Читать книгу Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes - Laurie Benson, Laurie Benson - Страница 18

Chapter Eight

As Julian stepped into the cavernous assembly room at Almack’s the large mirrors magnified the many women and men who turned to look. Heads poked around the gilt columns to his right, and some people even had the impudence to raise their quizzers at him. This was why he avoided mixing with the likes of the marriage mart. Their unabashed interest in him was tiresome.

He walked further into the room, with his grandmother on his arm and his mother at his other side. They left a buzz of voices in their wake.

‘This is a testament to how much I care for you,’ he whispered down to his grandmother. ‘Do not expect me to escort you here again.’

She blinked up at him innocently and readjusted her hand on his arm. ‘Evenings such as these have a way of turning unexpectedly. You may change your mind.’

‘There is nothing in Christendom that would make me enjoy myself tonight,’ Julian replied through a polite smile, knowing the people around them were trying to listen to their conversation.

His mother nodded regally at the Duchess of Skeffington and Lady Harlow. Julian knew his mother was not fond of the gossipy pair. He wasn’t either, and had no qualms about pretending he did not see them.

‘You are shocking people tonight with your presence, Lyonsdale,’ his mother said from behind her fan. ‘They see a man in search of a wife. Perhaps you might consider announcing your intentions and quelling their interest?’

‘Madam, tonight I have no intention of announcing anything.’

His mother pursed her lips together and looked away. Julian was surprised she hadn’t broached the subject of Lady Mary sooner. He assumed she was here somewhere. Lady Morley would not be remiss in displaying her daughter to the eligible men of the ton. There was no sense in delaying the inevitable. Tonight he would speak with Lady Mary and discover if he would be able to endure sitting across the breakfast table from her each morning.

Taking a deep breath, he inhaled the mixed floral scents and the body odour that permeated the room. There would be no escaping to the terrace for some cleaner air tonight. He scanned the room for Lady Mary and stifled a yawn. With all these masses of white spinning about the floor he would never be able to identify her unless she was standing directly in front of him.

He leaned over to his grandmother. ‘Please tell me they have begun serving something more fortifying here than that insipid lemonade.’

‘I wish I could—but that is what flasks are for, my boy,’ she whispered, patting her reticule.

From the corner of his eye he spied Lady Morley, heading their way. Before he was able to summon an excuse to avoid having to speak with the woman his grandmother came to his rescue.

‘Oh, look—I believe I see Lady Cowper,’ she said. ‘Will you excuse us, Beatrice?’ Without waiting for a reply she tugged on Julian’s arm and they began walking towards one of the patronesses who ruled Almack’s.

‘Now you see why I avoid these evenings,’ Julian said, studying the crowd in front of them and trying to determine the least dangerous route to Lady Cowper. ‘They can be most trying.’

‘Chin up, my boy, I believe this night is about to become quite interesting.’

He glanced down at his grandmother. Why did he have the feeling she was privy to something he was not?

They approached the affable Lady Cowper, and the ladies exchanged pleasantries. Then she turned her full attention to Julian. ‘What a pleasure to see you, Your Grace. It has been some time since you’ve been in attendance.’

‘Yes, I suppose it has.’

‘It appears we have caused quite a stir this evening,’ his grandmother commented, glancing around.

‘Yes, in fact I believe your arrival has surpassed tonight’s latest sensation.’

His grandmother stepped closer and lowered her voice. ‘Really, Lady Cowper? Do tell.’

‘That American author Vandenberg is here, with his daughter. I understand the man is entertaining, and his daughter is quite accomplished.’

Julian’s heart skipped a beat, and he fought the urge to scan the assembly room for her.

His grandmother’s eyes widened a little too much. ‘Really? They are here tonight? I would enjoy making the man’s acquaintance. A Traveler’s Tale is a most enjoyable read.’

‘I am certain Madame de Lieven can introduce you. She has sponsored the family.’ She leaned in close and lowered her voice. ‘We were astonished when she promoted the Americans. However, I find they comport themselves surprisingly well.’

‘Americans are not the provincials some imagine them to be,’ Julian stated firmly, feeling an inexplicable need to come to their defence.

Both women stared at him in surprise, before Lady Cowper narrowed her gaze. ‘Surely you’re aware that we have seen very few American women in our circles? It was difficult to determine how they would behave.’

His grandmother began to cough, and Julian would not have been surprised if she had dramatically thrown herself on the floor to enhance the effect.

‘My word, do you require assistance?’ Lady Cowper asked with true concern.

