School For Heiresses 2- Only a Duke Will Do (10 page)

At least until he married her. He had nothing against her admirable group, but they were headed for trouble if they kept listening to her. Reform groups that got on the wrong side of public opinion only succeeded in setting back their cause.

Since she was the one pushing them into politics, they would be better off without her. Then they could return to aiding convict women until their reforms could be legislated at a reasonable pace by reasonable men like himself.

And if taking Louisa out of the group damaged their charitable aims, too? Newgate alone contains two hundred eighty-seven women and one hundred thirteen children, locked up with murderers and highwaymen. Children, for God’s sake, under the age of six. It didn’t matter, he told himself, ignoring the squirming of his conscience. Sometimes even admirable causes must be sacrificed to achieve the greater good. He meant to uphold his devil’s bargain with the king no matter what that entailed. The sooner he stopped her political meddling, the better for everyone. He flicked the reins. “If your cause really is more important than ‘you or me,’ then why not let me advise you?” Shooting her a covert glance, he added, “Of course, if you cannot bear to be around me because our past is too painful or I tempt you to abandon your high-minded ideas about marriage—”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she bit out.

“Then make use of me. Seven years ago, I used you for my own purposes. Now it’s your chance to use my reckless attraction to you for your political cause.”

He felt her eyes assessing him. “How can I be sure this isn’t another of your schemes?”

“You can let me prove my sincerity. If you believe that anyone can reform, can’t you give me the same consideration as your convict women? What will it cost you to make use of my political connections and knowledge?”

“It could cost us everything if you use what you learn against us.”

“Not knowing what you’re doing could cost you everything, anyway.” That was exactly why he meant to marry her and coax her out of politics. “Besides, I’ll be risking my own career by publicly supporting a group that has MPs grumbling.”

“So why do it?” she snapped.

“Because I want you,” he said in a low voice. “As my wife. And if advising your group is the only way to win you, then that is what I will do.”

That brought her up short. She looked as if she might give him an answer, then blinked and pointed to a wide, elm-lined avenue cutting off from the main road immediately ahead. “That’s the turn to Lady Trusbut’s house.”

Damn, so it was. He took the turn quickly, throwing her against him. When she clutched at his leg for balance, his very muscles leapt at the touch. She started to draw her hand back, but he caught it and flattened it against his thigh. His gaze met hers, and for the merest second he saw his own arousal mirrored in her eyes.

That glimpse emboldened him. As they approached the house, he entwined his fingers with hers. “Will you let me advise you? Or will you condemn me to worshiping you from afar, pining after you alone in my bed, besotted and—”

“What a lot of poppycock.” But a reluctant smile played about her lips, and she did not try to free her hand. “I give you a week at most before you tire of courting me and turn your attention to a more suitable female.”

“I didn’t tire of courting you last time, did I?” He shot her a mischievous glance. “I only stopped because you demanded that I be packed off to India.”

“You didn’t have to go.” Stiffening, she slid her hand free of his. “You could have defied the king, given up the chance to become prime minister, and married me instead. But you didn’t.”

Cursing himself for having brought up their unsettling past yet again, he halted the phaeton in front of the Trusbuts’ impressive Palladian manor, then angled himself to face her. “You’re right. I chose exile over marriage. Because like you, I once believed there were ambitions more important than you or I.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Surely you won’t claim you no longer believe that.”

“I no longer believe that one must always choose,” he hedged. “There’s no reason we can’t have both, our ambitions and—” As his tiger leapt down, taking Raji with him, Simon lowered his voice. “—our passions.” In the right place.

“In a perfect world we might have both, but in the real world—”

“We make the real world, Louisa.” Simon climbed out. “If you did not believe that, you would not be a reformer.”

He took Raji from his tiger, allowing the scamp to climb onto his shoulder. “So make the world be what you want. What we both want. Give me a chance.” He held out his hand to help her down. “Let me be with you.”

She stared at his hand a long moment. The sun hung above the horizon behind her head, haloing her in an amber light that also shielded her expression.

But at last she allowed him to help her down. As she hesitated beside the phaeton, with cheeks pink and eyes lowered, he ruthlessly tamped down the urge to kiss her until she yielded everything. If he shamed her on the Trusbuts’ doorstep, she would never forgive him.

