The Seduction of a Duke (18 page)

He glanced away a moment before offering her a tight smile. “A woman newly married to a stranger she doesn’t yet trust.”

She certainly couldn’t argue with that.

“I assure you, Miss Winthrop, you can trust me. I recognize that sacrifices have been made, but I am honor bound to provide for you”—he glanced down below her face—“and yours, with decorum worthy of your position.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Perhaps there is something you wish to confide? Especially as we’re to be more than friends?”

His stern gaze burned into her, making speech difficult. She just shook her head, not sure what she was supposed to say.

He sighed, then removed the locket from her hand. “Let me put this around your neck.” He lifted the chain rather unceremoniously over her hat and high coiffure, then dropped the links carefully on her shoulders. The heavy weight of the locket pulled taut and found a resting place at the top of her corset, protruding like an old woman’s quizzing glass. “We can talk more about my expectations after you’ve had a chance to rest.”

Rest! She was more inclined to pace the carpet till it was threadbare than rest. It was bad enough that she and Bedford had nothing in common beyond a family history of wealth. However, to put her on public display, presumably to be mocked for her American attributes seemed cruel and insulting.

What to do? She gnawed on her bottom lip, a habit her mother had tried to unsuccessfully break. What could she do now that the deed was done? Before she had agonized over living in a country of strangers. Now, it appeared that even her own husband regarded her as such an oddity that she needed to be molded into acceptability.

“We should probably find our stateroom.” He turned from the rail. “Hodgins will think we have leapt overboard.”

She glanced at the wide benevolent ocean. For a moment, even that alternative held appeal.

“YOU AND YOUR MAID WILL HAVE THE LUXURY OF a full stateroom,” Bedford said.

“My maid and I?” Fran paused in the process of removing her hat. That would make the practicing of her courtesan ways much more difficult. Given the future Bedford had outlined on the promenade deck, a quick pregnancy was now even more urgent.

“Yes. Hodgins and I will occupy the other.” He shifted his gaze to her. “I thought you might appreciate the privacy.”

The man was making this whole concept of procreation difficult. She never imagined she would have had to work this hard. From what she had read in Bridget’s journal, men had prodded her cunny without waiting for an invitation. Sometimes they hadn’t waited for her to undress. She smiled at the vernacular she was developing as a result of her study. Who knew so many colorful descriptions existed for such fundamental bodily functions?

She had learned from the journal as well that one did not necessarily have to like, or even know, the person doing the prodding. This was essential information given that last discussion with Bedford. He was not necessarily the man she would have chosen to do the prodding, but it was too late to correct that now. That he hadn’t yet performed the deed suggested she had not yet shed her Frosty Franny image.

They would be on the high seas for seven days. Surely in that time she might convince him to change the sleeping arrangements.

Bedford had secured two parlor suites, which Fran gathered allowed them more spacious quarters, though spacious was a generous description. The sleeping quarters consisted of two single narrow berths on opposite walls. A table ran between them and below a large porthole. A plush chair and writing table filled one end of the room, along with a sink, a mirror, and a changing screen. The entire allotted space was smaller than the size of her private sleeping room on her father’s yacht.

While she could appreciate that the addition of the public rooms—the library, the women’s saloon, and the dining areas—would greatly expand their freedom of movement on the vessel, she had no intention of utilizing any room that had the word public before it. The concept gave her shivers.

A basket of fruit occupied a table, a gift from the White Star Line. A box tied with a bow sat to its side. Bedford picked it up.

“There’s no card, but the box says Stewarts.” He glanced up at her. “Would those be the Stewarts that were at your luncheon?”

“I believe that is mine.” She retrieved the box from his hands. “I discovered I’d forgotten to pack something of importance and asked the store to ship it here.”

“Forgotten to pack?” His eyes widened. “I seem to recall a great deal of transferring of boxes and trunks from your home to this vessel. What could you possibly have forgotten?”

“You suggested I rest before dinner, Your Grace. I believe I shall take your advice.” She removed herself and the box to her stateroom. Mary had already laid her evening dress on the bed.

“I selected the green crepe de chine with roses for tonight. I hope that’s acceptable, Your Grace. It was getting late and—”

“The box from Stewarts has arrived,” Fran interrupted, tucking the box under her arm so she could remove her gloves.

“It did? I must have missed it in the unpacking.”

Fran quickly disposed of the ribbon and lid. She riffled through the tissue paper. Her breath caught. The corset was like none she’d ever seen. Red sateen stripes alternated with buttery soft tan leather that covered the whalebone supports shaping the garment into sensuous curves. A wide border of delicate scalloped lace accentuated the top, emphasizing the femininity of the piece, while four metal fasteners ran down the front along the two-part busk, making the garment easy to remove without disturbing the back lacing. This was a far cry from her standard lacy white fare.

“Lord Almighty,” Mary said. “Even Pauline’s corset can’t hold a candle to that.”

“Do you think it’s unforgettable?”

“I won’t be forgetting it anytime soon,” Mary said.

“Help me get this off,” Fran said, working the buttons down the front of the blue-stripe sailing suit. Mary started detaching the basque panels. Fran glanced over her shoulder. “Excellent choice of attire, Mary.”

“Did you remember to sway your hips when you went up the steps?”

“Like the pendulum of a grandfather clock,” Fran replied. “Do you think he noticed?”

“I suspect he couldn’t help it.” Mary laughed. She unhooked the skirts and untied the half cage. Fran disposed of the bodice jacket and began to unhook her white corset.