His grandmother shook her head and the coughing miraculously stopped. ‘A glass of lemonade should help ease the tickle in my throat,’ she said, patting her chest. She grasped Julian’s sleeve and gave it a subtle tug, leaving him no choice but to walk with her to the refreshment table.

He handed her a glass and held back a laugh when she poured in some clear liquid from a small silver flask. He wasn’t certain what she had added, but as long as it was potent he didn’t really care. Selecting a glass, he held it out to her, and she added a generous splash. The smell of gin reached Julian’s nose as he raised the glass to his lips. If his father had been alive now the man would have had an apoplexy, knowing the matriarch of their family carried gin on her person. However, if it would help Julian survive an evening in the marriage mart he would not admonish her.

‘Do you see her?’ his grandmother asked as her gaze trailed over the room.

He had known she was up to something! He took a long drink. ‘To whom are you referring?’

‘Oh, I think you know.’

‘What exactly are you plotting?’

‘Why do you believe I am plotting anything?’ she asked, arching an inquisitive brow.

‘I am not dim-witted,’ replied Julian, and he arched his brow in return.

‘No, you are not.’

‘That was not an answer.’

‘What was the question?’

He momentarily closed his eyes. When he looked back at her the glass in her hand was empty. ‘I’m trying to decide if it is wise to give you more lemonade.’

She reached behind him and took another glass. ‘You do not need to attend to me all evening. You should look around. You might find someone of interest.’

Julian eyed his grandmother in annoyance. Why did the women in his life seem to have this need to meddle in his affairs? He stood near her, refusing to give any indication that he was in search of a wife. However, this time when his gaze travelled across the room he easily spotted Miss Vandenberg amid the whirl of white. He was transfixed as he watched her attempt to move gracefully through a quadrille with that idiot Lord Boreham.

‘Are you going to dance with her?’ the pest at his side whispered.

He glanced down at her. ‘I have no desire to dance this evening.’

‘Forgive me. I thought you had found something that held your attention. I must have been mistaken.’

‘You most certainly were,’ he replied, his eyes inexplicably drawn back to the dancing couple.

She lowered her voice even further. ‘If that is Miss Vandenberg, Madame de Lieven will know if she has been given permission to waltz.’

Julian stared at his grandmother, aghast. ‘I have never waltzed here, and I do not intend to do so now.’

However, if they did waltz together he would have her undivided attention. She would not be able to leave the conversation when it was convenient for her, as she had each time they’d spoken in the past.

A smile tugged at his lips as he watched her walk off the dance floor.

* * *

When the quadrille ended Katrina returned to Mrs Forrester and Sarah, who were standing near one of the white gilded columns. She was grateful for the reprieve.

‘You appear to have both feet intact,’ Sarah teased. ‘Perhaps Lord Boreham has taken dancing lessons.’

Fanning herself to cool her heated body, Katrina smirked. ‘No, I have simply become adept at hiding my pain.’

‘Did you hear about the caricature that was printed of him recently?’ Sarah asked, staring questioningly into her glass of lemonade.

Most of these satires mocked political figures and the Prince Regent. Katrina knew there were others that were drawn of certain members of the ton, but since she was fairly new to London, and not well acquainted with too many people, she never paid much attention to them. However, now she was intrigued. ‘What does it look like?’

Sarah glanced over at Lord Boreham, who was standing a few feet away with a group of young bucks. ‘In it he is sprawled on the ground at the entrance to the Palace of Westminster. I do not recall the caption, but the image was memorable. A number of the dandies standing with him now were having a good laugh over it last evening.’

Although she was not fond of the marquess, Katrina felt sorry for him. It must be mortifying to have someone you didn’t know make a mockery of your life.

‘Katrina, if you persist in moving your fan so rapidly I fear the lady behind you will discover her peacock-feathered cap flying away!’ advised Mrs Forrester.

Katrina slowed her hand. ‘Pardon me, but it is so warm in here. I’m looking forward to stepping through the next dance just to create a breeze.’

‘A waltz would do nicely,’ Sarah said.

Katrina leaned in closer. ‘I cannot believe we need permission to waltz here. I have been waltzing all over Europe, and now someone of no relation to me must give their consent.’

‘Well, I find it unusual that men cannot wear trousers here,’ Sarah said, scanning the stocking-clad calves of the men around them. ‘What an odd rule.’

‘Perhaps the patronesses are using their influence as an excuse to admire finely formed legs,’ replied Katrina. ‘What I don’t—’

‘Madame de Lieven, how wonderful to see you,’ said Mrs Forrester, a bit too enthusiastically.

