Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes - Laurie Benson, Laurie Benson - Страница 17
ОглавлениеDescending the staircase in the centre of Hatchards, Katrina scanned the room below her. This bookshop was one of her favourite places in London. The soft whispers and the occasional sound of the turning of pages were welcome after spending the entire morning on social calls with Mrs Forrester and Sarah.
As she continued to search for her maid Katrina let her gaze skim over the few patrons who were selecting books from the dark wooden bookshelves that lined the walls. An older woman in an elaborately decorated black hat was comparing books with a younger woman dressed demurely in lavender. Near them a dandy dressed in a navy jacket and puce trousers stood in a studied pose, reading the book he held through his quizzing glass.
Scanning the room further, Katrina felt her heart skip a beat. Standing near her maid, at a table piled with books, stood a broad-shouldered, dark-haired gentleman in a finely cut bottle-green coat, buckskin breeches and top boots. Was her time in London destined to be cursed with the presence of the rude Englishman from the Russian Ambassador’s ball?
Katrina hesitated on the staircase, wondering if she should turn around and go back upstairs before he spotted her. Suddenly he lifted his head, as if sensing her gaze, and their eyes met. She could not turn back now. Taking a breath, she gripped the wooden banister and proceeded to slowly walk down the stairs towards Meg.
Katrina picked up the first volume of Frankenstein and thumbed through the pages. ‘Have you found anything of interest?’ she asked Meg.
Her maid smiled and showed Katrina the book in her hand.
‘I do not believe Clarissa is an appropriate choice for you,’ Katrina said.
‘I’ve heard it’s scandalous, and I’m hoping they have it at the lending library. The heroine is told to marry an unappealing gentleman and then is tricked into running away by a rake. I bet there is a dungeon in the story. I love a story that takes place in a dungeon.’ Meg sighed and then glanced inquisitively at the book in Katrina’s hand.
Taking into account her maid’s vivid imagination, Katrina quickly placed Frankenstein back on the table. ‘I’m well aware of the plot. You do know you can borrow any of my books?’
‘Do they have dungeons, kidnappings, evil earls or ghosts?’
‘No.’
‘Then why do you think I would want to read them?’ Meg asked, wrinkling her brow.
There was a deep laugh from across the table. Keeping her head averted under the rim of her bonnet, Katrina blocked her view of the gentleman across the table. Searching for a more appropriate novel, Katrina spotted a copy of her father’s book. As she reached for it her hand brushed against a strong hand encased in a brown leather glove. Startled, she looked up.
‘We meet again,’ the annoying Englishman said.
No, we don’t, because you are too rude to seek an introduction!
Katrina took a breath to compose herself before she spoke. ‘So it would seem.’
‘Forgive me. I believe that is the book I have been searching for.’
‘This book?’ Katrina asked, holding it up to show him the title on the spine.
‘Yes, that is it.’ He reached for another copy and began to turn the pages. There was a hesitation before he looked up at her. ‘I’ve heard it’s a very good book. You would not happen to know anything about it, would you?’
‘I can highly recommend it. The book presents the observations of a traveller and contains much happy humour.’
Katrina glanced around the shop to see if anyone was watching them. Meg had moved to a nearby bookcase, engrossed in Clarissa. What was the point of having your maid accompany you around the town if she walked away when the man you wanted to avoid began speaking with you?
He walked around the table and stood next to her, smelling of leather and fresh air. ‘The account is humorous?’
‘Yes, Lord Byron has said he knows it by heart, and Scott has said it is positively beautiful. I understand the book is selling rather quickly. You might wish to purchase one before they are all sold.’ She looked closely at him, challenging him to actually buy it.
‘You appear intimately acquainted with the book,’ he commented, his eyes narrowing.
‘I suppose I am. My father is the author.’
‘You are Mr Vandenberg’s daughter?’ he asked in a rush of breath.
‘Yes, my lord, I am.’ She crossed her arms over her chest. If he said one disparaging thing about the fact that her father was a writer she was leaving immediately. He would deserve the cut.
He tipped his head to her. ‘Then I shall be certain to take your recommendation. My grandmother speaks highly of it as well.’
‘Your grandmother?’
‘Yes. My grandmother seems to have misplaced her copy. I came here today to purchase a new one for her.’
He was intending to purchase her father’s book because his grandmother had lost her copy? That seemed rather...sweet.
Katrina caught herself before she smiled. He wasn’t sweet. He was rude! Still, she couldn’t help asking him if he was a doting grandson.
‘I suppose I am.’
He smiled at her and he appeared even more attractive.
‘She seemed truly distressed to discover it missing.’
He stepped a bit closer and inhaled. Was that some odd English custom?
