Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) (11 page)

He could barely speak. “I’m…not sure what I expected, actually.”

“Come, I have known you all my life, don’t forget. I know your flaws. And your virtues,” she added with a decisive nod.

He simply scoffed. “Virtues.”

“Oh, they exist, beneath the roguery, I daresay,” she said in soft humor. “You’re kind and loyal and generous, and you have a measure of humility, where most in your position would exhibit only arrogance. But don’t worry. I shan’t tell anyone.” She patted him on the arm, while he stood there in tongue-tied confusion at her praise. “Your reputation as a rake of the first order is in no danger. Mrs. Brown, for her part, still thoroughly disapproves of you, if it helps to soothe your vanity.”

“Humph. Yes. Good,” he said in wry distraction. “She’d better. I worked hard to earn my dreadful reputation.”

“Oh, I know!” she said, laughing.

Just then, a wheedling voice called to him from the darkness. “Your Grace? A-begging your pardon, it is I, Giovanelli.”

Jason looked over in surprise as the Italian stepped into view, dressed as though he had just come from the opera, in a showy blue velvet coat and white breeches. But he humbly clutched his flattened bicorne hat in both hands.

“Hmm. Good evening, Giovanelli,” Jason said, moving toward him. “Didn’t expect you to show your face here tonight.”

The sardonic greeting made the poor fellow wince. “
Si,
but I only came to learn how Herr Schroeder’s nocturne was received and to offer Your Grace my apologies once again. The muse, she is a-so difficult. I so hope the evening was not ruined?”

“Never fear, Herr Schroeder saved the day,” Jason drawled.

Giovanelli clapped his hands together as in prayer. “
Maria Santissima
, I am so relieved to hear this! He showed me the sheet music. De nocturne, it is enchanting!”

“We thought so, too,” Jason replied.

“I am glad. But, still,” the Italian said, wincing, “I know how disappointed Your Grace must be in me. I am unworthy—”

“Now, now, don’t start that again, my good man. You know I’ve no patience for groveling. I am sure you will dazzle the world in due time.”

Giovanelli looked astonished at the leniency he was being given. Frankly, the Italian had Felicity to thank. For with Miss Carvel present, Naughty Netherford was always on his best behavior. It was just an old habit he’d formed long ago. To avoid her brother’s shooting him.

Jason turned to her. “Miss Carvel, allow me to present the composer, Leandro Giovanelli. I’m sure you’ve heard his music. A minuet of his was all the rage last Season. He had all London dancing.”

“How do you do,” she said with a smile.

The Italian beamed in the presence of a beautiful lady. “Did you like-a de music tonight,
signorina
?”

“It was wonderful.”

“When-a my new string quartet is ready, I do hope you will come to hear. His Grace has been a-so very generous to me. He is a great man!”

“Oh, I
know
,” she agreed rather too emphatically.

Jason narrowed his eyes at her in mock indignation.

“
Si!
De duke, he cares about de beauty.”

“In some things more than others.” She nodded, clearly referring to his infamous appreciation for the female form. “Am I to understand that the duke is your patron, Mr. Giovanelli?”

“
Si, signorina!
He has supported my humble efforts for de past two years.”

“Is that right? And here I thought my brother’s expedition was your only current project,” she said, glancing over at him, looking impressed.

It was Giovanelli who answered before Jason could speak. “Oh no,
signorina
! There is me with-a my music. And de painter, Omero Caradonna, and the great sculptor, too, Vitale Sanfratello.”

“One must have Italians for the art,” Jason murmured sardonically to her alone.

“Ah,” she said.

“De house where His Grace lets us live and work is like a-being back at home in Firenze. Well, except for the presence of de grumpy Scottish person, Mr. Sloan. But Grumpy Scot is indeed a genius,” he conceded.

She looked at Jason again in amusement. “What does Grumpy Scot do? Brew your whiskey for you?”

“Now, now, Scots happen to be excellent inventors, if you hadn’t heard,” he informed her in a lofty tone. “Atticus Sloan builds all manner of odd contraptions. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of his inventions changes the world someday. Indeed, the house in Bloomsbury where I’ve put them up is quite a hive of nonstop, ingenious creation. I should take you there sometime,” Jason said. “It’s rather fascinating.”

