A Regency Duchess's Awakening

Chapter Six

He was the biggest damnable fool that ever lived.

Nicholas strode down the street. The walkway was crowded with shoppers and servants laden with packages, yet he hardly saw them or heard the greetings of his acquaintances. He wasn’t there, in the fine, sunny day on Bond Street, but back in the darkness of Vauxhall, holding Emily Carroll in his arms.

Emily Carroll! Of all women, how could it come to be her? She had made it clear she disliked him, and she was not the sort of lady he usually liked. She was quiet, watchful, where he liked blithe gregariousness, daring and humour. Yet last night had been beyond daring—it had been sheer lunacy. How did it happen?

Nicholas rubbed his hand over his face, trying to erase the vivid memory of her mouth under his, soft, sweet, eager. The feel of her body against his touch. He knew all too well how it happened. Lady Emily was tipsy on Vauxhall’s potent punch, and he was a little foxed himself. Alcohol and masks were never a wise combination. They always gave the illusion of freedom and anonymity, of lack of consequences.

Well, there was no such thing as lack of consequences. He knew that all too well. His own father had lived his life grabbing whatever he wanted, heedless of its effects on his family name or the people around him. For him, there were no consequences; Nicholas and his poor mother and his siblings were the ones who lived with them. When he himself married Valentina, he didn’t care what happened next, he only cared about his love for her in that moment. And Valentina died because of it.

Since he lost her, he had been so careful. So determined not to be like his father. Until last night.

He had only followed Emily when he saw her stumble away from the colonnades because he was worried about her safety. He didn’t want to think too closely about why he watched her all evening in the first place. Ever since they ran into each other on her arrival, he had been acutely aware of where she was, her laughter with her friends, her tears at the sad song—the glasses of punch she consumed.

He could scarcely believe it when her friends let her wander off alone, and when she went off down the dark pathway. Had she no clue of the danger that awaited a beautiful woman in such places?

Of course she did not. Most young ladies did not grow up as his sisters had, knowing the ways of the world and sophisticated about its dangers. So he had followed, to make sure she was left alone, and when he saw her fall.

He caught her. And it was as if something deep inside of him, something cold and dormant since Valentina, sprang to life. And not just the thing in his breeches, either.

Emily, or rather the tipsy, black-haired lady with Emily’s green eyes, had put her arms around him and made him feel strong and protective and—and needed again. The power of the lust that seized him when he merely touched her foot, felt the warm, rose-scented, feminine life of her, shocked him. It was powerful and primitive, completely instinctive—and not something he would ever have associated with Lady Emily Carroll.

Nicholas kicked at a chink in the pavement, making passers-by veer away from him with startled glances. When he first kissed her, he hadn’t been thinking at all—that burning lust completely took over, and he had to taste her. At first she seemed quite surprised, not sure what to do, but then—oh, hell, but then she responded to him with a gasp, reached out to him, learned the patterns of their kiss.

She learned quickly, ardently. And he forgot they were in a public garden, on the ground amid the trees. He forgot he was the Duke of Manning and she was Lady Emily Carroll, daughter of an earl who was his father’s old friend. They were only a man and woman who wanted each other, needed each other.

He had, blast it all, touched her backside. And a lovely, shapely backside it was. If the fireworks hadn’t gone off, who knew what would have happened. Lady Emily fled and rightfully so, though he watched to make sure she rejoined her friends and seemed unharmed, though shaken.

He had first followed to make sure no one attacked her on the dark walks, and it turned out he was the attacker. He was just like his father after all. No, he was worse. His father’s amours, culminating in his elopement with Lady Linwall, had all been worldly women at his own level.

He himself seemed to lust for young, innocent ladies tipsy on arrack punch, who did not even know who he really was. He was a fool and a cad.

He paused before a jeweller’s window display to compose himself. People were beginning to look at him like he was a wild animal as he strode past them muttering to himself. After the gossip over his “heroics” in the park, he did not need any more attention at all.

But there in that window, nestled on a cushion of white satin, was a square-cut emerald pendant surrounded by diamonds. The stone was the exact colour of Lady Emily’s eyes, brilliant, summery grass-green. If she was any other woman he was trying to apologise to, he would buy that and send it to her with a poetic letter. Probably one written by someone else, since he had no poetry in him at all, but the sentiments would be heartfelt.

Lady Emily, though, was definitely not just any woman. She didn’t even know it was him last night, and was probably ill with mortification today. The last thing she needed was an emerald the size of an egg landing on her doorstep.

No. If he did not want to be like his father, there was only one thing to do. Go to Lady Emily, confess his identity and propose to her. Her parents would surely be ecstatic.

