When the Duke Found Love (7 page)

Her teary eyes widened. “Do you love another, too?”

“At present, no,” he said, feeling sheepish to admit such a thing. “But because I subscribe to the unfashionable notion of loving one’s bride for herself rather than her bloodlines, I would rather wait to marry until I do.”

She nodded eagerly. “Then come with me, sir, so that we might tell my parents, and end this foolish match now!”

“No, Lady Enid, I will not,” he said, holding her back. “Nor shall you. I may be a wastrel and a rake, but I also have a conscience, and I don’t wish anyone to whisper nonsense of you, or claim you were jilted.”

“Oh, sir,” she said softly, and he had the uneasy impression she was seeing him for the first time, there in the moonlight. “That’s most kind of you. I did not even think of it.”

“That’s because you’re a lady of virtue and honor,” he said wryly, unable to keep from repeating her earlier words to her, “and I live for scandal and intrigue. If you can bear it, let us continue as if we mean to obey our elders and wed. What better way to avoid matchmaking schemes than to already have been matched already?”

“Can we do that, sir?” she asked uneasily. “Pretend that way?”

“I can if you can,” he said. “The ruse will benefit us both, at least until I can think of a respectable way for us to part.”

How exactly he’d manage that would be a puzzle. Thanks to Brecon’s influence, he really was a rake with a conscience, an uneasy combination if ever there was one. He was perfectly happy to pretend that he and Lady Enid were betrothed if it gave him a respite from other matchmaking schemes, and in fact he’d like to see her wed to her educated tutor, parsing Latin together forever and ever. If he didn’t want to marry without love, then he saw no reason she must do so, either, no matter what her father dictated. Besides, Sheffield rather enjoyed the notion of playing Cupid for such an unlikely couple, especially if it meant he would be free.

Clearly Lady Enid was thinking, too. “I’ll send word to Joshua to let him know the truth,” she said, “so he may stop worrying about me.”

“You remain in contact with him, despite your father’s wishes?” Sheffield asked, surprised. “You know where he resides?”

“I do, sir,” she said, the determined chin returning. “I will remain ever faithful in my love. He is here in London, serving as tutor to a thick-headed merchant’s son in Cornhill, the only position he could obtain because of Father.”

“Why, Lady Enid,” Sheffield said, liking her better after this declaration. “That sounds as if you’re conducting a bit of intrigue yourself.”

“I would do anything for Dr. Pullings, sir,” she said vehemently. “
Anything
. And thus I will pretend to be betrothed to you, sir.”

“Even that?” Sheffield asked, amused but also touched by her devotion. It wasn’t that he longed for her particular devotion—he didn’t—but when he considered all the ladies in his own past, he wasn’t sure any of them had been quite so loyal as this.

“Even that, sir,” she said firmly, and slipped her hand into his arm. “Shall we share our happiness with my parents?”

They walked back into the house, squeezing their way past the guests who’d gathered to watch the dancers. Sheffield glanced at them, too, his gaze irresistibly drawn to the sight of graceful women dancing. But one in particular caught his eye, a girl with golden hair and a gown of cream-colored damask with pink flowers, and this time he didn’t need Fantôme to find her.

“What is it, sir?” Lady Enid said. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Not quite,” he said, chagrined that she’d noticed. “But do you know that lady dancing in the white gown, the one with the fair hair?”

Lady Enid looked at the lady, then stared at him, incredulous. “You truly don’t recognize her?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I did,” he said. “Remember, I’ve been abroad, and a good many fair new faces have appeared in London since I left. Including your own, Lady Enid.”

She laughed. “An excellent recovery, sir,” she said. “But you should know the lady in white, for she’s practically part of your own family. She’s Lady Diana Wylder, and her older sisters are Lady Marchbourne and Lady Hawkesworth.”

“
That’s
Lady Diana Wylder?” he asked, stunned that London could be such a small place. How could it be that Fantôme’s lady in the wood was the same lady Brecon had mentioned as being a trial to her mother?

“It is, sir,” Lady Enid answered, laughing again at his astonishment. “But I wonder that you do not know her for her history alone, for truly you must both be cut from the same scandalous cloth. Her name has been linked with several of the most unfortunate men, from a ne’er-do-well Irish officer to a Covent Garden actor. She’s said to be quite … 
impulsive
.”

