A Compromised Innocent (2 page)

Lizzie didn't know what to think of the handsome duke, other than he was probably the most wonderful man in the world. He had single-handedly extracted her from a situation that could only be described as disastrous.

Thank heavens her aunt had left the room sometime after that dance had begun. Lizzie wasn't looking forward to her reaction once news of the spill made it to her attention, but it just had to be better than if Roberta had witnessed it firsthand.

Just the memory of her inglorious skid across the dance floor nearly set off her helpless giggles again. She had probably looked like a bedlamite laughing when anyone else would have cried in mortification.

Really, it had come down to laughter or tears, and Lizzie wasn't about to show the gadflies that they had the power to shatter her so easily.

But goodness, to have two gentlemen come to her rescue after Mr. Layton had disappeared so unchivalrously. Did they know the effect of their actions on popular comment? Surely they did, which only made them marvelous in her estimation.

But consider her more surprised when she came out of the ladies' retiring room and found Wainsborough keeping time in the corridor just outside. He leaned insolently against the wall, a man of means and most pleasing to the eye.

Was he…waiting for her?

He pushed away from the wall with a smile, and her heart fluttered. When he smiled, his eyes glowed, a bright Pomona-green flash of personality in a polished, aristocratic exterior.

Apparently, he had been.

“How do you fare, Miss Talbot?”

“Much better now, thank you.”

“None the worse for wear?”

“No, indeed, Your Grace. I shall live to dance another day.” She smiled self-deprecatingly.

“Wainsborough,” he corrected her and she couldn't stifle the flush of pleasure such a familiarity gave her. “May I escort you back to the ballroom or would you prefer to take some fresh air?”

Thus far, Lizzie had managed to avoid her aunt and she was inclined to keep it that way as long as possible. There'd be no avoiding Roberta's fury in the end, but the delay was most welcome.

“I'd like to take the air, please.”

“At your service.” He executed that little bow of his, the one that suggested he was deferring more than a courtesy upon her. Really, the little thrills he gave her were improper. Why did she want more?

They slipped out to the gardens, nodding to a few couples as they passed. Where Lizzie expected sniggers and stifled giggles—at this point, the incident most assuredly had made it round the attendees—she was afforded courtesy because she was on Wainsborough's arm. No one wanted to anger a duke.

“Your Grace?” she said.

They had worked their way to the far side of the gardens where the shadows deepened and beckoned with cooler temperatures.

“Hmm?” Wainsborough turned toward her, and she could barely make out his expression in the dim light.

“Did you really once paint your headmaster's carriage pink?”

A rusty chuckle seemed to escape from him, and she wondered when it was he last laughed. “I haven't thought of that in a very long time, Miss Talbot. Has my sister been telling tales?”

“So, it's true? I've often wondered if it was a story Angelica crafted to entertain the girls at school on a late night.”

“Ah, the antics of youth.” When he smiled like that, Wainsborough looked younger, closer to his age, which would be somewhere in his early thirties. More approachable. And, heaven help her, more appealing. “The story is indeed correct, much to my chagrin now. That would have been before Angelica was born—I wonder that she even knew about it.”

“I believe she'd got ahold of your older sister's diary for a time and read about it there. Whatever inspired you to do such a thing?”

Once more, his face clouded over and he assumed the somber ducal mien. Lizzie's heart sank at the loss of his good humor.

“At the time, it seemed a harmless prank to tweak both the stodgy headmaster's nose as well as my father's, with whom I was especially ill-willed at the time. In short, I was a selfish young man with little sense of the consequences my actions wrought on others.”

“Everyone does things that they regret.”

“Some things are more difficult than others to atone for, and the weight of it…” He tilted his head and studied her closely. “Such serious questions, Miss Talbot.”

“I'm a serious young lady.”

“And a curious one.”

She nodded and offered a tentative smile. Did he think her a prying gossip?

“Well, then. What else would you know?”

Apparently, he didn't think her questions too intrusive, and she liked him even more for the trust he offered her.

“You don't like being a duke, do you?”

His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You tense and frown when others greet you with deference.”

It was a bold question, and entirely too familiar. For a moment, Lizzie didn't think he'd answer, but then he sighed.

