At The Duke's Pleasure Page 8

  “I didn’t say anything.”

  But Mallory had, Claire realized, abruptly struck by the other girl’s remark.

  So Edward had been angry at his sister’s excessive spending? Furious, from the sound of it. And if he was anything like her father, then she could well imagine the scene, since Papa hated nothing quite so much as spending money. Edward had given her leave to purchase anything she required. But how many gowns did that mean? Obviously there must be a limit. What if she exceeded it? What if she bought so immense an order she made him furious? Might he call off the engagement for fear of being saddled with a spendthrift wife, then pack her off home?

  With flutters dancing in her breast, she studied the pattern book with renewed enthusiasm. “You know, Mallory, mayhap I won’t be able to choose only a few. I may just have to buy them all!”

  Chapter 6

  The hum of conversation wound like smoke through the Drury Lane Theatre that evening as Edward assisted Lady Edgewater to her seat inside his private box. Earlier that evening, she’d declared her headache much improved and expressed an eagerness to attend tonight’s entertainment. Mallory sat next to her, leaving him to take his place beside Claire in one of the chairs arranged on the opposite side of the small aisle.

  Only the four of them were present, since Leo and Lawrence had begged out of the performance. The twins had asserted a dire need to engage in “manly” activities after spending the day loitering in linen drapers, dress shops and millinery stores. As an obvious precaution against being waylaid again, they’d left Clybourne House well before dinner, no doubt planning to meet up with their friends for a night of carousing and card play.

  Glancing over, Edward studied Claire as she watched the theatregoers in the other boxes and the mass of commoners jostling one another for the best spots in the three-shilling seats below. Quite often he found the activities of the patrons far more entertaining than the performance itself. But he wasn’t watching the crowd tonight. He was watching Claire.

  She looked especially lovely tonight dressed in a gown of ecru silk with short, straight sleeves that hugged her slender arms. Matching silk ribbons were threaded into her honey blond tresses, a few strands left to dangle in tiny curls along the nape of her neck.

  He imagined himself reaching out to play with one of those curls, slipping his finger inside so that he could stroke the circular strand and the delicate pale skin that lay beneath. Ever so slowly, he would lean over and kiss the spot, running his mouth across her satiny flesh while he breathed in the lush feminine perfume of her skin.

  Would she quiver with pleasure for me? he wondered. Would she sigh aloud and catch her bottom lip between her teeth in anticipation of more?

  With such things in mind, he couldn’t help but recall the kiss they’d shared back at Marsden Manor. Even now, he remembered the sweet warmth and endearing vulnerability of her touch. How she’d trembled at first before her hesitation fell away, her fledgling responses revealing a depth of passion that left him wanting more.

  She’d surprised him with that kiss. He’d surprised himself. He’d kissed her, intending to stake his claim as her duty-bound betrothed. Instead, he’d found himself wanting her simply as a woman.

  For despite her youthful demeanour and impetuous wilfulness, no one could dispute that she was a woman and not a girl. He had only to gaze at the ripe swell of her breasts and the tantalizing glimpse of bare flesh revealed by the low-cut bodice of her evening gown to be reminded of that fact.

  As though to prove the point, Claire drew in a quick breath and leaned forward in her seat, causing the tops of her breasts to jiggle ever so slightly. He wondered how much they’d bounce if he pulled her onto his lap and claimed her lips.

  Shifting in his seat, he forced the image away, aware that he couldn’t so much as hold her hand in a public setting such as this one. If he had any sense, he would put aside all such notions until after they were wed.

  I shouldn’t have given up my mistress so soon, he thought. God knows, I could do with the physical release. But considering the fact that Claire was living at the town house, he hadn’t wanted there to be any possibility that she might overhear rumours of him visiting a demirep. Not that he’d promised fidelity to Claire, but still it didn’t seem right to carry on an affair during their engagement.