But Emily would not be. She did not like him, and if she found out it was him at Vauxhall she would like him even less. Yet she would feel obliged to marry him—and they would end up as mismatched and unhappy as his own parents had been.

He thought of his mother, alone and miserable at Fincote Park. He would never wish that on Emily, would never want that bright flame he glimpsed so brightly last night to go out.

What was the right thing to do? He was damned if he knew, and the pounding headache from all that punch now throbbing behind his eyes was not helping him at all. There was only one thing he could do at the moment. Go in the shop and buy that pendant. Just in case.

By the time he emerged after purchasing the emerald, as well as gifts for his sisters and his little niece, Katherine, the crowds had grown thinner. It was late in the day, nearly time for Society to converge on Hyde Park again.

Would Emily be there? he wondered. And would she be with George Rayburn? He remembered when he first encountered her at the park, before the runaway carriage. She had been walking with Rayburn, and the man had a damnably lustful, possessive glint in his eyes when he looked at her. He hadn’t seemed at all happy when Emily walked away with him, Nicholas, though Emily herself had given no indication of how she felt towards Rayburn, or indeed towards anything at all. Was the man a serious suitor?

How would she have reacted if it was Rayburn at Vauxhall last night? That thought sent an unexpected, blinding jolt of raw jealousy through him.

“Why, your Grace! What a pleasant surprise to see you here this afternoon,” a woman called from behind him.

Nicholas spun around to see Emily’s mother, Lady Moreby, along with her pretty but gossipy daughter-in-law, Viscountess Granton. Blast it all—it seemed he had no luck the last few days.

The ladies fluttered towards him, all ruffled parasols, feathered bonnets and excited smiles. He would have to make polite conversation with them, all the while knowing what he had done at Vauxhall.

The emerald seemed to burn right through his coat.

“Lady Moreby, Lady Granton,” he said with a bow. “How very nice to see you again.”

“And you,” said Lady Moreby. “Doing a bit of shopping, your Grace?”

She glanced up at the jeweller’s sign, then she and her daughter-in-law exchanged one of those speaking, cryptic glances. He was almost certain he did not want to know what it meant.

“I will be seeing my sisters soon, and wanted to bring them a gift from town,” he said.

“Ah, yes, your dear family!” cried Lady Moreby. “I so enjoyed seeing them again last summer, and was very sorry not to encounter them this Season.”

“I fear family matters have kept them in the country,” Nicholas said.

“Of course. And the Season is almost over, and we shall be going to the country ourselves soon.” She exchanged another look with Lady Granton. “We will miss everyone so very much that we are giving a little farewell dinner party next week, a few days after Lady Arnold’s ball. Just to say goodbye.”

“It will be a very intimate affair, your Grace,” Lady Granton added. “Only the closest of friends and family. It is shockingly last minute, I know, but perhaps you could attend? We should enjoy it so very much—especially my sister-in-law, I think.”

Nicholas was certain Lady Emily would not enjoy it very much—especially once she learned the truth about Vauxhall. But he could hardly refuse, not with the two ladies looking at him so expectantly, and not with the old friendship between his father and the Carrolls. Perhaps it would be a chance to make some amends to Emily, as well.

“I should like that very much, Lady Moreby,” he said. “Thank you for including me.”

Lady Moreby laughed, her heart-shaped face glowing. For an instant, he glimpsed Emily in her. She must have looked just like her daughter in her youth, and even now had that classical, fair prettiness. Perhaps that was what Emily would look like in comfortable middle age, with her family around her.

“I will send a card round to Manning House, your Grace,” she said, and the glimpse of a future Emily vanished. “How fortuitous to encounter you here today!”

“And we are so happy to see you have recovered, your Grace,” added Lady Granton.

Recovered? For an instant, he feared she knew about last night. “I beg your pardon, Lady Granton?”

“From the incident at Hyde Park, of course. Your heroic rescue of that poor child. And my sister-in-law there to witness it all! I am sure I would have fainted quite away if I was there,” said Lady Granton. “We are all so full of admiration, your Grace.”

“Anyone would have done the same, Lady Granton,” he said yet again.

“Well, you must tell us all about it at our dinner,” said Lady Moreby. ‘We shall just let you finish your shopping now, your Grace. I am sure you must be terribly busy.”

They all made their farewells, and Nicholas started to walk away. But a breeze caught Lady Granton’s whisper as she leaned towards her mother-in-law under their parasols.

“Was he buying a ring there, do you think, Mama?” she said.

Lady Moreby glanced back at him, her pretty, rosy-round face suddenly tense. “Oh, my dear Amy. We can only hope.”