“I’d no notion,” he murmured, watching the girl with renewed interest. No, not merely renewed: doubled, or even tripled. He’d already been intrigued by her beauty and her laughter (and her breasts—he’d an undeniable male interest in those), as well as the mysterious circumstances of finding her unattended in the park. But to learn that she was also the same girl whom Brecon had forbidden him to see—ah, perhaps that interest had grown tenfold.

“Actors and Irish officers,” he said. “What better way to a dubious reputation?”

“Indeed, sir,” Lady Enid said, with perhaps more relish than he’d expected. “It’s said that Lady Diana would be considered quite ruined by now if Lady Marchbourne weren’t her sister.”

“Who’s that sorry-looking fellow in black dancing with her now?” Sheffield asked. The man was grim and awkward as he dragged her about the floor, not even bothering to attempt the proper steps. Lady Diana in turn was trying hard to make the best of the dance, and of him, but her misery was clear enough. Even from across the room he could see that her smile was too fixed, her eyes too bright, for real happiness. “He can’t possibly be an Irish officer.”

“Oh, no, sir,” Lady Enid said promptly. “That’s Lord Crump, her betrothed, or at least he will be her betrothed any day now. It’s said that he’s the only unwed lord who’s stern enough to offer for her hand.”

So this was the man she’d meant when she’d said she wasn’t free, there beneath the trees. In Sheffield’s estimation, Lord Crump had no business at all offering for Lady Diana’s hand, despite how stern he might be. Or rather, because of how stern he was. Sheffield couldn’t believe that Brecon had encouraged this foolishness. A spirited girl such as Lady Diana deserved to be amused and charmed, not broken like a recalcitrant nag.

“It’s considered a most favorable match for them both, sir,” Lady Enid was saying. “She’s very beautiful and well-bred, and he’s likewise titled and wealthy and willing to overlook her indiscretions for the sake of heirs.”

More overheard gossip and scandal: yet this time Sheffield heard the unmistakable wistfulness in Lady Enid’s voice, a wistfulness that drew him sharply back from his thoughts of Lady Diana.

“Not so very different from our own situation, is it?” He patted her fingers on his arm, determined not to be a boor. “But ours will have the happier outcome, Lady Enid, I’m sure of that.”

She only sighed, her gaze following Lady Diana.

That would not do; there were few things more depressing than one woman mooning after the lot of another.

“Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres,”
he said solemnly.

She looked at him in confusion. “What are you saying?”

“Gallia est omnis divisa in partes tres,”
he repeated. “That’s Virgil, you know.”

“‘All Gaul is divided into three parts,’” she translated. “It’s Julius Caesar, not Virgil.”

“It’s also the complete sum of the Latin I can recall from school,” he said. “All the proof you require regarding me as a possible husband. You deserve a gentleman like Dr. Pullings, Lady Enid, one who will appreciate you for who you are. I swear to do my best to arrange it, too. You have my word.”

“Audentis fortuna luvat,”
she said softly. “That
is
Virgil.”

He tipped his head quizzically to one side. “Meaning exactly what?”

“‘Fortune favors the brave,’” she said. “Meaning that I thank you for everything, and that I hope you find your lady to love, too.”

She smiled up at him, full of trust and gratitude, and she was smiling still when they rejoined her parents.

“How joyful you two look!” Lady Lattimore exclaimed with a great measure of joy herself. “Your Grace, I have never seen my daughter more delighted.”

“We were parsing Latin, Lady Lattimore,” Sheffield said, purposely bland. “I have never before met a lady-scholar like Lady Enid.”

Beside him Lady Enid barely smothered her laughter, turning it into a mangled, choking cough.

“I do not like the sound of that, Enid,” Lady Lattimore said, frowning with concern. “You are quite flushed. She never flushes, Your Grace. Never. Enid, here, let me feel your forehead. Are you unwell? Are you feverish?”

“She’s fine as a fiddle, my dear,” Lord Lattimore said, winking broadly at Sheffield. “Ladies, hah.”

But Lady Lattimore would not be deterred. “She is feverish, sir; the excitement of love has made her so. Summon our coach, if you please. Your Grace, we must beg our leave, for Enid’s sake.”