  Given that he enjoyed sex as much as the next man and had a healthy carnal appetite, the next several weeks weren’t going to be easy. But as a rational, thinking individual, he had control over his instincts and knew he could do without libidinous pleasures for the time being.

  Besides, she would be his soon enough. And once she was, he would do a great deal more than just think about toying with her hair and bouncing her on his lap.

  “How was the shopping excursion?” he asked her abruptly, his words sounding throaty even to his own ears. “Were you and Mallory able to find everything you need?”

  Turning, she met his gaze, her irises very blue. As he watched, her eyes seemed to twinkle with a curious, almost mischievous light.

  But what mischief could there be in clothes shopping?

  “The outing was delightful,” she said. “Mallory and I found everything and more. Tomorrow we’re going shoe and glove shopping.”

  He gave a faint laugh. “My little sister will be in heaven then. She loves shoes even more than she does clothes. And if I am not mistaken, she already owns enough gloves to match every colour in the rainbow.”

  Claire’s eyebrow arched. “Well, as they say, no ensemble is complete without the right pair of shoes and gloves to accompany it.”

  “Is that what they say?” he asked, his mouth turning up at the corners. “Or is that what Mallory says?”

  She paused. “Oh, both, I believe.”

  He laughed, enjoying the answering sparkle in her eyes. Before he had time to continue their conversation, various lights around the theatre were dimmed, while the curtains on stage were drawn back to reveal a painted panorama that depicted the Danish castle of Elsinore. Calls for quiet erupted from the pit as the actors took their places.

  Leaning back in his chair, Edward listened to the familiar opening lines.

  Claire’s skin tingled along the back of her neck and shoulders as she did her best to watch the action unfolding below. She’d never attended a performance of this calibre before, having seen only the pantomimes and the traveling Punch and Judy shows at the occasional county fair. A troupe of Shakespearean actors had played near Marsden Manor a time or two over the years, but she hadn’t been allowed to attend, the night time crowd deemed too rough for a lady of her delicate sensibilities.

  But she was in London now where plays were performed each and every day. When Edward suggested tonight’s outing, she’d been excited by the prospect of attending her first London theatrical, despite her display of outward calm at the time. But now that she was here, she couldn’t seem to concentrate on the play.

  And it was all Edward’s fault.

  He was too close. His large masculine frame seated barely inches away from her, one of his big gloved hands near enough to touch. Not to mention the powerful thigh on which it rested, his muscular legs outlined to perfection in a pair of snug black silk evening breeches.

  Every so often, a delicious shiver of awareness traced over her flesh as though he were looking at her. But whenever she glanced sideways to check, she always found his gaze directed toward the action unfolding on stage. Her own inner musings must be causing her to react this way, she decided, making her feel things that weren’t really there.

  Angling another glance at him through the low light, she surreptitiously studied his profile—tracing the clean lines of his forehead and brow, and the bold shape of his patrician nose before roaming over the close-shaven plane of his cheeks to his strong, square-cut jaw and chin. And then there were his lips. His gorgeous, sensuous, elegantly sculpted lips that she had reason to know were incredibly soft and indescribably seductive.

  Just thinking about
those lips made her remember their kiss—The Kiss—that, try as she might, she could not seem to forget. That one and only embrace haunted her dreams and memories with a sweet longing she knew she shouldn’t let herself feel. And yet still she did.

  Luckily for her, Edward had made no further efforts to test her willpower on that score. Living as they were in the same house with her mother and his own family, there was little occasion for privacy, and even less chance for intimacy. Still, if he’d wanted to kiss her again, he could surely have managed the matter. But maybe a single kiss had been enough for him, sufficient to satisfy whatever curiosity had led him to take that first—and only—one.

  Not that she wanted him to kiss her again, Claire assured herself. Not at all. She wanted to be rid of him, needed to be free, and if her newest salvo proved effective, she would soon have her wish. Particularly since Madame Morelle had promised to rush the order for Claire’s new wardrobe—for an extra, astonishingly extravagant fee, of course!