“Si!”
Giovanelli seized upon this chance to redeem himself in his patron’s eyes. “Sir, if you bring de young lady, we should all be happy to give her a tour of our works! Grumpy may not speak to you too much,
signorina
. He is— How you say…?”

“Eccentric,” Jason supplied, grateful for the opening. He looked at Felicity. “I was thinking of calling on these fellows tomorrow, as it happens. Having a look at everybody’s progress. Care to join me?”

Her lovely face lit up. “Oh, could I?”

“Of course.” He was almost abashed by her delight at his suggestion. “You and Mrs. Brown both.”

“
Signorina
, you must come! You love it! Omero’s paintings, they are so beautiful, and Vitale’s marble goddess…she almost seems to breathe.”

“How wonderful. If you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding—”

“Not at all,” Jason said at once.

The Italian charmer had done well by thinking of the idea, and if the other resident geniuses didn’t like their visit, well, Jason paid for their existence. He bloody well ought to be welcome to call on them whenever he dashed well pleased.

Within reason, of course.

His respect for them was actually immense. He did not give a fig that they were lowborn. Leonardo da Vinci himself, after all, had been the illegitimate son of a housemaid.

“Oh, I’m so excited!” Felicity clapped her hands daintily, beaming. “I’ve never been behind the scenes of an artist’s studio before.”

The appearance of Lord and Lady Pelletier in the doorway of the entrance, talking to some of their guests, made Giovanelli look over anxiously. “I should go before I am seen,” he said with an apologetic frown. “I have already embarrassed de dear lord and lady of this house enough for one night.”

“Don’t worry. They’re not angry at you, far as I can tell,” Jason said, feeling generous now that he knew he would see Felicity again as soon as tomorrow.

Still, the flamboyant Italian could barely drag himself away from the
signorina
. He clasped Felicity’s hand between his own and bent to place a flowery kiss to her knuckles. “It has been a-such a pleasure meeting you,
bella signorina
.”

“Likewise, Mr. Giovanelli.”

The composer bowed to Jason with a courtier’s flourish. “
Buona sera,
Your Grace. Until tomorrow.”

“Good night,” Jason replied.

Then the fellow whisked off with a flap of his cape and disappeared into the shadows.

Standing side by side, Jason and Felicity exchanged a twinkling glance of amusement at his dramatic exit.

“What a charming fellow.” The arch smile tugging at her lips made him want to throw her in her carriage—which was rolling down the street toward them now—flatten her on the squabs in there, and kiss her senseless.

Unfortunately, her chaperone was on the way.

“Until tomorrow, then,” Felicity whispered, discreetly capturing his hand by her side and giving it a squeeze while they were still alone.

He curled his fingers around hers. Her hands were warm and soft, and he wanted them on his body. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Think you can talk Mrs. Brown into it?”

“It’ll be easy,” she breathed in his ear. “All I have to say is that I’m going with or without her.”

Jason shivered, wondering what would happen if that were possible, if she really could spend one day alone with him. She seemed to be asking herself the same question as she pulled back, gazing hungrily into his eyes.

Intoxicating prospect.
But there was only one way to accomplish that and still preserve her reputation.

Marriage.

Egads
.

And yet what scared him most was that the thought
didn’t
scare him anymore, not as it should.

God, she was a lovely little menace.

He cleared his throat a bit and stepped back from her. “Right, then. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at, say, three?”

“Sounds perfect.” She smiled intimately at him as her frowning chaperone marched toward them down the few front steps. “I’ll see you then,” Felicity whispered.

Then Jason shooed away the footman and got the carriage door for the ladies himself.

“Mrs. Brown,” he said cordially as he handed the older woman up. “I hope you enjoyed the music.”

“Humph,” she said.

Wicked mirth twitched about Felicity’s mouth at her chaperone’s disapproval as he then handed her up into the coach. “Your Grace,” she said in farewell.