Katrina eyed him and placed her father’s book down. ‘Did you just sniff me?’ she whispered.
A small smile raised one corner of his lips. ‘Now, why would I do that?’
‘Why, indeed?’ Katrina replied, narrowing her eyes at him.
She edged a little further down the table. The heat from his body somehow made its way over to her. This man had ignored her for days. Why couldn’t her body do the same to him? She could practically feel his every breath. That slightly unsettling feeling was back.
‘If you will excuse me?’ she said, turning to leave.
He blocked her way with his body. ‘You do not need to leave yet, do you?’
‘I cannot stay. You must realise our speaking without an introduction is highly improper.’ It was easier not to look at him, and she picked unseen strings from her pale blue and white spencer.
He glanced around and edged closer to her. ‘That didn’t bother you before.’
‘A momentary lapse in judgement.’
‘No one here knows we have not been formally introduced,’ he said quietly.
‘We know we have not,’ she chided. ‘And you have done it again! You sniffed me.’ She stepped away from him, feeling more than a little unsettled. ‘I can assure you Americans do bathe.’
His lips twitched. ‘Why do you smell like lemons, Miss Vandenberg?’
Katrina’s brows drew together in confusion. ‘That is irrelevant—and I refuse to carry on this conversation when I do not even know your name.’
‘We could remedy that easily. I could simply tell you what it is.’
‘Do you always flout the English rules of conduct?’
He appeared to ponder her question for a moment. Then he shook his head. ‘Actually, I never do. However, I see no harm in it this time. But if you insist we will do this in the proper manner. I shall need to borrow your maid.’
‘You’d like to borrow my maid?’
‘I would.’
He walked to Meg, who was watching the interaction between her mistress and this perplexing Englishman. They bent their heads together, and a short while later both walked towards Katrina.
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ Meg said, trying unsuccessfully to hide her smile, ‘may I present His Grace the Duke of Lyonsdale? Your Grace, this is my mistress—Miss Katrina Vandenberg.’ She curtsied and watched them both closely.
The scoundrel! Katrina’s eyes widened. ‘You’re a duke?’
A slow smile made his lips turn up invitingly. ‘I am.’
‘You are the Duke of Lyonsdale?’
‘Yes, I believe we have established that.’
Meg, as if sensing her mistress’s temper, smartly moved back to her place by the bookcase.
‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Katrina demanded.
‘My name? I was going to, but you seemed to need a proper introduction so I had your maid do it.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ Katrina said as she shook her head. ‘You led me to believe you were simply a lord.’
‘How did I do that?’
‘You did not correct me when I addressed you. You must have found my ignorance vastly entertaining,’ she replied waspishly.
It had been bad enough when she’d thought he might be a titled gentleman, such as a baron, but he was a duke! In England, his station in life was so far above hers he probably would never have spoken to her again if it had not been for this accidental encounter.
She would not show him that it hurt.
‘Miss Vandenberg—’
‘I’ll not be played for a fool. I’m sure you have enjoyed telling your friends how ignorant Americans can be. Well, let me tell you—’
‘Miss Vandenberg,’ he interrupted more forcefully. ‘I didn’t correct you because we had not been introduced. I had no opportunity to tell you my name or indicate my station.’
‘You could have corrected the way I had addressed you.’
‘And sound like a pompous fool? I think not.’
He certainly would have sounded like a pompous fool, but Katrina was not convinced he didn’t have another motive for not telling her the truth. He must have had a great laugh at her expense.
‘In any event, what you did was rude.’
Both his brows rose and he jerked his head back. ‘I assure you, causing you any distress was most unintentional.’
Then his lips twitched, and she wanted to throw a book at him. The man was insufferable.
‘You are laughing at me,’ she said through her teeth. ‘I believe I have spent too much time here today. I bid you good day—Your Grace.’
As she stormed out of the bookshop she wished she could restrict her engagements to those he would never consider attending.
* * *
Julian’s encounter with Miss Vandenberg left him perplexed. No one had ever schooled him in proper behaviour before. No one would ever have dared. And yet this American had thought it necessary to inform him that he was rude.
He should have been insulted by the way she’d spoken to him, but she had been so certain in her conviction, so passionate about the way she deserved to be treated, he had not been able to fault her.
He was a man of strong convictions as well. When he had entered the shop it hadn’t occurred to him that he would leave finding Miss Vandenberg even more desirable than he already had.
By the next day he was still reliving their discussion and anticipating when he would speak to her again.
Deciding to visit the woman who was indirectly responsible for their encounter, Julian sought out his grandmother when he returned home from his committee meeting. Upon entering her private sitting room, he found her resting in a bergère chair, with a book in her hand.
