Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess (19 page)

The company
shuddered, and congratulated Lady Strathavon on having spun so ghastly a yarn that they were unlikely ever to be able to venture out of doors after dark again.

Despite himself, Strathavon
had been completely unable to look away from Holly. She was a compelling story teller, her face and voice animated and chilling by turns. He was also impressed by the scope of her story, which was a far cry from the airy tales of love usually narrated by young ladies at such parties.

Watching her, h
e had wondered if he was the only one captivated, but the expressions on the faces of his fellow listeners made it plain that he was not. Strathavon wouldn’t ever had expected his wife to come up with such terrible tales.

“That was marvellous, Lady Strathavon,” declared Lord Hargreaves. “I shan’t be able to sleep a wink for weeks, for fear of your fearsome ghoul.”

“I wonder,” said Sir John
. “Did the story have the desired effect when your governess told it?”

“It certainly did
,” Holly laughed. “We were always much too frightened to be any more trouble by the time the story ended and for at least a fortnight after. As I recall, mama always felt unsettled by such an unheralded streak of good behaviour. ”

*

“If I didn’t know any better, my dear, I’d say you were plotting something with Sir John Compton,” said Lady Louisa casually on the carriage ride back to her townhouse. She shot Holly a look out of the corner of her eye, and Holly answered with a pleased smile of her own.

“Why
, then, you would be correct. It is my hope and purpose to aid them in securing such a happiness as would be unparalleled all the world. Sir John, you see, is in love with Miss Verity Dacre, and I am convinced that Miss Dacre would love him too, if only she were to stop being so silly about imaginary heroes.”

Lady Louisa produced her fan absently as she considered.

“Love! Ah, yes, I am familiar with that notion. When I was not much older than you are now, I made an art of writing the most noncommittal love letters imaginable. It is a common problem for gentlemen to think themselves in love with ladies with whom they had but shared a single dance. That does not often lead to a very happy union once they are required to share a roof for an extended period of time,” said Lady Louisa. “I found that it never paid to give them false hope in that direction.”

Well, Strathavon had
suffered no such delusions, Holly thought darkly.

“
True, but I think Sir John and Miss Verity would suit remarkably well. They are alike of temperament and heart…”

When Holly
finished recounting the entirety of the adventure, Lady Louisa nodded slowly, eyes narrowed.

“Yes, I do think you might have a point. Is that what your display
with Sir John has been about? You have been sighted together remarkably often.”

Holly inclined her head.
“Do you think me unconscionable?” she asked nervously.

“Unconscionable! Oh, no
. I am duly impressed. You have taken to your part marvellously. There is no other way that poor Verity would notice your Sir John. You must make him fashionable. It would be doing her a favour. Lord Myles Wooley is the most dangerous kind of scoundrel, it ever I saw one. Underhanded scoundrels are the worst kind – especially handsome ones. And his ancestry is all trumped up, because Wooley thrives on deception. They say his grandfather made his fortune in the east.”

“The City?” asked Holly,
surprised.

“Yes, a banker or a tradesman – so he has no grounds for the haute manner he has adopted
towards everyone he perceives to be beneath him.”

Holly nodded in acknowledgement
.

Lord Myles was
a vain, over-dressed and unpleasant man beneath the gilded facade, and in Holly’s opinion he spent too much time at Mr Trumper’s the gentlemen’s perfumer of Mayfair. He always seemed to trigger an unladylike round of sneezing whenever he got too close to her.

He reminded her of nothing so much as Sir Fopling Flutter in
The Man of the Mode,
which she had seen with her mama during the Spring Season.

S
he had told Strathavon as much, when he had enquired about her embarrassing bout of sneezing at Lady Raike’s that evening, Holly recalled – it had very nearly charmed a smile out of him.

“Now, Sir John is
a gentleman of the first distinction in character, fortune and lineage, I understand, though he is very quiet,” said Lady Louisa. “Yes, I do think you are correct: they would suit nicely. I wonder if you mean to tell your plan to the duke? He has taken a dislike to your baronet.”

“Well, he deserves to feel unsettled.”

“’ Pon my word, my dear, you are not at all kind to His Grace,” teased Lady Louisa. “I own the silly boy is quite in love with you. I wonder if he has realised it.”

These words summoned a smile to Holly’s face
, and it was only a little uncertain around the edges. “I think so too. But I may yet be wrong – we shall see.”

“
But shall we? He is very reserved. Now, I know you love the man, but I have to tell you that your Lord Strathavon exhibits the most appalling prudery I have ever had occasion to encounter. A great pity – for I understand he used to be a sporting lad, when he had the pleasure of being a younger son.”

“It is all to do with his brother’s passing, I think. Though I do not rightly know what happened,” Holly sighed. “I wonder if I shall ever know.”

His G
race of Strathavon was nothing if not well known about town and his unexpected nuptials in the spring had been received with a great amount of curiosity.

Now that the world had had a ch
ance to meet his chosen bride, he discovered himself to be lauded as the most fortunate man in London, to have taken to wife the beautiful, vivacious Lady Strathavon.

