The Seduction of a Duke (8 page)

She stared, still in shock over the outcome of her desperate plan to claim a future of her own choosing. The thin band felt alien and cold and less of a symbol of love than a symbol of how her future had suddenly narrowed. Gone were her dreams of a meaningful academic pursuit of languages and translation. Instead she was to be the wife of a stranger picked out by her parents and mired in the endless ennui of society’s expectation. This man, this duke, stood in her way, blocking the path of her planned pursuits. She studied his face, suddenly realizing why he had looked so familiar. She grimaced. “You’re the man who blocked the egress from the tobacco shop!”

His smile sent a shiver down her spine. “And you are the goddess in the window.”

 

 

SO THE LITTLE MINX HAD TRIED TO DERAIL THE ENGAGEMENT. William gripped her hand tighter so she couldn’t escape before the official engagement announcement was made. He pulled her toward the crowded ballroom. Not that he supposed even a public announcement would stop her if she was willing to sully her own reputation to avoid a wedding. He’d have to watch her like a hawk until the deed was done.

Perhaps news of his father’s disreputable debts had spanned the Atlantic before his arrival, spooking her desire to be linked forever with his name. Perhaps she doubted the integrity of someone who would marry for money. He glanced her way with empathy. He supposed he could forgive her that. Hadn’t he entertained similar Thoughts?

He imagined he could forgive her many things with both beauty and a sizeable dowry to match. Many men would. So then why was she still available? He frowned. Something was being hidden from him, he guessed. Something that the mother thought might reverse his decision.

They neared the ballroom and her steps faltered. He glanced at her face and saw a beautiful woman, albeit a terrified one. Terrified of what? Of him? She certainly wasn’t terrified when she almost seduced him into unpinning that costume of bed linens. If the others hadn’t intruded . . . his gaze dropped lower to the breast that had begged for his ministrations earlier. Although the enticing nub no longer pushed its defining shape through the fabric, he could respect her desire not to show others what he now considered his alone. He removed his dinner jacket and slipped it over her delicate shoulders.

She glanced at him, her brows lifted in question.

“I hardly think this . . . costume . . . is befitting a future duchess,” he explained, not sure how else to convey his concern with her father and familiars so close at hand.

“You find exception to my attire?” she challenged him. “You would question the way I dress?”

“Really, Francesca,” her mother intervened. “The Duke is correct. Your attire is most unsuitable. Lady Liberty indeed.”

“She symbolizes escape from oppression,” she replied, defeat evident in her voice.

William glanced askance at his future mother-in-law, grateful that she would remain an ocean away once the wedding was completed. That was not at all the reason he objected to the costume, but this was not the time for such confrontations. Instead, he worked the three buttons of the jacket front so Miss Winthrop’s pert attributes would be covered. “Trust me in this,” he said quietly, for her ears alone. “I know what is best.”

She blanched. Even in the moonlight, he saw her eyes widen and the color drain from her face. He thought she might swoon and prepared to catch her should she fall. Bloody hell, if the woman was sick, she shouldn’t be out in the night air.

But she turned way from him and stood facing the sea. He thought this might be another ploy to escape, but she made no effort to run. Instead her spine stiffened and her perfect posture became more rigid. She raised her chin and all vestiges of emotion fled her face.

Belatedly he realized that by fastening the jacket he had effectively trapped her arms inside the overlarge covering, rendering her much like a deranged women at Bedlam. But even that did not stop her as she followed her parents into the ballroom, moving with a grace that would define a queen. Her father announced the news of her engagement with great charm. He himself smiled and waved to the well-wishing crowd, but his future bride merely nodded at the appropriate moments. Even in the oversized coat, she appeared detached, cold, and distant, as if she were above them all in status and breeding. He suddenly understood the impetus of that ridiculous nickname. Silly Americans, they simply did not recognize proper carriage and decorum when they saw it.

Satisfaction and a sense of accomplishment rippled through him. Even his father, had he lived to witness this occasion, would be proud. Miss Winthrop’s haughty public demeanor, her perfect posture and grace, and most important, her fat purse, meant he had found his perfect duchess.

Still, one niggling thought intruded. This cold and arrogant woman bore little resemblance to the passionate seductress he had lusted for just scant moments ago. Was that just a ploy to escape the arranged marriage? Which woman would show up for the marriage, or more important, the marriage bed?

“Congratulations, Your Grace.” Percival appeared by his side. “It appears fortuitous that we exchanged costumes.”

“Fortuitous, indeed,” he said, considering the ramifications of her ruse. He glanced at Percival. “I would prefer that we keep my intended’s attempts to forestall the engagement a private matter between us. Should word leak out, I will insist that it was a planned dalliance between two secret lovers.”

“Agreed,” Percival said with a wide smile. “Though one wonders why she would be inclined to avoid such an advantageous engagement?”

William wondered the same, though he didn’t offer a reply to Percival’s query. Perhaps there was another in her heart? Only a woman of some experience would be able to play that sweet seductress as well as she had, and her age would suggest she’d had ample opportunity to test her feminine wiles on others . . . and what of that sudden, unexpected bout of illness? He frowned, working the facts to their logical conclusion. Perhaps there was a reason that the mother was anxious to marry off her only daughter so quickly. Could his intended be ruined goods in need of a quick husband? Not that it would deter him from the wedding—the money involved was too significant to ignore. However, he had a right to know if Miss Winthrop already carried the seed of another inside her belly.

“You promised me an introduction to your intended,” Percival said, glancing at the sea of faces. “But she seems to have disappeared.”

“What?” William glanced quickly about. “She had been here just a minute ago.” But she was gone. Just as she had disappeared from that window in the blink of an eye, so had she disappeared from the celebratory gathering.

