The Duke (10 page)

She had barely reached the other room when she heard him loudly and thunderously applauded by all the other men in the room.

She stole a glance over her shoulder and saw him laughing with easy goodnaturedness as potbellied Lord Alvanley thumped him cheerfully on the back. Perhaps someone had just told him she had never before shown such favor to any of her admirers, for his suntanned cheeks were tinged with a manly blush.

Charmed, she smiled to herself and turned away. The hour was late, so she slipped out of the salon and went to bed before any of her other admirers came seeking a chance to win a kiss of their own. She knew now just whom she wanted.

She was still smiling when her head hit the pillow, but though her heart beat with excitement and newfound hope, she forced herself to ignore the noisy party downstairs, shut her eyes, and willed herself to rest.

The hour was late and it wouldn’t do to look haggard when her future protector came calling.

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Hawk spent the night alone in his vast carved bed, tossing and turning in the satin sheets and staring up at the velvet canopy in a state of thrilled, thwarted, curious uncertainty.

A courtesan.

He had never kissed a courtesan before, never touched one, nor let one touch him. He had been careful of them. He had his prejudices, true, for a man in his position had to be cautious. And yet... how would it be if she were here now?

He closed his eyes, comforting his desperate solitude with candlelit visions of her, so mysterious and lovely, and all the while, her haughty, maddening little laugh echoed in his ears, taunting him.

He wanted more.

One kiss was not enough. He wanted to explore her every curve, taste her skin beneath his lips. . . . With a silent groan he turned his face to the wall, throbbing with guilty need. He couldn’t stop.

He considered the fine texture of her hair as he dreamed of unpinning it, watching it fall in blond cascades around her shoulders. Then, in his mind’s eye, they undressed each other and he drew her down onto his bed, where she used every inch of her silken young flesh to enchant him with her dream of love.
Fille de joie. Pleasure girl.
As his body ached and burned for her touch, he knew for a price he could make it happen.

Whatever her price, he could easily afford it. But he didn’t dare.

A woman like that could take him for all that he had and walk away smiling. Or worse, bind herself to him forever with illegitimate children. She was dangerous.

But so damned alluring.

When Sunday morning came, he found that he must have finally slept, for he awoke to the sound of churchbells bonging for services. His mind was clear, his body invigorated, and his whole being eager to get back to Belinda Hamilton’s side before Dolph Breckinridge slept off his hangover and heard about their kiss.

Judging by Dolph’s behavior last night, his reaction to the news would not be pleasant. Hawk intended to be on hand to protect her when the baronet arrived.

Moreover, he had settled upon a solution. Miss Hamilton was obviously the fulcrum by which he could gain untold leverage over Dolph. First, he would have to test her a bit, gauge where her sympathies lay, but if she disliked Dolph as much as she seemed to, it was only a question of luring her under his protection.

The plan taking shape in his mind would mean associating closely with Miss Hamilton in the coming weeks, but by the sane light of morning, he saw no reason why he could not trust himself completely to his rigid self-control. He was the bloody Paragon Duke, was he not? The whole world knew he could easily deny temptation. He would treat
La Belle
Hamilton
with courtesy and pay her for her time, but he would absolutely not get involved
that way
with a Cyprian.

He forced himself by sheer willpower to wait until afternoon to call on her.

It was
quarter past four
when he sprang out of his curricle. He left it in the care of William, his able young groom, a tall, red-haired, raw-boned lad of nineteen, then strode up to Harriette Wilson’s door and knocked.

He waited for someone to answer, squinting in the bright May sunshine with the high wind rippling through his hair and playing with the tails of his soft dun tail coat. He glanced at the azure sky, enjoying the freshness of the air and the fanciful array of meringue-puff clouds and the promise of summer splendors soon to arrive.

When a maidservant opened the door, Hawk handed her his calling card and asked for Miss Hamilton. The maid bobbed a curtsy then scurried up the narrow wooden staircase to see if her mistress was prepared to receive visitors. He paced in the small entrance hall, his footfalls ringing with an odd empty echo. It hardly seemed like the same place that had been so thronged last night. His excitement to see the lovely, impertinent, and most delicious Miss Hamilton again was barely mitigated by the twinge of guilt that endeavored to remind him he was only here because of Lucy.

The maid returned and asked him if he would wait a few minutes more. He shrugged and continued pacing, tapping his top hat idly against his thigh, curiously inspecting Harriette’s sedan chair which leaned beside the staircase.

Miss Hamilton kept him, the mighty duke of Hawkscliffe, waiting a full quarter hour before she deigned to allow him up into her rarified company. He didn’t doubt she had no other purpose in the delay than to teach him his place—under her pretty foot. What could he do but sigh and take it? Until he had her under his exclusive protection, the bit o‘ muslin held all the cards. Strangely, her transparent machinations didn’t touch his surprisingly jovial mood. He couldn’t help it. The chit amused him.

When Miss Hamilton finally sent her maid back to lead him up, his heartbeat quickened absurdly as he mounted the steps. The maid took him through the large, now empty salon, past the green baize card table, to the parlor in the back of the second floor. The maid curtsied and left him at the parlor’s threshold.

He stepped closer and found Miss Hamilton arranged in demure perfection on a graceful Egyptian-style couch next to a round table that held a vase burgeoning with fresh-cut hydrangeas. She had a newspaper on her lap while her dainty slippered feet were displayed for him on an embroidered footstool. Even the afternoon sunbeam streaming in through the window seemed artful as it sparkled on her pale blond hair, which today she wore tumbling over her shoulders in flaxen waves and champagne-bright ringlets. All that bound her luxurious tresses in some semblance of order was a pair of ivory combs.