The journals could not
seem to get enough of this illustrious pair, which was present at every significant social event of the Little Season.

Holly had taken society by storm with her modishness
and wit. Strathavon was sure that in just a matter of weeks, everyone would be lying at her pretty feet. Provided she did not first elope with that tiresome baronet.

And that was another puzzle.
Compton had always been quiet, reserved – and not the least bit a scoundrel. He had always been boring, in fact. What appeal could such a dull specimen have for Holly?

The journals had yet to pick up on that, but it was just a matter of time. Already they were speculating why, with the obvious attraction that sizzled between the duke and duchess, Her Grace stayed
so long at the townhouse of her friend and spent so much time with Sir John Compton.

That
piece had been the final straw as far as the duke was concerned.

If the foolishness were allowed to continue,
she would land herself, indeed,
both
of them, in the most appalling scandalbroth, Strathavon told himself firmly. It was his duty to stop her and protect the honour of the family name.

His decision
had nothing at all to do with his maddening desire to have her under his roof, and in his bed – it was mere common sense. It was the only way to put an end to all the speculation.

Holly
had done things to his heart which were completely intolerable, and she should not be allowed to go on in that vein – at least not while summarily living under any other roof but his.

And that was precisely why he turned up at Lady Louisa’s townhouse for the second time, and demanded that his wife stop making them
both ridiculous and move into his house on St James Street as she ought to have done from the first.

Holly had been about to go out for a walk, but she received him in the little drawing room
, looking every inch an empress and inviting him to walk with her.

The look she levelled at him
upon receiving his command nearly stopped his heart. She looked fierce and lovely. He wondered how he had ever considered her placid and ordinary.

Stopping in the middl
e of Park Street, Strathavon’s hands seized her blue silk mantalet, and Holly looked in astonishment into his frantic eyes, wondering if he meant to draw her into his arms right there.

“My dear husband,” she said, “I daresay you are about to make a spectacle. I beg that you do not – it would make us the talk of the town.”
Holly had to admit to herself that she enjoyed crossing swords with the man.

He seemed at a loss of what to say, now that
he had her attention.

Then he recovered
himself and stepped back, while Holly adjusted her cloak. “We are already the talk of the town, and it is entirely your fault.”

“Mine!” s
he said with a look of appalled innocence.

“Quite so.
It was shockingly infamous of you to flee Pontridge as you did! And now this business with the damned baronet…”

“Flee? I don’t recall fleeing. I simply removed
to London, to visit with a friend. Lady Louisa, in fact, with whom I think you are acquainted. I found that incarceration is not much to my taste.”

“Lady Louisa, you say! Lady Louisa Somerville is nothing more than a thoroughly immoral meddling baggage!” Strathavon declared angrily.
“I expect that she is to blame for this, too.”

Holly chuckled at that. “You mean
to be rude, I believe, but Lady Louisa would be very diverted to hear you say that. Besides, you said this was entirely my fault.”

“It is – and she put you up to it. Incarceration! I don’t recall ever making you my prisoner.”

“Indeed. That is why I chose to move here.”

“
Then you won’t mind moving again. You will return with me to St James Street – we won’t have any more of this nonsense. My duchess living elsewhere! And racing in the park.”

“Oh,
are you still in a temper about that little incident?”

“All of London has heard
of it.”

“I wonder,” she said, with in infuriatingly unhurried air,
“if you mean to give another scold for it?”

His eyes locked with hers and her gaze was involuntarily
drawn to his thin, sensual lips.

R
emembering their encounter at Hyde Park, Strathavon wanted nothing more than to kiss some sense into his erstwhile bride.

“We’ll just have to see about that,” he growled and marched her back
to Lady Louisa’s before he really did make a spectacle of them.

It did n
ot help matters that Holly looked supremely smug all the way back. He had the unmistakable feeling that he had only succeeded in marching her home because she had let him.

*

When Lady Louisa returned to Park Lane from her midday engagement, Holly wasted no time in asking her advice.

She could not seem to decide what she ought to do. To be in such proximity to Strathavon might
just help her cause – but there was also the chance that it would drive her distracted. And she didn’t wish for him to think that he could simply move her around on a whim.

“And so h
e is demanding that I move to St James Street, to live with him as a proper wife should,” Holly said, frowning. “Only I am not at all certain I should care to do so. I also suspect, from what he has said, that there will be a scene if I do not. But such a prodigious uproar would injure his nerves much more than it would mine.”

“How very droll.
Well, dear, I think you ought to linger here a few days longer – it would help make a point. And a little torment has never hurt a love affair. Once he is quite distracted, you may do him the singular honour of returning under his protective mantle. ”

“Hmm.
Yes – likely, he thinks that would put me in his power. Does he mean to make me play the mouse? But he will discover that is a mistake.”

“
Naturally. I expect he will also discover that it will be that much harder to keep you at a distance when he has himself insisted on having you share his home.”

“
I hope that you are right.”

