Susan Johnson (22 page)

T
he duke was right about Duff and Annabelle. They stayed in St. James until evening, when Duff accompanied Annabelle home. On the pretext of fatigue, he spent the night there playing cards with Miss and Mrs. Foster, entertaining both the ladies with exceptional charm. Unfortunately, he slept alone in Annabelle’s guest chamber in the interests of propriety, but after his very enjoyable afternoon, he accepted his solitary bed with equanimity.

The duke, however, was not correct about his life returning to normal. Shortly after breakfast, he’d no more than received news that Walingame was being driven south to Dover, than a footman entered his study to inform him that a Mr. and Mrs. Harrison were at the door asking to speak with him.

Since he had no knowledge of such persons, he sent them on their way.

The Harrisons refused to take their congé, telling the footman with a great deal of belligerence that they had no intention of leaving until they met with the duke on a matter concerning Miss Foster and a child.

The butler was called to the entrance hall to deal with the recalcitrant couple.

Mr. Harrison threatened to strike old Bamford, while Mrs. Harrison told the duke’s butler in no uncertain terms that she was the daughter of a solicitor and she would be given the courtesy due her station in life or know the reason why.

As the dispute escalated and the shouting became audible in the duke’s study, Julius put his fingers to his brow, sighed in frustration, then rang for a servant. “Show them in,” he ordered grudgingly.

He was grateful that Elspeth was busier than usual in the city and was out with their daughters. He wouldn’t have wanted her involved in what looked to be an irksome incident.

A rotund man and woman, squeezed into their country best, appeared in his study a short time later, red-faced from their skirmish in the entrance hall. Looking up from his desk, Julius bid them enter with civility if not warmth.

Neither moved for a moment, as though suddenly struck dumb in the presence of such distinctive rank.

Understanding two such persons weren’t often—if ever—in the presence of nobility, Julius did his best to put them at their ease. “I understand you have some matter you wish to discuss with me.”

An act of courtesy he regretted a moment later when the corpulent Mr. Harrison, apparently shaken from his stupor, strode up to his desk and said, “I’ve come here to do you a favor, Your Grace. And you are going to thank me for doing it.”

Knowing full well he required no favors from men such as Mr. Harrison, the duke sighed silently and said, much against his will, “Is that so?”

He didn’t ask them to sit, but the man’s wife came up nonetheless and sat, plopping down in a chair before his desk as though she had the right. Julius winced slightly, but otherwise gave no indication of his displeasure.

“It is indeed so, Your Grace. You see, my wife called my attention to a piece in the paper a few days back that mentioned a Miss Foster and a child. I would be willing to take that child off your hands”—the man smiled greasily—“for a price, you might say.”

“I’m not altogether sure I require any child taken off my hands,” Julius replied. But intrigued with learning the identity of his visitors, he asked, “Are you related to this child?”

The woman sniffed. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose.”

“And how is that?” The duke raised his brows.

“Our son made a very deplorable marriage,” the woman said with another sniff. “His wife was quite beneath his station. Fortunately, she died in childbirth, but the child did not,” she noted with pursed lips.

“And yet you do not have this child, if you think it here?”

“That actress”—another sniff of disapproval—“Miss Foster has the child.”

The picture was suddenly clear. The duke had heard the story from Duff; the Harrisons were the ones who had incarcerated Annabelle’s sister. “What makes you think Miss Foster’s connection is of interest to me?” he asked, a new coolness in his voice.

The man smirked. “You know as well as I that the piece in the paper gave everyone to suspect the child is your son’s. We’d be happy to acknowledge the babe as our son Thomas’s, take the child away, and be done with it. For a price, of course.”

“You wish to raise the child?”

“Not in the least!” Mrs. Harrison retorted contemptuously. “It could be sent to some foster home.”

“They don’t last long there, if you know what I mean, my lord,” Mr. Harrison said with a wink. “So you see, if you’d like to pay us a reasonable sum, we could allay any further hint of scandal, and your son, Lord Darley, would be completely exonerated.”