Katrina raised her fan to hide her laugh and turned. Her eyes widened when she saw the Russian Ambassador’s wife on the arm of the Duke of Lyonsdale.

‘It is lovely to see you, ladies,’ Madame de Lieven said, inclining her head. She introduced Mrs Forrester and Sarah to the Duke, and then turned to Katrina. ‘I understand you are already acquainted with His Grace?’

Katrina could feel the weight of his attention as she lowered herself into a curtsy. ‘I am,’ she muttered.

‘Ladies,’ he said, in that deep voice that reverberated through her body. ‘I hope you are enjoying yourselves this evening.’

Mrs Forrester replied rather quickly—perhaps because she was wary of what Katrina or Sarah might say. ‘Thank you, we are. I believe Almack’s is an experience one must have in order to fully appreciate it.’

That was vague enough. Katrina bit her lip to keep from laughing.

‘And what do you appreciate the most?’ he asked them, with a knowing look in his eye.

‘We’ve been discussing the fine dancing,’ replied Mrs Forrester.

‘And the fashionable attendees,’ said Sarah as she glanced down at the Duke’s muscular calves, encased in white stockings.

When Katrina coughed to cover her laugh, he narrowed his eyes at her. ‘And, Miss Vandenberg, what have you come to appreciate this evening?’

Don’t say finely formed legs!

Katrina knew he suspected their discussion had not been innocuous. Could she ignore a duke in the middle of Almack’s and not lose her voucher? Probably not. She lowered her hand and stared directly into his green eyes.

He arched his brow.

She glared momentarily.

His lips twitched.

‘I have been enjoying honest discussions with my friends.’ She saw in his eyes that he understood what she implied.

Madame de Lieven cleared her throat and they both turned her way. ‘Miss Vandenberg, His Grace has requested a waltz with you, and I have happily granted his request.’

Katrina stared at her and prayed she had remembered to close her mouth. ‘How kind of you,’ she managed to utter. Who was she to speak for Katrina? And that insufferable man knew she could not turn him down now.

‘I believe the waltz is next,’ Madame de Lieven noted, appearing pleased with herself.

Lyonsdale held out his arm and sent Katrina a challenging look. ‘Then it is wise for us to proceed to the dance floor,’ he said.

She glared at him while politely resting her hand on his sleeve. They excused themselves and strolled through the crowd of people who parted for them. Watchful eyes followed their every step.

‘I assure you I do not bite,’ he whispered into her hair.

She chewed her lip to stop herself from telling him to go to the devil. Stepping on to the dance floor, he spun her around elegantly and placed his gloved hand on her back. Heat ran from his hand through her entire body. It was becoming difficult to breathe normally. A momentary sense of panic made her wonder how quickly the waltz would end. Maybe she could fake an illness in the middle of it?

He pulled her closer. She pushed her body further away.

‘I have the distinct impression that you would rather be elsewhere,’ he said. ‘May I ask why?’

‘No, you may not. I am still angry with you, lest you had not noticed.’

‘I thought you might be. Does your anger preclude us from speaking?’

‘It does. Angry people should not converse. It leads to further ill will.’

‘Is that an American rule of conduct? What is the case when only one of the party is angry?’

‘Then that person should remain silent. Usually the harshest statements are made in anger.’

He leaned his head closer. ‘And you are angry with me because you feel I have deliberately deceived you?’

‘Yes.’ She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she was also angry because he had previously ignored her.

‘You say angry people should not converse, and yet here you are speaking to me. I really am becoming puzzled with your logic.’ He inhaled slowly.

Katrina jerked her head away from his.

He had the nerve to grin at her. ‘I am simply stating the inconsistency of our situation.’

‘Do not patronise me,’ she chided. ‘And stop sniffing my hair. It is disconcerting.’

‘For you or for me?’

‘For me,’ she replied in a low, forceful voice. ‘If sniffing my hair leaves you disconcerted that is another reason you should stop doing it.’

‘But there lies the rub. You see, where you are concerned I cannot help myself. I have become quite fond of lemons, by the way.’

‘They can be sour and leave a bitter taste in your mouth.’

His gaze dropped to her lips. ‘Yes, that is true. But they can also be refreshing, as well as tart.’

‘Perhaps you would do better to seek out something bland, like lavender or orange blossom. I’ve noticed a great many women in London favour those scents. I am certain if you try you can find an alternative place for your nose,’ she suggested with false sweetness.

His lips twitched. ‘Oh, I can think of a few places my nose would care to be.’

The insufferable man! She was not as naïve as he might think.

‘I am not speaking with you.’ She raised her chin, annoyed that he had taken the upper hand in their discussion.

