Lady Hope and the Duke of Darkness: The Baxendale Sisters Book 3 Page 4

  ****

  Daniel leaned against a marble pillar, and watched Lady Hope dance with Winslow. The duke seemed pleased with his partner, as well he might be. In pink ruffles, Lady Hope looked like a delicious French patisserie. The sight of her in Winslow’s arms unsettled him. Turning his back to the dance floor, he joined in his friends’ concerned conversation about the king, who was not in the best of health.

  Toward the end of the evening, Daniel gave in to the urge to dance with Lady Hope. She was like a forbidden drug, a balm to the senses.

  “Do you like to converse whilst dancing, Your Grace?” she asked him.

  “If I have breath to do so,” he said, enjoying this close view of her pretty face. Her hair shone like spun silk, and wisps clung to her tender young neck. She glanced at him and nibbled her full bottom lip, which flooded his mind with thoughts that had no place on a dance floor. He hastened to banish them. “Was there something particular you wished to discuss?”

  “I was reading in the broadsheets this morning about the abolition of slavery. I find slavery morally repugnant, do not you?”

  “I most certainly do,” he said with surprise. “And it’s to be hoped that the Anti-Slavery Society set up this year will rid the British Empire of it.”

  “One would hope so. It has gone on for far too long,” she said, her blue eyes sparkling.

  “I quite agree. I shall watch developments with interest. Right now, I’d like to learn more about you.”

  A breath lifted her bosom invitingly. “Oh! Of course.”

  “You play the pianoforte?”

  “Most ladies do, Your Grace.”

  “Are you proficient?”

  “I am told so.” She shrugged her slim shoulders. “At least, my family thinks I am. But they may be biased.”

  Her lips lifted in a smile. There was an appealing little curve in her upper lip. A man could lose himself kissing that mouth. He settled her as close as convention would allow, drawing in her sweet perfume. “I have a yen to hear you play.”

  “You do?” If she looked surprised, she was no more so than he. He thought of the fine pianoforte that graced his drawing room in Mayfair. His tenant had vacated his house, and it was now ready for him.

  In a few days, he was to see Mademoiselle Sophie again, an event that refused to settle in his mind. As yet, he had no clear answer on how to deal with her fairly, before disentangling himself from the matter. “You have sisters, Lady Hope?”

  “I have four. My father laments the absence of another male presence in the house.”

  “I must confess to some sympathy for your father. A profusion of feminine company must be both a blessing and a bane,” he said with a laugh.

  She wrinkled her nose in rebuke. “My sisters and I are remarkably well behaved.” She grinned. “At least for the most part, Your Grace.”

  What must it be like to be part of a large family? He remembered wanting that once. His school friends at Eaton had family visits and delicious packages of food sent to them. “Tell me about your sisters. Do you all get on well?”

  Hope spoke with warmth of her two married sisters and the two yet to come out. “Charity is a wonderful artist, and Mercy fancies herself a scientist.”

  “A scientist?” His interest grew. “Hardly the appropriate hobby for a young lady.”

  A flicker of apprehension appeared in her eyes. “At present she makes lotions for ladies’ complexions, but she has larger aspirations.”

  “Indeed? I should like to meet Lady Mercy.”

  “Mercy is only fifteen, Your Grace.”

  “Ah, of course. A pity.”

  Lady Hope talked of their dog, Wolf, and cat, Sable. “They are not always friends, but tolerate one another,” she said with a laugh. “And sometimes when it’s very cold, Wolf allows Sable to sleep tucked in against him.” She gazed at him, her eyes alight with warmth. “Do you care for dogs, Your Grace?”

  “I have dogs in France,” he said, nodding. “Hunting dogs.”

  “Oh. They are not pets?”

  “Non.”

  “A cat perhaps?”

  He shrugged, feeling strangely inadequate. “We have stable cats to keep down the vermin.”

  She gave a sympathetic smile. “Then you must get a pet when you return. They would give you much comfort.”