“No, I don't. It's the obligations and power. I rather enjoy managing the estates—they're wonderfully extensive and complex. I like overseeing the towns and the people who are tied to Wainsborough. But the obligations and the power of such a position…it's seductive, and entirely too easy to misuse. I've seen it used to ruin lives.” He shook his head and his grip tightened where he held her hand to his arm, as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. “And, that I will not do.”

This far from the house, the music was a faint sound in the stillness of the garden. “Is it very lonely?”

“Not often, but it is very dull. I'm sought after for my influence. The title, the money—it's what they all see.” Wainsborough stared at her in the dim light. “Do you? Or do you see me, the man?”

At some point he had moved close enough that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the bergamot of his cologne water. It was an enticing scent that seeped into her senses. She was acutely aware that he still held her hand clasped to his arm.

“Can you see past the coronet, Miss Talbot?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice a trembling thread of sound, her pulse pounding in her ears.

Wainsborough sighed heavily. “Now, see? That's precisely what I was hoping to avoid when I gave you leave to call me Wainsborough.”

She smiled despite herself. Who'd have thought a peer of his stature would be so…approachable? She rather liked his dry wit. “Anything else you were hoping for?”

“Indeed, yes.” He moved closer and dipped his head, his breath hot on her cheek where his mouth hovered just above hers. “May I kiss you, Miss Talbot?”

Unconsciously, her lips parted and delight radiated within her, tickling her fingertips. It was inconceivable that this man of note was interested in her, wasn't put off by her clumsy behavior,
despite
the very recent public embarrassment that he had witnessed.

It would seem her aunt was wrong—she wasn't either pitiful or pitiable. Lizzie could attract a man of means.

And she wanted to allow him the liberty of a kiss, despite the admonishments they schooled young girls in. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, to know the touch of a man. She trembled at the bold thought.

“May I?” he said again, and he stroked the back of a single finger down her cheek to her jaw.

“Oh, yes.”

She didn't have to wonder any longer, for he pressed his lips to hers before she was even done with the words. It was a sweet kiss, tender and slow, a gentle exploration that set a deep tremor loose within her, not unlike the chills that accompany a fever.

All too soon, it was over. Wainsborough pulled his head back and stared at her in the moonlight. Her hand was still clasped to his forearm, a sustained connection between them.

Words escaped her as she stood there trembling, inhaling the scent of him and wishing the kiss had never ended. She caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and peeked up at him, wondering if it would be too forward of her to lean in and encourage another.

Was she supposed to say something in the quiet, private moment? Thank him? Never having been kissed before, a budding worry unfurled in her stomach.

“Sweet,” he finally whispered then he released her hand, only to slip his arms around her waist and pull her close. Then his lips claimed hers once again.

This was an entirely different kiss, as dissimilar from the first one as night to day. It was consuming, stealing thought and time and place.

Lizzie clutched at his shoulders, seeking something as an anchor while her mind clouded. Her heart raced madly, like a hare startled from a hedgerow. Gone was the gentle exploration, and in its place was a bold demand, a command for response.

Lizzie complied, awash in a strange hunger she could neither name nor contain. Her breasts were sensitive where they pressed tightly against him, and she could swear she felt the ridges of his gold buttons.

Her entire world narrowed to his lips. Hot and moist, softly pressing, urging her to respond more deeply.

And then his tongue nudged at the seam of her lips and her breath quickened. He swept the length once, twice. Till she parted, and he swept in to claim her mouth.

Lizzie felt her legs weaken, and she held on to him tightly, caught in something she didn't understand. Was this, then, the consuming passion that poets write about? It seemed too strong, too much, to capture in flowery prose.

“Mmm.” Did
she
make that purring sound of encouragement?

“Elspeth! Where are you, child?” Her aunt's voice rang out with the suddenness of a fire bell.

Lizzie jumped and pulled from the embrace as if scalded. She still held on to Wainsborough's shoulders, but where she had once clutched him to her, now she held him at arm's length.

“Oh, dear. My aunt's come looking for me.”

“Elspeth! Where are you? I know you're out here.”

“I prefer Lizzie,” he murmured, his voice tinged with laughter. “It suits you more than Elspeth.”

“Shhh!” She didn't want her aunt to find her here, for certainly to be discovered in the gardens with a man would only serve to make matters worse.

