outside the room, still thinking. His head began to throb. Good grief...he rubbed his temples. He hadn’t even known she existed three days ago, but she’d been on his mind ever since and now here he was—the instant he saw her again—playing the hero like an eager young pup in the throes of first love. He scowled as he scanned the landing. All his life he had avoided any behaviour that might give rise to gossip or speculation. He had always been far too conscious of his position as his father’s heir and the expectations he placed on himself.

He beckoned to the same footman he had spoken to before.

‘Please find Mrs Mount and ask her to attend Miss Lovejoy in the parlour at her earliest convenience.’

He was damned if he’d take the message himself—the more distance he kept between himself and the Lovejoys the better.

The sooner I make good my promise and speak to Alex about her dratted brother, the better.

His enquiry as to Alex’s whereabouts had elicited not only the information that his younger brother had taken a set of rooms at Albany, St James’s, but also that he often frequented the Sans Pareil Theatre, on the Strand, in the company of a group of young noblemen, the new Earl of Wendover among them. He felt a twinge of envy at Alex’s ability to make friends so easily—a trait that had somehow always eluded Dominic.

He returned to the salon. He had no particular urge to rejoin his earlier companions, but he must—he could not allow the other guests’ last sight of him to be of him carrying a swooning female from the room. He made polite conversation for twenty minutes or so and, once he was confident enough people had noted his return, he took his leave.

Too restless to go home and prompted by the events of the evening, he headed for Sans Pareil in search of Alex, determined to discharge his promise to Liberty as soon as he possibly could. From the floor of the theatre he scanned the boxes, finally spotting his father’s close friend, Lord Stanton and his wife, Felicity, Dominic’s second cousin. He ran up the stairs and slid into a vacant seat behind them.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Felicity’s head whipped round and a huge smile lit her face. ‘Dominic! Of course. We’re delighted to see you. But you have missed the play, you know. There is only the farce left.’ Her eyes twinkled. She knew very well that most people preferred the farce to the serious drama, which was why the theatres always showed the farce last in the programme.

‘I’m not here to watch either—I’m looking for Alex. Have you seen him?’

Stanton leant forward, searching the pit below. He pointed. ‘There he is,’ he said, ‘with Wolfe and Wendover.’

Felicity also leant forward. ‘Wendover? Is that the new Earl? Oh, yes. I see—the man with the golden hair? I’ve never seen him before, although I have, of course, heard the gossip.’ She settled back into her seat. ‘Such a dreadful thing to happen—the previous Lord Wendover and his entire family perishing in that fire.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s frightening.’

Stanton took her hand. ‘Try not to think about it, Felicity Joy. You mustn’t upset yourself.’ Then he twisted in his seat to face Dominic and lowered his voice. ‘The entire house was gutted, I hear. It is beyond repair. Wendover will have to rebuild.’

Was that why Liberty was so anxious about money? The knowledge that the family seat would need to be completely rebuilt?

‘Have you heard how the fire started?’

‘The bed hangings in the main bedchamber caught fire. Wendover and his lady were in bed. They didn’t stand a chance—the house went up like a rocket, with all those dry old timbers to feed the flames.’

Dominic suppressed his own shudder. Fire...it was a terrifying prospect, and an ever-present danger with candles and lanterns supplying light and with open fires where an unwary soul might find their clothes catching alight and going up in flames. There were new innovations, with gas lighting now more common in London streets, but there was widespread distrust at the idea of employing the new technology in private homes.

Felicity looked at them, frowning. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ She narrowed her eyes at Stanton and shook her head. ‘You should know better than to try to hide unpalatable truths from me, Richard.’

Her husband laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said, with a wink at Dominic. ‘But this is not hiding. It is protecting. You know the tragedy that occurred, but you do not need to know the details, my sweet.’

Felicity pouted, then smiled. ‘You are right. As you so often are, my darling husband.’

A laugh rumbled in Richard’s chest. ‘If you believe that last remark, Dom, my boy, you do not know women. Or, more particularly, wives. We men might hold the titles, property and wealth, but, in a marriage, it is the wife who holds the power.’ He captured Felicity’s hands and kissed first one palm, then the other. ‘My heart. Your hands.’

His smile confirmed his happiness at being in such thrall to Felicity and Dominic was happy for them. He was very fond of Felicity—they had worked together closely for years, supporting and funding Westfield, a school and asylum for orphans and destitute children—and he remembered only too well the traumas of the early months of Richard and Felicity’s arranged marriage. Would he be so fortunate in his marriage of convenience? He mentally ran through his shortlist and doubts erupted. Not one of them, from his observations, had Felicity’s kind heart and sincerity. He shifted uneasily in his seat and tried to quash those doubts.

I’m not looking for love. Nor for a comfortable wife. I want a lady suited to the position of a marchioness; someone with the perfect qualities to be a duchess in the future and capable of raising a son who will one day be a duke. Someone of whom my mother would approve and a daughter-in-law to make my father proud.

That had always been his destiny. From a young age, his mother had drummed into him his responsibility as his father’s heir and his duty to marry a lady worthy of the future position as the Duchess of Cheriton. It was the price one paid when one was firstborn.

His situation was entirely different to that of the Stantons.

He dragged his thoughts away from his future marriage to concentrate on the reason he had come to the theatre. If he could set Miss Lovejoy’s mind at rest about her brother, then hopefully he could move on with his plan without distraction.

