The Duchess Diaries: The Bridal Pleasures Series Page 10

  Her eyes glinted. “That is wise—especially if you are going to be part of the family.”

  “And you’re to become part of mine.”

  They broke apart as the marquess approached them.

  At least, Gideon reflected, he had acted with honor today, if not last night. Charlotte seemed relieved that he had come up to scratch. He could give her his name. He could offer her pleasure. If she expected more, well, it was time she learned the past had stolen his capacity for hope. He saw no point in making plans that he’d learned from painful experience might never be fulfilled.

  Charlotte sighed when Gideon excused himself from the party and took his leave. He might have agreed to marry her, but she had to face facts. He wasn’t brimming over with enthusiasm about their engagement. He had made his decision for honor’s sake, not romance. She wandered across the room and found herself suddenly standing in front of Jane.

  “Charlotte,” Jane said. “He will be back.”

  “What if he runs away?”

  “We’ll run after him.”

  She saw no pity on Jane’s face, but only the strong will of a woman who had tamed her beast and made him worship her.

  “He is yours,” Jane said. “You do want him, don’t you? It is obvious to me.”

  “Yes. But I want him to…to burn for me as I do for him.”

  Jane’s smile said she understood. “Then you need to be fire with fire.”

  “That’s from Shakespeare.” Charlotte felt oddly consoled. “Of course. I will bear those words in mind.”

  “Put them to work,” Jane whispered, then glanced up as Weed approached her with a bow.

  “The master would like Miss Boscastle to meet him in his study for a confidential talk,” he said in a hushed voice.

  “A lecture,” Jane said. “It was inevitable. Bear up, Charlotte. Grayson is more growl than bite.”

  Chapter 15

  Charlotte braced herself for a long, well-meaning lecture. Grayson had his hands full protecting a family known for its passionate scandals. But she had never been called into his presence before.

  “Sit down, Charlotte,” he said, motioning her to an armchair. “First of all, congratulations on your upcoming marriage.”

  “Grayson, I’m ashamed—”

  “It came about in standard Boscastle style,” he said, brushing aside her apology. “Are you content to marry Wynfield?”

  Content? “More than I can say.”

  He frowned. “He is a man of the world.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you”—he shook his head—“are not as sophisticated. Do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

  She nodded. He was warning her that she had fallen into an unfathomable well—at the bottom of which she hoped to see Gideon waiting to catch her.

  He looked at her closely. “I have to admit you’re remarkably composed about the whole thing. But then, what else can you do? Our next problem is to find that diary of yours. Knowing you, I doubt there is anything in it to concern us.”

  She slid down in her chair. “I’m afraid there is.”

  “Such as?”

  “Personal reflections.”

  He raised his brow. “Could you give me one example?”

  “No.”

  He rose from his chair, frowning in concern. “I thought I’d heard you were writing the family history.”

  “I was. And then I…I…I never meant to expose myself in any way.”

  “What do you mean by ‘expose’ yourself?” he asked in alarm.

  “I—I am afraid I revealed my secret desires in the pages of that diary.”

  “Oh, God.”

  He strode across the room to the bell cord. “Thank you for giving me the truth. I shall deal with this as I must. I am not the expert in these matters that Jane is, but I suggest you spend your spare hours shopping for a wedding trousseau instead of spilling the soup. Chronicles are all well and good, but there are some secrets that should stay buried.”

  “Grayson—”

  “Charlotte, remember that you are about to take a place in the peerage. Do not acknowledge your mistakes with an apology but with your actions.”

  “Thank you, Grayson.”

  “In a short time Gideon will be one of us. The betrothal will be announced in the evening papers with mention that a formal supper party will be held here at a later date to celebrate the event.”

  She hid a smile. Few people would have seen this union from Grayson’s lofty view. The Boscastle men were simply too accustomed to ruling supreme to ever change.

