Must Love Dukes (2 page)

“You have truly been to all of those places?” Her eyes widened and she leaned in toward the table with interest. “Tell me, are the Himalayas as magnificent as Mr. Childers Caldwell describes in
Flora
and
Fauna
of
the
Himalayas
?”

“Ah, Mr. Caldwell. I met him once at a base camp.” He shook his head over the memory of the obnoxious man. “He complained incessantly. It’s a wonder he traveled anywhere beyond his own garden with the way he went on about the poor quality of the food, the cool weather, and the dirty, uneducated people. Quite annoying, really.” He took a sip before continuing. “I later read his book and, to this day, suspect it may have been written by his traveling companion and passed off as his own work. But, yes, the descriptions of the grandness of the mountains were quite accurate.”

“Have you written anything on the subject I might have read?” Lily asked.

“No, I haven’t the patience to write a book. I presented the Royal Society with several plant specimens upon my latest return and wrote an article for a journal. It was a fascinating trip.”

“I should read your journal article,” she offered.

Was she truly interested in his travels? Who was Lily Whitby and where had she been hiding? He had decided all ladies were only concerned with hair ribbons and retelling the latest on-dit. How refreshing. Of course, she had followed him, so was she speaking the truth? She was still talking, he realized as he snapped his attention back to her.

“That was when I began to read every book in our library on farming techniques. Since then, my life has been completely absorbed in the workings of the land. So, clearly by this point, I could use some reading materials about unknown plants, as mine are a bit too known.”

He laughed. She continued to surprise him at every turn. “I apologize. I’m only trying to picture you as a farmer.”

“I do play a large role in the management of crop yields and plantings. But no, I do not reap the harvests with my own hands. My skills are better suited to poring over journals for modern farming techniques than digging in the dirt.” She quirked the corner of her mouth in thought. “I would hate to see the state of things if I didn’t do so.”

“You are quite unexpected, Lily. Tell me more of your life.” She was quite unexpected indeed. Wasn’t he supposed to be gathering some information from her? Oh, her arrival, with the following business. Yes, he needed to get around to that eventually. For now, he wanted to hear of a life not lived within the bounds of London.

“My life is rather quiet. I won first prize for my La Belle Sultane roses last year at the parish rose festival. And I…” She grew quiet, looking down at her hands. Her gaze turned to his as she said, “I haven’t lived a large life. Not like you. My adventures have all taken place between the pages of a book. Tell me more of your travels.”

“I don’t know. Your death-defying defeat of your enemies to claim first prize for your roses sounds fascinating,” he quipped, taking another sip of his drink. “That breed is beautiful. They deepen to a dark purple with growth, don’t they?”

“I can’t believe you know of them,” she said in amazement.

“Have you ever seen an African daisy? They grow wild on the plains. Their deep violet petals are pinched together in the center to make them look like tiny spoons around a black center.”

“I would very much like to see that one day.” She had a wistful look in her eye that he wished he could harness and hold in his palm forever.

“I had one brought back and placed in my gallery with the other plants and artifacts from my travels. When I long for a place other than London, those specimens of exotic culture keep me sane. I could show it to you.” How ill-advised were his words? Would he scare her away or draw her in with his invitation? He waited for her reaction.

She blinked in surprise. “I meant that I would like to see it in its natural setting. I couldn’t possibly go to your home. It wouldn’t be…”

“Proper? Lily, haven’t we covered this ground already? Consider it an open invitation from one plant admirer to another.”

“I will consider it. Perhaps with an escort?” She took the last drink from her tankard, setting the empty vessel down on the table. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment. When she looked up, she asked, “What made you return from your expeditions if you enjoy them so?”

He signaled the barmaid for two more drinks before answering. “Ah, um…there was a death.” He dropped his gaze to the table for a moment. “I returned for the funeral services. Sorry to be morbid when we are just becoming acquainted.”

“Duty to family is something I quite understand. My father passed recently, though I don’t wish to speak of it now, either.”