*

Holly did not arrive at the Strathavon townhouse on St James Street until well after noon later that week, much to the curiosity of the staff and the duke’s obvious irritation.

He had expect
ed her promptly at ten o’clock, and was already restlessly pacing his study when his town coach drew up outside the house.

“I trust
that you will find everything in order,” Strathavon said to his wife, having introduced her to his London staff. They had gone to speak privately in his study, and their proximity in the little room was making Holly’s heart pound in a most irrational way.

Now that she was finally
at St James Street, looking young and impossibly lovely, the duke did not exactly know what to do with her.

“I expect I shall. I will need a lady’s maid.”

“Did you not have one already, at Pontridge?” asked the duke in astonishment.

“I did, yes. Nancy
. And she was very good – but she is newly married, and I did not like to take her away from her husband.”

“I see,”
sighed Strathavon. “Then we shall advertise. In the meantime, have Mrs Willan send someone up to assist you.”

“
Mrs Willan?” Holly asked absently, watching as the duke carelessly adjusted a cufflink.

“The housekeeper.”
He said dryly.

“Ah, yes
. Now I think I had better –”

“Yes, I expect you’ll wish to go up to your rooms –”

“Yes –”

They stared at each other a moment, lost in their own private reverie, until some
one rang the bell at the front of the house, and Holly ducked out of the room with a chagrined smile on her face.

S
he was very pleased to discover that the house had a lovely garden, where the previous duchess had been fond of hosting parties on sultry summer days. The greenery made for a charming view out of Holly’s drawing room window and her bedroom looked directly on to the little rose garden below.

Strathavon
’s mother had been known for her great love of roses and had even overseen the gardeners herself. It was comforting that this imaginary friend from Holly’s lonely days at Pontridge was even now by her side, giving her much-needed support.

The marble—
white and faded gold splendour of the Strathavon townhouse unsettled her. Holly had never been mistress of a place like that and it made her uneasy, for one was worried about moving too quickly and knocking over some precious curiosity displayed in glass.

The house
was elegantly furnished and in a much better state than had been the country pile. This residence had seen frequent use even as the manor had gone untended.

That evening, after supper, Holly
retired to the parlour with her journal, and was duly incredulous when the subject of most of her anguished scribblings decided to join her, armed with the evening paper and a glass of port.

“I
hope you do not mind?” he asked, indicating his chosen chair, opposite hers. “I shouldn’t like to disturb your quiet.”

“Not at all!
Especially not if you offer me a glass of that port.”

“Port!”
The duke was taken aback at such a fast request, but Holly chose to ignore his expression.

“I developed quite a taste for it, staying on Par
k Lane.”

“And I suppose next you’ll tell me that you have
taken a liking to cigars,” said the duke, though he did get up and pour her a glass. Then he watched as she took a delicate sip and nodded approvingly, her eyes meeting his with a sparkle and a tantalising hint of fire.

“Very good.
Ruby port is my favourite. And no, I don’t care for cigars, though Lady Louisa’s coterie do favour their
figurados.
I am told they are an acquired taste.” Holly took a moment to enjoy his expression at the thought of Lady Louisa and her matronly friends enjoying a night of port and cigars.

“One that I hope you’ll have more sense than to acquire
.”

“For someone with your reputation, You Grace, you can be surprisingly prudish.
Now hush, you promised not to disturb me.”

With those words, s
he seemed perfectly content to ignore him in favour of her journal. From what the duke could see, it was a scruffy-looking book, one that must often have been shoved out of sight at the very last moment, he fancied.

He carefully examined her face, and her delicate shoulders,
teasingly covered by a sprigged shawl of black Chantilly lace.

Holly was
very taken aback to find that Strathavon liked to spend his evenings reading the contents of his large library. She had pictured him burning the midnight oil in a den of vice, gambling away fortunes at hazard and associating with ladies of the sort of which she oughtn’t even have been aware.

And yet there he was, elegant and r
elaxed. She snuck a quick glance at him before dropping her gaze to her journal once more. It was a striking image and one that would remain with her always.

They sat
that way for about half an hour until the duke folded his paper, leaned back and regarded her out of deceptively sleepy eyes. The rain had been going all day and showed no sign of stopping. It provided a peaceful accompaniment to the unlikely scene in the parlour.

“Are you working
on a novel?” he asked blithely. “A frightful gothic affair? Or is it a woeful tragedy? You showed yourself to have a marked talent for the macabre that night at Lady Raike’s.”

“I am writing in my journal.
It is a relief to be able to do so without worrying that one of my brothers might take it into his head to read it. Boys can be terribly boorish at their age,” said the duchess primly. “And I do not care for sad novels. There is already enough sadness in the world for one not to have to read any more about it.”

Then, she had the unbelievable effrontery of going
back to her writing.

A
nnoyed, Strathavon was just about to make some kind of cutting remark when a pitiful mewling came from somewhere outside the library, cutting the argument short.

“What is that?” Holly asked, her fine brow creasing in a frown.