Unmasking the Duke, page 10
“For love,” Meg said. “Which changes everything. I saw Europe with Harry instead, and we live our own lives. Johnny expects nothing of me, except that I be happy.”
“Is he happy?” Kitty asked curiously.
“Good question,” Meg said, her eyes suddenly shrewd. “And not one people normally ask about my amiable rake of a brother. Of course, there were expectations on him, too. He was brought up to succeed our father as duke, but he wanted more. He wanted fun and adventure, too. But my father died too soon, and suddenly Johnny was the duke. He does his duty, but I think he still wants more.”
“In what way?”
“Ah.” Meg’s smile was fleeting. “Well, that is something you will have to ask him. And yourself. Would you have been happy spending the rest of your life at Maida Gardens? Does the life of a poor relation to the Duke of Dearham appeal to you any more than it did to your mother?”
“I’m only here until my uncle has dealt with his enemy,” Kitty said stiffly.
“Of course you are,” Meg said soothingly. She stood up. “I’ll leave you to get comfortable. If you need anything, ring the bell beside the bed, and a maid will come. She’ll help you change for dinner, too.”
“Ch-change for dinner?” Kitty stammered. “But I have nothing more suitable than this.” She spread her bandaged hands over her skirts.
“It’s very pretty,” Meg said kindly. “And will do for this evening. After all, there will only be the four of us. I’ll talk to Johnny.”
When she had flitted off, no doubt back to her babies or to her other children, probably corralled in a nursery, Kitty unpacked her meager bag, hanging her second-best dress in the wardrobe, and placing her spare shifts and night rail on the shelves. She put her hairbrush and comb on the dressing table, together with her pin box, and shoved her sewing kit in one of the drawers. Her spare bandages and salve for her burns, she put in one of the bedside cabinets, and then hung her old dressing gown over the bedpost.
After a moment, she took off her boots, slipped her feet into old slippers, and shoved the boots at the bottom of the wardrobe.
Then she sat down on the bed and wondered what she was supposed to do until dinner. And whether or not she would be able to eat it.
*
Having explored the house except the bedchambers, which seemed all to be on the same floor, and nodded amiably to the often surprised but well-mannered servants she encountered, Kitty returned to her own room.
Although she did not ring, a maid appeared to see if she needed anything.
“Oh, no. Thank you,” Kitty managed.
“I can help with your hair, if you like,” the maid offered.
“Is it a mess?” Kitty asked anxiously.
The maid grinned, making her appear younger than she had first appeared. “It’s coming loose, Miss, but we’ll fix that in no time.”
Obligingly, Kitty sat before the dressing table mirror, and the made unpinned, brushed, and re-pinned her hair into a rather flattering style that Vera would probably have approved.
“Thank you,” Kitty said, impressed.
“You’re welcome, Miss. Just ring if you need anything.”
The problem, Kitty realized only when the girl had gone, was that there was nothing to do in her room. Kitty was not used to being idle, and in her precious time alone, she would read whatever books she found in the cottage.
One of the rooms she had discovered today was a library so impressive she had crept out again. But surely the duke would not mind her using it? Accordingly, she left her bedchamber and ran down to the floor below, making her way past the drawing room, formal dining room, and around the corner to the library.
She opened the door and went in to discover it already occupied by the duke and a handsome young army officer in uniform. They sat in comfortable armchairs close to the fire, each with an elegant glass containing an amber liquid she guessed was brandy. They appeared to be in comfortable yet intense discussion, so Kitty backed hastily out again.
Unfortunately, the duke glanced up and saw her, and rose to his feet. “Kitty. Come in and meet Harry.”
“Oh, I won’t disturb you.”
“Exactly. We were talking about you, so it’s only fair. Harry, in case you hadn’t guessed, this is my cousin, Miss Kitty Renwick, henceforth known as Miss Rennie. Kitty, my old friend and brother-in-law, Colonel Lord Henry de Vere.”