A ring. Nicholas hurried on, pulling his hat low over his brow. Blast it, he should have got one of those as well. Who knew if he might need one?

Chapter Seven

“Je suis, il est, elle est, nous sommes, vous êtes. Oh! Is that quite right, Miss Carroll? I’m just not sure.”

Emily pulled herself back to the present moment, listening to her pupil Sally recite her French verbs in the school room at Mrs Goddard’s, only to find she was biting her thumbnail again and heard scarcely two words out of ten. She still seemed to be back on the dark pathway at Vauxhall.

She quickly curled her thumb into her fist and gave Sally a reassuring smile. “Yes, that is exactly right. You’ve made amazing progress, Sally.”

But Sally wasn’t fooled. She peered closely at Emily with those brown eyes so much older and harder than her twenty years. When she first came to Mrs Goddard’s, her hair was tinted a bright red-orange and her accent was harsh and thick. Now, with the curls back to a light brown and her voice carefully modulated to a soft pitch, clad in plain, pale muslin gowns, she seemed much like any respectable young lady. She worked tremendously hard to better herself, had a kind way with the younger girls, and was Emily’s best and brightest student.

But still Emily often had the sense that Sally knew so much more than she herself ever would.

“You aren’t ill today, are you, Miss Carroll?”

“No, no. A bit tired, that is all.”

“And no wonder, miss! I’m sure there are parties every night,” Sally said with a laugh. “Dancing and card playing and such.”

“I wish there were not,” Emily muttered. “They are quite dull.”

“Dull, miss? Surely not.” Sally twirled her pencil thoughtfully between her fingers. “Aren’t those toff parties meant to help you find a suitor?”

Emily had to laugh, too. “So my mother says. Yet I have not found them especially helpful.”

“Miss Carroll! Surely you have a suitor. Lots of them, I would wager, with your looks. Why, if you were at my old place at Mother Logan’s you would have made a fortune!” Sally suddenly clapped her hand over her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. Emily would have thought Sally could never blush. “Oh, I never meant to say that! Forgive me, miss.”

Emily laughed harder. “Nothing to forgive, Sally. I just fear a ‘toff’ ballroom requires more than a pretty face. A dowry and some conversation help, too.”

“Well, isn’t there at least someone you might like? Just a little bit?”

Emily studied Sally’s face for a moment, those knowing eyes. She did so long to confide in someone about the duke, to ask advice from a woman who might be able to help. She could not ask her mother or Amy, of course. Nor could she ask Jane. Much as she liked her friend, Jane was a bit prone to over-excitement when it came to romantic affairs, and she was something of a gossip. Besides which, she probably did not know much more than Emily herself.

But Sally would know. And she would never tell.

“May I ask you something in confidence, Sally?” Emily whispered.

“Of course, Miss Carroll.” Sally leaned closer, her own voice soft. “I’ll help you in any way I can. It’s the least I can do after all you’ve done for me.”

“I am not entirely ignorant, you understand. I read and I hear things. I’ve even been kissed, a few times anyway. But …”

Emily feared Sally must be laughing at her, her own experience was so much greater than anything Emily would ever possess. But Sally merely gazed back at her solemnly. “Yes, miss?”

“Does it mean something when a man kisses a woman’s—foot?” Emily whispered. “I have never heard of such a thing before. Is it an—odd thing to do?” It had certainly felt most odd, and wonderfully pleasant, when Nicholas kissed her foot and caressed her ankle. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it.

Sally’s eyes widened. “Did a man do that to you, miss? At a ball?”

“No, not exactly.” Emily took a deep breath and told her the whole story. Well, not the whole story, of course—she did not tell her Nicholas’s identity or quite how much punch she had drunk. But it was all enough that by the end Emily’s cheeks were very hot indeed.

“Cor!” Sally breathed, her fine new accent lost. “You mean he did all that not knowing who you were?” Emily nodded miserably.

“But he didn’t—finish?” Sally said. “He didn’t force you into anything?”

“No! He stopped the instant I told him to, and made sure I returned to my friends. He thought I didn’t see him watching me go, but I did.”

“Amazing. I never met a man who could do that.” Sally’s gaze sharpened again. “You wouldn’t want to tell me who he is, would you, Miss Carroll? I know a lot about more men of the ton than you would think.”

“I really should not.” Though Emily was horribly tempted to know what rumours there might be about the duke that she would not know, rumours among the darker denizens of London. But what if there was something there, something really dreadful? Did she truly want to know?

“Well, he sounds like a real gentleman to me, miss,” said Sally. “Unique, I would even say. You shouldn’t let him go.”