  “One more thing, Charlotte. Sir Daniel Mallory is waiting in the antechamber to ask you a few questions about the diary. He is in my employ. I would advise you to be more…well, I hesitate to use the word, but I think you should be more revealing with him than you were with me. Details could prove useful in his pursuit of your missing diary.”

  Sir Daniel Mallory expelled a sigh. This was an embarrassing interview for both him and Miss Boscastle. Perhaps he was handling it badly. Perhaps he was too brusque for a gentlewoman of her delicate sensibilities.

  “You can describe this book, Miss Boscastle?” he asked again, pen ready to jot down the normal fare.

  “Of course.”

  Then silence.

  He gestured with his pen. “And the contents?”

  She swallowed, turning her comely face to the window. “I should think that its nature would be obvious or else there would not be this fuss.”

  “Miss Boscastle, the world is full of innumerable books, and if I am to help locate this diary, it would behoove you to give me an honest description.…”

  He paused. She appeared to be fascinated by a boy rolling a hoop behind a cart in the street. Then she turned back to him, her eyes evading his.

  “There is some erotic material in my writings,” she whispered in a small voice that he had to strain to hear. Or perhaps he hadn’t heard her at all. He couldn’t have.

  “Excuse me?”

  Not erotic. She must have said exotic. Or erratic. Or possibly even quixotic. “You will have to forgive me. I was not listening as closely as I should have. You said—”

  “Erotic.” She turned her head and looked him in the eye. “Yes. That was what I said. I’m sure I do not have to explain the meaning of the word to a man in your profession.”

  He looked deeply into her blue eyes. He thought he was a good judge of character. She seemed so demure and reserved. “It is true,” he said in the most detached voice he could manage, “that I have investigated many aspects of vice—I mean life. However, that does not make me an expert on the erotic arts.”

  “It doesn’t make me one, either,” she burst out. “It is my imagination and indiscreet desires that have gotten me in this trouble, sir. Not my practical experience.”

  “I see.” But he didn’t. He frowned. “I’m trying to understand. You have kept a diary in which you have written sexual content?”

  “You will have to describe exactly what you mean by that if I’m to be able to answer you.”

  The deuce he would. Not to a young schoolmistress who seemingly never raised her voice and wrote…erotic something or other in her diary. “With all due respect, Miss Boscastle, I do not completely understand what you’re telling me.”

  “Oh, does it really matter?”

  “If I may speak honestly—”

  “I expect nothing less from you. Besides, we are bound to be truthful and trust each other.”

  “Yes. Quite right. But is there anything in the diary that would incriminate any living persons?”

  “There would be a prison built if one could be tried for amorous exploits.”

  “One can, in certain cases. I daresay, and I intend no discourtesy, but your family has probably been accused of even greater misdeeds than you could have devised.”

  “Perhaps.” She folded her hands in her lap, her eyes full of remorse. “But never have my fictional ones been so vividly described.”

/>   He blew out a breath. “Unless you have libeled the Duchess of Wellington, for instance, or—”

  “The Duke of Wynfield,” she said, nodding morosely.

  “Did you?” He chuckled. “Well, I’m sure he is used to being the topic of controversy.”

  She was silent.

  “Fine, then. Now for a physical description of the diary itself…”

  Charlotte reached behind the chair and produced a handsome brown vellum book, beautifully bound with gilt pages.

  “This is empty, I assume? For now, at least?”

  “Forever,” she said with a sigh.

  He left the Park Lane house with an empty journal and an enormous wrapped ham that the marchioness said he must give to his housekeeper. “She’ll make some tasty sandwiches for you and the children. You look a little peaked, Sir Daniel.”

  “Madam, I apologize.”

  The Marchioness of Sedgecroft lowered her voice. “Do you think you’ll be able to find this diary?”

  “Eventually, madam. The problem will be locating it before the public is aware of its loss.”

  Charlotte returned to the academy and drifted through the rest of the day. It was evident by their sly smiles that the news of her betrothal had reached the girls and that Miss Peppertree had warned them it was not a subject to be discussed.