The last thing that Lizzie wanted was to have her aunt ruthlessly pursue the duke on her behalf. She shuddered to think of it.

Her aunt continued to call out, oblivious or uncaring of any other guests. “I can't blame you for hiding. I'd hide, too, for the shame if I could. Where are you?”

Lizzie's heart sank. She couldn't decide if it was better to ignore her aunt and hope she went elsewhere or if she should reveal herself to stop the embarrassing diatribe.

When Wainsborough cocked his head and frowned. “Who's your aunt, Lizzie?”

Lizzie decided it'd be best to make herself known. He'd just have to suffer Roberta's relentless attentions. They hadn't been caught in an indecent embrace, so surely it would sort out in the end.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered then called out.

Footsteps rang out on the garden path. “There you are. Is it true what they're saying about Wains—”

Roberta's chatter sputtered out when she saw Lizzie. Or, rather, when she spotted the man at Lizzie's side.

A choked curse from Wainsborough drew her gaze to him. He stared at Roberta with narrowed eyes. “This is your aunt?”

“Yes—”

What sounded like another muffled curse was overpowered by Aunt Roberta's cry.

“You!” The bitter sound had the sobering effect of a pail of cold water. Wainsborough grimaced and scrubbed a hand across his face.

Roberta staggered forward, pointing a finger in his direction. Even in the dim light, her eyes seemed to glow, as if Hades were stoking his hearth fire within.

“Get your vile hands off of my niece!”

Lizzie blinked.
Vile?

“Now, Roberta—” he began, his voice soft and soothing as one would talk to a panicked mare.

“No! Don't you dare try and placate me. I won't have it, do you hear?”

“Everyone is sure to hear if you don't lower your voice.”

Not even Lord Alderfield took such a tone with Roberta. More surprising than the blunt words was that Roberta actually complied and pitched her voice low.

“Stay away from my niece, Wainsborough,” she said, then grabbed Lizzie with a grip as strong as a manacle. “Come, Elspeth. It's time to take you home. Clearly, I can't leave you unattended.”

“Roberta,” Wainsborough said, stepping forward with an earnest expression, “if you'll just allow me to—”

“You may call me Lady Alderfield if you insist on addressing me at all,
Your Grace
. But I'd much prefer it if you didn't,” she said, then tugged Lizzie behind her as she marched back toward the festive, over-illuminated house.

Lizzie stole a peek back at the duke as she moved along behind her aunt. He stood tall and handsome in the moonlight, rubbing his chin in thought as he watched them hurry away.

“Lady Vinedale will see you now, Miss Talbot.”

Lizzie followed as the stoic butler led her upstairs to the sitting room where Angelica was receiving callers. Angelica looked especially incandescent, no doubt owing to the fact that her recent marriage was a love match.

“Hullo, Lizzie!” Angelica embraced her affectionately. She hadn't changed at all, but then the daughter and sister of a duke was unlikely to let marriage to a simple earl go to her head.

“It's lovely to see you. We missed you at the wedding.”

At the time, Lizzie had thought it unusual that Roberta would insist on taking the waters in Brighton. Not only did her aunt eschew public bathing, early spring was unseasonable for such an excursion, the sea too cold for any but the most robust or determined. Now, after her aunt's outburst the other night, Lizzie suspected it had been a deliberate diversion to avoid attending such a major social event.

But that would be silly to think that Aunt Roberta held such acrimony for Wainsborough. Roberta didn't like anyone much, but Lizzie had never seen her go to such lengths or behave with such venom.

“It was regrettable that I couldn't attend. By all accounts, it was unmatched this Season. No doubt mamas everywhere are green with envy. Did you really have a forty-foot train on your gown?”

Angelica slipped an arm through hers and tugged Lizzie toward the couch. “Dear me, no, though it felt like it, the hems were so heavily embellished. Whatever you do, avoid Miss Duprey and her designs. She's getting a bit heavy-handed with her ornamentation.”

“My aunt is very fond of her style.”

Angelica rolled her eyes. “Be that as it may, you're so thin her decorations would swallow you. There's a new mantua-maker on Bond Street with the latest in French fashion we should try.”

“I'd like that.” Lizzie didn't have many friends she was close with, and fewer still that she would spend the day with visiting shops. She settled onto the couch beside Angelica and accepted a cup of tea.

