An Inconvenient Duke Page 13

  Dani pasted a smile on her face to hide the way he’d made her tremble. “You should have warned me,” she whispered to the dressmaker, checking her appearance one last time in the little mirror sitting on the front counter.

  Good heavens, her cheeks were bright pink! One look at her, and anyone would have assumed that the two of them had done far more in that fitting room than simply strategize.

  “His Grace’s sister is a client,” Mrs. Harris replied.

  Dani arched a chastising brow. “You’ll need a better excuse than that.”

  Her eyes gleamed mischievously. “Then how about because you, of all women, deserve the attentions of a handsome hero?”

  Her mouth fell open in surprise. Before Dani could find her voice to answer, Marcus sauntered from the rear of the shop, looking like any other gentleman strolling along Bond Street that afternoon, tending to errands and paying off accounts.

  Oh, who was she attempting to fool? Nothing about him was ordinary, and the shopgirls noticed it, too, all of them pausing in their work to watch him as he walked past. Other men might have been more dashing and handsome. Others might have somehow been more powerful and commanding. But put all that together into one man…breathtaking.

  He stepped up to her side.

  “How lovely of His Grace to meet with me this afternoon in your shop, Mrs. Harris, exactly as we’d planned,” Dani announced, loudly and quickly, declaring the excuse for why he was in the shop in case anyone dared to spread rumors about the two of them being alone together. “Why, at dinner just the other evening, he offered to pay for the all dresses that you’ve been making as a charity for poor women in need.”

  “He did, did he?” he muttered, realizing the trap he’d stepped into.

  “Oh yes! All of them.” She tapped the counter. “Do you happen to have your account book handy, Mrs. Harris?”

  “Right here.” The woman snatched the book out from beneath the counter, along with the pencil she used to mark the shaped strips of paper she kept for each client that noted their measurements. She flipped open the book and ran her finger down the column of figures. “Here we are—the total for the past quarter’s tick.” She turned the book around and tapped the tally so that Marcus could see it. “Shall I send someone to your home to collect payment, Your Grace?”

  He gave a tight smile as the snare closed around him. He couldn’t deny it without scandalizing both women. “No need.” He reached into the inside breast pocket of his jacket. “I’m always happy to help a charity whenever I can.” He muttered low enough that only Dani could hear, “Or whenever I’m coerced.”

  She swallowed down a laugh at his expense.

  He withdrew several banknotes and placed them one by one onto the counter. “That should bring the account to current.”

  Dani’s lips curled into a smile in private victory. “Thank you, Your—”

  “And consider this an advance on next quarter’s bill.”

  She stared, stunned speechless, as he added several more bills to the pile.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Mrs. Harris purred with a beaming smile. “You are a very generous man.”

  With an amused expression that Dani simply couldn’t fathom, he took the pencil and scrawled a note to Mrs. Harris in the margin of the account ledger. “And this, too, please, as a personal favor.”

  The woman read the note. Her eyes flared wide for a moment before her face melted into a knowing smile. “Certainly, sir.”

  “Good day, then.” With a tip of his hat to both women and a tug at his gloves, he excused himself and left the shop.

  Dani remained by the counter, taking a moment to gather her wits and calm her pounding heart as Mrs. Harris left her alone to go into the rear of the shop. Thank goodness the woman knew not to ask any questions about Marcus or the true reason he’d followed her into the shop, recognizing the ploy about paying the account as nothing more than a convenient excuse.

  How was it possible that he could tie her belly into aching knots with only a smile? That he was such a good man that he’d not really minded about being tricked into paying Nightingale’s bill? Or that he had her longing to be not only in his arms but also in his life, and in more ways than helping gain justice for his sister?

  But he did just that. And if he kept it up, she’d be lost. Because she knew that with a man like Marcus, surrender would never be unconditional.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Harris,” she called out as she placed her hat on her head and stepped toward the door. “You are greatly appreciated.”

  “Wait!” Mrs. Harris hurried out of the shop and onto the street after her, carrying a small white box in her hands, tied with a red ribbon. “His Grace requested this for you.”

  Surprised, Dani thanked her and took the package. What on earth? As Mrs. Harris returned to her shop, Dani glanced around at the busy street, but there was no sign of Marcus in the crowd, not one clue of explanation.

  She untied the ribbon and lifted the lid to look inside—

  The silk stockings she’d tried on in the fitting room.

  “Oh, that man,” she murmured, then smiled to herself as she traced her fingers lightly over them.

  Thirteen

  Marcus accepted a glass of arrack punch from the Vauxhall attendant. As he took a slow swallow of the sweet liquid, careful not to let the evening’s libations dull his wits in this sea of sharks, he glanced at Danielle, who stood on the other side of the crowded supper box.

  Around them, the pleasure gardens were a flurry of noise and activity as the suppers being held in the long rows of multistoried galleries lining the main alley finished and a small army of attendants began to serve trays of punch to guests who were already half-foxed from bottles of wine and champagne. Two different bands played at opposite ends of the alley, their music meeting in the middle in a loud cacophony, seemingly right at the Earl of Hartsham’s box. Acrobats tumbled past while tightrope walkers sauntered back and forth overhead. Members of the ton walked slowly past in their evening finery so their presence would be noted. Other people who didn’t want to be noticed strolled past with their identities hidden behind masks and fancy dress, headed toward the close paths at the rear of the gardens, where the lanterns had already been extinguished by amorous couples who wanted to take advantage of the dark. And each other.