How could she let something go when it was not hers? When it was not meant to be hers at all?

Emily left Mrs Goddard’s even more confused than when she arrived, if such a thing was possible. She made her way back to the more respectable part of town with Mary trailing behind her, hardly seeing where she was going.

Until a fine carriage rolled to a stop beside her, an open barouche painted in glossy black with a gold-and-green crest on the door. The coachman drew in the matched black horses, and a man leaned out to sweep off his hat to her. The sunlight caught on his bright hair, and she saw to her shock it was the Duke of Manning himself, conjured up by her daydreams.

“Good day, Lady Emily,” he said. “Out for a bit of shopping?”

“Er … yes, your Grace,” she answered, then realised neither she nor Mary carried any packages. “Though I did not find what I was looking for, I fear. We were just on our way home.”

“Is that so? Then may I offer you a ride back to your house? It seems quite a long walk from here,” he said.

A ride in his carriage? Sitting close together? Emily was not at all sure that was a good idea. It was obvious from Vauxhall that sometimes she had trouble controlling her hidden wanton tendencies. Not that she would jump on him in an open carriage for everyone to see, but.

Well, one just never knew what might happen. The more time he spent with her the more likely he was to discover she was the woman in the black wig. And she would never want him to know that. She was determined to keep her secret, and how could she do that if she was always with him?

She glanced back down the street, but there was no help forthcoming there. And Mary looked at her pleadingly, as if she longed to cease walking.

Emily sighed. There was simply no escape. She would just have to be as careful and circumspect as possible. The ride would not last for ever.

“Thank you, your Grace,” she said. “That is very kind of you.”

Nicholas immediately swung open the carriage door and leaped down, not even waiting for a footman, and held out his hand to help her up, his hand strong on hers. Mary was ensconced next to the driver on the box as Emily settled herself carefully on the velvet cushions. It was a remarkably fine vehicle, much lovelier and more comfortable than her parents’ ancient, lumbering berlin. As they moved smoothly down the street there were no bumps or jolts at all, and as she ran her gloved fingertips over the plush upholstery, she could almost see why her family wanted her to marry a duke. He probably had dozens of vehicles like this one.

Not that fine carriages were any excuse for something as serious as marriage. Emily peeked at Nicholas from beneath the brim of her bonnet to find him watching her closely, his eyes an even brighter blue in the daylight. A handsome face was no excuse, either, even though his was so extraordinarily handsome.

And he kissed so very, very well.

Emily curled her fists hard against that fine velvet, trying to think sensibly again. “It is very kind of you, your Grace,” she said carefully.

“I was going in that direction, Lady Emily, and it would have been very rude to let a lady walk such a distance,” he said. Strangely, he sounded equally careful. “It was the least I could do after the great kindness your mother showed me today.”

Alarm bells rang in Emily’s mind. The duke had met with her mother? “Kindness?”

“Yes. She invited me to your dinner party.”

“Dinner party?” Emily said dumbly, feeling rather like Jane’s mother’s trained parrot. They were having a party? Had she simply been too distracted to notice any preparations or invitations going out? Or was this some new scheme of her family’s?

Nicholas frowned. “You are not aware of the event, Lady Emily?”

Emily curled her hands even tighter to resist the urge to bite her thumbnail—or tear her hair out. If this was some sort of scheme, he could never find out! “Oh, my mother and my sister-in-law are in charge of our family’s social engagements. They seldom require my assistance, which is good since I am so forgetful. Of course you are more than welcome at our dinner party, your Grace. But surely you are very busy. I hope you would feel no obligation to accept if you have a previous engagement.”

“Not at all. I am very happy to accept. A small dinner with friends will be most welcome after so many large balls.”

And so many amorous encounters at Vauxhall? To cover her blush, Emily turned to look out at the passing street. That was almost worse, though, as everyone they passed stopped in their tracks to watch the carriage with the ducal crest go by. They would all see it was Lady Emily Carroll riding with the Duke of Manning, which would give her mother even more fuel for her matchmaking fire.

“Are you sorry the Season will end soon, your Grace? “ she said. “No more parties or gatherings.”

“I’m looking forward to going to the country. There’s much work to be done at my estate. And if I do find a sudden craving for town, I can always return. There always seems to be a few interesting people around, no matter what time of year.”

“That is true. And if you were here, there would suddenly be many more.”

Nicholas laughed. “All the more reason to stay in the country, I think. Do you prefer town, Lady Emily?”

“Not at all. I like the quiet of the country, being able to walk and read and do whatever I like.” Though she feared this particular country sojourn at Moreby Park would be longer than most, after her parents’ disappointment over her failed Season. She might not be able to leave again.