“I’ll think about your…er…proposition,” she said, “and let you know my answer by the end of the day

…Your Grace.”

Scowling, he settled her hand on his arm, then led her toward the steps. “I’ll have you calling me Simon before then, I swear. The way you used to.”

“That was when you were someone else.” She reverted to her calm, detached air. “The Simon I knew was a figment of my imagination. The real Duke of Foxmoor was…is a stranger to me. And until I know him better, I will treat him like any other stranger I’ve just met.”

Not for long, my clever beauty, he thought as they mounted the steps. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Raji climbed across his back, then leapt off. When he landed on Louisa’s shoulder, she laughed.

“He has taken a fancy to you.” Simon fixed his gaze on her luscious lips. “Much like his owner.”

Though she blushed, her gaze was skeptical. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you put Raji up to it.”

“I have trained him to do some things, but leaping into your arms is not one of them. His fancy for you and his fancy for birds are entirely his own idea.”

The door opened, and the butler ushered them in, taking their cards off to his mistress while they stood waiting.

“Well,” Louisa whispered, “let’s pray he doesn’t take a fancy to Lady Trusbut’s coiffure this time.”

“As long as she refrains from wearing toy peacocks, he will be fine. Which reminds me—” He dug Raji’s canary out of his coat pocket and handed it to the monkey, who clung to Louisa’s neck. “It helps if he has his own toy to pet.”

“Good,” she said as Raji seized his toy. “We need to impress Lady Trusbut.”

We? Simon bit back a smile.

“And his lordship, too, of course,” she added.

“Which is why I’m here,” Simon said.

This would be tricky. They both needed Lord Trusbut’s support, but if Simon remembered correctly, the courtly gentleman thought women should be protected from the cold, cruel world at all costs. Which meant keeping them well away from prisons. Not to mention Parliament. The butler returned to bid them follow him, then headed off at a clipped pace that gave Simon little time to examine the manor as thoroughly as he preferred when assessing adversaries. After a brisk walk down a carpetless hall devoid of portraits and smelling faintly of linseed oil, they were ushered into a private sitting room filled with bird cages, some of them empty, most of them not. With a smile, Lady Trusbut curtsied while her hoary-headed husband made a sketchy bow over the stout ivory cane he leaned upon. Judging from the grim expression on the baron’s gaunt face, he was not nearly as happy that they’d come as Lady Trusbut seemed to be.

The baroness rushed forward, her hazel eyes alight. “Your Grace, we are so delighted to have you.” She inclined her head toward Louisa. “And you, too, Miss North, of course. Did your sister-in-law not come with you?”

“We took my phaeton, so there was no room for her,” Simon explained. Lady Trusbut edged closer to where Raji was perched on Louisa’s shoulder and peered cautiously at him. “I say, is he really clutching a toy canary?”

“His favorite,” Simon said. “Though as you know, he also bears a certain fondness for miniature peacocks.”

Lady Trusbut gave a trilling laugh. “He does, indeed.” She gestured to a settee littered with yellow feathers. “Please, do stay a moment.”

Once he and Louisa were seated together opposite the Trusbuts, who’d each taken a chair, the baroness called for tea. Raji, scamp that he was, immediately settled himself into the curve of Louisa’s arm and buried his face in her bodice.

Louisa laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re choosing now to be shy, you little imp. After all the trouble you caused the other night?”

When Raji gazed up at her adoringly, she fussed over him. A sudden pang struck Simon’s chest. It was easy to imagine Louisa fussing over his child instead, cooing to his sloe-eyed, dark-haired son or tenderly stroking his curly-headed minx of a daughter. As Simon’s throat constricted, he had to look away. All in good time. You will have that, too, if you can only be patient. A pity he felt far less than patient right now, with the feel of her hand on his thigh still fresh in his memory.

“See here, little fellow,” Lady Trusbut told Raji as her husband looked on sullenly, “do not be frightened of us. You’re among friends here.” Waving her hand in the air, she uttered a series of clicking noises. “

Come, Garnet and Opal, Ruby and Sapphire! We have guests!”

As a flock of canaries alighted on her arms and shoulders, Simon quipped, “What? No Diamond?”

“Diamond is ill.” Lady Trusbut gestured to a cage at the far end of the room. “He’s resting, poor thing. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” he said, exchanging a glance with Lord Trusbut, who sat grimly silent with his hands upon his knees.