  Inside the box, a different kind of spectacle was taking place.

  The earl had invited over a dozen men and their wives to cram into the box for supper, all men with influence at the Exchange or in Westminster—men whom Hartsham was clearly hoping to win favors from by introducing them to Marcus. They’d fawned over him all evening in attempts to ingratiate themselves.

  He tolerated all of it with a smile and feigned interest in their conversations, but his attention had barely strayed all evening from Danielle.

  Dear God, she was beautiful. Even in the diffused light of the dim lanterns, she simply glowed. Every smile shone, and her eyes gleamed like diamonds as she talked and laughed with the others. She wore her hair down tonight, draped teasingly over her right shoulder in a thick riot of chestnut curls that accentuated the sapphire blue of her gown. Everything about her appearance announced boldly that she wasn’t some unmarried miss out for her first season but a woman with confidence, elegance, brilliance…a woman capable of matching a man like him in every way.

  Except she refused to stop putting herself in danger.

  She looked up and found him watching her. A faint smile for him teased at her lips, and the softness of it wrapped around him like a velvet ribbon.

  He raised his glass to her in a toast. She hesitated only a moment before returning the gesture, then smiled a bit shyly into her glass as she brought it to her lips and took a sip, her cheeks pinking alluringly.

  He frowned. She was frustration of the first order. Her devotion to Nightingale bothered him to no end, how
she was willing to put her own reputation and life in jeopardy in order to help other women. He should have admired her for her courage. Instead, she worried the daylights out of him.

  Of course, it didn’t help his frustration that he’d thought of little else during the past few days except for how she’d looked in the dress shop. Standing there so delectably in only her undergarments, rolling that silk stocking slowly up her leg… He’d nearly laughed when she’d asked him to button her up, when he had to fight for restraint not to tear off her clothes and bare her to his eyes.

  Was the little minx wearing the stockings? He would have given his right arm to be able to kneel at her feet and ease up her skirt, to reach beneath and run his hand up the curve of her calf to feel for himself if—

  “Duke!”

  Marcus hid his distaste for the man as William McTavish, Earl of Hartsham, sidled up to him. Palming two glasses of port in his large hand, he slapped Marcus good-naturedly on the back. “I cannot begin to tell you how pleased I am that you agreed to join us for dinner. Very pleased!”

  Oh, Marcus was certain of that, even though he’d invited himself. As far as he could tell, the earl had made good use of currying favor with the other men at Marcus’s expense. He drawled with a tight smile, keeping the sarcasm from his voice, “How good of you to host me.”

  “I’d been hoping to throw a spread like this since I heard that you’d returned to England.” Hartsham audaciously removed the glass of punch from Marcus’s hand and discarded it onto a passing attendant’s tray, then replaced it with one of the glasses of port in his hand. With a grin, he tapped his own glass against Marcus’s in a small toast and raised it to his lips. “Here’s to the future.”

  At least that toast Marcus could drink to, and he took a swallow. The fine port trickled smoothly down his throat. Apparently, Hartsham had spared no expense tonight.

  “And how has life been for you since you’ve returned?” Hartsham gestured boisterously around the box at the other guests. Clearly, the evening’s drink was having an effect on the earl. “Society seems to be welcoming you with open arms.”

  An embrace Marcus wasn’t keen to accept. “It will help for the fights in Parliament.”

  “Fights not nearly as exciting as the wars, I’m sure.”

  “War isn’t exciting.” Anyone who claimed so was either a damned lunatic or had never been in the heat of battle. War was destructive, horrifying, sickening…sheer hell.

  Yet that terrible life was predicated upon a sense of purpose deeper than he’d ever known. One he missed every day.

  “How have you been adjusting to London life, then?”

  Unease pricked at the base of his spine, as it always did whenever he thought of all that he’d left behind when he resigned his commission. “It’s been an adjustment, I’ll admit.” He twisted his lips in a half smile at the private irony as he drawled, “But London’s an exciting place to be these days.”

  “So it is! And what do you think of England now that you’ve returned?” Hartsham studied Marcus over the rim of his glass. “Can Parliament win the peace now that the army has won the wars?”

  “It can, under the right circumstances.” Marcus fully believed that. But from what he’d seen of the depth of the poverty and crime in London, the struggle before them would prove to be as great as the one against Napoleon.

  “Perhaps Parliament, but what about the crown?” Hartsham’s voice lowered despite the piercing glint in his eyes. “Do you have any confidence in the monarchy now, given the old king’s madness and Prinny’s arrogant behavior of late? His disdain for English dignity and restraint? His determination to bankrupt us by spending our treasury on himself? Surely it galls you to see that buffoon parading around like a peacock in a field marshal’s uniform as if everything that uniform symbolized were nothing more than fancy dress.”

