The Seduction of a Duke (46 page)

The Chambers relatives had turned out in full force to gawk at William’s American bride. He was so proud to have her on his arm during the introductions, he thought he might burst his buttons. She was magnificent, elegant, and engaging. The perfect duchess.

Funny how life had changed in such a short period of time. He recalled how he feared his American bride would make him a laughingstock. He, William Chambers—raised to be the perfect duke—discovered he was not so perfect after all. While his wife, who had no interest in being a duchess, could be held as a standard for all others to emulate. He chuckled softly to himself, remembering how he had thought that once married, he could hide his American bride in the country, while he spent her fortune ensuring the continuation of the estate. Now he could not imagine being without her. When he returned to his London town house, Franny would be there as well. Now that would be fun to watch. Franny taking on the ton in London.

There she was out on the dance floor—again—this time on the Prince’s arm. Bertie’s acceptance this afternoon enabled William to begrudge the Prince a longing look or two at Franny’s low neckline. Some things even a Prince was denied, and a dalliance with his wife was one of them. Nicholas and Emma spun by in a waltz. There was a time when Nicholas refused to dance, claiming his leg injury made the movements too awkward. Emma had obviously cured him of that. They made a striking couple and if he wasn’t mistaken, Emma was thickening about the middle. Could there have been a breeding female under his roof all this time and he was too foolish to know it? He watched them all with a silly smile on his lips, sipping champagne.

“What are you doing, lad?”

Startled, William glanced at the footman dressed in livery that looked to be a tad tight. Thackett!

“You should be out there dancing with her.”

“What are you doing here?” William asked.

“I wanted to see my boys like this,” he waved his arm about the ballroom. “All dressed up, dancing with their beautiful wives. So I asked Nicholas to find a way.”

“Nicholas?” William scowled. “You asked Nicholas?”

Thackett raised his brows and William suddenly noticed the resemblance Franny had noted immediately. “You were busy at the time,” Thackett said. “Something about a ghost moaning.”

William smiled. There was that. Franny enjoyed her punishment so much, she vowed to be wicked, just so he could do it again.

“Now go dance with your wife and make this old farmer’s dream come true,” he said. “Before Carruthers discovers this footman doesn’t know squat about fancy doings.”

William handed Thackett his champagne glass and set out to claim his wife. Fortunately, the set ended before he was forced to cut the Prince. Bertie kissed Franny’s glove in parting and turned her over to William.

The music began and he guided her effortlessly about the ballroom.

“I had no idea you were such a wonderful dancer,” she exclaimed.

“Had you not been hiding on the lawn looking to pounce on innocent strangers, we would have danced at our engagement ball,” he said.

“With that large frog head?” She laughed, an infectiously happy sound he hoped to hear the rest of his life.

He smiled, then sobered. As they approached the doors that led to the courtyard he asked that they go outside for fresh air.

Franny had refurbished the gardens, he noted, by hanging baskets of potted flowers from the village. They stood outside, surrounded by their abbey.

“You look magnificent,” he said for the umpteenth time.

She smoothed her hands down his lapels. “And you look every inch the perfect duke.”

“Perhaps not so perfect,” he said, thinking of Thackett.

She sighed. “William, you need to accept that bloodlines do not make a duke. Honor, respect, education, compassion, fairness—those are the qualities of a duke, and those are your qualities as well.” She rubbed his shoulder, knowing the mark that existed below the cloth. “I must admit I’m pleased that the blood of someone who could do this to a child is not in your veins. I’d be concerned for our children.”

He gazed down at her moonlit cheeks. “I hadn’t thought about that, though I do like the sound of ‘our children.’ ”

“The old Duke of Bedford decided you would be his heir. He could have denounced your birthright a long time ago, but he knew you were the one. He took steps to ensure that you would never know you were anything less that the perfect duke.”

She tilted her face up to his. “And you’re not less. You’re perfect.”

He slipped his hands around her trim waist and kissed her. Right there, in full view of the dancers inside, in full view of his family, in full view of anyone who might have assumed he was only interested in her money.

And to anyone watching, it was just as obvious that she was interested in only one thing, the seduction of the Duke.

“ARE YOU SURE YOU HAVE ENOUGH ROSES?” ALVA Winthrop asked. “Everyone expects roses at a wedding. Some say orange blossoms as they denote innocence, but I say roses—big red ones—they stand for passion. That’s what makes a marriage, passion.”

“There are plenty of roses,” Fran said. And plenty of passion, she mentally added.

“Your duke looks very handsome,” Alva said. She looked at Fran askance. “I haven’t heard you thank me yet.”

“Thank you?” Fran exclaimed. “You married me off to a stranger; granted he turned out to be a handsome stranger . . . an incredibly handsome stranger . . . but you had no way of knowing that.”

“What makes you say that?” Alva responded a little too smugly for comfort. “Do you really think I’d arrange the marriage of my only daughter, my much loved only daughter, to a complete stranger?”

Fran was about to respond, to ask exactly what her
maman
meant, but there was a knock on the door. William walked in.

He took her breath away. Even after three months. In his cutaway tuxedo, he was so incredibly attractive that she sent a skyward prayer of undying gratitude for her good fortune. But then, to listen to her mother, perhaps it wasn’t merely good fortune, after all?

“Are you ladies ready? It’s about time to go to the chapel.”