  Daniel raised his brows. “You believe I’m in need of comfort?”

  She flushed delightfully. “I…um…Perhaps a little.”

  He stared at her, surprised. She seemed to see straight into his damaged soul and made him feel transparent, as if his despair was pinned to his chest like a boutonnière. The notion should have been disturbing, but somehow, it wasn’t.

  “Forgive me, Your Grace. It was presumptuous of me.”

  “Not at all. I have a horse I treasure, a gelding called Tonnerre,” he said, wanting to produce something that would banish the sympathy from her gaze. “He has damaged his leg in a rabbit hole, regrettably.”

  “How dreadful for you.” Her blue eyes filled with concern.

  “I trust the animal can be saved,” Daniel said hurriedly.

  “I do hope so,” she said with obvious relief. “You will tell me when you have news.”

  “You would like me to?”

  “I would.”

  “Then I shall.”

  The dance ended. Daniel escorted Lady Hope back to her mother. He was in worse shape than he thought. Was he an open book? The way in which the young woman had plumbed the depths of his soul disturbed him. Of course, she was merely being polite, for surely her interest lay with Winslow. Of course, her parents would welcome such a match. Daniel hadn’t taken to the man, but he wasn’t about to question himself too closely as to why that was so. He had enough to deal with, having inherited a sister. Once he’d settled Sophie financially, and dealt with Canning, who’d written to request a meeting, he would return to France, although the prospect didn’t draw him the way he’d expected.

  Returning to his friends, who were laughing at some on dit Lord Buckland had uttered, Daniel accepted a glass of champagne from a footman. He took a deep sip, wishing he could be the untroubled man he used to be. That man had a clear idea of where he was going and what he wanted from life. Back then, he’d wanted a lot: to love and be loved. The future ahead had been a thrilling challenge. It seemed long ago.

  ****

  “Quite a coup, Hope. Just think, you had two dukes tonight dancing attendance on you. Winslow danced with you twice! You set the other mothers on the edge of their chairs.” Her mother chuckled. “You will favor Winslow, of course.”

  “He would be the sensible choice.” Hope dragged the words out as if they hurt her to say them. “But Lady Pamela also danced twice with him, and I believe he often partners Lady Amy, so it hardly constitutes a commitment. Father will be pleased at least.”

  “He’ll be delighted. Winslow seems to have settled in for the Season. He so seldom comes to London. Not since his wife died. As he has no heir, there’s speculation that he looks for a bride.”

  “I wonder if he still mourns her.” The Frenchman’s dark gaze appeared in her mind’s eye.

  “Time heals all wounds, dear. He shall find peace and contentment in the arms of another woman.”

  Annoyingly, Hope couldn’t summon up much concern for Winslow, an unremarkable man, although courteous and refined. Perhaps he’d improve on closer acquaintance, especially when she managed to dismiss the Frenchman’s tall, lean body and the warm clasp of his big hand from her mind. Her tender heart ached for him more than for Winslow, because the physical signs of his sadness were there in his eyes and about his mouth, even when he smiled. He really should have a pet to console him. How close could one become to a horse? Perhaps he’d like one of Sable’s kittens. But, no, he wouldn’t remain long in England. Ridiculous that it felt so right to be in his arms. And despite the firm talking to she’d given herself, the belief remained. The very next time she met Amy Tyndale she would ask her about his pa
st. Once her curiosity was assuaged, she would be free to concentrate on Winslow. She must make a list of all the things she liked about Winslow. What they might have in common.

  “You’re very quiet, my dear. Are you tired?”

  “A little, Mama.”

  Chapter Five

  On Friday evening, Hope attended a rout with her parents. Her mother, showing more fortitude than was usual, had insisted her father accompany them. She refused to attend without a man on her arm. Her father reluctantly agreed after Mama’s suggestion that her sister Amelia’s husband, John, might take his place.

  “I should like to host a rout,” her mother said a trifle wistfully in the carriage on their way. “But the townhouse in Adam’s Row would be most unsuitable.”

