Page 16 of Courting Scandal With The Duke

X avier perused the note from the tenant who had rented the small cottage in Chelsea that he and Perry had discussed.

She thanked him for his kindnesses over the years and regretted that she could not renew her lease, but she intended to move in with family.

She had been a nice old dear and he had often called in on her on his way to town to drop off the odd basket of apples or potatoes.

It was a shame she had left. It was difficult to find good tenants. With a sigh, he added the matter to the list of things to discuss with his man of business.

His butler scratched at the door and entered with a letter on a silver tray. ‘Hand delivered, Your Grace. The footman said it was urgent.’

It was from Mrs Simon, cancelling his engagement to drive Miss Simon in the park the next day.

Apparently, Miss Simon had contracted measles from her younger brother, who had visited them the previous week.

The family would be retiring to their home in Derbyshire until Miss Simon was well again.

Mrs Simon hoped the Duke would not contract the disease and looked forward to renewing their acquaintance later in the Season.

Measles.

Had he had them?

He was pretty sure he recalled having spots at some point or other. Yes. He was positive, now he thought about it. He had measles when he was eight.

Poor Miss Simon. And now it seemed any prospect of an engagement, should that be his decision, would of necessity be delayed.

A feeling of lightness buoyed his spirits. As if some burden had been lifted from his shoulders. A sense of reprieve.

A disturbing response to a postponement of his plans.

He straightened his shoulders. He had decided it was time he settled down and he could procrastinate no longer. And so it would be. Miss Simon would return in two or three weeks and things would move forward.

Swiftly, he crafted a note to Mrs Simon expressing his regret and hoping for a speedy recovery for her daughter.

In the absence of Perry, who had gone on leave to visit his family, he would have to visit the florist himself to arrange for a bouquet of flowers to be sent to the afflicted damsel.

What of the Countess? Had she been informed? She had been in pretty close quarters with the young woman at the Simons’ open house the other day.

Mrs Simon’s note gave no indication that she had informed anyone else.

He penned a second note advising the Countess of Miss Simon’s illness. It looked impersonal, clinical, without emotion and rather officious.

Perhaps it would be preferable to deliver the information in person, during a casual conversation. He glanced at the clock. Far too early for morning calls.

He would go to his club and visit the Countess a little later, before she had a chance to set out on morning calls of her own, but not so early as to signal over-eagerness on his part.

Or perhaps he should simply assume Mrs Simon would have communicated with the Countess.

Damnation! He was dithering like a schoolboy hoping to catch a glimpse of the Latin master’s wife.

He called for his coat and hat. He needed some sensible male conversation about politics or farming or…anything.

On his way, he dropped in at the nearest florist, picked out a variety of hothouse flowers, wrote a suitable card to Miss Simon and stepped out into the street.

The day was cooler than it should be for this time of year, and black clouds threatened yet another downpour. The wind tugged at his hat forcing him to keep a hand on it as he strode down St James’s Street.

For a moment, he refused to believe what his eyes told him was true. A woman he recognised instantly as the Countess, standing in front of Boodle’s, waving. Did she not realise where she was?

He hurried to her side. ‘My Lady.’ He sounded breathless .

She turned gazed at him with an expression of surprise. ‘Your Grace. Imagine meeting you here.’

He stepped between her and the view from Boodle’s windows. ‘Imagine,’ he said dryly. ‘I am on my way to my club. More to the point, what are you doing? This is St James’s. You ought not to be here.’

‘My brother-in-law, Charles, is in there. I need to speak with him urgently and the porter refused to take a message. What else was I to do?’

He gazed at her in astonishment. ‘Ladies do not visit gentlemen’s clubs.’ He could not help sounding scandalised.

‘This is an emergency. I went to his lodgings first, but they said he had come here.’

She went to a bachelor’s lodgings? Here? In St James’s? If she had been seen…her reputation would never recover.

A vision of her calling at his house flashed across his mind. He imagined himself pulling her inside his front door and…kissing her. Hard.

His body heated at the thought. Damn it all. What was he thinking? Furious with his own lack of control, he glared at her. ‘Great heavens, woman, do you have no sense? Do you not care about your reputation?’

Her gaze widened in astonishment, but somehow, he had the sense of amusement lurking in the depths of her eyes. ‘Of course I do.’

‘It doesn’t seem like it.’

‘Can you give a message to the Count for me?’