“What sum did you have in mind?” the duke inquired, whisper-soft.

“I was thinking perhaps ten thousand pounds.”

“A tidy sum.”

“We didn’t think it would be an overlarge sum for Your Grace—if we cleaned up the scandal, as it were.”

“Unfortunately,” Julius murmured, “our family is immune to scandal.” He nodded in dismissal. “I wish you a pleasant journey home.”

“Just a minute,” Mr. Harrison protested. “Do you realize we could make a deal of trouble for you? Accuse you of abducting our child or worse?”

“You are delusional if you think you can trouble me. Now, leave or I’ll have my servants escort you out.” Picking up his pen, the duke went back to his letter-writing.

The Harrisons turned red, then white, with anger, but they didn’t move. When the duke finally reached for a bell to summon his servants, they stalked from the room in a rage, threatening any number of dire ramifications.

Had Annabelle and Duff arrived five minutes later, they would have been spared a meeting with the Harrisons. But as bad luck would have it, just as they entered Westerlands House, the Harrisons were stomping out.

“Slut,” Millicent Harrison hissed as she passed Annabelle.

“Strumpet,” Jeremiah Harrison growled. “You haven’t heard the last from us.”

A
nnabelle turned white.

Taking her hand, Duff drew her close. “No one can hurt you,” he whispered, knowing without question who had brushed past them in a huff. “You’re safe with me.” Then, lifting his gaze, he surveyed the numerous footmen in the entrance hall. “If those people return,” he said crisply, “they’re not to be admitted. And someone follow them. I want to know where they’re lodging.”

As one of the footmen dashed for the door, Bamford stepped forward. “The duke just spoke to that common, may I say extremely ill-bred, pair.” The butler rolled his eyes, the motion almost imperceptible. “His Grace is in his study, sir, should you wish to speak to him.”

“Why don’t you go upstairs and lie down, darling,” Duff murmured, gently squeezing Annabelle’s hand. “I’ll handle this.”

She shook her head. “If they’ve come for Cricket, I must know.”

But her voice had quavered at the last, and Duff understood the magnitude of her anxiety. The Harrisons had killed her sister. They were not the sort one could cavalierly dismiss. “We’ll find out, but in the meantime, why don’t we have your family brought here for safekeeping. Don’t look at me like that. It’s the simplest solution—the most sensible, and, without question, the most secure.”

“I don’t know, Duff,” she equivocated, all the strictures of rank and society aligned against such a proposal. “Think of your family—they might not approve.”

“Of course they will,” he disputed—unlike her, without equivocation. “My family adores you. You single-handedly brought me back into this world, and for that, they are more than happy to give you carte blanche in all things. Now, sit for a minute,” he added, easing her into a nearby gilded chair, one of several that had graced the splendid entrance hall since the structure had been built a century ago. “And once I’ve given Bamford instructions for delivering your family to us, we’ll go and see my father.”

He spoke quietly to the butler, who nodded once or twice but spoke not at all, eminently capable of carrying out any task assigned him. “With all haste, now, Bamford,” Duff added as he turned back to Annabelle.

“Yes, your lordship.” Without looking either left or right, the tall, elderly man snapped his fingers and two young footmen ran forward.

Moments later, as Duff and Annabelle entered the duke’s study, Julius looked up and immediately took note of Annabelle’s pallor. “I surmise you had the misfortune to see the Harrisons. Do not be alarmed, Miss Foster. They can be dealt with easily enough.”

“What did they want?” Duff asked, handing Annabelle into a chair near his father’s desk.

“Money. What else?”

“They didn’t want Cricket?” Annabelle burst out.

There was no point in adding to her dismay. “As I understood it, they were primarily interested in blackmail,” Julius remarked evasively. “But there’s no need for concern—people like the Harrisons are easily subdued.”

“They are ruthless, Father.” Duff gave his father a significant glance.

