Suzanne Robinson (15 page)

“A duke,” he said aloud, “is addressed as ‘Your Grace.’ A duchess, ‘Your Grace.’ A marquess is ‘My Lord.’ He’s the Marquess of Such-and-Such. His wife is ‘My Lady,’ as are the wives of earls, viscounts, and barons. A baron is called Lord Such-and-Such, not Baron Such-and-Such, which is foreign. A count is a foreign tide. A baron’s wife is addressed as Lady Such-and-Such, not by the family name, but daughters of dukes, marquesses, and earls are Lady Ann, Lady Mary, and so on.”

Luke frowned and glanced aside at his notes. “Somewhere is ladies with men’s names. I know it. Where was that?” He shuffled through the notes to no avail. “God rot them all. Bloody honorables and
viscounts and knights and dukes. And why in hell do some ladies get called Lady Henry or Lady James instead of Lady Mary? Where is that paper?”

His head spun. The Duke of Newcastle whose real name wasn’t Newcastle, Lady Edbury, Lord Robert Paget, whose name was indeed Paget, the Earl of Donoughmore, Cecil Waring, third baron Revingstoke. The list was endless, and he was supposed to know it. Luke groaned and slumped down on the couch.

Learning the ways of Society was much harder than learning to be a thief. Right now he’d rather be breaking into a town house in Portman Square than waiting for yet another lesson in manners and etiquette from Miss Dane. She had turned out to be an exacting instructress who actually expected him to memorize what she told him each day and repeat it back the next.

Luke sat up quickly when he heard the door open and the rapid tap of dainty boots on the polished wood floor. He watched Miss Dane come toward him and wondered why he hadn’t noticed how she came into a room before. He couldn’t quite describe it, but she moved so smoothly. The tapping ceased as Miss Dane gained the carpet. Luke hurried around the couch to make his bow.

“Good morning, Miss Dane.”

“Good morning, Sir Lucas.”

“I hope you had a pleasant evening.”

“I did indeed, Sir Lucas.”

“May I escort you to a chair?”

“Thank you.”

Offering his arm, Luke settled Miss Dane in a chair beside the couch. Three days ago, when their lessons began, he’d sat beside her on the couch and earned a snippy rebuke.

Today, Miss Dane didn’t begin at once. He remained on his feet and asked if there was something wrong.

“Yes, Sir Lucas. Tell me, is there word about the Kettles?”

“Yes, they’re a pack of little monsters.”

“They’re not monsters. They do what they can, considering what their father is. It’s my fault that Alice is in danger—”

“Don’t fret about them, I’ve seen to it.”

“You have?”

“Sent round to see how they did. They were all there, including your little Alice.” He gave her a sideways glace. “Sent them out of the city to a friend. He’ll give them a place to stay and see to it that the family is taken care of proper.”

“Thank you, Sir Lucas.”

He could see the tension ebb from her face and was rewarded with a smile that, without warning, strummed a tight little tune inside him. Heartily desiring to ignore such inconvenient feelings, Luke sat down again in the midst of his notes and sighed when Miss Dane called for his recitation.

He launched into the morass of terms of address and did well until his thoughts strayed, and he recalled how Miss Dane had come into the room. She seemed to drift like a sailing ship on calm waters. She was wearing a gown of royal blue with salmon and gold
stripes, and flared sleeves that revealed undersleeves of darker blue. He’d been right to ask her to instruct him. In appearance, demeanor, and character she was the ideal lady. Miss Dane could enter a room in her bell-like skirts and create the impression of a soft western breeze gently stirring a garden. She didn’t wiggle her hips and make her hoops swing like the women he was used to.

Also, her grammar was perfect; at least he thought it was, and her voice modulated like one of those piano pieces by that fellow Chopin. Miss Dane knew when to wear a bonnet rather than a cap. She knew which parasol was appropriate for morning use, which handkerchief suited a day gown, which of the countless spoons in his silver service should be used for serving as opposed to eating soup. Miss Dane seemed to know everything.

“No, Sir Lucas. One does not address a knight as Lord Such-and-Such. You are a knight. Your title isn’t hereditary. You are called Sir Lucas, not Lord Hawthorne.”

“Rot the titles and the peerage. They don’t make no sense.”

“They make no sense.”

“See. You agree with me.”

