Читать книгу The Naked Duke - Sally MacKenzie - Страница 9

Sarah hung back to let Lizzie enter the drawing room first. Her heart was beating so fast she feared it might leap out of the low neck of her beautiful dress.

She had been struck dumb when she had looked at herself in the mirror upstairs. The woman looking back at her was a stranger. The green dress made her eyes glow. Betty had tamed her hair so that only a few tendrils drifted gracefully around her face. Rather more of her neck and chest was exposed than she was used to, but Lizzie and Betty had both insisted that such was the fashion. Upstairs in her room, Sarah had felt elegant. Now she felt awkward.

“Come on, Sarah. You can’t stay out in the hall all evening.” Lizzie grabbed her arm and pulled her into the room. “James, I’ve given Sarah one of my dresses. I think it looks quite good, don’t you?”

Sarah thought she might expire on the spot. James’s eyes traveled carefully over her dress. She grabbed her skirt to keep her hands from flashing up to cover her bodice. He spent an inordinate amount of time studying that aspect of her attire.

“Beautiful,” he said, looking directly into Sarah’s eyes and smiling. She smiled back, feeling an odd mixture of relief and tension.

In deference to her limited wardrobe, James had not dressed for dinner. Of course, Sarah thought as she accepted a glass of sherry, the Duke of Alvord could be dressed in rags and still be imposing. Or dressed in nothing. She blushed and glanced at him. The corner of his mouth turned up and his eyes acquired a distinctly knowing gleam.

This will never do, Sarah chastised herself. She raised her chin and willed her voice to remain cool. “You have a beautiful home, your grace.”

“Thank you. Did Lady Amanda give you the history lesson when you arrived?”

Lady Amanda sniffed. “Gladys was the one who mentioned that the first Duke of Alvord fought with the Conqueror. She may have neglected to point out, however, that it was his distinguished service at the Battle of Hastings that earned him the duchy.”

“No one distinguishes himself in battle, Lady Amanda.” James said, a new, harsh note in his voice. “War is an ugly, messy business. I’m certain my illustrious ancestor caused untold suffering to the poor wretches he evicted from these lands.”

Lady Amanda frowned. “If I remember correctly, it was not so very long ago that you were anxious to go to war.”

“I know better now.” James took a large swallow of his sherry.

“But don’t you agree that sometimes war is warranted, your grace? To free people from oppression, for example?” Sarah could remember her father and his cronies holding forth about that for hours.

“Yes, surely you can justify curbing that monster Napoleon,” Lady Amanda said.

“I rather think Sarah was referring to the American War of Independence and perhaps our latest contretemps with our former colonies,” James replied. “And yes, I suppose some wars are necessary. But war is rarely a simple matter. Political firebrands like to have a clear rallying cry, but most wars include a lot of simple greed, personal and political. It’s hard to justify any of that when you watch an 18-year-old boy die in your arms or find a sobbing child alone in the wreckage of her village.”

Layton then appeared at the doorway to announce Robbie and Charles.

James smiled, dispelling the bleakness that had tightened his face. “Gentlemen, I was beginning to wonder if you had turned craven.” He moved forward to greet the men, bringing Sarah with him.

“I do think Robbie was tempted, James,” Major Draysmith said. “Good evening, Miss Hamilton.”

“Good evening, Major.”

Major Draysmith crossed the room to speak to the other ladies while Robbie took Sarah’s hand.

“Cousin.” He looked distinctly wary.

“Cousin,” Sarah returned tonelessly.

A dark flush covered his cheeks. “My humble apologies about the confusion last night,” he murmured. “I was drunk, don’t you know. Half-seas over. Never would have made the mistake had I been sober.”

“Perhaps you should limit your drinking.”

“Uh, right.” Robbie looked over at James. “My apologies to you, too, of course.”

“We met the lady you were waiting for,” James said. “She doesn’t look at all like Sarah.”

“No, of course not. Didn’t think she would. I said I wouldn’t have made the mistake if I’d been sober. Nan set the thing up. Said her friend wanted to get established in the business. Uh, where did you happen to meet her?”

“In the inn yard,” James said. “Apparently she encountered Richard first and decided to take the sure thing. She was regretting her decision. He had blackened her eye.”

“Damn. Come to think of it, when I saw him in the common room, he did have a redheaded tart—uh, your pardon, cousin—female with him. They must have ducked into the tap first for a drink before going to the girl’s room.”