“It was my father’s death that brought me home as well. I had to…take care of things here.” Bury his father, take up his title, survive the ridicule of the
ton
…indeed, he’d been busy.

“One is never quite the same after a loss such as that. You have my condolences.”

He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. He had no desire to discuss who he was—and who everyone in the
ton
perceived him to be.

“Life goes on and the sun still rises on us,” she offered with a sympathetic tilt to her head.

“Yes, it does, but enough of this melancholy conversation.” Two fresh drinks were placed before them. “Shall we?” he asked.

“Oh yes, another drink would be lovely.”

Devon shook his head, wrapping his hand around the fresh tankard of sangaree before him. “This hasn’t been the afternoon I’d imagined, yet I can’t say I’m regretting it.”

Lily grinned in return. “I had thought to do some shopping today. I don’t know that I would have had the nerve to leave my home if I had thought this was where the afternoon would find me.”

Holding up his tankard toward her, he offered, “To unexpected meetings and exotic flowers. Or should I say unexpected meetings
with
exotic flowers? Either way, it is a fine way to spend the day.”

Devon watched as her blush deepened, spreading up her neck. She smiled a smile that would keep him warm on endless damp English days.

“To exotic flowers and strange men,” she returned between laughs, then took a drink. “This is really quite delicious. I had always thought liquor to be harsh, dark brews of liquid fire.”

“You must keep strong spirits in your home. Some liquors do seem to be constructed of nothing but fire, not all though.” He leaned one forearm on the table with a grin. “I once had a sweet wine made from small blossoms of a tree that grows at the base of the Himalayas.” He lowered his voice as he continued, “I woke up a day later in clothes I didn’t own, hanging upside down bound in tree vines.” He sat back, smiling at her astonishment. “Trust me. It doesn’t need to be a harsh, dark brew to throw you for a loop.”

“Oh my! How’d you find yourself in that predicament?”

“Although I’m sure it is an exciting tale of drunken debauchery, I regret to say I have no memory of it.” He shrugged. “I later found out that the wine I was served was typically used in small doses for ceremonial purposes to introduce young warriors to their spirit companions. I, however, had a guide with a regrettable sense of humor who plied me with the concoction the night before we were set to leave camp.”

“Oh dear.” She laughed, her blue eyes dancing at his story. He would tell a thousand stories a thousand times over only to watch those bright eyes laugh. By the third tankard of drink, she’d removed her hideous hat and laid it on the table. Her golden blond hair was tumbling down around her face. He had never seen a sight so beautiful. Perhaps she had followed him here for some unknown reason. Yet, those reasons were lost at the bottom of their empty steins.

The afternoon turned to dusk over stories of his adventures and hints of her serene country life. Soon the tavern grew louder as more patrons entered and more drinks were poured. He really should escort her back to her home for her own safety, yet he could not bring himself to end their afternoon together.

“Lily, how is it that we’ve never met until this day?”

She paused, her smile fading as her eyes dimmed to a thoughtful expression. “Devon, the truth is this. I have spent the past six years tending to my—”

She screamed as one of the large men from the table beside them descended on her, taking one of her breasts in his filthy palm.

Devon was out of his chair and over the table in a heartbeat. He and the man toppled to the floor together. His fist connected with the man’s jaw.

How dare he touch Lily in that manner?

Devon swung again, hearing the snap of the man’s nose breaking as blood flew everywhere. But the contact with the man’s face didn’t ease the rage that coursed through Devon’s veins over this stranger laying a finger on Lily.

Another blow blackened the man’s eye. He should have been more aware of his surroundings.

Picking up the limp body under him by the shirt, Devon pummeled him another time. He should have known that something like this would happen in such a hovel of a tavern. If he had not been so starry-eyed over his drinking companion, he may have noticed the man approaching.

How could he have allowed that to happen? The man’s friend was now pulling at Devon’s shoulder.

Through the haze of anger and splattered blood he heard, “Just a bet, gov’na. Meant no offense.” Devon released the shirt held tightly in his grasp, dropping the man’s limp weight to the floor.

