An Unlikely Duchess (27 page)

“I can,” the dowager interrupted gaily and both Rebecca and Edward realised that they’d put on quite the display. The dowager however, seemed unfazed and actually rather happy about the whole thing.

Caroline was smiling knowingly at Rebecca. Rebecca chose to ignore the lot of them.

“We left because Rebecca poured a glass of champagne over Sir Roger’s head.”

There was a stunned silence from Edward as he took in this new information.

Then he turned to Rebecca, his expression serious.

“Do you make a habit of drowning old barons in champagne, my dear?” he asked politely.

“Oh shut up,” she snapped not caring, in her state of embarrassment, whether people thought she was acting appropriately or not. “It was one glass, hardly enough to drown in. And it was an accident.”

“It always is dearest,” Caroline, the traitor, piped up.

They all laughed and Rebecca felt like a silly little child. She bowed her head miserably.

Edward refused his mother’s offer of tea, taking his leave instead.

“It appears I shall have to keep an even closer eye on you, Lady Rebecca, lest you find yourself in any more scrapes that seem so unique to you,” he said by way of goodbye.

Rebecca stuck her tongue out at him. Which wasn’t terribly mature but made her feel better.

Yet even though she was annoyed with him, with herself, with the world in general at that particular time, when he kissed her hand her heart still cried out for him. There really was nothing else for it. She was hopelessly in love with the arrogant swine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Edward called the next day to take Rebecca driving again. This time, he was accompanied by Tom who requested Caroline’s company for a drive.

Rebecca was shocked to see a flush creep over Caroline’s cheeks at the request. She really had meant to ask Caroline if something had happened between her and Mr. Crawdon but lately Rebecca’s head had been so filled with thoughts of Edward she barely managed to dress herself in the morning.

Thankfully Maura did not require much help in that department.

And so it went, for the next week or so. Edward called every day. Sometimes with Tom, sometimes not. Sometimes he just visited; sometimes he took them out to museums, parks, for ices and he even braved a shop. Though it was a bookshop. And he waited outside. But it was a valiant effort at chivalry nonetheless.

Her favourite thing about these outings and visits was not the token gifts that Edward was always giving to her in secret; a book she mentioned, her favourite flowers, even a little figure of an imp he’d seen once and bought because it reminded him of her, it was that they talked. Really talked. About their fathers, Edward’s having gained the title of duke so unexpectedly and the pressures that entailed, Rebecca’s fears that some of her more outlandish behaviours would bring shame to her family’s honour and general conversations that had no real purpose but allowed them to understand each other and get to know each other more and more every day.

Rebecca had never been happier or more concerned about her own heart. The Season was plodding on; she was receiving gentlemen callers every day. Her dance card was filled every night. But the only thing that gave her any pleasure was being in Edward’s company.

He danced with her every night. The first dance and the supper dance, ensuring that they were seated together at dances and balls.

It could not be said that he showed much of a preference, however, since he always made sure to dance two with Caroline also. But rational thought really had no place in her fantasies and the longer she spent with Edward the more lost to any other man she became.

****

Some weeks after their arrival in Town, the dowager took the girls to the Opera. They were thrilled at the prospect for although they’d seen performances in Dublin, the dowager assured them that a trip to the Opera during London Season was quite a sight to behold.

She was not wrong. As their carriage pulled up in front of the theatre, directly in front of the carriage holding Edward and Mr. Crawdon, Rebecca could see that the ladies truly did not hold back when dressing for the opera.

She and Caroline had once again dressed in Madame’s creations and were infinitely pleased to have done so. They would have looked positively dreary in anything less than Madame’s designs here amongst the most glittering of the
beau monde’s
ladies.

Caroline had reverted to her favourite— blue. A light azure whose colour was a little daring for a debutante but Madame had refused to dress Caroline in white and Caroline had, wisely, stayed quiet.

Rebecca was in an unusual choice for her, a pale mint green. She was surprised to find that colour suited her very well.