‘First let us leave here. Then we will discuss next steps.’

He took her by the arm and drew her back the way he had come.

She tugged her arm free. ‘You cannot tell me what to do.’

‘For goodness’ sake, don’t be a little fool.’ He caught her arm again. ‘Walk with me.’ This time she did not pull away. ‘It wouldn’t be so bad if you had brought a maid or a footman. Let us hope no one saw you.’

‘Someone did,’ she said cheerfully. ‘A man waved back. I was hoping he would come outside to ask me what I wanted.’

Devil take it. ‘Didn’t your aunt tell you that St James’s is out of bounds for any woman of good breeding?’

They turned onto Piccadilly. A man with a tray of pies balanced on his head dodged around them.

‘I really do not see why you are so annoyed,’ she said, waving off a lass selling lavender. ‘I simply needed to speak to my relative. And besides, you said that as long as I did not commit a crime or run off with a married man, I need not worry.’

He held on to his temper. ‘Clearly, I was wrong to think you had a smidgeon of common sense. If you were recognised, you might as well leave town right now. Any woman sighted on St James’s will be seen as beyond the pale of good Society. No hostess will accept your presence.’

An odd expression he could not read passed across her face. ‘Are you sure? ’

‘Positive. As a chaperone, your aunt is worse than useless.’

‘Do not say such things.’ For once she sounded truly concerned. ‘You must not blame Aunt Lenore. I will not have it. I am at fault for my own mistakes.’

He glanced around. What the devil was he to do? ‘Walk with me in the park where we can speak freely.’

‘Do you think you should? Won’t talking to me tarnish your reputation also?’ She threw the words at him like a challenge.

He grimaced. ‘Unlikely.’

‘Because you are a duke.’

He nodded. It wasn’t fair, but there it was.

They strolled along the Queen’s Walk in Green Park.

He looked about him for somewhere they could talk without the chance of being overheard.

He guided her across the lawn to a large oak tree with branches that dipped low, providing a bit of a screen.

It wasn’t ideal and they could not stay here long.

‘I think you are making a great fuss about nothing,’ she said dismissively, gazing up into the branches above her head.

His ire rose once more. ‘Listen to me, you little fool, you are one whisper away from ruin. Do you not understand this?’

She backed up until the trunk halted her progress, clearly surprised by his anger.

She frowned at him. ‘What does it matter to you?’

What indeed? It shouldn’t matter at all, but for some reason it did. ‘You asked me for advice. Now I am giving it.’

‘Then what are you suggesting?’

‘It all depends on whether or not you were recognised.’ He removed his hat and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Why the devil would anyone think going to a gentleman’s club would not be a problem?’

Defiance filled her gaze. A dare. A challenge. ‘In Paris a lady is welcome everywhere.’

He stepped closer, forcing her to raise her gaze to his face, reminding her that for all that she was tall, he was taller. Larger.

Her soft lips parted on a breath. Her eyelids dropped a fraction. Her chest rose and fell with short sharp breaths.

His heart pounded in his chest. His blood, a moment before warm with anger, now ran like fire through his veins. Desire.

Only by ironclad will did he restrain from unbearable temptation.

‘I—’

She raised her palm, face out as if holding him at bay.

He took a breath.

Her hand pressed against his chest, then slid upwards, around his nape, and she went up on tiptoes and pressed her mouth to his.

Luscious, soft lips moving slowly.

He pulled her close, responding to her touch in a blinding instant, ravishing her mouth, stroking her back, pulling her close and hard against his body .

For a moment his mind was blank, but his body was alive as it had never been before. Out of control.

He pulled back.

Gasping, they stared at each other.

Her fingertips touch her full soft lips. ‘Oh,’ she whispered. ‘My word.’

Ashamed, that he had let his desire control him, he glanced down at his hat lying on the grass at his feet. He must have dropped it.

Barbara’s heart pounded so hard she could scarcely breathe. She wanted to twirl, to laugh, to skip. All she could actually manage, given the trembling in her legs, was to brace herself against the rough bark of the tree trunk behind her.

She had never felt quite so giddy.

The Duke, on the other hand, looked positively appalled.

Shocked from his head to his toes.

But he had kissed her back. Most definitely he had, and with unmistakable ardour.

He bent and picked up his hat.

When he straightened, he stared at it as if he had never seen it before, turning it by the brim. Finally, he looked at her with a shamefaced expression. ‘I beg your pardon.’