‘So you said. You dance very well, by the way.’

‘Do you always ignore other people’s wishes?’

‘Usually. They never seem to mind.’ He gave a small shrug as he guided her gracefully into a turn. ‘In any event, I was not ignoring your wishes. You stated quite clearly that you were not speaking with me. I, on the other hand, have never said I am not speaking with you. In fact I believe you are the one ignoring your own wishes. You are continuing to speak with me.’

She shifted her attention to the dancers behind him and let out an exasperated breath.

He leaned down slightly. ‘That still might constitute speaking. It is a confirmation of your annoyance with me.’

Sliding her gaze back to him, she wondered how many more minutes she would have to be in his company. He sent her an amused look. Could she kick him during the dance without anyone seeing?

‘Now, Miss Vandenberg, you do not want the entire assembly to know that you are cross with me. It might reflect poorly on you. I suggest you pretend to enjoy being in my arms.’

That was the problem. Being in his arms was distracting, and it was making her feel all...fluttery. She forced herself to appear bored.

He appeared smug.

Blast it all!

‘Do you think every unmarried woman in this room wants you?’

‘Well, since I am one of only two eligible dukes in England who are able to eat with their own teeth, yes, I believe that to be true.’

‘I suppose that would matter were I English, but, you see, to me your title has little appeal. In fact, to me, your title is inconsequential.’

‘How so?’ he asked, tilting his head to the side.

‘The other ladies in this room are shopping for a title and prestige, but I am not. I intend to return to America when my father is finished with his business here and I have no intention to marry you or any other Englishman. So, you see, your title holds no interest for me.’

* * *

Julian almost stumbled on the wooden floor. He didn’t know how to respond. His title was impressive! There wasn’t an available woman in the room who didn’t want to be married to him. Except, it seemed, the woman in his arms.

Over the years there had been times when he’d wished he could find someone who would see him for the man he was and not his title. Now that he had his wish, he wasn’t certain he liked the result.

Annoyed with the turn in their conversation, he knew he needed to regain the upper hand. He leaned forward and took a deep breath. Miss Vandenberg shot him a frustrated glare.

It was much too easy to get a reaction from her, and Julian wasn’t ready to think about why that pleased him. Any reservations he’d had about asking her to waltz had gone the minute he held her in his arms and she began to speak. He wondered if she smelled like lemons everywhere...

‘Please stop,’ she whispered.

‘The dance? I think people would notice, don’t you?’

‘Sniffing me.’

‘Oh, that. If it truly bothers you I will find it within me to stop.’

‘I would appreciate the effort.’

There was a brief silence. ‘I do need to thank you, though.’

‘For rinsing my hair with lemon juice? I assure you it has nothing to do with you.’

‘No, not that. I want to thank you for sending my grandmother your father’s book. It was quite kind of you.’

‘It was no bother.’

‘All the same, you made an old woman very happy.’

‘Then, for her, I am pleased I arranged it.’

He thought he saw the faintest hint of a smile. ‘Tell me how you knew it was the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale I was referring to in our conversation. It might have been my maternal grandmother.’

‘Do you realise how commanding you are? Phrasing requests as questions is much more polite.’ She lifted her brows expectantly.

He, the Duke of Lyonsdale, had just been schooled in manners again by this American. It was absurd.

‘It’s a habit born of my title. In any event, I will heed your well-meaning lesson and try again. Would you please explain your exceptional deductive skills to me?’

This time a smile definitely tugged at her lips, and Julian found his question well worth the effort.

‘I enquired about you and discovered the Dowager lived in your home. I assumed she was the lady in question and had the book sent there.’

‘And how did you explain the request to your father?’

‘I’ve been handling my father’s correspondence while we have been abroad. I told him we had encountered each other at Hatchards, and that you told me your grandmother’s tale of woe.’

‘He did not question our introduction?’

She leaned closer to him. He could feel her breath on his ear, and he wanted to close his eyes to savour the sensation.

‘I have a secret, Your Grace. In America, formal introductions are not an absolute necessity. Americans frequently meet each other in similar fashion.’

Leaning back, she met his gaze with a good-humoured twinkle in her eyes. Her voice had been low and husky. The heat from her breath had travelled through every part of him.

He lowered his lips towards her ear, wanting to prolong this playful turn in their conversation. ‘What else do Americans do?’

The music of the waltz ended, and Julian was forced to let her go.

‘I suppose you will have to continue to wonder,’ she replied with an impish grin.

He held in a smile, wishing he could spend the remainder of the evening in her company.