Without planning to, she glanced about the room looking for other occupants. It was foolish to expect Angelica's brother to be there, and she felt more than a little guilty even thinking it. She was there to visit Angelica and learn of her wedding trip, to see how her friend was settling into her new life.

“So, tell me everything! Where did you honeymoon? How is married life? Are you happy?”

“Ecstatic!” Angelica grabbed her hands and squeezed. “It's even better than I imagined. Oh, I hope you'll find someone just as perfect for you! Do you have a favorite beau yet?”

Lizzie shook her head. It had been difficult to meet someone who was interested for long, even when she managed to avoid catastrophe. She was beginning to fear she was cursed. Her aunt had terminated even the budding attraction to Wainsborough.

Why had she never met Angelica's brother before? Granted, he was a dozen or more years older, so had likely had his own household for years. And plenty of more important things to do than concern himself with meeting the schoolmate of his youngest sibling.

He probably had more important things to do at the moment than desire to see her after being insulted by her guardian.

“Vinedale hasn't any available brothers, has he?”

Angelica studied her closely, and Lizzie tried not to squirm. “No, but I do.”

Lizzie took a careful sip of tea. “I met Lord William at the Delcourt ball last week. He and Wainsborough were causing quite the stir, for the rare sight of them at such an event.”

“Mmm, yes. Apparently, Mother's been acting the matchmaker again, since Wills's returned. Thank heavens I'm free of her machinations.”

“Well, whatever the purpose, I'm thankful they were there. Saved me from an embarrassing moment on the dance floor when I took a nasty tumble. Again. They came to my aid and acted such gentlemen, I think the gossips forgot to mock me for their confusion.”

“One of the benefits of being a duke is that no one wants to go against him. Ollie's very good at using his influence. He's saved me more than a few foul rumors with a simple display of censure.”

“It was very kind of him.” Brotherly. She had to remember that his actions were intended in a
brotherly
sort of way.

Except for that kiss. That was the furthest from brotherly a man could get. She was still trying to decide if that had been real or an incredibly real-seeming dream.

Angelica smiled. “Ollie would like to forget about it, too. He doesn't appreciate the pomp and circumstance. If he could manage the estates without the rest, he'd be much happier. More tea?”

“Yes, please.”

Angelica frowned as she poured the amber liquid, no cream just as Lizzie preferred. “I worry for him sometimes. I fear it's draining what little joy he had in life. And now Mother's harping on him to marry and start producing heirs….”

“Oh!” Distracted by the thought of little Olivers running about, Lizzie failed to get a proper hold on the refilled porcelain cup and sent the contents spilling across Angelica's skirt, marring the cotton print with ocher streaks of tea. “Oh, my goodness, Angelica! I'm so sorry!”

Grabbing her handkerchief, she dabbed ineffectually at the worst of the stain while Angelica pulled the sodden material away from her skin. Shame filled her. Why couldn't she contain her fumbling, even here in the comfort of a dear friend's parlor? Her heart sank to think she was hopeless, unsuitable for any polite company.

“Don't you fret a moment. It's quite an old gown and one I've been meaning to replace. It's just the excuse needed to visit Madame Valerain.” Angelica winked and Lizzie was reminded all over again why she loved this woman like the sister she'd never had. “Now, give me a moment to change and I'll share a few tidbits about husbands with you.”

As Angelica disappeared, Lizzie sank to the carpet to dab at the spots of tea that had missed Angelica's lap and had settled into the fine wool Aubusson. The embarrassment was no more than she deserved, using a visit to her friend in the vain attempt to gather information about her brother. A brother she had no business pining for. Lizzie needed to let go of this unhealthy fascination she had for the duke.

After all, they'd only kissed once. She held no claim to him, so where did this sense of loss come from? She could never be a consideration for someone so important. Despite her claim to a noble grandfather, she was simple country gentry at best, her own father a mere mister who had eloped with her mother. She was also gauche, clumsy. Not someone to aspire to a man so lofty.

The scrape of a shoe was her only warning before a voice rang out in the room.

“I'm off, sis. Will you come to early supper tomorrow?”

Lizzie's heart seized.

He
was here. Her Oliver.

Her
Oliver? Surely she had lost her wits entirely to think of him in such a way. Especially now that she recognized what a fool she was to yearn for someone so unattainable.