  She swallowed at the thought and the anticipated reaction. Fingers curling in her lap, she cast another glance at Edward and froze.

  His gaze, so blue as to be nearly black in the dim light, was locked on her own—not imagined this time, but real. A fresh shiver traced over her skin, her lips parting on an involuntary inhalation.

  “How are you enjoying the performance?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  What performance? She’d scarcely listened to a word that had been said. “It’s wonderful,” she whispered, lying with false cheer.

  “Yes, wonderful,” he repeated. His brows drew together for a moment before he gave her a slight smile, then turned his attention back to the play.

  With a sigh, she forced herself to do the same.

  The next week passed quickly for Claire. Her days were filled with additional shopping excursions while her evenings were occupied by at-home dinners, family entertainments and the occasional excursion out on the Town.

  Edward didn’t always accompany the ladies. Sometimes Drake or the twins stepped in to serve as escorts when pressing business prevented the duke from fulfilling the role. Edward never deigned to explain just what his “pressing business” might be, informing her, her mother and Mallory only that he would not be able to accompany them to a particular event. At those times he would stop by the drawing room for a few minutes to wish them an enjoyable evening before he bid them adieu and withdrew with a bow.

  Claire couldn’t help but wonder where Edward went and what he was doing. He didn’t seem the type to indulge in gambling and she’d observed his habits long enough to know he was no more than a moderate drinker. A woman, then? Was he visiting his mistress in another part of the city? After all, a man like Edward must have physical needs that required appeasement.

  Of course a sheltered young lady like herself wasn’t supposed to know about such things, but one heard servants’ chatter on the most interesting of subjects sometimes. And so, what if Edward were carrying on with a light skirt…? Well, that was his “business,” and despite the queasy churning such thoughts gave her, she vowed to dwell on them no more.

  Instead, there was her new trousseau to consider and what would happen once all of it arrived. Four of her new dresses had been delivered yesterday, but only four. The vast majority of her order was still being created—along with the bill.

  Seated now in the family drawing room, she skimmed a hand over the skirt of her new green-and-white striped merino crepe day dress and tried to concentrate on her mother’s conversation with Mallory. The two of them were discussing the art of decorative table painting—a topic Claire had never been able to abide.

  “Which do you like better, Claire?” her mother asked. “Oranges or apples?”

  She frowned. “I’m sorry. What?”

  “Oranges or apples?” her mother repeated with a measure of exasperation. “Which one makes the better visual tableau? Or have you not been attending, child?”

  “Your pardon, Mama. I am afraid you have caught me out. But since you have asked my opinion, then apples, I believe.”

  Her mother heaved a sigh. “I prefer oranges. So much more colourful to my way of thinking.”

  Over her mother’s shoulder, Claire met Mallory’s twinkling gaze, her new friend lifting her teacup to her lips to conceal a smile.

  “And I have a decided preference for roses,” her mother continued. “None of those woodland flowers that are so popular with some. As I told our neighbour Jessica—”

  A sharp knock came at the door, interrupting Lady Edgewater in mid-sentence.

  “Ever so sorry to intrude,” one of the maids said. “But this letter just come by special messenger for her ladyship.”

  “For me! Who could be writing in such haste?” Claire’s mother extended a hand to receive the missive, absently nodding her thanks as the servant bobbed a curtsey and departed from the room. Without hesitating, Lady Edgewater tore open the wax seal on the letter, a scowl descending across her brow as she read. “Oh dear. Oh good heavens!”

  Claire leaned forward. “What is it, Mama? What has occurred?”

  “It’s Nan,” her mother said, the parchment crackling faintly beneath her fingers. “She has fallen out of a tree and injured herself.”

  “Oh, Mama, no!” Claire clutched a hand to her chest.

  “She has broken her leg and is confined to bed. The doctor has attended her and apparently she is faring well enough under the circumstances, but your father writes beseeching me to come home at once. He says he hasn’t the faintest notion of how to care for a sick child, and as we all know, he does not. Of course I must go and without delay.”