  “Then you’ve saved yourself the effort of organizing the staff to lift the carpets and chalk the floors. And I am spared the expense,” her father snapped.

  Hope cast her mother a sympathetic smile.

  Lady Fathersham greeted them at the door of her handsome mansion in Grosvenor Square. The reception rooms had been stripped of all but the ornamental furniture. Dressed in their finery, the beau monde moved through the cleared rooms, crammed shoulder to shoulder. As Mama explained, there would be no gambling or music, although refreshment was offered in a waiting room.

  Hope longed to press a handkerchief to her nose to escape the mixture of scents, body odor, and smoky air, but it would have been rude to do so.

  For a quarter of an hour, jostled and elbowed, they wound their way through the reception rooms and back toward the entry. Then she and her parents emerged into the cool night to await their carriage. The next stop on the rout was the Rothgens’ home.

  “That was extraordinary. It reminds me of when we went to a first performance at the theatre and the foyer was crammed,” Hope said. “I see little sense in it. Why does one go to a rout?”

  Her father harrumphed.

  “The gossip that follows, I expect,” her mother said. “You have to admit they are not without drama. Lady Rowley’s daughter, Rose, fainted, and Mrs. Cunningham’s dress was ripped right off the shoulder.”

  “With all the windows and doors open, we might have been in a barn,” her father said.

  “A very glamorous one.” Mama laughed. “When you ride in the park, you shall hear all about it, Hope. There are those who delight in being squeezed into a corner with a duchess. It will provide ample conversation for at least a sennight.”

  They were driven to the next house, where the street was already filled with carriages. Hope and her parents waited half an hour for their turn to go through the whole thing again in the Rothgens’ home.

  In the crush that followed, Hope became separated from her parents by a press of bodies. She continued to edge forward, but was brought to a halt when she came up against a big body. Exasperated, she raised her gaze from the black coat and striped crimson silk waistcoat hung with fobs and a ducal seal to the face above.

  The Duc du Ténèbres smiled apologetically and bowed from the neck, which was all he could manage. “I was seeking to escape the way I’d come in, but we seem to be wedged.”

  Her mother and father were still lost somewhere behind her. Hope struggled to edge past him in the confined space. They were so close they were almost at kissing distance. At the sight of the ridge of his strong jaw above her, she quivered and studied the ornate silver buttons on his coat.

  A heavyset man halted beside Hope. When his way forward was blocked, he lost his temper and pushed against her. His foot crashed down on her instep, unprotected in her thin evening slipper. Hope cried out in pain, but the man merely ground his shoe into hers to gain momentum and pushed on.

  With an angry scowl at the man’s back, the duke took her arm and pulled her sideways. He frowned down at her. “Did he hurt you?”

  She grimaced. “My foot is a little sore.”

  Hope limped as he drew her toward the open French doors.

  When they reached the doors where the curtains flapped in the breeze, they escaped out into the cool, welcoming fresh air. The terrace was deserted. A small party of guests, who had braved the weather, disappeared amongst the trees to admire the gardens lit by braziers.

  Hope had left her evening cloak when she’d entered the mansion. She shivered and rubbed her arms. Her foot throbbed horribly, and she’d begun to hobble.

  The duke put an arm around her and led her to a garden seat. He shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders. “I’ll fetch your parents.”

  Hope clutched his coat, still warm from his body to her chest and breathed in his musky, masculine scent. “It will be difficult for you to locate them in that crush.” She looked toward the open door. “I expect they’ll soon find me.”

  “Then please allow me to see the extent of your injury.”

  Hope cautiously lifted her gown high enough to expose her foot and ankle as the duke knelt at her feet.

  She muffled a gasp as his gloved fingers took a gentle hold of her ankle and his dark head bent over her foot. Her skin tingled where he touched her. The only man who had ever paid attention to her ankle was the groom who’d taught her to ride. The duke removed her slipper, revealing an obvious swelling beneath her damaged stocking.