“Whatever are you up to, Angelica? Surely you're too old—and married now—to play at hide-and-seek?”

There was a long pause while Lizzie held her breath and silently prayed for him to leave. It was foolish, of course, but one could hope.

“I can see your ankles sticking out beside the sofa,” he called with the gentle cajoling of a fond sibling. “Yellow stockings, is it, today? I thought you hated yellow.”

She couldn't contain the squeak as she realized she'd been caught out, and she sat back in a weak attempt to cover her exposed limbs. Mortification seeped through her, and a blush inflamed her cheeks.

Now, what was she supposed to do? There really wasn't a graceful way out of this situation.

“Honestly, Angelica. You're beginning to worry me. Are you all right?” Heavy footsteps carried him into the room and before she realized it, Wainsborough had knelt before her, looming, his brow crinkled in concern. She met his gaze and he blinked in confusion.

“You're not Angelica.”

Lizzie cleared her throat in an attempt to ease the sudden tightness. “No, Your Grace,” she said as pointlessly and inhaled the faint trace of his spiced bergamot scent.

Heavens, he was attractive. And very ducal, impeccable in tan trousers and a dark blue superfine jacket, gold buttons embossed with the Wainsborough coat of arms. His right hand was gloved, as if he'd just pulled it on, and its twin lay limp in the bowl of the hat he held.

“Whatever are you doing on the floor, Miss Talbot?”

At least he recalled her name. Not that Wainsborough was considered a rake about town to forget every girl he dallied with—he wasn't. He was renowned for his moderation and stable temperament.

Well, it was a good indication that the kiss had truly happened. Her lips tingled, remembering the feel of his and she drew a shuddering breath.

“Miss Talbot?”

Oh, dear. He'd asked her a question. What was it?

“May I offer you assistance? I don't know why you're curled up on the carpet, but I doubt you mean to stay there.”

“Certainly not, Your Grace,” she murmured and rose, suddenly able to move despite her heightened embarrassment. “Just cleaning a bit of spilled tea.” She waved to indicate the handkerchief laying in a sodden mass at her feet.

“Really? Vinedale has servants for that sort of thing, Miss Talbot.”

Lizzie must appear a veritable drudge then. She couldn't meet his eye, so she just settled for a nod. Now she'd insulted her friend's household by her actions. “Yes, Your Grace.”

“I thought we had settled you should call me Wainsborough.”

When Lizzie glanced up, she relaxed a little. He was much less intimidating when he shed his ducal demeanor. And smiled, as he was almost doing at the moment.

“I didn't want to presume that after… You'd still…” She shrugged, never feeling more awkward in her life than when she was at the center of his attention.

“After you aunt whisked you away, do you mean?” He moved closer. “That doesn't change—”

“That's much better,” exclaimed Angelica as she swept into the room in a fresh gown.

“Heading off, Ollie? You've completed your business with Vine?”

“Indeed I have. Just popped by to see if you would join me for early dinner tomorrow. And to tell you that Vine wants you to join him in the study. No doubt to consult on some important marital matter or another.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

“Oh.” Angelica frowned and gave Lizzie an apologetic look. “We haven't finished our chat.”

“No bother,” Lizzie hastened to assure her. “It's probably best I was going, anyway. Perhaps we could plan an afternoon to visit your new dressmaker and you can tell me then.”

“Perfect.” A quick hug for each of them, and Angelica waved Lizzie and Oliver goodbye. Before Lizzie knew it, she was standing on the doorstep with Wainsborough, waiting for the footmen to bring about their coaches.

“Well,” she said and extended her hand. “It's been a pleasure to see you—”

“Would you fancy a ride about the park, Miss Talbot?”

She blinked at him. “I beg your pardon?” Did he really want to take her for a very public drive about the park or was he merely being polite?

“Or, perhaps you'd prefer a walk?” He glanced at the sky, appraising the cloud cover.

“The weather is passable. We might manage a brief stroll before it turns on us.”

Surely it wasn't mere courtesy if he was looking for ways to entice her to accept. Was it?

“I'd enjoy a stroll,” she replied before she thought about it long enough to convince herself not to. Lizzie couldn't contain a tiny smile of pleasure. Her insides flipped at the thought of spending time with him.

“Splendid. I'll instruct your footman where to meet us.”