Lady Trusbut took a bird upon her finger. “Come now, Emerald, say hello to Raji.”

Emerald did more than that—she sang. Raji’s head jerked up, and before anyone knew it, he’d tossed his toy aside and was scampering over to Lady Trusbut.

“Raji, no!” Louisa cried and lunged forward.

But Simon caught her arm. “It’s all right. Just watch.”

The monkey scrambled into Lady Trusbut’s lap, then sat listening, enraptured. Lady Trusbut smiled. “Look at that, will you? A perfect gentleman.”

“He knows the difference between real birds and toys,” Simon explained. “He’s very careful with real birds. It’s the toy ones he loves to death.”

Lady Trusbut brought her bird nearer Raji, who visibly sighed with pleasure. When the canary stopped warbling, Simon gave Raji a command in Hindi.

Raji clapped his hands and everyone laughed, even Lord Trusbut before he caught himself.

“What did you say?” Louisa asked.

“I told him to show his appreciation for the song. Certain commands he will only heed if I give them in Hindi.”

“You speak Hindi?” Louisa said, clearly surprised.

“Some.” Not knowing the language of the people whom one ruled could lead to disaster, as he had learned only too well from the tragedies at Poona. If he had only been able to listen to the gossip in the markets then, as he had learned to do later, perhaps—

No, thoughts like that led to madness. He was trying to make amends for that mistake. This endless reassessing of where he had gone wrong only kept him from focusing his energies on setting things right. Louisa gasped, jerking his attention to where Raji now reached for the canary.

“Pet lightly, lad,” Simon warned, then repeated the command in Hindi. But Raji was careful as usual, stroking the bird with awe.

“I don’t believe it,” Louisa breathed. “Look at the little devil. He’s in raptures. And so gentle, too.” She slanted a glance at Simon. “Not to mention well-trained. Did you train him?”

“No, he belonged to a traveling performer before Colin’s wife acquired him. Apparently he used to wear a silly vest and red hat.” He smiled over at Raji. “But we don’t go for such humiliating rot now, do we, chap?”

Raji chattered in answer.

“What did he say?” Lady Trusbut asked in perfect seriousness.

Simon blinked. “Devil if I know. Probably something like, ‘When are you going to feed me again, you big sorry lout?’”

“Oh no, surely nothing so impudent as that.” Lady Trusbut turned her head to the three birds jockeying for purchase on her shoulder. “What’s that, ladies? Yes, I know. The duke is joking. He would never starve his pet, I’m sure.”

“Apparently Lady Trusbut’s birds talk to her,” Louisa murmured.

“Ah,” Simon said. “Don’t tell Raji, or he’ll expect me to interpret.”

Lady Trusbut straightened in her chair. “My canaries are very intelligent, sir. They’re the jewels in my crown.” She flashed her husband a coy glance. “Edward buys me another every Christmas, don’t you, dear?”

The old gent’s ears reddened. “Cheaper than real jewels, eh, Foxmoor?”

“I imagine so.” Noting the indulgent look the baron shot his wife, Simon added, “Though I hear that any expense is worth it to keep one’s spouse content.”

Lord Trusbut took his meaning readily, for he reached inside his coat pocket. “My wife seems to think Miss North’s cause is a good one.” With a frown, he removed a slip of paper. “I told her I’d be willing to offer a small donation.”

The baron pointedly offered the bank draft to Simon. Ignoring how Louisa bristled, Simon reached for it, but Lord Trusbut did not let go.

“I assume, Foxmoor, that this amount will suffice to put an end to Miss North’s attempts to involve my wife with her Ladies Society.”

“Edward, please!” Lady Trusbut exclaimed.

“I mean it.” The crusty old baron met Simon’s gaze dolefully. “I won’t have my wife trotting about a prison. And if you care for Miss North, you’ll keep her away from prisons, as well. I’m sure you agree, sir, that ladies don’t belong at Newgate.”

The conversation had just turned tricky, but fortunately not impossible. Simon flashed Lord Trusbut a broad smile. “I do agree with you, sir. Newgate is no place for ladies.”

Chapter Eight

Dear Charlotte,

You have good reason to be wary. By all accounts, Foxmoor’s ambition to become prime minister has not changed, so if Miss North does catch him for a husband, she will take second place to his ambition. Yours fondly,