“I understand. But we have considerable power that Miss Foster’s family—excuse me, my dear, I don’t mean to be discourteous—but clearly the situation is quite different.”

“Annabelle is worried for her family, particularly Cricket,” Duff interjected. “I gave instructions to bring them here.”

“Excellent idea. One can never be too careful with people like”—the duke’s mouth twitched into a sneer—“the Harrisons. And all will be well,” he hastened to add, conscious of Annabelle’s continuing distress. “You needn’t give the Harrisons another thought, Miss Foster.”

“I am in your debt, Your Grace,” Annabelle murmured. Glancing up at Duff, who stood beside her chair, she gave him a quick smile.

“To the contrary, my dear,” Julius offered. “We are in
your
debt for bringing out son back to sanity.” He smiled at Duff. “And a very satisfying sanity, I don’t doubt.”

“Yes, very.” Duff placed his hand on Annabelle’s shoulder in a possessive gesture so plain the duke could not but notice.

“Elspeth will be pleased to have guests,” Julius said, smiling at Annabelle. “Particularly Cricket, I suspect. My wife is smitten with your niece, Miss Foster. As we all are,” he added pleasantly.

That Cricket was a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby with blond curls and big blue eyes gave credence to the maxim,
The world is her oyster
. She was indeed beloved by all.

“Thank you…for…everything,” Annabelle stammered, feeling herself relax for the first time since seeing the Harrisons.

“You are most welcome. Would anyone care for tea or sherry to wash away our distaste with such visitors?”

“A sherry, I think…although perhaps…it’s too early,” Annabelle replied tentatively. She wasn’t in the habit of drinking in the morning, but then again, she wasn’t often so brutally surprised.

“Make it two, Father,” Duff said. He didn’t drink sherry as a rule, but it was clear Annabelle required a soothing draught.

Over their sherries, both men made a point of turning the conversation to inconsequential issues, and by the time Annabelle had finished her drink, she was relatively composed.

“I think we’ll go upstairs and oversee the apartments being readied for Mrs. Foster and ensemble,” Duff said, as though he commonly took an interest in housekeeping.

His father’s brows lifted slightly, but rather than remark on his son’s sudden interest in household matters, he simply said, “Your mother and sisters should be back for luncheon. If Annabelle’s family is here by then, why don’t we meet in the small dining parlor.” The duke, too, rarely involved himself in domestic issues, but he wished to make Annabelle feel comfortable, and to that end, he decided he’d better consult with the chef. There would be several added covers at luncheon today.

As it turned out, it couldn’t have been a more delightful family party. Elspeth, Lydia, Georgina, and children returned in good time, and Elspeth took over the menu from her husband, although not without a droll remark about miracles actually happening.

“Very funny, I’m sure,” he replied sportively. “At least the wines will be adequate. As for the rest, you may blame François. He overruled me on almost every item.”

“With good reason, I suspect. Your preference for plain food is well known.”

Between the duke and the chef, however, the luncheon menu needed very little tweaking by the duchess. And the family party, newly enlarged by the addition of Annabelle’s family, partook of excellent food and conversation that afternoon in the sunny dining parlor.

The duchess and her daughters had been given an overview of the Harrisons’ visit, and they all took great pains to put Annabelle and her family at ease. That the Harrisons would be thwarted in their designs was not in doubt within the duke’s family, although, infinitely polite, no one broached the subject.

Annabelle, in turn, had explained to her mother that the Harrisons had made demands, but the duke had sent them away. Mrs. Foster had not only been delighted that they had nothing to fear now that they were under the duke’s protection, but she and Molly also shared in some agreeable speculation apropos Annabelle’s and the marquis’s future. That he was obviously smitten, they both agreed. As for Annabelle, they were optimistic her reservations would be overcome.

Mrs. Foster and Molly’s starry-eyed view of the world was illustrative of all those who have kept fairy tales alive over the centuries.

Hope is a powerful and universal impulse.

M
rs. Foster and Molly were even more encouraged when the duchess suggested they go for a drive in Hyde Park once they finished dessert.