“Do you know many prostitutes?” Sarah asked.

“No, of course not.” Robbie ran a finger under his cravat and looked around the room. “It must be time to go into dinner. Where’s your butler, Alvord?”

“Here’s Layton now. Perhaps you would like to take Aunt Gladys in, Robbie?”

“Happy to.” Robbie fled across the room to Lady Gladys. He offered her his right arm and Lady Amanda his left. Major Draysmith escorted Lizzie.

Sarah frowned up at James. “Is Robbie a procurer?” She knew the ton was degenerate, but she would never have thought her own cousin might be a panderer.

“Good God, no. You can stop looking so ill. It really was no more than a misunderstanding.” James put her hand on his sleeve.

“A misunderstanding? I don’t see how anyone can have that kind of misunderstanding.”

“No, I don’t suppose you do.” He raised his hand slightly when Sarah opened her mouth to pursue the topic. “No, love. We can discuss this if you want, but later. It truly is not a topic my aunt would welcome at her table.”

Sarah sighed. “No, of course not. I beg your pardon.”

“Don’t beg my pardon, Sarah. I hope there will be no topics we can’t discuss—but some things are better said in privacy.” This last was whispered near her ear as he seated her. Her breath caught and an odd little shiver ran down her spine.

The dinner went on for what seemed to Sarah a very long time. She limited herself to just a taste of each course, yet still felt uncomfortably full. She couldn’t help but think she and her father could have lived for weeks on this one meal.

“Robbie, Charles, you’ve just come from town,” Lady Gladys said. “Tell us, please, who else is bringing out girls this Season?”

Robbie had taken an unfortunate mouthful of wine just as Lady Gladys spoke. He choked and reached quickly for his napkin. “Not much in the petticoat line, ma’am. Can’t say I paid much attention.”

“Surely you’ve made note of which mamas to avoid.” Lady Amanda, his neighbor at the table, whacked him on the back.

“Ah, my thanks.” Robbie shifted so Lady Amanda could not get another swing at him. “Well, I think the Barringtons might have a girl coming out.”

Lady Amanda nodded. “No doubt spotted like the last two.”

“And the Amesleys.”

“Walleyed,” Lady Amanda said.

“No, that one came out last Season. This one’s the rabbity-looking girl.”

“Right. Clarinda or Clarabelle or something.” Lady Amanda took a delicate sip of wine. “Of course, the mother’s no beauty. I never could understand how she got Billy Amesley to the altar.”

“I think it might have had something to do with the fact that the Amesleys’ pockets were to let,” Lady Gladys said. “Harriet Drummond was a significant heiress, if you’ll remember, Amanda.”

“True. The gleam of a well-filled coffer has led many a man into the parson’s mousetrap—and as they say, you can’t tell a beauty from a beast once the candles are snuffed.”

It was James’s turn to choke on his wine. “Who says, Lady Amanda?” he asked, a note of laughter in his voice.

“Everyone.” Lady Amanda sniffed. “I’m not a member of your mealymouthed generation, James.”

“For which I must be grateful.”

“I think the Earl of Mardale has a daughter making her bows this year,” Major Draysmith offered.

“Mardale—now there was a fine figure of a man,” Lady Amanda said. “I’m sure he must have produced attractive offspring.”

“Are we embarrassing you, Sarah?” James asked softly as the conversation moved on to rival mantua-makers.

“A little,” she admitted. She rubbed her fingers over the soft fabric of her borrowed dress. Now that she had seen—and worn—Lizzie’s dress, she knew she could never afford the clothes she would need for a trip to London. She lowered her voice. “Your grace, I’ve been thinking of my future.”

James gave Sarah a slow smile. “I am glad to hear that.”

She felt unaccountably flustered. “Yes, well, I think it would be best if I found a situation as a teacher now, instead of going to London.”

Unfortunately, there was a lull in the general conversation just then and Sarah’s words carried. Lady Gladys put her wineglass down so quickly, she knocked it against her plate. A few drops of wine jumped out onto the tablecloth.

“A situation as a teacher? You aren’t going to be a teacher, Sarah; you’re going to be a duchess. If you have such a burning desire to teach, teach your own children. I’m sure James won’t waste any time filling his nursery.”

Sarah was sure her face was as red as Molly’s hair. She was afraid to look at James for fear she’d prove the theory of spontaneous combustion.

“Lady Gladys, it’s quite clear that I am not suited for the position of duchess.”