The colonel, who had risen to his feet also, bowed and smiled disarmingly. “Call me Harry. Everyone else does.”
Kitty bobbed a curtsey and looked a little wildly to the duke for help.
“A glass of sherry, perhaps?” he offered, already walking to the decanter, while Lord Harry set a chair for her between them.
“So, you are the young lady of miracles who soothed my daughter’s fidgets?” Lord Harry said.
“Beginner’s luck,” Kitty said, taking the glass from Harry with some difficulty. “I know nothing about babies.”
“Neither do we,” Harry said. “Because as soon as you think you know something, the next one proves you wrong. For instance…”
He launched into a baby tale that made her laugh, especially when it led him and the duke into bantering reminiscences that were mostly insults. Once, she glanced, smiling from Harry to the duke, and found him watching her, a faint, warm curve to his lips.
Perhaps fortunately, Meg appeared at that point, looking beautiful but flustered in a fresh evening gown of pale lavender.
“Oh, there you are, Kitty. I thought you’d run away,” Meg exclaimed. “And you’ve met Harry. Your hair is pretty like that.” She sank down in Harry’s proffered chair while her husband leaned casually on the arm, and the duke gave her a glass of sherry, too.
Bizarrely, the company began to feel comfortable, almost normal. As though she weren’t really sitting in a ducal mansion, drinking His Grace’s sherry, in the company of the duke himself, his sister, and her husband, who happened to be a marquess’s son and a colonel of cavalry.
Before she could be overwhelmed again, the butler announced dinner, and Meg led them into the formal dining room where, thank God, the places had all been set at one end of the massive table.
The duke held her chair, and she sat, gazing at the daunting array of cutlery and glasses before her.
“You may serve the soup, Collins,” the duke instructed. “We’ll ring when we’re ready.”
A footman ladled soup into each fine, porcelain bowl, then replaced the lid on the tureen, bowed, and departed, two other footmen and Collins the butler following in his wake.
“I expect you’re not used to so many courses,” the duke said bluntly. “But it’s not as impossible as it looks. As a rule, you simply begin with the cutlery on the outside and work inward with each course.” He picked up his spoon.
Kitty lifted hers, trying to hold it as he did, although it was difficult with the bandages. “How many courses do you eat? I don’t know why you’re not all as fat as whales.”
Meg laughed. “The courses are not large, and it’s considered polite for some reason, for ladies only to eat tiny amounts of each. But you’re entirely right, it’s silly and wasteful, especially when the streets are full of the poor and hungry.”
“My sister has Jacobin tendencies,” the duke said.
Kitty’s eyes widened. “Truly?”
“Yes. I’d cut off dukes’ heads in a trice,” Meg retorted, smiling sweetly at her brother. “For one thing, they seem incapable of thought. For example, you have brought Kitty here as our cousin, with one morning dress. Have I your permission to take her to the dressmaker’s tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“No,” Kitty said in alarm, and they all looked at her. She swallowed. “No, thank you.”
The duke laid down his fork. “Really? You’re the first female I’ve met to turn down new gowns.”
“You just know the wrong kind of females,” Meg told him before turning to Kitty. “The thing is, you would be doing us a favor if you accepted. It does the Winter honor no good to have a relation with only one gown. And if we’re to carry this off, you really have to dress accordingly.”
“I’ve never had to,” Kitty said stiffly. “But my uncle will buy anything I ask him for.”
Meg glanced at her brother. “Well, perhaps Johnny can arrange that with him. Meanwhile, you and I will go and choose a few new gowns. For every day, we can alter some of mine.”
*
The next few days passed in a whirl of activity that left Kitty little time to brood or miss her family at Maida. Lady Meg, the children’s nurse, and the duke’s housekeeper conferred daily over the dressing of Kitty’s injuries and debated treatments while agreeing they were healing well. Even the wound in her head was less tender, and she rarely had headaches from it. She was introduced to Meg and Harry’s twin boys, who were three years old and full of energy, mischief, and good nature. Kitty played with them, accompanied them to the park with their parents—and two sturdy footmen—and gradually began to let down her guard around them.