Hawk smiled as the fetching creature pretended not to notice him, letting him have his fill of looking at her. Her walking dress, with a wide scoop neck, was of sprigged muslin in muted yellow. The short puffed sleeves invited him to admire her slender arms. She looked for all the world like a soft, cuddly angel, he thought in asinine sentimentality. Though he knew the whole scene before him was the calculated result of mercenary feminine conquest, he was captivated nonetheless.

“Good day, Miss Hamilton.”

On cue, she looked up, then beamed a warm smile at him. Her eyes shone with fresh brilliance. “Your Grace!”

“I hope I am not interrupting,” he said in a rather wry tone.

“Not at all,” she declared in pleasure, holding out her hand to him like a princess disposed to show favor.

Dutifully he strode forward and took her hand in his own, bestowing the expected kiss on her fingertips. Her large violet-blue eyes shone as she greeted him and if he was not mistaken, his young courtesan beauty was most decidedly blushing.

When he had kissed her hand, she did not let go of his light grasp, but curled her fingers around his and tugged him down to sit on the couch beside her, gifting him with a generous smile. His gaze lingered on her face, drinking in the sight of her.

“I wondered if you would visit me today,” she said almost shyly.

He laughed softly. “You could doubt it?”

She smiled, blushing more brightly. They stared at each other in a charmed, relishing silence. He quite believed his heart skipped a beat.

“What’s that you’re reading?” he asked before he was tempted to catch her up in his arms and kiss her senseless on the couch.

“The
Quarterly Review?
”

“Really?” Surprised that it wasn’t some mindless serialized Gothic tale, he rested his arm along the back of the couch behind her and leaned nearer to inspect the volume she was reading. He caught a whiff of the soft, clean fragrance of her hair, a wholesome blend of rosebuds, sweet almond, and chamomile. It went straight to his head.

“I’ve just finished reading the most fascinating article entitled ‘A Call for Total International Abolition of Slavery’ by His Grace, the duke of Hawkscliffe. Ever heard of him?”

Startled, Hawk felt his cheeks flush. A wave of self-consciousness washed through him at her interest in his work. “Dull chap, eh?”

“On the contrary, Your Grace, I am finding your essays most expertly done. You are logical in your arguments, forceful in your style, and dare I say quite . . .
passionate
on your subject. I only wonder that your Tory colleagues aren’t appalled.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked in surprise.

“Some of your views verge on those of the Whigs.”

He stared at her, torn between amusement and indignation. She was only a female, after all. What did she know of politics? “Oh, really?” he said in an indulgent drawl.

“Quite.” She picked up a folded copy of the
Edinburgh Review
that lay on the table beside her. “You might enjoy meeting Harriette’s friend, Mr. Henry Brougham. I’ve been reading both party’s journals and your opinions on things are remarkably similar.”

Hawk’s left eyebrow rose. He could not decide if he was insulted, shocked, or merely amused to be compared so blithely to his great political rival and nemesis.

Miss Hamilton turned to him innocently. “Oh, do you know Mr. Brougham already, Your Grace?”

“Er, we’ve met.”

All business, she cast the
Edinburgh Review
aside and flipped through the
Quarterly
again. “I’ve also been reading your essay ‘Let the Punishment Fit the Crime.’ Your ideas on penal reform are inspired. I don’t claim to understand all the legal nuances, but I respect a man who knows right from wrong. There are so few of you,” she added loftily.

Fighting perplexed laughter and rather embarrassed by her praise, Hawk lifted the journal out of her hands. “Come, Miss Hamilton, the day is too fine to stay cooped up indoors reading dull political essays.”

“You’re too modest,” she scolded, but her eyes sparkled with pleasure at his invitation. She jumped up and strode off to fetch her wrap, bonnet, and parasol.

Abandoned in the parlor, Hawk couldn’t stop smiling. He dropped his head with a puff of a sigh and raked a hand through his hair, casting about for his equilibrium. By Jove, he hadn’t expected her to be as quick witted as she was pretty.

A few minutes later she returned, ready for their outing.

They bounded down the creaking stairs like high-spirited children and burst outside into the glorious sunshine.

He lifted her up into his curricle then went around to the driver’s seat as William climbed to his post in back. Gathering the reins, he snapped them smartly over the backs of his high-stepping blooded bays.

The horses’ clopping hoof beats rebounded off the neat, flat-fronted houses as his curricle rolled down the cobbled street. Children playing ball in the road scattered as they approached. Once they had cleared the rowdy tangle of youngsters, he urged his team into a canter. Belinda laughed with relish at the speed, her hair flying behind her and whipping around the sides of her bonnet. He grinned, enjoying the rare treat of showing off at the ribbons for a beautiful girl.

The drive to
Hyde Park
was not long. When they arrived, they found the Ring crowded with mounted riders and open carriages, everyone out for a Sunday drive at the height of the Season. The pace was fast and the park roadways muddy.

He quickly noticed the stares they drew. Young men gawked at Belinda while matrons sent him appalled glares, but this was only the beginning. Word would spread quickly, he knew. Soon everyone—including Dolph—would have heard that he was seen escorting the prize courtesan of the day around Town.

Meanwhile he could only wonder how his fair companion felt when they passed society ladies who cut her dead, or worse, when men who had paid boundless homage to her the night before hurried past in their carriages with their wives and children and pretended not to know her— pretended she didn’t exist. The hypocrisy of it all roused his protective instincts with a fury.

Glancing at her, he knew she was upset because her blank, forward stare had turned expressionless as it had been last night during Dolph’s tirade. Hawk’s face hardened. Demirep or no, he would not let them do this to her.

Without asking her preference, he turned his curricle off of the