“It’s such a lovely, warm day. And Cricket will love being outside, won’t she, my dear Julia?” she said with a smile for Annabelle’s mother. Without waiting for an answer, she turned to Duff. “Do be a dear and have the barouche brought round.”

As Duff rose to do his mother’s bidding, Annabelle felt a distinct rush of trepidation. While the duchess was making it clear that Annabelle and her family were under her guardianship, Annabelle found the thought of meeting
all the world
in Hyde Park mildly unnerving. The entire
beau monde
would be out riding or driving in the park, late afternoon the requisite time to see and be seen.

On the other hand, her mother was clearly unconcerned; Cricket wouldn’t be aware of the social ramifications, and if anyone could school their expression to one of bland politesse, she certainly could.

So, before long they were in Hyde Park enjoying the summer day, Duff riding alongside the open carriage, Annabelle and her mother in one seat, the duchess seated opposite them, holding Cricket. They’d been acknowledged by numerous waves and general greetings by those riding or in carriages when the Regent, being driven in an elegant curricle, waved them to a stop. He spoke to everyone; he was a man known for his charm. He even admired Cricket, a considerable gallantry from a man who generally avoided children, including his only daughter. And in a particular mark of favor, he invited Duff and Annabelle to dinner at Carleton House.

Duff accepted with good grace, although the prince was of his father’s generation, not his. But Prinny had an eye for beautiful women and Duff suspected Annabelle was the reason for their invitation.

She said as much once they were returned to Westerlands House.

“Must we go?” she said, wrinkling her nose. She and Duff were in his sitting room after the rest of the family had gone off to play with Cricket. “I’ve been avoiding the Regent for years.”

“You needn’t worry. I’ll be with you, and prince or not, I don’t allow poachers.”

Annabelle’s gaze narrowed. “I’m not your property.” She was already out of patience with a dinner at Carleton House in the offing. She didn’t need any further instances of male prerogatives.

“Let me reword that. If you need assistance keeping Prinny at bay, please allow me to be of help.”

She laughed. “You are a disarming rogue.”

“I know,” he drawled, his brows flickering in mockery. “For your information, I am also universally adored.”

He might be teasing, but she rather thought not.

“And speaking of adorable, did you notice even Prinny commented on Cricket’s beauty?” he said like a proud father.

His remark warmed Annabelle’s heart. “Cricket always commands attention, there’s no doubt,” she agreed. “Although,” she added, coloring faintly, “you know what gossip will imply.”

“About what?”

“Please. You know full well what I mean.”

“That Cricket is yours and mine? Let them talk. It makes no difference.”

“Disregard for gossip is much easier for you than for me. Not that I’m not familiar with censure, but this?” She made a moue. “I have purposefully avoided the plight of unwed mother. Good God, Duff, don’t panic,” she said with a smile. “You are not expected to do anything—nor am I alluding to marriage.”

He was courteous enough not to say,
Thank God
, although a moment later, he took issue with the fact that she had no wish to marry him. For a man who had been pursued by every female on the marriage mart for a great number of years, her indifference was disconcerting. “Do you mean you don’t wish to marry me?”

“Of course I don’t. It’s impossible, anyway, as you well know.”

“Impossible? Why?”

“For a thousand reasons, all of which you and I are cognizant of—and the world is as well. As for rumors about Cricket, don’t give them another thought. It’s no concern of yours. I will deal with them.”

“Hmm,” he said, sliding lower in his chair, gazing at her from under his lashes, his expression restive. “It wouldn’t necessarily be out of the question for us to marry.”

“For heaven’s sake, Duff, you’re acting like a child who has been told he can’t have something. I am more than content with things as they are. Gossip about Cricket is not the first time I have had to stare down the public. Rest easy—this is none of your concern.”

“What if I make it mine?”

“You can’t. Cricket has nothing to do with you.”

“I could claim her.”

She smiled. “You are vastly spoiled, Duff. You cannot have your way in all things.”