  “What dreadful news,” Mallory said. “Poor little girl. Let me call for my brother and apprise him of the matter, so that you may be quickly on your way. Edward will know precisely what is to be done. Then I shall ring for the maids to help you with your packing.”

  Lady Edgewater rose to her feet, reaching out a grateful hand. “Lady Mallory, you are such a dear girl. So kind and good. But oh, what is to be done about a chaperone for Claire, since the dowager duchess is not yet in residence? Your family is highly respectable and above reproach, but still some might disapprove of Claire unwed and living here with only you other young people for company.”

  Claire stood. “But I must come with you, Mama. Nan will be utterly miserable and in need of all the aid and comfort we can give her. I can’t possibly remain behind.”

  Her mother’s mouth firmed. “Of course you can. I am sure something may be worked out. Lady Mallory, you must have some female relation who could come to stay until your mama returns?”

  Mallory nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I have any number of cousins and quite a few in Town. I expect one would be willing to relocate to the town house for a short while.”

  “There, you see, Claire. Everything is settled.”

  “But Mama—”

  “No buts. The Season starts in only two more weeks and I will not have you miss an instant of it.”

  “I have missed the Season before,” Claire said in a patient tone. “It won’t be so very great a loss.”

  “Of course it will be!” Lady Edgewater said with a disbelieving flip of her hand. “This is your one and only opportunity to enjoy the social Season before you become a bride. It shan’t be the same at all once you wed, and I will not have you miss it simply because your sister is so foolish as to have broken her leg.”

  “But Nan will be so unhappy—”

  “And so she should,” her mother declared. “How many times have I told her not to climb those trees around the house, and for this very reason too. She is headstrong and disobedient and should be thankful she hasn’t suffered a worse injury than a broken leg. You are right that she’ll be miserable, but she will recover.”

  Reaching out, she patted Claire’s shoulder. “In the meantime, her distress should not be your own nor keep you from enjoying your time here in Town. Just because I have to return home doesn’t mean you must suffer as wel
l.”

  But I wouldn’t be suffering, Claire thought. I want to go home.

  But she couldn’t very well tell her mother that. Her mother, who would neither approve nor understand. Mama was delighted by her engagement to the duke. If Claire ever expressed her real feelings and fears, her mother would only shake her head in confusion and ask if Claire had taken leave of her senses.

  Not want to marry the duke? What nonsense! her mother would say.

  If Mama had any idea what she was plotting, her mother would be aghast.

  And when Edward jilts me, she thought, Mama will be far angrier with me than she is now with Nan. But she was counting on her mother and father getting over their displeasure and disappointment with her, just as they would with Nan.

  Eventually.

  Poor Nan. Claire sympathized with her sister, knowing she climbed trees because it made her feel alive. But now that Nan had injured herself, she would find her freedom sorely curtailed. Claire wished she could go to her, but mayhap it was better if she remained here in London for now, since if all went as planned, she would be joining her shortly.

  Claire frowned. “You are sure, Mama? I would accompany you in an instant.”

  “I know you would,” her mother said in a solemn voice. “But we shall manage at home without you. Ella will help me with your sister and we shall muddle along just fine. If it would relieve your mind, why do you not go now and write letters to them both? If you are quick about it, there should be time while I pack and the coach is made ready. Lady Mallory, perhaps you would see me to my room?”

  “Of course, ma’am. And not to worry, a servant has been dispatched for my brother. He should be here anytime.”

  Claire curved her arms close around her body as she watched Mallory lead Lady Edgewater from the room. After giving herself a little inward shake, she went to find pen and paper.

  Two hours later, amid hugs and a few tears, Claire watched her mother climb into the duke’s fastest coach. With a thunk of the door and a snap of a whip, the vehicle set off, bowling along Grosvenor Square before disappearing into the crush of afternoon traffic.