As they stepped from the carriage, Edward came to assist Rebecca and his mother up the stairs to the grand entrance, which was lit with the most beautiful chandeliers.

Mr. Crawdon was escorting Caroline and there appeared to be none of the animosity between them that sometimes radiated from them. Rebecca was pleased. Something felt rather special about tonight and she did not want any of them to be unhappy.

“Your beauty never fails to steal my breath, sweetheart.” Rebecca was surprised and pleased to hear Edward’s whispered words in her ear. His breath tickled her neck and she shivered at the tingling sensation that shot through her.

Rebecca looked up at him and took in the immaculate black evening coat, needing no padding for his shoulders were the broadest she’d ever seen, his arms muscled and taut. She swallowed over the sudden lump in her throat. Rarely did Rebecca allow herself to study him anymore, unless she knew for certain that he was not watching her.

His valet had done an impeccable job with his cravat; it was blindingly white and tied with none of the flamboyance of the dandies of the
ton
. It was sensible and well suited to the sensible man. Rebecca smiled.

“What’s that for?” Edward asked.

“Oh, I was just thinking of your cravat,” Rebecca blurted out, before even thinking about what she was saying.

“Oh. Right.” He seemed confused. Rebecca did not blame him.

“It is just I noticed yours is tied without all the pomp and fussiness of some of the other gentlemen of my acquaintance. It is sensible and practical. Like you, really.”

His smile was quickly replaced by a frown.

“Sensible and practical? That is how you see me?”

Rebecca paused, surprised at how unhappy he seemed. He was not
only
those things. He was so much more. But he was, first and foremost a duke and therefore had a huge amount of responsibility. It only stood to reason that the head of such a vast empire would at least have a sensible head on his shoulders.

“Well. Yes” she exclaimed. “But that is not all you are,” she hurried on to explain.

“What else am I?”

“Oh no. You shall not fish for compliments with me, your grace. I believe your ego is quite inflated enough.”

“Minx.”

Rebecca merely smiled and walked ahead toward their box.

Edward shook his head slightly, as if to clear his brain of her spell once again.
Sensible and practical?
He may be those things now, having been forced to do a lot of growing up when his father had died.

But prior to that his life had been one of a decided rake. Though he had never shirked his responsibility, he was honest enough to admit that he had enjoyed his life of few problems, plenty of wealth and the good looks that reduced women to pools of trembling wrecks.

He remembered the times fondly.

Since he’d taken over as Duke of Hartridge, however, he’d had to leave all that behind. He would not disgrace his father or his name by damaging the estates or the name of Hartridge.

He’d settled down. Stopped gambling. Stopped drinking excessively and although he hadn’t become celibate, he was a man with needs after all, he was certainly much more discreet about it. Though only one woman had held any interest for him since his trip to Ireland.

The one who thought him sensible and practical. Wonderful!

He felt a primitive urge to show her just how insensible he could be, right here in the theatre. But of course, he would not. She deserved better. She meant far too much to him to be treated as anything less than a duchess.

He frowned to himself as the thought formed in his head. That was it, the problem that kept him awake. When he was not lusting after Rebecca, he was wondering if he wanted her as a wife. No, that was not strictly true. He wanted her, quite desperately, as his wife.

He, Edward, just the man that he was, wanted her so desperately it was driving him insane. And he’d come to the monumental and, frankly, terrifying conclusion that he did not just lust after her. He could very well be in love with her. He
was
in love with her.

Love. He’d actually fallen in love with the girl who climbed things, fell into things, poured drinks over the heads of peers and swore like a sailor.

But however much Edward the man might love her, could Edward the duke really chose her as his duchess?

“Edward,” Tom’s voice interrupted his tortured reverie, “I’ve been sent once again to search you out. Though this time it seems as if you are not having as much fun as the last,” he added wickedly.

“Shut up, Tom.”

“Now, now. Be nice. You are not going to try any of that on me are you?” Tom continued unrepentant, “Because I must tell you, you are a little too hairy and big for me. Plus, I confess, I have a preference for blondes.”