“But I always have.” He conveniently overlooked the misery of the year past, but then, he wasn’t currently arguing with either reason or dispassion.

“Then perhaps it’s time you don’t.”

He slid upright in his chair. “Are you saying you can keep me from doing what I want?”

“That depends, I suppose, on what you want,” she said with a wink.

“Dammit.” He grinned. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not. Come, we’ll talk of more pleasant things.”

He glanced at the clock. “Or not talk at all. We don’t have to go down for dinner for at least—”

“Please, Duff, consider. You bled all over yesterday.”

“But not since then”—he opened his arms wide—“as you see. And Stewart said these things will happen. You heard he wasn’t concerned. Why don’t I lock the door,” he murmured, coming to his feet.

“I can’t, Duff. Not here.”

She didn’t say she
wouldn’t
, which was encouraging. As was the slight tremor in her voice. “Next door, then. In my room.”

He had made it clear earlier that no one entered his bedroom unbidden, Annabelle found herself thinking when she shouldn’t be thinking anything of the kind. When she should be wary of hurting Duff or having family members knock on the door and be told to go away. When it wasn’t
imperative
she have several orgasms before dinner.

“There’s plenty of time,” Duff whispered as though reading her mind.

She made the mistake of glancing at the clock.

Duff was attuned to subtleties of female behavior; there had always been husbands eyeing him warily in the presence of their wives. He could interpret the smallest gesture with ease. “Why don’t I promise not to move at all. I’ll show you how it works,” he added, covering the small distance that separated them and taking her hand.

“I don’t know, Duff…”

“I’ll be sure for both of us. How would that be?” Lifting her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingertips lightly and smiled his most seductive smile—the one that promised wild pleasures and unforgettable memories.

She had meant to resist. Had she done so, she would have been the first to withstand that lazy smile. “I shouldn’t,” she said.

Which didn’t mean
shouldn’t
, as he very well knew. “It sounds as though you need convincing,” he murmured diplomatically, drawing her toward the connecting door to his bedroom.

“If you must know,” she said pettishly, struggling with the altered dynamic in terms of amour, tugging at his hand in a fit of pique, “I dislike feeling this way. As though I’m at your mercy.”

He stopped abruptly and turned to her. “We could argue about who is most in thrall,” he said pointedly, a certain moodiness in his tone. “If I had my way, I would keep you under lock and key and never let you out of my bed. It is not my usual way.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Indeed, so don’t talk to me about who yields to whom.”

“I see,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” he said, somewhat snappishly this time.

“We are both not used to these unrestrained feelings,” Annabelle said gently.

He seemed to visibly bring himself under control, and a moment later a small smile appeared on his lips. “On the other hand,” he murmured, “why not enjoy them?”

“While the sun shines,” she said with an answering smile, understanding perfectly. “How much time do we have?”

“Not enough,” he said, moving toward his bedroom once again.

A short time later, flushed and panting after her second orgasm, her hands braced on his shoulders, she whispered, “How do you do it?”

They were ensconced in Duff’s bed, he lying immobile beneath her, she straddling his hips, impaled on his erection. And so they had been—his lean, rangy form utterly still except for relevant blood flow, while she had climaxed twice and he once and counting.

He didn’t explain that he’d learned the practice from a mystic in Morocco. Nor did he mention that it took him a month in the mountains with the mystic, some very good hashish, and a number of accommodating young women. But he’d mastered the capacity to control his arousal and ejaculation for lengthy periods of time.

Never say he couldn’t apply himself if he wished.

“It’s all in the breathing,” he said, in lieu of more controversial and complex answers. Then consciously directing his thoughts, some portion of his anatomy stirred infinitesimally and Annabelle didn’t ask any further questions.

She was too busy.

Although the frenzy of their passions was in accord and they both gave themselves up to every degree of pleasure in the interval before dinner.

And when they appeared in the dining room—slightly late—no one mentioned their hastily combed hair, nor their heightened color.

They were merely greeted with bland smiles and piquant interest.