  But anarchy erupted at teatime, when Charlotte received a message from Grayson informing her that he, Jane, and Gideon would accompany her to the theater tonight.

  “The theater?” she said aloud, the note in one hand, a teacup in the other. “This will be my first public appearance as His Grace’s intended, and I have nothing suitable to wear. I’ll have to refuse.”

  “You cannot refuse,” Miss Peppertree said. “It would be rude.”

  “But it’s so sudden,” Charlotte said.

  Miss Peppertree’s mouth thinned. “So was your engagement.”

  “Well, I am not attending the theater dressed like a—”

  “—a schoolmistress?” Miss Peppertree said.

  “Wear the dress you wore to the ball, Miss Boscastle,” one of the girls suggested.

  “But I can’t be seen in it twice in the same week.”

  “The duke isn’t going to notice,” the girl said with a confidence that Charlotte wished she could share.

  She put down her cup, her lips pursed. The duke would notice. He would definitely remember the dress.

  Lucy Martout spoke up. “I have a gown that is too long for my height and rather risqué in the bodice.”

  Charlotte bit her lip. “Isn’t that the gown that I forbade you to wear outside your room?”

  “Yes,” Lucy said, rising from the table. “We’ll make you look a queen, Miss Boscastle.”

  “A duchess will do well enough,” Miss Peppertree announced from her table.

  “She is quite right, girls,” Charlotte said. “I should not aspire to look tawdry.”

  Miss Peppertree’s next pronouncement startled Charlotte but delighted everyone else in the room. “On the other hand, a lady does not need to appear underdressed and unconcerned about the latest fashion. A future duchess should look stylish.”

  Charlotte sent her a grateful look. How could she leave this gentle harbor of refinement? “Miss—”

  “You need to wear a better corset,” Verity said, separated from the others by her background of coarse abuse. “Gentlemen like nothing more than a big pair of kettledrums.”

  Charlotte turned to her in despair. “Verity Cresswell, you should have your mouth rinsed out with vinegar for that.”

  Miss Peppertree sniffed and drew a handkerchief from her pocket. “Why? It is the woeful truth and has been since time began. There is no need for an engaged woman to hide either her bosoms or her light under a bushel.”

  Her light? In the three hours it took for Gideon’s carriage to arrive, the entire academy conspired to ignite an inner flame of confidence inside Charlotte. They brushed and fussed and pinned her blond hair into loose curls upon her shoulders. They draped her curves in shimmery pink silk. She felt elegant as Rankin, the footman, proudly escorted her from the house.

  Gideon was waiting outside his carriage, his back toward her, his arm resting on the door. How arresting he looked in his black top hat and long-tailed woolen evening coat. But how different they were from each other. And—they were virtually strangers who would soon be forced into intimacy.

  He turned, his face set in an impatient frown until she moved under the lamplight. His dark eyes swept over every detail of her appearance. She couldn’t decide whether he was amused, displeased, or something else. But his brooding stare riveted her to the spot. She wondered, in fact, if they would stand there forever, suspended in hesitation, until Miss Peppertree and the girls made an unsubtle appearance at the window to watch them.

  “Charlotte,” he said, holding out his hand, both of them ignoring their audience in the window above.

  Be fire to fire.

  “Charlotte!” Jane’s cheerful voice called from inside the carriage, and the spellbinding moment snapped like a thread. “You are stunning tonight! Isn’t she, Gideon?”

  “Yes,” he said, his grasp on her hand tightening. And as he drew her to the carriage he added, “I have an opera cloak inside here.” He reached back across the seat. “Maybe you should borrow it for the night.”

  “Is that your way of telling me you don’t approve of my dress?”

  “Not at all. It’s my way of telling you that I don’t wish to share with London what I have acquired at such a steep personal cost.”

  She held still as he draped the cloak around her bare shoulders. “I do have my own shawl with me,” she murmured in amusement. “Your cloak does not match my dress, Your Grace.”