“Can I wear the new one under the crepe de chine?” Mary loosened the ties on the new purchase. “I don’t think so, Your Grace. I selected the green because it dips so low in the front. This corset is as pretty as a picture but I think the top trim will show above the cut of bodice.”

Fran fitted the new corset in place while Mary tightened the lacings behind her. Then stepped back. “Lord in heaven above, I don’t think any man would forget the sight of you in that corset.”

“Do you think so?” She turned from side to side, then frowned. “I’m not sure he’ll see it. I think he may be disappointed with me. He rubbed his shoulder.”

“That’s not a good thing?”

“I’ve noticed he does that when something upsets him. I’m afraid that I’m the culprit this time.”

“Once he sees you in that corset, I’m sure all will be forgiven.”

She had her doubts. He’d had a conniption over the sight of her without her fichu. This was such a far cry from her innocent and pure white corsets, she imagined she looked quite the tart. Would he approve?

Fran began to unhook the fasteners so she could change into her evening attire. “I hope you’re right.” Though she had her doubts.

 

 

THE MOMENT HE SAW HER IN HER EVENING GOWN, William knew he was a lucky man to have found such a beautiful woman to make his wife. If appearances alone where all that mattered, he had no doubt that she would be invited to the finest dining salons in London. Unfortunately, appearances were only part of the criteria for acceptance. Time would tell if she could master the other skills.

As they approached the top of the grand staircase he felt her stiffen. This time he was prepared for the subtle transformation. Her gaze dulled while her posture improved. She felt distant even as her gloved arm rested on his forearm. Together, they descended the stairway into the large dining salon.

He led her past a small gathering of Americans, past the French who appeared to have already imbibed much of the ship’s wine inventory, and past the English who hadn’t the social credentials to warrant the Duke’s preferred seating at the captain’s table. They were in the midst of introductions when a familiar voice interrupted.

“Your Grace, this is truly a surprise.”

The fine hairs on the back of his head stood up and took notice. The last time he had heard that voice, he’d been ducking from a rather fine French carriage clock aimed at his head. What was she doing here? He forced a smile on his face and turned.

“My dear, may I present Lady Mandrake, wife of the Viscount Mandrake.”

“It is an honor, Your Grace,” Lady Mandrake said, with a quick curtsy to Francesca. “I read about the nuptials in the papers, of course. How fortunate Bedford found you in the nick of time.”

Francesca just smiled and nodded. If she understood Lady Mandrake’s insinuation, it didn’t register in her face. William fought to keep the recognition from his. Decorum was to be maintained, even when presented with a viper. Had Lady Mandrake always been this way? Or had she that mysterious changing element that he had witnessed in Francesca in a public situation?

“I was not aware you were in the States,” William said, casting about the room for her husband. “Are you crossing alone?”

“The Viscount should be here shortly. I imagine the cards run hot in the smoking room.”

William nodded, keeping his smile in place. While her husband’s fondness for cards had proved detrimental to their finances, it had been most helpful in arranging for the occasional tryst.

A beautiful woman in the manner of a fragile English rose, Lily looked much the same as she had when he left her two months ago. Yet something had changed. She had a hard edge to her features that he couldn’t recall having noticed before. Now that the two stood conversing, he couldn’t help comparing his former mistress to his present wife. Francesca had a wholesomeness to her, a vitality, even in her withdrawn state, that was sadly lacking in Lady Mandrake. Strange that he hadn’t noticed that before.

“I hope we shall become better acquainted, Your Grace,” Lily said to Francesca, sliding her gaze toward William. “I believe we may find we have several common interests.”

A chill slipped down William’s back. While Lily had been most accommodating in bed, she was hardly known for her congeniality with other women. He doubted Francesca had ever encountered anyone of Lily’s deviousness and would be best parted from her company.

“Perhaps we should take our seats,” he said to Francesca. “We wouldn’t want to keep the others waiting.”

Lily placed a restraining hand on his arm. “Before you do that, sir, I wonder if I may have a private word?”

He scowled. A private word was the last thing he wanted to share, but he could hardly refuse her in such a public forum. “My wife—”

“I should be happy to entertain the Duchess until your return, sir,” the captain said, offering his arm to Francesca. “I believe you’ve been placed to my right.”

Without a word to either of them, Francesca allowed the captain to escort her to her seat, thus eliminating William’s excuse to deny Lady Mandrake her request. The two walked to a deserted corner of the dining salon to continue their conversation.

“I had thought I had made my position clear at our last meeting,” William hissed as soon as they were out of earshot of the other passengers.

“Now that I see the mouse, I thought you might feel differently,” Lady Mandrake replied. “I admit I had hoped you’d wait until Mandrake passed away before you decided upon another wife. But I understand your need for financial backing.” She looked up at him with simpering eyes. “Now that the coffers are full, I thought you and I might continue as before.”

“I see no need to—”

“You know they call her Frosty Franny, don’t you?” She glanced toward Francesca with narrowed eyes and a curled lip. Her hand drifted up the front of his shirt. “Now that I see her I understand. I doubt she can warm your bed the way I can.”

“I repeat.” He grabbed her wrist, stopping its progress. “I see no need to continue our liaisons as before. I have a wife. You have a husband. Our past is just that—past.”

He turned to rejoin his wife at the captain’s table, but Lady Mandrake grabbed his arm. “We have a week before us, Bedford. These crossings are known for their boredom. Should you have need for a little entertainment, I shall be available.”

William shrugged off her arm, straightened his dinner jacket, and returned to the dinner table, a smile hiding his suspicion that Lady Mandrake was up to no good.