“William,” she scolded. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re supposed to be waiting at the chapel. It’s bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony.”

“I just wanted to check that you weren’t going to try and escape again.” He grinned. “Besides, I’d say our luck has been pretty good so far.”

“Escape? What does he mean escape?” Alva asked Fran.

“Didn’t she tell you?” William said. “She tried to sneak out on the wedding in Newport.” He walked over and kissed her on the cheek. “But I nabbed her in the act and forced her to become a duchess . . . my duchess.”

“I think it’s lovely that you two are having a second wedding, but I still don’t see the need,” Alva said. “I would think the extravagant one in Newport would be sufficient.”

“Several of William’s family members couldn’t attend that one, Maman.”

“To say nothing of the tenants and villagers.” He winked at Fran. “The real reason, though, is I didn’t want anyone to think we weren’t legally married because we married in America instead of England. I want there to be no question.”

“There’s also the matter of vows,” Fran said. “It’s more meaningful to vow to love, honor, and obey someone you actually know.”

“And plan to obey,” he whispered in her ear.

“Or risk punishment?” she whispered back. His eyelids lowered seductively causing an anticipatory shiver to tingle through her.

“So your family will be there?” Alva asked.

William didn’t break eye contact with her. “My brother, Nicholas, will stand up as my best man.”

“His wife, Emma, is to be my maid of honor and their daughter, Sarah, will be my flower girl,” Emma said, still lost in his gaze.

“How about Arianne?” Alva asked. “Will she be here?”

“You’ve met Arianne?” Fran quickly shifted her gaze to her mother.

“Oh, yes. Lovely girl. I’m not sure exactly where we met . . . somewhere in Europe. You know how it is, so many countries in a short time. She told me quite a bit about William.” Her mother winked at her. “And I’m pleased to say it all appears true.”

“I suppose I owe Arianne a debt of gratitude,” Fran said suspiciously. Did her mother truly plan a betrothal based on a chance meeting with William’s sister?

“As do I.” William scowled. “Arianne?”

“Let me make sure everything is ready for the ceremony. It is lovely that you have a newly refurbished chapel right on the grounds. So convenient.” Alva left the abbey’s master bedroom where Fran had been preparing.

William took advantage of the privacy by pulling Fran up from her chair for a kiss.

“The person you should really thank is my father for incorporating that clause in the marriage contract about our children being educated in the United States,” Fran said, enjoying the comfort of William’s arms around her. “If it hadn’t been for that, I probably would never have consulted that courtesan’s diary.”

William frowned. “I don’t recall a clause to that effect.”

“My father said it was there. He didn’t want his grandchildren educated in hoity-toity English schools. They were to be educated in America and I would be allowed to stay there with them.” She looked at him aghast. “That’s why I tried to seduce you so aggressively. I wanted to have your child.”

“You wanted to become pregnant so as to escape me?” He scowled. “Marriage contracts aside, a wife stays with her husband, especially this wife and this husband.”

“There was no clause?” This day seemed to be full of revelations.

“Not that I recall, but I would have agreed to any terms under the circumstances.” He kissed the top of her head. “However, as we haven’t any children, there’s plenty of time to discuss the best educational choices for our offspring.”

“There’s not as much time as you may think,” Fran said to his shoulder.

He pushed her back, his forehead creased. “What do you mean?”

She smiled and slid her hand down to her belly. “I think it’s time to start renovations on the nursery.”

ESTELLE LEANED OUT FROM THE TINY BALCONY OFF her bedroom, her face tilted to the sky over Bedford Square. Rain fell from a blanket of leaden clouds, the droplets cool and fresh as they struck her skin. She was fifteen. Gawky. Bookish. Almost too shy to know how to make a friend. Fortunately, none of that mattered on this stormy May evening.

Her life had changed forever today.

She’d met the most marvelous man this morning. To him she hadn’t been invisible. To him she’d been a person worthy not just of notice but of trust as well.

She’d noticed
him
at once. The schoolyard had been full, cliques of girls whispering to each other, boys running between them, screaming like lunatics. Estelle was neither popular nor bold enough to interest either group. Her banker father’s desire to seem more successful than he was did not extend to kitting out his daughter in the latest styles. She wore last year’s dress and last year’s shoes. She wasn’t growing anymore, he’d blustered when she’d dared to ask if she could have new. Why shouldn’t she wear what still fit? This he’d had the bottle to say after buying a real gold cigarette case for himself, the same as his biggest rival at the bank carried.

Other events had blotted out those annoyances this morning. She’d been leaning against her usual wall with her latest book, her I-don’t-bloody-well-care demeanor protecting her from the chaos. A motion had caught her eye: a man, leading a small golden-haired girl into the schoolyard.

His presence had straightened her from her slouch, had brought her head out of her mystery. It was rare to see a father escort his daughter, and rarer still for him to be so youthful and good-looking. This one certainly didn’t resemble any father she knew. He was tall and lean, with a dark brimmed trilby pulled rakishly over one brow. As he parted the crowd his strides were different from other men’s, tension and grace in them, like a big predator stalking antelope across the veld. The way his dark brown suit flowed with his movements was as much a testament to his fitness as his tailor’s skill. Estelle’s own muscles tightened as if she were secretly longing to run from him—though not, perhaps, to escape.