  “You’ll have a nasty bruise, but I don’t think you’ve broken a bone,” he said, lifting his head and pinning her with his deep, soulful dark brown eyes.

  She sucked in a breath and fought to compose herself. He didn’t look beguiled. In fact, he sounded like their doctor. She’d thought him quite sociable when they’d last danced, but tonight, there was more distance between them despite his proximity. It was impossible to know what he was thinking. She supposed she didn’t present well from this angle. She now had a big hole in her soiled stocking. “I was to ride in Hyde Park on Sunday. I suppose I shan’t be able to, now,” she said. “And I was looking forward to it.” She closed her mouth firmly, aware she was rambling.

  “I doubt this injury will prevent you. You like to ride?”

  “I do. Riding gives one a wonderful sense of freedom.”

  “Well put.”

  “Although Rotten Row is a little restricting. One cannot gallop there. My father disapproves of women galloping. He says sidesaddles are dangerous.” She pressed her lips together.

  “They have been proved so.”

  “I would love to ride astride, like men. I don’t see why women cannot.” Rambling and opinionated. She was so nervous she seemed unable to stop.

  “In the future perhaps, when you marry.” He straightened, but having him stand so close didn’t improve her breathing.

  “A husband would permit it?”

  “I don’t see why not in the privacy of his estate.”

  “Then you agree?” she asked, curiosity getting the better of her. “You would allow your wife to ride astride, I mean.”

  He paused to consider it. “It would be entirely my wife’s decision.” His smile softened the firm set of his jaw and turned his eyes to brown satin. “But I imagine you could persuade your husband without a great deal of difficulty, Lady Hope.”

  It wasn’t a criticism, for his tone was warm. He might even like her a little. In fact, his gaze was a soft caress, and oddly, it seemed to bring him closer, although he hadn’t moved an inch. A lurch of excitement shocked her and brought her back to the present. They were at a rout, surrounded by the beau monde. Her dress was rucked up, and he was holding her shoe!

  “We’d best replace your shoe before your foot swells.” The duke dropped down again and returned to his task.

  He was holding her ankle in his long fingers while slipping on her shoe when her father stormed out of the door with her mother following on his heels.

  For a moment, Hope held her breath as her father surveyed the scene. Thankfully, he did not rush to judgment. But neither was he pleased. His brows snapped together. “Thank you for rescuing my daughter from that infuriating melee, Your Grace.” He strode over to Hope
. “We feared you’d been trampled underfoot, my dear.” He eyed her foot. “It seems you have.”

  Fortunately, she and the duke were not alone, for several guests had emerged from the gardens and approached the terrace steps.

  Having replaced her shoe, the duke straightened. “Your daughter has suffered a slight injury.”

  “I’m grateful for your assistance,” Father said, his tone brisk. He whipped the duke’s coat from Hope’s shoulders and held it out to him. “Most grateful.”

  The duke shrugged into his coat. “Lady Hope finds it painful to walk.”

  “Come, Hope.” Her father took hold of her arm and led her across the terrace.

  A sharp pain shot through her instep, and she staggered. “I can’t walk, Father.”

  “Dashed infernal entertainments, so called,” her father muttered. “How on earth are we going to get through that crowd?” He swung Hope up into his arms.

  Hope held on to her father’s shoulder and peered around at the duke, who nodded to her as she was carried inside. “Thank you,” Hope mouthed.

  Her father blustered his way through the throng, which was thankfully dispersing, her mother behind them. Reaching the front porch, he set Hope on her feet. “Never ask me to attend another of these ridiculous routs again,” he said to her mother through clenched teeth. “I’d rather brave Billingsgate fish wharf.”

  “Are you overset my dear?” her mother asked. “He actually had his hand on your ankle! The French do not have the same sense of proprieties that we English do.”

  “He wore gloves, Mama.”

  “Nevertheless. He might have seen more than was fitting.”

  “He did see my foot and my ankle. I believe he will recover from the experience.”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” her father said. “Your mother is quite correct.”

  At least her parents were now in agreement.