“Another time then.” Percival laughed. “With the wedding so close at hand, I’ll be in town for that event as well. Although if Miss Winthrop continues to be elusive, I may have to wait until your honeymoon.”

William smiled at his friend’s jest, but his mind continued its earlier quandary. If indeed Francesca carried another’s babe, would she admit the fact if confronted? How would he know months hence if a babe was early or belonged to another?

He thought of Emma, his brother’s wife, remembering how her body blossomed when ripe with child. There were clues, long before the final stages of pregnancy. He couldn’t remember exactly when those changes manifested, but his artist brother was bound to have recorded such events. If he, in his role of husband, could avoid intimate relations until those signs appeared, or failed to appear, then he would know for certain.

That shouldn’t be difficult. Every society provided outlets for a man in need. One just needed to know where to look. After that brief but pleasant interlude with Miss Winthrop, such a diversion would complete what her invitation began.

“Percival, I think we’ve done all that can be accomplished here. What say we go find entertainment of a more accommodating nature?”

 

 

HER FATHER FOUND HER NOT FAR FROM THE HIVES. IT was her place of seclusion, the one place she knew her mother wouldn’t venture. Without her smoker and mask, Fran knew not to venture beyond this appropriately placed boulder, but her mother wouldn’t even come this close for fear of being stung, hence the boulder became a refuge.

Her father recovered the Duke’s evening jacket from the grass where she had thrown it. He carried it with him and used the sleeves to dab at the moisture on her cheeks.

“Franny? Are you all right?”

“Oh, Papa,” she said, choking back a sob. Her fingers twisted the engagement ring, a band supporting six colored gems, around and around her finger. “I’m doomed. My worst fears realized.” She sniffed, hoping to keep fresh tears at bay. “Can’t you do something to cancel this farce of an engagement? This Duke is unbearable.”

“He didn’t seem so unbearable when you were locked in his arms near the garden’s edge.”

Grateful for the night’s coverage, she felt heat rise to her cheeks. “I thought he was someone else.”

She’d thought he was kind. She’d thought he was attractive. She hadn’t realized he was in league with her mother.
Trust me in this. I know what’s best.
How often had she heard Maman say those exact same words while manipulating her to do her bidding?

She swiped at her cheeks. “He’ll expect me to be a duchess. He’ll expect me to be like Maman.” She shifted her position to face her father. “I can’t be another’s pawn. Not again. Please, Papa. Surely you can do something?”

Although her father generally left the social arena to her mother’s administration, she prayed this time he would take up her cause. Surely he’d see that she’d be trading one oppressor for another. As the provider for the family’s abundant finances, her father’s final word was law.

He laid the Duke’s jacket beside her on the rock. “You know your mother and I don’t always see eye to eye, Missy. It’s one of the reasons I spend so much time away.”

Hope ignited in her soul. Her father wouldn’t let her down, especially when he referred to her by the pet name he’d given her as a child. They had always shared a special relationship insofar as Maman’s demands. Her parents’ frequent loud disagreements were not a secret to her or anyone else in the household. She raised her head, meeting his gaze with anticipation. If anyone would stand up to Maman, it would be him.

“This time . . .” He took her hand in his. “I agree with your mother.”

Shock glued her to the boulder or she would have fallen off in disbelief. Her throat constricted to the point that her words emitted in a wispy plea.

“Why, Papa, why?”

“I want grandbabies, damn it.” He straightened, his height adding power to his words. “Enterprises like mine do not run on their own. I want to leave a legacy. I want heirs.”

“But I don’t love him,” she pleaded.

“Perhaps in time . . .” He looked away for a moment before returning her gaze, his face twisted in agony. “For God’s sake, Franny. We’ve given you plenty of opportunities to find someone. You’re twenty-six, and you’re not getting younger.”

“I’ll be away in England, living with strangers.” It was her trump card, her final play to wring her father’s guilt into a reprieve. “I may never see you again.”

“Well, there might be a way . . .” He looked at his feet while he kicked at the dirt near the base of the rock.

“What?” Her voice strengthened. “There’s a way to stay here?”
A way to avoid this marriage?

“I’ve informed that duke of yours that any children you may have will be educated here in the United States, and not at some hoity-toity foreign school.”

“Children?” Her voice reflected her disbelief. If the plan for her to stay in America involved children, then, she assumed, it involved marriage as well.

“Oh, he wasn’t happy about it. I can tell you that. And I had to compromise a bit on the heir. But I’ll not pay to have my grandchildren look down their noses at me like some snooty Englishman.”

Pay.
Even her beloved father didn’t hesitate to admit the only way she could secure a husband was to buy one. Her one small flame of hope extinguished in a wisp of smoke. “So I’ll still have to marry the Duke?”

It was his turn to look surprised. “Yes, of course, Missy. You’ll marry the Duke. That’s what this expensive party is about, isn’t it?” He waved a finger under her nose. “But if you’re as smart as all those fancy tutors said you were, and if you want to come home and live here with your family, then you should get yourself with child.” He averted his gaze, taking particular interest in some geranium blossoms by the boulder. “Your mother . . . did she ever explain . . . ?”

“I’m not a fool, Papa, I know how babies are made.” There were some subjects she’d prefer not to discuss with her father. Years ago Madame Aglionby had reluctantly explained how such things were accomplished to stem her incessant questions. Of course, she’d been too young then to ask the sort of questions she should have. Then, of course, that awful row between her parents followed soon after, which led to Madame’s hasty departure and the end to her source for answers.

“Then you’d best do what’s necessary with that fancy duke of yours,” her father said while averting his gaze. “And do it as soon as possible.”