  Marcus took a silent sip of port. He’d served at the pleasure of the crown and now held a dukedom because of it. Yet how many times had he and his most trusted friends grumbled about the very things Hartsham had just mentioned while pinned down in the Spanish countryside as artillery fired around them and the real colonels of the Light Dragoons charged bravely into battle?

  But he wasn’t daft enough to utter his agreement aloud, especially in this sea of sharks. Especially given current tensions among the regent’s ministers and the increasing power of the Home Office to arrest Englishmen on charges of sedition.

  “It’s up to men like us to make certain the country moves in the right direction,” Marcus drawled noncommittally.

  “Agreed.” Hartsham’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps we’ll be allies, then.”

  “If you’re willing to put your reputation on the line to commit to change.” Marcus certainly was. Danielle’s devotion to helping others had rubbed off on him, apparently. For the first time since he’d returned to London, he felt a sense of purpose, however faint, sparking inside him. One not related to finding answers about Elise. “I’m willing to fight to make a difference. Are you?”

  “Very much so,” Hartsham assured him, but the way the earl said that slithered coldly down Marcus’s spine.

  Once more, his attention drifted across the box to Danielle. She smiled at something one of the ladies said, yet her head was turned just enough that she could look at him with a sideways glance. She knew he was watching, and that realization warmed through him.

  “Ah, the lovely Miss Williams,” Hartsham half purred, following Marcus’s attention across the box. “She’s certainly a special one.”

  “Indeed.” She’d become more special to him than he would ever have imagined.

  “Are you courting her?”

  The directness of that question surprised him, and he hesitated to answer.

  “Oh, come now!” Hartsham tapped his glass to Marcus’s shoulder as the earl turned to stare blatantly at Danielle. “No need to pretend humility. For heaven’s sake, look at her—a baron’s beautiful daughter. Gentlemen must be lined up a dozen deep at her door and fighting amongst themselves to call on her.” When the man raked a slow gaze over her, Marcus had to force down his rising hackles and not pummel him for daring to look at her so lecherously. “What man wouldn’t be willing to brag if he’d snagged the attentions of a woman like her?”

  He raised the glass to his mouth to hide his scowl at the idea of men calling on her. And being received.

  “I understand your reluctance to admit to it. If you do, you’ll be breaking the hearts of marriage-minded mamas across the empire.” Hartsham grinned as if the two men were university chums rather than practically strangers. “His Majesty’s Most Eligible going to the gallows of marriage!”

  “Those women have nothing to fear,” he assured Hartsham. But even as he said that, Danielle turned her head to look fully at him, then frowned slightly, as if she knew the two men were talking about her. “Miss Williams’s tastes are too refined to find any lasting interest in an old soldier like me.”

  The truth of that stung more than he wanted to admit. Discovering the truth about Elise’s death had brought them together. Once they had their answers, would they return to being nothing more than distant acquaintances? In just a short time, she’d filled an empty space in his life, and he wasn’t at all certain he wanted to let her go.

  “I can help you find female companionship if the London ladies aren’t what you’re looking for,” Hartsham tossed out casually, gesturing a greeting over the heads of the crowd to two gentlemen who had arrived late to supper. “To quench any needs that might arise.”

  Marcus’s lips twisted. Nothing ever changed. He might be hundreds of miles away from those suppers that he and other officers had shared at various Allied headquarters across the continent, but the after-dinner conversation among men proved to be just as crude here at Vauxhall. “You’re mistaken.” He smiled icily. “I have no need of a mistress.”

  �
��Oh no, not a mistress. Nothing at all that tame!” Hartsham laughed and moved away, weaving his way through the crowd to personally greet the new arrivals.

  Marcus frowned after the earl. If this was how his conversations would go with fellow peers, God help him.

  Another troupe of acrobats tumbled past, snaring the attention of the guests inside the box. The crowd shifted, with the ladies maneuvering for better views at the railing and the men for new glasses of punch.

  Excusing herself from the conversation, Danielle smiled brightly at no one in particular as she slowly circled the box toward him as if having no specific destination in mind except to pluck up a sugared orange slice from the tray of sweets on the sideboard. She nibbled at it casually, then smiled at him as she feigned surprise at unwittingly finding herself standing next to him.

  Oh, she was good at navigating the perils of society’s unwritten rules of propriety. Another stark reminder of the differences between them.

  When she stopped beside him and turned so that they stood shoulder to shoulder at the side of the box, his skin tingled at her nearness.

  “Wonderful evening, isn’t it, Your Grace?” She kept her voice low, yet they still couldn’t speak openly. Not here, surrounded by people who were eager to overhear every word they shared.

  “Very much so, Miss Williams. I trust that you enjoyed dinner.” As the daughter of a baron, order of precedence put them on opposite ends of the supper table, with several countesses and viscountesses between them. They hadn’t had the chance to speak privately all evening. “And all the entertainments that Vauxhall offers.”

  She smiled apologetically as one of the ladies lingered so close to catch their conversation that she accidentally bumped into Danielle’s side. “Actually, I haven’t had a chance to venture out into the gardens yet tonight.”