Liberty’s brother was easy to pick out in the auditorium below, with his hair the same shade as Hope’s—a golden-blond colour, two shades lighter and much brighter than Liberty’s dark honey hue. Dominic watched him. He was behaving much as every other young buck in the pit—whistling and calling at the hapless performers and, during those times the onstage drama failed to hold his attention, boldly ogling the theatre boxes and any halfway pretty occupants. So far, no different to how most young men behaved when they were out with other young men and without the civilising influence of ladies to curtail their antics.

Alex, Dominic was interested to see, was more subdued—indeed, he looked almost bored, gazing in a desultory fashion at the surrounding boxes. He gave every impression of wishing he was anywhere but where he was. Whatever jinks the three young men were up to, Alex was not the ringleader.

Dominic leaned forward. ‘What do you know of Wendover, Stan?’

‘Not a great deal,’ Stanton replied. ‘A gentleman’s son, but his mother was some sort of merchant’s daughter. He attended Eton, but left Oxford early after his father died. He has three sisters and I’ve heard it was a financial struggle for them after their father’s death. He’s a lucky man, inheriting so unexpectedly. Why do you ask?’

‘He and Alex were pally at Eton and I’ve been told that Alex is encouraging Wendover in some wild behaviour. I’m worried Alex will slip back into his old ways.’

‘How old is Alex now?’

‘Five and twenty. Old enough to know better.’

Alex had always been a difficult youth, but Dominic, and the rest of the family, had believed the worst of his wildness was in the past.

‘I didn’t even know Alex was in town,’ said Stanton. ‘I heard Wendover’s new-found fortune has gone to his head and, looking at them now, I should say he is the instigator, not Alex or Wolfe. It is Wendover’s first time on the town—he’s bound to kick out. I shouldn’t worry too much, Dominic.’

How perfect if Stanton was right and it was Gideon trying to lead Alex and Neville astray. Dominic would enjoy putting Liberty straight...although...there was still the effect of Wendover’s behaviour on his sisters’ reputations—they would face enough of a struggle to be accepted in society, with their maternal grandfather being in trade, without a rackety brother to further taint the family.

He stood. ‘I’ll go and talk to him, nevertheless. I think you are right, but it won’t hurt to make certain.’ He shook Stanton’s outstretched hand and bent to kiss Felicity on the cheek.

Down on the floor of the theatre, he stood at the back until the end of the play, keeping a close watch on Alex, Neville and Wendover. As the audience began to leave, he moved to meet the three men.

Alex’s eyes met his. A smile was swiftly masked.

‘Dominic.’ Alex nodded casually.

‘Alex.’ Dominic kept his nod just as casual. ‘Why did you not let me know you were in town?’

He cringed inwardly as soon as he said the words. There was nothing he could have said more likely to provoke Alex into a fit of the sullens, as their aunt Cecily used to call them.

Alex shrugged. ‘I don’t need your permission to have some fun in my life, do I?’

Dominic bit back the urge to cuff his brother’s ear as he might have done when they were lads.

‘No, of course not. But if I’d known I could have let you know Olivia, Hugo and the twins arrived yesterday.’

They’d been due to arrive the day he’d met Liberty at Beauchamp House, but had delayed their journey a couple of days when one of the twins was poorly.

Alex’s eyes lit up. ‘Are they staying in Grosvenor Square?’ Dominic nodded. ‘Good. I’ll call on them tomorrow.’

Dominic then turned to Neville Wolfe, a friend of Alex’s since boyhood.

‘Wolfe. How do you do? Are your family well?’

Neville grinned and shook Dominic’s hand. ‘Very well, Avon. Very well.’

Dominic shifted his attention to Gideon, Lord Wendover. Miss Liberty Lovejoy’s twin brother. The family resemblance was strong—the same stubborn chin and the same blue eyes. He wondered idly if Wendover’s irises were likewise flecked with gold before jerking back to the realisation that he was staring mindlessly at the man. He thrust out his hand.

‘I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Avon... Alex’s brother.’

Gideon shook Dominic’s hand. ‘Wendover. Good to meet you, Avon, but... I beg you will excuse me—I’m due backstage.’

His words slurred and Dominic could smell the gin on his breath, but at least neither Alex nor Wolfe appeared foxed. Gideon was quickly absorbed into the throng of people slowly shuffling out of the theatre.

Alex muttered a curse. ‘I’ll call on you tomorrow, Dom. I have to go now. C’mon, Nev.’

He followed Gideon but, as Neville began to move, Dominic grabbed his arm.

‘Hold hard there, Wolfe.’

Neville halted, but looked pointedly at Dominic’s hand on his sleeve. Dominic released his grip.

‘Give me a moment,’ he said. ‘I just want to be sure he’s safe.’

Understanding dawned on Neville’s face. He’d been friends with Alex for a long time and had stood by him through difficult times and wild behaviour. ‘There’s nothing going on that need trouble you, Avon. We’re tryin’ to watch out for Gid, that’s all. He’s got the bit between his teeth—taken a fancy to Camilla Trace and we’re trying to stop him doing anything stupid like promise to marry her when he’s in his cups!’

Camilla Trace was a beautiful and popular actress currently appearing at the Sans Pareil.