There was a bustle of farewells and apologies, a promise that he’d call soon, a final, hurried smile from Lady Enid, and then they were gone, leaving Sheffield much freer than he’d expected from this night—free, really, in every way that mattered.

He raced back to the room with the dancing, to where he’d last seen Lady Diana. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d do when he saw her again. His options were decidedly limited. He wasn’t in Paris any longer. Whether she was family or not, he and Lady Diana had yet to be introduced to each other, and even if they had been, they were both supposed to be bound to others. He couldn’t address her, separate her from Lord Crump, or ask her to dance, not without causing great scandal. He couldn’t even bow to her from across the room. About all he could do was watch her dance from a respectful distance and pray she’d look his way and notice him.

But as soon as he’d managed to work his way through the crowd, the dance ended, and the musicians put aside their instruments to show that the set had ended. Like waves coming into shore, the crowd of guests turned away from where the dancing had been and pushed back against him, looking for more diversions, other friends, and the supper room. Over their heads, he saw Lord Crump’s stiff bow before Lady Diana, and her curtsey. Then abruptly she turned away and left him, disappearing through another of the tall open doors to the gallery.

At once Sheffield followed, ducking through the nearest door and onto the same gallery. The evening had grown cooler, and a mist had begun to rise from the river and veil the moon, the same moon that had shone without magic on him and Lady Enid. The chill had driven the other guests back inside the house, leaving the gallery empty except for Lady Diana.

She stood alone in the farthest corner of the gallery, beside the stone balustrade and beneath the shading branch of a nearby tree. The white of her gown was like a wisp of moonlight captured in the shadows, and he went to her at once, unable to resist. He’d no idea what he’d say or do, no idea at all except that he wanted to be with her, which should, he decided, be inspiration enough when the time came for doing and saying.

As he drew closer, she heard his footsteps and swiftly turned to face him. He thought she might have been crying; now he could see that her hands had been knotted on the balustrade in frustration, not unhappiness. In an instant her expression changed from startled wariness to bewilderment to out-and-out wonder.

“It’s you,” she whispered, her eyes wide as he stood before her. “It’s
you
.”

“It is,” he said. “And you’re you, too.”

“What absolute foolishness,” she said. She smiled crookedly, displaying a single charming dimple, and then, to his eternal surprise, slipped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him.

C
HAPTER
F
OUR

Without thought or hesitation, Diana closed her eyes and kissed the stranger.

It was bold of her, and brazen, and not like her usual self at all. Despite what the gossips whispered, she wasn’t in the habit of kissing men willy-nilly, and certainly not men whose names and history she did not know. In fact, if pressed, she could likely only count a half dozen boys and men whom she’d kissed in all her eighteen years. Perhaps the number was greater than for other, more saintly ladies, but surely it was not enough to qualify her as slatternly or overly free.

At least not until now. Now she was standing in the moonlight on the gallery of Lady Fortescue’s house with the breezes from the river tossing her skirts and her hair and her arms curled wantonly around the shoulders of a man who was a complete and total stranger to her.

No, she must be honest: he was not a complete stranger. She might not know his name, but from his speech, dress, and manner, she knew he was an English gentleman. She knew he had a white French bulldog named Fantôme. She knew he was gallant, and amusing, too, and she knew he was wonderfully handsome and that his shoulders beneath her arms were broad and manly and very nice to rest upon. She knew he’d a charming smile, and that she’d wanted to kiss him the first time he’d smiled at her, and ever since, which was part of the reason she was kissing him now.

Most of all, she was kissing him because he wasn’t Lord Crump.

But then, to her surprise, the gentleman began to kiss her in return, a beguiling, seductive kiss that coaxed her to follow his lead. He settled one hand around her waist and another at the small of her back as familiarly as if they’d been there scores of times before, and leaned into her, gently pushing her back against the trunk of the overhanging tree. As he drew her body closer to his, he deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth over her lips until with a little catch in her breath she parted them for him. Instantly the kiss changed into something deeper, hotter, more demanding, and far, far different from the kisses she’d shared with those other half dozen boys and men. It almost made her dizzy, this kiss. It was exhilarating and it was passionate, and it was complete and utter madness.