“Why not? You’re young and female, aren’t you? James, do you think Sarah is unsuited to be your duchess?”

“Not at all, Aunt.”

Sarah risked a glance at James. His lips turned up into what she could only describe as a smirk.

“I can’t say that I’ve thoroughly investigated all of her credentials of course, but I believe she will suit very well indeed.”

“I thought you had investigated all her credentials, James,” Lady Amanda said. “That’s why we’re in this situation.”

Sarah watched James’s smile vanish and his ears turn red.

“Perhaps we should change the subject,” he said. “Lizzie, how go the preparations for London?”

Lizzie’s mouth was hanging open so wide that her chin just about touched the table. “Did you say you were going to marry Sarah, James?”

“I guess we forgot to mention that, didn’t we? Nothing has been decided conclusively, but Sarah has agreed to consider my suit.”

Lizzie’s eyes grew huge. Sarah could tell she was full of questions—the first one, Sarah supposed, was where she and James had met. They had better come up with a plausible story if they didn’t want the true tale known.

“We met when I was in America,” James was saying.

Sarah turned to look at him. She was very much afraid that she was goggle-eyed. She bit her tongue before she could ask him when he had been in her country. He must have been there once; his family would certainly know if he had not.

“I thought our love was hopeless with an ocean separating us, so I said nothing. I couldn’t even bring myself to mention it to Robbie.”

Sarah restrained herself from kicking him under the table. He should consider a career writing novels if he could sell that story to anyone. Lizzie looked doubtful; Robbie rolled his eyes.

“Well, James,” Lizzie said, “if you’re going to marry Sarah, you should give some thought to her clothes. She needs a whole new wardrobe—she doesn’t even have a nightdress!”

Sarah knew she would blush if she looked at James, so she studied her plate instead. “Really, your grace, my clothes—or lack of them—is not your concern.”

“I’m certainly concerned with your lack of clothes, sweetheart. But if you deny me the pleasure of clothing you, certainly you will agree that it is Robbie’s responsibility as head of your family. We’ll just have the bills sent to him, right, Robbie?”

“Yes, of course. Be happy to stand the nonsense.”

Sarah looked at Robbie. “I can’t impose on you.”

“Of course you can. I’m head of your family now, ain’t I?”

“But it’s such a waste of money.”

“It is nothing of the sort.” Lady Gladys leaned toward her. “You deserve some fun, Sarah. From what you told me, David was quite remiss in your upbringing. It is just like him to get lost in his causes and never pay attention to the needs of the people around him. And it is certainly Robbie’s responsibility to fund a Season for you. His estate can bear the expense, isn’t that right, Robbie?”

“Said I’d pay the bills. Not to worry, cousin.”

“That’s settled then.” Lady Gladys smiled and sat back. “We’ll have Mrs. Croft up tomorrow. She can make a few necessities now, and we’ll get the rest in London.”

“There’s still one other issue, Gladys,” Lady Amanda said. “Sarah doesn’t dance. She’ll have to learn all the steps before we go to town.”

“Very true. Well then, I suggest you gentlemen dispense with your port this evening and join us in the music room immediately. The sooner we get started, the better. We want Sarah to be ready for Almack’s.”

“What is Almack’s?” Sarah asked as she left the room on James’s arm.

“What is Almack’s?” Lizzie stopped so suddenly, Sarah almost ran into her. “Almack’s is…” The younger girl was clearly speechless at Sarah’s ignorance.

Robbie, Lizzie’s escort, laughed. “Almack’s is the center of the universe for the ton’s marriage-minded mamas and their daughters, Sarah. Every Wednesday night during the Season, the girls who can get their hot little hands on a voucher hunt for husbands among the eligible males of the ton. To the rest of us mortals, it’s a stuffy, boring club.”

“It sounds dreadful.”

“It is dreadful.”

“No, truly, Sarah,” Lizzie said. “Almack’s is wonderful.”

“You have never been there,” Robbie said. “Once you’ve eaten the stale cakes, drunk the tasteless punch, and endured the insipid conversation, you’ll think differently.”

Lizzie frowned up at Robbie. “No, I’m sure you must be wrong.”

Robbie rolled his eyes. “Ah, youth.”

“You’re not exactly a graybeard.”

“I don’t think I want to go to Almack’s,” Sarah said quietly to James as Robbie and Lizzie moved ahead.