“Miss Carvel.” He shut the door for them, then stood there on the pavement for a long moment, watching their coach rumble off down the street.

A fond smile still lingered on his lips after she had gone, his mind exploding with possibilities that he had long since forbidden himself to consider.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to change the rules.

CHAPTER 6

Patron of the Arts

F
elicity almost expected Jason to forget about the plans they had made. She wasn’t sure why. Years of being ignored and forgotten had probably made her more wary of him than she had realized.

But sure enough, when three o’clock came, a knock promptly sounded on the door.

Why, he was even on time!

Mrs. Brown was still finishing getting ready, but Felicity rushed into the parlor and arranged herself neatly on a chair to receive him as the butler got the door.

Her heart started pounding from the instant she heard Jason’s voice as he asked for her, and then his footfalls as he followed the servant into the house.

“Miss Carvel,” the butler intoned a moment later from the parlor threshold, “the Duke of Netherford.”

“Your Grace,” she started, welcoming him with a polite nod, but she and Jason took one look at each other, dressed in matching colors as they had been last night, and both burst out laughing.

“Not again!” he said.

“How did you know?” she exclaimed at the same time he added, “I see you’ve decided to venture into half-mourning.”

Last night, they had been two black-clad lumps of coal; today they were both wearing brown.

For the first time since the dowager’s death, Felicity had donned a chocolate-colored walking dress with black piping. The hat she meant to wear today would still be black, however, as were her gloves and shoes.

For his part, the duke looked marvelous in a fawn-brown afternoon tailcoat and tan trousers. His waistcoat was beige, pinstriped with light blue, and his smart neckcloth was navy. Having handed his beaver hat and walking stick over to the butler, he was the very sketch of a gentleman about Town—and devastatingly handsome.

“Well, I think we look smashing,” Felicity declared as he crossed the room to her.

“
You
certainly do.” He took her proffered hand, bowing over it with a warm smile.

“Ha. You like the brown? Just wait until I venture into the lavender next week. Maybe even white.”

“How daring, Miss Carvel!”

“They are both acceptable colors for half-mourning, my modiste assures me.”

“Just be sure and let me know the day, so we can coordinate it again.”

She chuckled at his playfulness in delighted amusement. “Hullo, Jason.”

He gazed into her eyes. “Hullo, Felicity.”

“You’re looking well rested this morning,” she said fondly, thinking of the haggard state in which she’d first found him earlier that week. “Did you leave the Pelletiers’ early last night, as you thought you might do?”

He nodded, lowering himself onto the ottoman in front of her chair. “It was boring after you left. I ate some food, then went home and went to bed.”

“What? Not all alone?” she teased in a brazen whisper, since her chaperone had not yet arrived to spoil their fun.

“Very much so,” he whispered back. “Pity, no?”

“Hmm. You should try it more often. A good night’s sleep keeps a person healthy, you know.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said sweetly.

She gave him a sardonic look. “Now, now, don’t compare me to the duchess. With all due respect, your mother was even wilder than you are.”

“I came by it honest,” he agreed. Then he gave her a guarded smile. “Thanks for caring, though.”

I’ve always cared,
she thought.

Suddenly looking a little self-consciousness, Jason cleared his throat and glanced around the room. “So are both of you ladies ready to go?”

She nodded. “I’ll go call my chaperone.”

“Do,” he said with a meaningful hint of deviltry in his glance. “No telling what could happen if we’re left alone too long.”

Aunt Kirby’s portrait above the mantel almost seemed to nod mischievous encouragement on that point. With no intention of misbehaving, Felicity nevertheless sent him a grin and rose, trailing a hand fondly over his shoulder on her way to the door.

The fleeting touch of his solid form sent a thrill through her body, as did the gratifying knowledge that he had resisted the temptation of another night with Bianca Burns. In Felicity’s view, the songstress would not have bothered scolding him in public and making it so obvious they had been lovers if she did not want her name attached to his again. The kiss on the cheek the diva had given him at the end of her flirtatious musical rebuke had said it all. Having punished him a little, the singer seemed to be signaling that she’d be willing to take him back.