Standing, he glanced around at Lily to find her standing pressed against the dirty window, her eyes glazed over in shock. He spun on his heel, threatening the man at his back, “Next time you choose to wager, choose someone else’s lady. For if you or anyone else ever lays a hand on her again, I’ll come back here and kill you with my bare hands.”

“I don’t doubt it, sir. I’ll never disrespect your lady again, sir.”

“See that you don’t,” Devon sneered as he turned away.

He stepped over the unconscious man on the floor and held his hand out toward Lily. Pausing for only a moment of indecision, she laid her hand in his and allowed him to lead her to the door. Her hand trembled slightly in his. Had the man hurt her? Was she traumatized by what she had seen Devon do? Now she would think him a brute. They didn’t speak a word to one another as they walked past the bar, back to the entrance.

The sounds and smells of the tavern died instantly as the door closed behind them, replaced by the musty scent of coming rain and a baby crying somewhere on the next block. He looked down at Lily standing at his side. Her hand was still wrapped in his and he did not want to let it go. Not now. Not here on the street. Perhaps not ever. She stared straight ahead without a word.

“Are you injured?” When Lily didn’t answer, Devon turned her cheek so that she was looking into his eyes. “Lily, are you injured?”

“I don’t think so.” She licked her pink lips. “But I do feel a bit off.”

“A bit off,” he repeated. “Not hurt?”

“No, but I’m dizzy and my head feels rather hollow.” She tapped the side of her head as if checking it for fullness.

“Do you mean you’re foxed?” He couldn’t help the grin that tilted the corners of his mouth up.

“Is that what I am? My, but I have never experienced this before.” A bubble of laughter escaped her as she began to list sideways into him like a ship on stormy seas.

His arms rose immediately to steady her. Where was a hack when he needed one? She was in no condition to walk back to Bond Street. Glancing up and down the street, he assessed which direction would take them out of this area of town the fastest.

They had spent longer inside the tavern than he realized, for the sun was beginning its descent, gleaming off windows on the opposite side of the street while they stood in the shadows. Before long, these streets would begin to crawl with pickpockets and light skirts out to make some coin. It was no place for a lady, and certainly not one who was foxed for the first time. Had she said “the first time”? How was that possible?

Then, as if conjured by a magician, a hack rattled around the corner. Devon’s arm flew up in signal and the carriage slowed. He opened the door and led her forward toward the step.

“You’ve never been foxed before? How old are you?” His curiosity over this woman was mounting, which was a bit disconcerting.

“Three and twenty last month. But there was never any time for that, and…” She turned to him, shaking her finger in imitation of some apparently extremely crotchety old man as she said, “…young ladies don’t do that.” She giggled. “You know what, though? I don’t know why not. This is terribly fun.”

“I am in complete agreement with you there.” He half assisted, half hoisted her into the carriage. “It makes all of life’s ugly realities disappear. For a few blessed hours anyway.

“Where should I tell the driver to take you, Lily?” Devon entered the carriage after her, sitting on the seat to her left. She widened her eyes a fraction but said nothing. He supposed the gentlemanly thing to do would have been to sit opposite her on that large, empty bench seat, but he wasn’t feeling very gentlemanly at the moment. Too many sangarees would do that to a man.

“Oh…um…I’m not sure where to go from here.”

“I find that I’m not ready to return home, either,” he agreed.

“Yes. That must be it. Too much fun and all.”

“I’ll instruct the driver to take a turn around the park for a bit while we come to our senses, shall I? I can’t very well deliver you to your home in this condition anyway.”

“To my home, yes. I couldn’t possibly go there just now. I didn’t realize how much I’d consumed until I stood up when that man grabbed me. By that time, the fight was all around me and…” She looked down and instantly went into alarm. “Devon! Your hand! You’re bleeding!”

“That does tend to happen when you punch a man in the face. It’s only a scratch.” He inspected the back of his knuckles with a frown. “I believe I removed his tooth, if that brings you any comfort.”

She pulled open the reticule at her wrist and retrieved a small square handkerchief. “Give me your hand.”