“No, but we’ll have to make an appearance for Lizzie’s sake.”

Sarah frowned. “Perhaps I won’t be able to get these vouchers Robbie says are needed.”

“No danger of that with Aunt Gladys as your sponsor. The patronesses would not dare snub the sister and aunt of the Duke of Alvord.”

“I’m sure they will snub a penniless American upstart.”

“No, they won’t. Trust me, sweetheart. I’m an expert in the ways of the ton.”

“So you think they will accept me?”

James grimaced. “Like they accept everyone—with false smiles and backbiting and the hope that you’ll do something really dreadful so they can talk about you until the next scandal presents itself.”

Sarah felt the color drain from her face. “That sounds horrible!”

“It is horrible. It’s why I avoid ton parties like the French artillery.” James grinned and ran his finger down Sarah’s nose. She swatted his hand away. “But now, with you at my side, I find I can bear the agony.”

“You can bear it! All those awful people will be staring at me, the bold American who presumes to insinuate herself into the Duke of Alvord’s family.”

They entered the music room. It had pale green walls, a beautiful piano—and a very large painting of three buxom women dancing in a meadow. Except for a few wisps of fabric, the women were nude. A muscular man, with a lyre and considerably more clothing, watched the cavorting trio from the shade of a tree.

“Apollo and the Three Graces,” James said. “My father’s acquisition. I never knew the painter’s name, but then, I doubt my father purchased it for its artistic merit.”

“James, stop admiring the artwork and help Robbie and Charles roll back the rug.” Lady Gladys stood by the piano, directing the men’s efforts. “And Sarah, come here. Lizzie will show you a few steps. We’ll start with a country dance. Will you play for us, Amanda?”

“Well, I certainly am not going to dance. If you plan to attempt the quadrille, Gladys, you will have to take a place and you will still be one couple short.”

“I’m sure we’ll manage.”

Lizzie walked through the steps as the men pushed the carpet aside. Sarah watched Lizzie’s feet intently, trying to memorize the patterns. Finally, she shook her head.

“I’m afraid this is hopeless, Lizzie. I’ll never remember it all.”

“Of course you will!” Lizzie smiled encouragingly. “It will be easier with music and a partner.”

“And I suppose I should be that partner,” Robbie said, bowing. “If any blood is shed, at least it will be Hamilton blood.”

“Not exactly a vote of confidence, Robbie.” Major Draysmith bowed to Lizzie, and then looked over at James. “Did you want to join the set?”

“I believe I’ll sit this one out,” James said, lounging against the piano, “unless you’d like to dance, Aunt?”

“Not likely. You can help me supervise.”

“Splendid. I am excellent at supervising.”

“I don’t doubt—just remember that there are four dancers on the floor, James.”

“Of course.”

Sarah glanced over and saw James wink at her. Then she turned her attention to her feet. She made it through the first pattern without injuring anyone. She smiled, relaxing, and glanced at James again.

“Yipes!” Robbie jumped back, pulling his foot out from under Sarah’s. “No, Sarah, step to your other left.”

Sarah flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do any damage, did I?”

“Nothing permanent. However, I think I’ve done my duty. ‘Discretion is the better part of valor,’ as the Bard says. I shall pass you off to the gallant Major Draysmith. He was in the Light Dragoons—he’s good at getting out of tight places.”

Charles took Sarah’s hand. “I really don’t equate dancing with you to a battle skirmish, Miss Hamilton.”

“Perhaps you should,” Robbie said as the music started again. “You may sustain more wounds tonight than you did in all your years on the Peninsula.”

“Robbie!” Charles turned his head to frown at his friend. “Oww!”

“Oh, I am sorry.” Sarah tried to change directions before she put all her weight on Charles’s foot, but lost her balance and hopped onto his toe instead. He smiled bravely while he helped her steady herself.

“That will teach you to let your guard down, Charles.” Robbie laughed. “Anything broken?”

“Of course not.”

“Perhaps we should try the waltz,” Lady Gladys suggested.

“A splendid idea.” James grinned, stepping away from his post by the piano. “I will partner Sarah this time.”

“Think if you keep your hands on her, you’ll be able to prevent her from mayhem?” Robbie asked.

Sarah flushed slightly. The idea of waltzing with James was distinctly unsettling.

“I hope you don’t expect me to play that scandalous music.” Lady Amanda got up from the piano.

“I thought your generation wasn’t mealymouthed, Lady Amanda,” James said.