  “We do not match, either,” he said, reclaiming her hand. “But we will still make a marriage. And in case I have not made myself clear, I agree with Jane: You look beautiful this evening.”

  Chapter 16

  The courtship had begun. As expected, the duke’s arrival at the theater with his fiancée and the popular marquess and his wife stopped conversation and turned heads. Charlotte was every bit as in awe of Gideon as was his audience.

  She had no idea what the play was about. She didn’t care. She could not concentrate on the stage with Gideon, so handsomely groomed, sitting beside her. He kept his hand upon hers, and she wasn’t sure whether he meant it as an amorous gesture or whether he was putting on a show for Grayson’s benefit.

  Either way, she welcomed Gideon’s touch and wished she knew a polite way to reciprocate.

  At intermission Grayson and Jane excused themselves to visit with friends in another box. Charlotte waited for Gideon to lift his hand away. Instead, he turned and pulled her into his arms. His hands slid between her shoulder blades to crush her to his hard chest. His mouth came down on hers.

  It was a deep kiss of desire. It was an unsubtle taunt to all her senses. He broke off only when she was breathless. A nagging voice warned her that he might be playing a role. She certainly was not. He had ignited a smoldering ache of sensuality inside her that made her aware of her vulnerability whenever she was near him.

  “Did you dress to please me tonight?” he whispered, his eyes dark with allure.

  “Who else?”

  He bent his head to brush a lingering kiss on her lips. His mouth stung her like sweet fire. She closed her eyes, lost, simmering with pleasure. “Soon you’ll be undressing to please me.”

  “Not in a theater box…” Her eyes flew open.

  Gideon had lifted his head and released her, casually resettling in his seat a moment before Jane and Grayson returned to their seats. He’s too practiced at this, she decided, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. His air of attractive elegance gave no hint that he had kissed her into witless havoc moments ago. He appeared slightly detached from his surroundings, if anything.

  Of course, it was impossible to completely deceive a lady of Jane’s cunning. Jane took he
r seat, stared at the stage in contemplation, and said, “Did we miss much while we were gone?”

  Charlotte should have taken a page from Gideon’s book of vast experience and given only a vague response. Rather than following his sage example, she had to betray her guilt by volunteering an excess of information.

  “No. No. The curtains are still closed. We haven’t heard a peep from the players. I think the management might have asked some young men in the audience to stop tossing about an orange, and, well, I don’t think you missed anything.”

  Jane turned to her with an angelic smile. “I wasn’t talking about the stage, dearest.”

  “Oh.”

  After that Charlotte could not even pretend to concentrate on the performance. The actors might have been trained monkeys, for all she noticed. She wanted the evening to go on forever. But at last the curtain fell on the final act. Gideon rose, enveloping her briefly in the disconcerting warmth of his shadow.

  There was a small crowd waiting outside their box, friends calling out greetings to Gideon and Grayson; others were sweeping Jane off toward the stairs. Charlotte felt a hand descend heavily upon her shoulder. She heard a masculine voice repeating her name.

  She turned into the press of bodies, the scent of tallow, sawdust, and perfume overpowering. Engaged or not, she would have to advise Gideon that his affectionate gestures should be saved for when they were alone.

  Actually, he was pulling at her with such dogged determination that she was tempted to give him a solid thump of her fan. Except that as she looked up she saw Gideon was standing in a corner of the lobby, engaged in conversation with Grayson and three other gentlemen. Alarmed, she realized that it wasn’t Gideon’s gray-gloved hand that had so rudely claimed her. She glanced around slowly into a grinning face she had done her best to forget.

  “Charlotte, I almost didn’t recognize you,” Phillip Moreland said, his eyes bright with excitement. “We’ve been in London only a few hours and I was dying to see you. I know I should have waited until the play was over. But I couldn’t. I wouldn’t. Caleb and I traveled together.”

  She backed up against another theatergoer, resisting Phillip’s painful grasp. Caleb, her eldest brother. Where was he? Where had Gideon gone? She glanced around the lobby in search of him, of anyone, to rescue her.