An Unsuitable Duchess (4 page)

‘I say, that was quite undignified of you.’ His friend picked the toast from his chest and bit into it. ‘This is quite good.’ He licked his fingers. ‘Has she selected another simpering chit for you?’

‘Yes, but this time she has spoken to the family, indicating that I have an interest. She has gone too far.’

‘And who is this paragon of the
ton
she has so carefully chosen to bear the next Duke?’

‘Lady Mary Morley.’

As if he was trying to recall her name, Hart momentarily shifted his gaze. ‘Could be worse. She has the most delicious-looking breasts I’ve seen. They’re so full and tempting. Here—pass the lemon curd over.’ He picked up the bowl from Julian’s hand, dipped his spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’

‘Would you please focus?’

‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.

‘On my problem, dolt!’

‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’

‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.

‘Maybe
you
can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’

The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.

‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’

‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’

‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’

‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’

Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’

He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.

Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.

Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.

Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?

Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.

Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.

Chapter Three

L
ater that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.

Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.

‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.

They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.

‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.

‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’

‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these
ton
marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’

Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the
ton
is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’

‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.

Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’

‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in
our
direction for once.’

But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man
was
staring—a very surprised man.

* * *

Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.

The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?

‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.

‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’

Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’

Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.

‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.

‘Whose name?’

‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on
me
. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’

Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’

‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’

Placing the coin in his pocket, Hart took his spyglass and openly scanned the boxes across the way. ‘There is the Montrose box—nothing new in there. Rothschild has some guests, but unless you are interested in
much
older women I think we can safely say your attention was not focused there. Then there is the box with the American delegation... Hmm...potential there. Next we have—’

‘You know that box?’ Julian closed his eyes, praying his friend hadn’t heard the inane question.

Hart laughed softly and arched a cocky brow. ‘So your thoughts were of a political nature?’

He didn’t have to look so smug.

‘Oh, very well, Julian. The gentleman and lady seated to our far left are Mr and Mrs Forrester, the American Minister and his wife. The other gentleman in the front row is Mr Peter Vandenberg, an American author who has recently arrived in London and will be one of the American representatives at the Anglo-American Conference. Surely you have heard of him? My understanding is that he has been welcomed all over the courts and drawing rooms of Europe and has lived for the past eight months in Paris. It’s interesting that President Monroe has entrusted him to successfully negotiate the treaty between our countries.’

A mischievous sparkle flashed in Hart’s blue eyes. ‘Sorry to say I am not acquainted with anyone else in the box. Are you disappointed?’

‘Dolt.’

‘I can make some enquiries if you like.’ Hart smirked and eyed Julian with open curiosity.

‘No need. I am simply enjoying the view.’

Julian wondered if Peter Vandenberg was the American woman’s husband. They were obviously well acquainted, considering the way she occasionally touched his arm when she spoke. He was too old for her, but Julian knew of many marriages arranged between young women and much older men. If he did not give proper attention to spending time with Lady Mary, his marriage might eventually resemble that one.

It hadn’t occurred to him when they spoke that she might be married. Crossing his arms tightly over his chest, Julian forced his jaw to unclench. Why should he care if she was married?

The orchestra struck up its opening chords and the red velvet curtains of the stage parted. The narrator stepped out, and Julian was grateful for the distraction. However, when the interval was announced it annoyed him that he noticed the exact moment when the American woman left her box.

Once the performance had ended Julian couldn’t help searching for her as he prepared to enter Hart’s carriage. He turned towards the people still exiting the theatre and scanned the crowd for a pale pink gown. Not far away, to his left, he saw her standing next to Vandenberg while the man spoke to a coachman.

As if some strange force of nature had tapped her on the shoulder, she turned his way. Their eyes met. Recognition mixed with pleasure lit her features and the commotion around them faded away.

She pulled her mantle closed, appearing to hold off a chill. There were a number of interesting ways
he’d
like keep her warm. Her head tilted slightly, as if she was trying to read his thoughts, and then her lips rose into that alluring warm smile.

There was movement by her side, and Julian’s gaze darted to the older gentleman next to her. When Vandenberg’s hand moved to her elbow Julian’s grip tightened around the gold handle of his walking stick. Meeting her eyes once more, Julian tipped his hat to her before climbing into Hart’s coach.

‘Where shall we go next?’ Hart enquired as he settled himself on the green velvet bench and adjusted the cuffs of his black coat. ‘Shall we try White’s for cards?’

‘Have your driver take me to Helena’s. I promised I would make an appearance at her card party this evening.’

‘I still do not understand this attraction you have to Helena. She, my friend, is the devil. Tell me she is nothing more than a passing fancy.’

‘I do not understand why you are so against my association with her.’

Hart leaned forward across the carriage. ‘She wants to improve her rank.’

‘As do most women of the
ton
.’

‘Tell me you are not thinking of marrying her.’

‘It hasn’t crossed my mind. You are mistaken about Helena. She has informed me that she has no wish to marry again.’

‘And you believe her?’

‘She has not given me a reason to doubt her.’

He and Helena shared a mutual physical attraction. She was the widow of the Earl of Wentworth and missed her marriage bed. She told him she enjoyed her independence. It was the perfect arrangement. Julian would never pay for sex. He wanted shared desire.

Hart opened his mouth to say something, but then turned and looked out of the window. ‘Mark my words: Helena is trouble. You’d best remember that.’

However, at that moment Julian was having a difficult time remembering anything about Helena at all. His thoughts kept returning to a warm smile and a pair of lovely eyes.

Chapter Four

F
or days Julian couldn’t seem to rid himself of the pull the American woman had on him. Suddenly she seemed to be everywhere. Each time he saw her their eyes met briefly, but he refused to pursue an introduction. Any enquiries he made about her would lead to speculation. He did not need members of the
ton
thinking he was panting after some American, even if that was exactly what he was doing. She was too tempting—and all wrong for a man who needed to live up to the Lyonsdale title.

The crackling and popping of the fire broke the silence in the library, where Julian and his grandmother faced each other over a chessboard. Absently twirling a glass of his favourite brandy on the Pembroke table, Julian wondered if the American would be attending the Langley ball later that evening.

‘Your mother went to a musicale at the Morleys’ tonight. I assume you were invited as well? You had no desire to attend?’