“We’re not, but neither do we engage in lewd, public behavior.”

“I don’t know about that.” Robbie grinned. “Seems to me I’ve seen Oliver Featherstone waltzing.”

“That dirty dish!” Lady Amanda sniffed. “He once rode bare-arsed down Bond Street on a bet.”

Robbie shuddered. “Now that’s a sight I’m thankful I missed. How about you, Lady Gladys? Will you play for us?”

“I don’t think so. I was the bane of every music teacher my father hired.”

“I believe I can manage to plunk out a respectable waltz.” Major Draysmith moved to sit at the piano. Sarah was relieved to see that he wasn’t limping. Lady Amanda helped him sort through the music.

“Would you care to waltz then, Lady Gladys?” Robbie asked.

“I said I was supervising.”

“True.” Robbie turned and grinned at Lady Amanda. “How about you, Lady Amanda? Care to try the wicked waltz?”

“I certainly do not! You will have to dance with Lizzie, sir.”

“Little Lizzie?” Robbie laughed. “Well, come on then, brat; we shall have to struggle through. Are my toes safe? Have you ever waltzed before?”

“Only with my dancing master.”

Sarah watched Lizzie step close to Robbie. There was an expectant, dreamy expression on her face, quite at odds with Robbie’s laughing attitude. It was clear Robbie looked on Lizzie as a younger sister; Sarah doubted that Lizzie had sisterly feelings for Robbie.

“Have you really never been to a ball?” James asked as they waited for Charles to straighten his music.

“Well, I did go to a Christmas dance once at the school where I taught, but I didn’t dance.”

Sarah remembered it clearly. The Abingtons had bowed to pressure from one of their few wealthy families and had consented to hold the event, much against their better judgment. The sisters would squeeze a penny until it cried, so they were not about to hire extra staff. Sarah had done all the work, cleaning and cooking and listening to the sisters complain about the cost of such a frivolous undertaking. There’d been neither time to sew a ball gown nor any money for fabric, so she’d just worn her best dress, the one she’d worn to every commencement, formal school assembly, and Sunday service since she’d turned sixteen.

“No one asked you to dance?” James sounded shocked. “The men in Philadelphia must all be blind.”

Sarah smiled slightly and shook her head. One brave fellow had asked, but surprise had kept her silent too long. Miss Clarissa Abington had sent the young man off with a flea in his ear for his boldness.

“Well, I am not blind,” James whispered as Charles played the opening chords of the waltz. “And I very much want to waltz with you, Miss Hamilton.”

“Oh,” Sarah breathed as James’s hand touched her waist. She placed her hand carefully on his shoulder and smiled hesitantly up at him. She saw the faint golden stubble on the strong curve of his jaw; the slight cleft in his chin; and the firm line of his lips, lips that had felt so inviting on hers.

She had been this close to him in that bed at the Green Man. Closer even.

She dropped her eyes and stared at his shoulder.

“No, sweetheart, don’t stiffen up.” James spoke softly so that only she could hear as he started them moving around the room. “Think of my poor toes!”

A slightly hysterical laugh bubbled up in her chest. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Yes, you can. Just relax. Close your eyes and feel the music.”

Sarah obediently closed her eyes, but it wasn’t the music she was feeling: it was the warmth of his body only inches from hers and the strength of his shoulder under her hand. She was surrounded by him, by his heat and his spicy, male scent, a mix of soap and wine and leather. When she wavered, he pulled her closer and she felt the momentary brush of his leg against her skirts, his chest against her breasts.

His broad, muscled chest with its golden hair, trailing in a thin line down to his navel.

Sarah gasped and opened her eyes. Such wanton thoughts!

James bent his head, his hands urging her even closer to his firm body. His lips were on level with her eyes. If she turned her head, if she leaned ever so slightly toward him, she would feel them on her temple.

She felt his breath against her cheek as he counted.

“One, two, three. One, two, three.”

A strange, drenching heat pooled low in her stomach.

“Follow me, love,” he whispered, his words stirring the tendrils of hair by her ears. “Come with me.”

She did. She forgot about her feet. She forgot the music room, Robbie and Lizzie, and the others. She gave herself up to James, let her body move with his.

When the music stopped, it took her more than a moment to come back to herself.

“Well, Lady Amanda,” she heard Robbie say, “I do believe James and Sarah just showed us why the waltz is such a dangerous dance.”