‘Come in Julian,’ she said, waving him closer. ‘You truly have spoiled me.’
He walked across the gold and white Aubusson rug and sat down next to her. ‘I see you are enjoying your book.’
‘You were slippery, presenting me with that volume yesterday. The arrival of this copy was quite unexpected.’
‘This copy?’ he replied, perplexed.
‘Yes—the one you had Mr Vandenberg inscribe.’
Julian gestured to the copy of A Traveler’s Tale that she held in her hands. ‘May I...?’
His grandmother placed a black ribbon between the pages and handed the book to him. ‘It is a lovely inscription.’
He eyed his grandmother through his lashes and turned to the title page. He was speechless. Obviously Miss Vandenberg must have arranged this—but why?
When she had stormed out on him yesterday Julian had not known if he should go after her. No one had ever walked out on him before. What had possessed her to have her father inscribe a book for his grandmother?
‘I did not do this,’ he admitted, handing back the book.
‘Of course you did. I have told no one else I misplaced my copy.’
‘I believe Mr Vandenberg’s daughter arranged this.’
‘His daughter? How would she know?’
‘I mentioned it to her yesterday, when we spoke at Hatchards.’
‘How very delightful of her. You have never said that you are acquainted with the family.’
‘I am only acquainted with the daughter.’
His grandmother arched her brow. That was not a good sign. ‘Just the daughter? How unusual for you. How did you make her acquaintance?’
‘A mutual friend,’ replied Julian, picking a speck of lint off the sleeve of his navy tailcoat.
‘I see. And is the lady in question married?’
‘She is not.’
‘And how long have the two of you been acquainted?’
‘Not long.’
Her eyes narrowed, causing Julian to shift restlessly in his seat.
‘Tell me about this girl.’
‘She is not a girl.’
‘How old is she?’
‘I do not know. I thought it wasn’t polite to enquire.’
His grandmother chuckled. ‘When the lady in question is my age, it absolutely is not. But for a younger one I do not think it at all beyond the pale.’
‘And a lady of your age would be how old, exactly?’
‘You impertinent man—we are discussing your friend, not me.’
‘And why exactly are we discussing Miss Vandenberg?’
‘She had her father send me this lovely book. I am curious as to what kind of girl would do such a thoughtful thing. You say she did this completely without your influence?’
‘I doubt the lady could be influenced into doing anything at my bidding,’ he muttered.
‘Nonsense—you are Lyonsdale.’
‘At the moment that fact does not seem to be to my advantage with her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Miss Vandenberg is a little cross with me at the moment, due to my title.’ He knew it was absurd, and saying it out loud made it appear more so.
‘I do not understand. Does she not realise the significance of your station?’
‘She does. However, I do not believe she cares.’
‘Because she is an American?’
‘Because she is Miss Vandenberg. In truth, I find at times that she baffles me with her logic.’ And his reaction to her mere presence baffled him more.
His grandmother tilted her head and he realised he’d said too much. Miss Vandenberg wasn’t a woman he was courting, or even a woman he should be thinking of courting. And yet he’d told his grandmother more about her than he had about any other woman.
Knowing that she was annoyingly perceptive, he knew he needed to place distance between them before she started asking a litany of questions. He pushed himself off the chair and walked to the window overlooking Grosvenor Square.
‘Would you take me to Almack’s tonight?’ she called to him.
Dear God, he should have just left the room. The last place he ever wanted to go was Almack’s. He might as well place a notice in the Morning Chronicle, stating that he was shopping for a wife.
‘Why in the world would you want me to do that?’ he asked, trying to think of an excuse as to why he could not take her. ‘You’ve been going there for years without me.’
‘Yes, and it is about time you used those vouchers of yours. Each year you pay for them, and each year you never use them.’
He wasn’t giving in. Her reasoning wasn’t good enough.
She rubbed her knees and sighed. ‘If I don’t move these bones they may stiffen permanently.’
Crossing his arms, he arched a sceptical brow. If the woman hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, she might have made a fine living on the stage.
‘I do not have many years left,’ she continued. ‘Is it so wrong for me to wish to spend time with my grandson? I rarely see you any more, with all the time you are spending with Lord Kenyon’s committee and other Parliamentary affairs.’
She blinked a few times, and Julian wasn’t certain if he saw tears in her eyes.
Should he remind her that they saw each other most mornings over the breakfast table? He searched the frescoed ceiling for an answer, but the cherubs just laughed down at him. He allowed her to live with him in London during the Season because he cared about her, and knew they probably didn’t have many more years left together. Perhaps it was time he hired her a companion and rented her a townhouse.
Letting out a deep breath, Julian knew he was going to regret agreeing to go with her. And yet he was unable to say no.