Miss Dane pursed her lips and sighed. “No. I was correcting your grammar. It’s ‘They make no sense,’ not ‘They don’t make no sense’.”

“Either way, I’m sick of titles.”

“I thought you might be, so I made some notes on decorum and manners.”

“Like at table?”

“No, Sir Lucas. Your table etiquette is not as bad as you seem to think. No, I’m speaking of a gentleman’s behavior, especially in regard to ladies.”

“I don’t sit them in me lap, if that’s what you mean.”

He couldn’t help reminding her of their more intimate dealings. He liked to see her blush. It made a wondrous sight, all that creamy skin turning pink and contrasting with the amber, gold, and wheat of her hair. He wished she wouldn’t gather it up in that knot at the nape of her neck. What was she saying?

“It is as well to be plain about these standards of conduct, I think, for it may be that what I think is understood may not be by you.”

“Right.”

Miss Dane read from a sheet of paper filled with her writing. “Never do the following: Go on a journey, dine, go to a play, go to a concert or other function alone with a lady who is not a near relative.”

“What, never?”

Miss Dane nodded.

“You sure?”

“Certainly.”

“What about a picnic?”

“Especially not a picnic, which may be considered a journey as well as a function.”

Just then a diffuse ray of sunlight shot through the window glass and turned her hair to fire, and he stopped listening again. It was a funny trick of the imagination that happened to him. A tantalizing feeling came on him—of being whisked into a dream world where the air was silver mist and sound had a
chimelike quality. This was a world he’d created for himself when he was young and lost and nowhere was safe.

He remembered sleeping in doorways, if you could call it sleep. His body lay prone, but his mind wouldn’t rest. So many things to fear, but most of all, he was afraid of the older boys who lurked in darkness ready to amuse themselves by beating him. When the hunger and fear came, and he couldn’t sleep, he would retreat to his silver mist world and listen to the magical sounds in it—bells, fairy chimes, a stream rushing over stones, a breeze fluttering leaves. In that world he’d been safe. And now this young lady seemed to take him there just by sitting in a sunbeam.

“Sir Lucas, you’re inattentive again. Which is rude.”

“Sorry,” he said faintly, dragging his attention back to the real world. “No going places together without a chaperone.”

“Correct.”

“No being alone with a lady at all.”

She nodded.

His gaze drifted over her sunlit hair, and he couldn’t prevent himself from saying softly, “We’re alone, Miss Dane. And sunlight becomes you.”

“Sir Lucas,” came the sharp retort. “Please refrain from familiarity.” At his lifted eyebrow, her shoulders slumped and she looked away. “My case is different. Because of my situation, I am lost to good society forever. Ordinarily, I would never visit you alone, or engage to instruct you in anything. However …”

“However?”

Miss Dane’s tongue peeked out. Luke smiled and shifted his position so that he was nearer to her chair.

“However, I am in your debt, and soon to be in greater debt. I can think of no way to repay you at the moment. Besides, you drove a most unfair bargain, sir.”

“So there are times when I can be alone with a lady.”

She scowled at him. “Yes. When she’s ruined.”

“Don’t snarl at me, Miss Primrose blighted Dane. I didn’t ruin you. I’m only trying to help.”

“You can help by sending me to America at once, before he finds me!”

“Who finds you?”

She almost said it without thinking. He could see her lips form the words, but then she caught herself. She realized her near mistake and jumped to her feet. As she rose, the papers in her lap toppled to the floor.

“Oh, you are an infamous creature to bait me so!”

Manners in mind, Luke got up when Miss Dane did, and stooped when she did—and hit her head with his. A spike of pain sent him bouncing back to land on his heels, swearing. He heard Miss Dane cry out. Still swearing, Luke grabbed her as she lost her balance. She fell into his arms and curled into a ball. Luke shut his eyes. Little gasps came drifting up to him, and as his own pain became an ache, he looked down to find Miss Dane clutching her head.

“Let me see.” He turned her in his lap and pried her hands from her head.

“I—I shall be fine.”

Luke ignored her, touched her chin with his fingers,
and tilted her head. He touched her hair at the spot she’d been protecting, and Miss Dane cried out.

“Quit your blithering and let me look at your head.”

“I’m quite well, sir. Please allow me to rise.”