She also seemed to spend an inordinate time at the dressmaker’s and soon found herself the proud owner of two morning gowns of finest muslin, with warm, matching pelisses, two silk evening gowns fit for a princess, and a fur-lined cloak. She also had a smart new hat with dashing feathers, new undergarments, and a pair of evening slippers. And the finest ballgown she had ever seen, even though she still could not imagine herself attending anything grander than a public ball at Maida.
As if that wasn’t enough, the household conspired to alter several of Meg’s gowns to fit Kitty.
“But I will never need all these clothes,” she protested.
“You might. Among other things, we thought we might go to the theatre,” Meg said casually.
“The theatre?” Kitty repeated, instantly distracted. “My uncle took us once. It was wonderful. Like being in someone else’s life.”
“Is that what you wanted?” Meg asked evenly.
Kitty shook her head. “Not really. It was just…interesting. Exciting. To see, rather than just imagine, other people’s stories, whether now or hundreds of years in the past.”
Meg regarded her with a rather strange expression, from which Kitty could make out mainly curiosity and a hint of affection. “Do you know, you are really not what I expected? I’m not even sure you like Johnny.”
“Of course I like Johnny,” Kitty blurted, her entire body flushing with embarrassment. “That is, His Grace. When do you think we’ll go to the theatre?”
Meg’s gaze had grown speculative, and Kitty was terrified she would pry further, but in the end, she allowed the change of subject, and Kitty breathed again.
For she already knew in her heart that the strangely magical nature of the last week was due to Johnny’s presence—amiable, bantering, and somehow larger than life. More than that, the warmth she occasionally glimpsed in his eyes thrilled her. She liked his teasing, his sense of fun, and her occasional glimpses of the much more thoughtful man beneath. That breathless sense of intimacy that had seized her when he had first smiled at her more than a year ago seemed now to be with her all the time, intense and wonderful and terrifying. But she absorbed that, too, as part of the whole bewildering change in her life, without pausing to think of the dangers.
Until the night she met him on the staircase.
Chapter Eleven
Perhaps it had even begun during the evening in the drawing room, when Meg and the duke had entertained them with a comic duet on the pianoforte.
“Do you play?” Harry asked Kitty, smiling at her delight.
She shook her head. “No, I’ve never needed to learn. We have musicians at the Gardens.”
“It’s considered a necessary ladylike accomplishment,” Meg said, wrinkling her nose as she stood up from the piano. “Though since most ladies never play again after their wedding, I’ve never understood why it’s meant to attract a husband.”
“You and Martha were pretty good,” the duke recalled, wandering over with the decanter to refill Harry’s glass.
“We never took it seriously,” Meg recalled. “I think it should be for amusement.”
Kitty, suddenly restless because she thought the duke might sit beside her on the sofa, and she wanted it too much, stood up and wandered away to the pianoforte. She sat and touched a few notes, with the two undamaged fingers of her mostly unbandaged right hand, enjoying the sound, even though it was no tune.
With the background of the chatter behind her, she tried out notes with one hand and even found the first line of a song she had heard in the Gardens. Pleased with herself, she tried it again. And then the duke sat down beside her and played the same notes at the same time but further down the keyboard, filling out the sound.
Kitty smiled without looking at him, and they played again, and this time he embellished between each note, and she laughed. Enjoying herself now, she played again, and he joined in with increasingly elaborate accompaniment.
She only stopped when she realized she could no longer hear Meg’s or Harry’s voices. She knew suddenly they had stopped talking to watch her and the duke, and the physical awareness that had been with her since he had sat down beside her suddenly soared.