“Do you have a death wish, Tom?”

“Only in the mornings,” came the laughing reply.

Both men turned to enter the box and Edward decided to try to put his musings from his mind and enjoy sitting in a darkened room with Rebecca by his side.

“I say blondes,” Tom started again, “but Lady Rebecca would change anyone’s mind on that score, she—”

“Tom,” Edward had stopped and put his arm out to stop Tom preceding him into the box. “I vow on all that is dear to me, if you mention Rebecca’s name in the same sentence as your ‘preferences’ again I will put a bullet in you. Understand?”

Tom merely laughed and clapped Edward on the back.

“Oh my poor cousin. You really are a lost cause.” He slipped inside before Edward could retort. Or hit him. The latter seemed the most appealing.

****

Edward’s evening went from bad to worse when he entered the box and discovered Rebecca had been wedged between her sister and his mother, leaving him no option but to take the back seat beside Tom. He sat directly behind her and knew immediately that he would spend the entire performance distracted by her. If he leaned forward slightly, he would be able to smell her hair. That wonderful citrus scent that almost brought him to his knees.

If he reached out he’d be able to graze his fingers along the smooth curve of her neck, exposed now because her glorious hair was piled on top of her head. He could not see the pins that held it in place, but he knew that they were there and that loosening just a few would release her hair, leaving it to tumble down her back like a river of chocolate.

He’d better stop. It was getting deuced uncomfortable sitting in this position and the performance had only just started.

He clenched his fists to make sure he did not lean forward and maul the lady where she sat and glanced over at Tom to make sure that he hadn’t seen Edward panting at the top of Rebecca’s head like a stray dog who’d followed her in here. But Tom’s head was turned toward the stage where the performance had started. His fists, however, were clenched just like Edward’s.
How interesting.

****

Rebecca felt her shoulders droop with relief when the curtain closed for intermission and sincerely hoped nobody asked her about the performance for she knew not a whit what it had been about.

She had felt it the second Edward came in and sat behind her. If she leaned back slightly, she would be able to smell the glorious scent of sandalwood that one could only smell when standing closer than was acceptable. It was her favourite smell in the world.

What would it be like to be his wife so that he had leave to touch her in public, and she him? Would he caress her neck? Play with her hair?

Rebecca wondered if anyone would notice should she start to fan herself. She’d better stop her thoughts in their tracks. They were becoming far too heated.

The gentlemen left the box to procure some refreshments. Rebecca knew that now they would be inundated with visitors to their box.

People often used the interval as an opportunity to call on acquaintances and since they were in the ducal box it stood to reason that there would be a steady stream of well wishers heading their way.

Standing up, Rebecca begged the dowager and Caroline to excuse her while she stretched her legs. She did not really feel like making polite chit chat with boring old peers or young gentlemen who were desperate to court her dowry.

Slipping out before they were invaded, Rebecca made her way down the corridor, nodding politely to familiar faces but not stopping to speak to anyone. She headed in the opposite direction of the foyer in order to avoid the crowds and, to her relief, noted that the amount of people began to dwindle. Glancing up the corridor she wondered if she should return because, really, a single lady should not be alone for long and Caroline was sure to deliver a sermon on the subject if Rebecca did not get back, when she spotted Viscount Hadley’s face. It looked as if he’d just exited the duke’s box and was scanning the crowd.

In a panic, Rebecca whipped round and ducked behind a heavy velvet curtain hanging to her left. To her surprise, she had a straight view to the stage. How odd. Perhaps there was a purpose to the nook, perhaps something to do with the performances. She idly watched the crowed below for a few moments, enjoying the peace and quiet and for a moment, was tempted to stay here for the rest of the performance. But that would not do.

Reluctantly, she judged that it was time to return and turned to leave when she heard a distinctive tearing sound. What on earth? She stepped forward again and noticed that she was stuck. And there was the tear again.