Luke dropped his arms and let her slip to the floor. Giving him a scowl for such indecorous treatment, Miss Dane battled with her skirts, then tried to stand. Luke was ready when she wavered and caught her before she fell again.

“Daft little blighter.” He gathered her in his arms and lifted her to the couch. “You got a right good size knot on your head. Loosen your hair.”

“I shan’t do that,” Miss Dane replied as she lay back on the couch. “It’s improper.”

Luke knew better than to argue with Miss Dane about propriety. He knelt beside her and began pulling pins from her hair.

“What are you doing?”

“Relieving the pressure on your poor head, daft creature.”

She grabbed his wrists and glared at him. “Stop!”

They had touched each other before, but Luke couldn’t remember Miss Dane ever voluntarily placing her bare flesh against his. Now her fingers pressed against his wrists and the cuffs of his shirt. Her skin warmed his. He could feel his pulse throbbing against the pressure of her hands. And the sunlight turned her cascading hair to divine fire.

“Divine fire,” he whispered to himself.

“What?” she asked, meeting his gaze with confusion.

He was distracted by hues of bottle green, teal, and
gray, and without thinking, drew closer to her. It seemed the most natural action, kissing her. And it was like drinking enchantment. His body warmed as though the fire of her hair wrapped itself around him.

Even as he tasted her, learned her mouth, and taught her how to learn his, he was astonished. Luke had kissed countless women, and he had, without thinking about it, expected Miss Dane to be like the rest. What foolery. She had never been like the rest. When he kissed her, he felt the effect of an entire bottle of cognac.

He could feel her heart against his chest. No, that thumping wasn’t her heart. Luke surfaced from his private world of the flesh to find Miss Dane’s small fist pounding at him. He pulled back from her, but she kept hitting him. He captured her hands.

“Stop it,” he snapped.

She went still and gaped at him, her eyes wide and her hair in a tangle around her face. Kneeling before her with his eyes closed, Luke came back to himself slowly. He controlled his breathing and willed his body into a more respectable state. And when he opened his eyes this time, he looked at Primrose Dane with transformed vision. How had she remained a spinster, a girl who could kiss like that? Of course, quite likely no one had ever bothered to kiss her before.

“God rot my soul,” he said in a wondering manner.

Miss Dane was still looking at him in startled confusion. Luke glanced down to find his hands still on her, slowly released his grip, and stood. He walked away and stared at a rococo marquetry chest. Concentrating on the spiraling curves and sinuous lines of its
decoration, he lectured himself. He’d done many awful things in his life, but he was a gentleman now. He couldn’t take advantage of an innocent and unprotected young woman in his care. Nightshade stirred inside him, laughed, and asked why not.

“Black death and curses, I don’t need this battle upon everything else.”

“Sir Lucas, I demand that you stop mumbling and explain your horrid conduct.”

He whirled around and stared at Miss Dane.

“Horrid?”

“Most unacceptable,” she said.

Miss Dane had managed to pin up her hair again, but in a looser fashion to ease her head. She was standing rigidly, like a starched collar, with her delicious mouth all pinched and her cheeks crimson.

“I must have your word that you will refrain from such actions in the future, Sir Lucas.”

“You must, must you?”

“You are mocking me, sir.”

Nightshade was laughing inside him, prodding him, daring him to promise. Luke stuffed his fists in his pockets, lowered his chin, and raised his eyes to the woman in front of him. His voice came out in a harsh whisper.

“No, Miss Prim. I’m not mocking you.”

“Then I demand an accounting for your conduct, Sir Lucas.”

“Don’t ask me.”

“I beg your pardon?”

He began to walk toward her, slowly, while he
tried to banish the roiling urges Nightshade fostered. “You don’t want an accounting, Miss Prim.”

“Stay where you are!”

He paused at the tone of panic in her voice, then threw himself in a nearby chair and sprawled there, glaring at the chandelier.

“Do I have your word?”

“What? My word about what?”

“Your word that there will be no repetition of such disgusting behavior.”

“Disgusting is it?” How dare she pretend to be unmoved while he was suffering like this? “Don’t curl your lip at me like you smell something from a ditch, Miss Prim. I did the teaching just now, but you did a powerful lot o’ quick learning.”

He was rewarded with a shocked gasp and a flood of color to her cheeks. His grin faded when she marched past him on her way out of the drawing room.