Dear God, she could feel the warmth of his thigh through the thin layers of Meg’s altered gown. His arm touched her shoulder. His long, elegant fingers remained poised on the keys, his face turned toward hers. She risked a fleeting glance up at him, and all the breath seemed to leave her body. He held her stricken gaze, his own intent and glinting with warm wickedness and fun. God help her, he was beautiful, and she had no idea what to do about it.
In panic, she stood up, and so did he, which somehow brought them even closer and yet not close enough.
What is happening to me? What is the matter with me?
Nothing, you imbecile, came her brain’s tart answer. It happened long ago when he smiled at you and took the tray you were carrying to his crowded table.
Oh, no, I can’t fall in love with him. I can’t.
Too late…
Somehow, she was smiling and taking his teasingly offered arm, but she made sure not to sit beside him while she let the talk of the others flow over her, and she refuted her own foolish allegations.
He was an attractive man. Everyone said so. And she was not used to meeting attractive men, certainly not to being thrown into such intimacy with them. It wasn’t surprising her body stirred in close proximity to his, but that was something she could and would control.
By willpower, she focused on the conversation and forced herself to join in. And then, it really was easy because he didn’t really look at her again, except to say a casual good night when she went up to bed.
She walked up with Meg, who was going to visit the babies and look in on her boys. They parted amiably, and Kitty was glad of the initially irksome new routine with Jilly, the maid, who unpinned and undressed her, brushed out her hair, and braided it loosely for the night.
“Just leave the lamp,” she said as Jilly began blowing out candles. “I think I’ll read a while.” She would have to distract herself from all these feelings which threatened just below the surface of her deliberate calm.
Jilly bade her a cheerful goodnight and departed for her own bed while Kitty picked up the novel she had been reading and read the final few pages with satisfaction.
Except, of course, that it meant she had nothing more to read. She sighed, turned down the lamp, and nestled down into the covers. She tossed and turned for ten minutes before she sat up and re-lit the bedside candle.
The house was quiet. She was sure she had heard the duke’s and Lord Harry’s voices earlier, their parting footsteps as they retired. Restlessly, she got up and felt for her robe at the foot of the bed. Donning it for warmth rather than decency, for she didn’t expect to meet anyone, she seized the candle and set off to the library to swap her finished novel for something else. Anything else.
She was used to this house always being lit when she moved around it, so it felt strange in the dark, negotiating the turns and the stairs and the passage to the library. Only when she reached the door did she realize she might find him there. She listened intently and, hearing nothing, went in.
The place was in darkness. Hastily, she lit a branch of candles from her own, giving her enough light to return the novel where she had found it, and snatch up a book of travels in the east. For good measure, she added another novel she found lying on the table, written by A Lady.
Thus supplied, she blew out the library candles and retreated with her own. As before, she focused the candle and her attention on her feet to make sure she found the curves in the staircase. The last thing she wanted was to stumble, make a racket that wakened everyone or even set fire to the carpet.
So it was that she saw the bare, male feet an instant before she collided with their owner. The candlelight swirled crazily as she leapt back against the wall. Strong hands seized her by the arms, causing the books to slither free and drop to the floor. The scream surging up her throat died in a gasp as the flickering flame played over her the familiar features of the Duke of Dearham.
For an instant, she went limp against the wall from sheer relief. But he followed, a frown of concern pulling down his handsome brow. That was when she realized what was different about him.
It wasn’t just his feet that were bare. He wore no coat or cravat or even buttons to his shirt sleeves which flapped about his elbows. As the candle dipped, she could make out the muscles and veins of his forearms. And when she raised it again, she became fascinated by the golden column of his throat and his strong, prominent collar bone.
Her heart was still thudding, but no longer with fear of an attacker looming out of the darkness. Instead, every sense, every nerve and hair on her skin was aware. Like at the pianoforte, only more so, because his hands were on her arms, his hips touching hers, and her whole body seemed to melt.
With conscious bravery, she raised her eyes over his sculpted, parted lips, to his lean, strong cheekbones and up to his tousled hair. How could he be so rumpled and yet so…?
