Page 13 of Hazardous to a Duke’s Heart (Lords of Hazard #1)

T hat evening, Tory stood before the duchess and Chloe in the drawing room at Falcon House, nervously awaiting their opinion. Both were taking way too long to speak as they looked her over.

The duchess cleared her throat, then dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “Oh, my dear, you’re gorgeous in that gown. I’m so delighted your father thought of giving you a dowry. I can’t wait to show you off to my friends. I daresay you will impress everyone in the theater.”

Though the duchess’s kind words were gratifying, the only person Tory wished to impress was Jon, and he’d already sent word he would see them at the play, so they weren’t even traveling to the theater together.

“If I hadn’t seen you try that gown on myself yesterday,” Chloe said, “I would scarcely believe you had the same one on! I told you Mrs. Linley would turn it into something amazing once she removed the trim and fussy bits. That fabric is gorgeous, but also simple and elegant. We’re lucky she’d already had a dress half-done in your size that her other client hadn’t been able to pay for.”

“We’re lucky she had a color that suited me,” Tory countered. “A good dressmaker can fix size but color . . .”

“True. And that soft shade of lilac always looks so good on you. It would turn me as gray as a goose.” Chloe circled Tory slowly. “I do love how low the back is! Perfection. Not to mention the cap sleeves.”

Tory sighed. “I wish the skirt weren’t so short. When I sit, it shows my ankles.”

“That’s the fashion these days, my dear,” the duchess said. “I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“And you have nice ankles, anyway,” Chloe put in.

“So do you,” Tory said.

“Not that it will matter much at the theater,” Chloe said. “No one will notice our ankles while we’re sitting in rows of chairs in a box.”

“True.” Tory glanced down at her bodice. “You don’t think the gown is cut too low, do you?” Though to be honest, Jon was certain to think it perfect, given his interest in touching her bosom this morning. Which, of course, she must never let him do again.

Never. Even if it had felt like the most daringly sensual moment in her life.

Turning to her mother, Chloe asked, “Mama? What do you think? Is the neckline too low?”

“Oh, pish,” the duchess said, with a wave of her hand. “You catch more beaus with honey than with vinegar.”

“It’s certainly better than catching flies with honey,” Chloe said, winking at Tory.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe,” the duchess said. “Why would anyone wish to catch flies? It’s beaus you want to catch, and showing a bit of your feminine attributes is sure to help.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Tory said, hiding her smile. “You’ve reassured me admirably.”

“And those lilac slippers you and Chloe bought today are perfect with the gown. I had my doubts, but they match better than I imagined they would.”

“They really do, don’t they?” Chloe said. “I picked those out. It’s always nice to buy shoes for Tory—her feet aren’t my gigantic ones.”

“Your feet aren’t gigantic,” Tory protested. “They’re simply larger than mine.”

“Oh, no,” Chloe’s mother said with a sniff. “Chloe does have her father’s feet. Nothing to be done about that. But she also has an elegant nose, and that makes up for it. Gentlemen hardly notice feet, but they always prefer elegant noses.”

Did they? In Tory’s experience, they seemed to prefer shapely figures more than anything. Besides, what made a nose elegant?

Tory shook her head. This was precisely why she hadn’t wanted to go husband-hunting in Society. She had never understood the rules of the courtship game, and she preferred games where she did. She’d much rather sit and sculpt than try to find a husband, thank you very much.

Although if a certain person were to court her in truth . . .

No, that wouldn’t work, either. She could only imagine Jon’s reaction to Cyril. If anyone understood what was expected of a duke, it was Jon, and he wouldn’t wish to risk having an heir who might be . . . not quite right in the head, no matter how much she explained that Cyril’s difficulties had begun during birth.

His mother certainly wouldn’t want him to risk it. She was always commenting on the stupidity of some of Chloe’s suitors, which was precisely why Tory had never introduced the duchess or Chloe to her little brother.

“We should go, ladies,” the duchess said. “We’ll want time to chat with Diana and her husband beforehand. And you both shall want to flirt with any gentlemen who come to the box before the play begins.”

“Most definitely,” Chloe said with a knowing look at Tory, who’d already told her that Jon had promised to invite his friends. “Personally, I’m looking forward to the play, too. I’ve never had the chance to view The Beggar’s Opera . It should be great fun!”

Privately, Tory agreed. She was as pleased to be seeing the famous satire on Italian opera as to be meeting people she didn’t know, gentlemen or otherwise.

Well, except for Jon’s friends. She did want to meet them , mostly because she was hoping to find out more about their time at Bitche. Jon didn’t seem to enjoy talking about it much.

The three of them had just turned for the door when Jon walked in.

“Jon!” the duchess exclaimed. “I thought you weren’t coming here before the play.”

He didn’t answer at first, just stood there gaping at Tory and making her self-conscious.

“You look amazing,” he said in a husky voice, his gaze gleaming bright as he skimmed her gown. Then he finally seemed to realize his sister and mother were watching with great interest, for he hastily added, “All of you look stunning.”

“Why are you here?” Chloe asked, examining his decidedly casual clothing with a frown. “Please tell me you aren’t planning to bow out.”

“No, no, I’m going, but I stopped at the tailor’s to pick up my new evening attire. Can you wait for me to dress? It won’t take long.”

His mother sniffed. “I suppose. You can’t wear that , to be sure.”

As he hurried out, Tory sighed. She was dying to know what the solicitor had said. Sadly, she would have to wait to get him alone, since the pertinent part for her of his discussion with Mr. Trimnell was how much leeway there was in Papa’s bequest. That couldn’t be discussed around the duchess and Chloe.

A short while later, he returned and they were on their way to the Theatre-Royal in Haymarket. Jon sat opposite her by the carriage door, with his mother next to him and Chloe next to Tory. The sun hadn’t gone down, and it streamed into the carriage, making them all a bit warm. Tory removed her shawl, then caught Jon staring at her neckline before he jerked his gaze up.

That was rather gratifying.

Meanwhile, he looked delicious in appropriate evening attire. After having felt the muscles in his arms in the art room as he’d held her this morning, she could almost imagine she saw them through his well-fitted black tailcoat. Certainly, his white, figured waistcoat admirably showcased his broad chest.

And those white breeches and stockings! He had the most muscular calves she’d ever seen on a gentleman, probably from all that walking he’d done leaving France. Due to his height and the closeness of the space, his knees were pressed against hers, and she fancied she could feel them even through her gown and petticoat.

The only peculiarity in his attire was a curious-looking flat and round black thing on his lap.

“Oh, Jon,” Chloe cried, “you have one of those new opera hats with the springs in them, don’t you? I’ve heard of those. Do let me see.”

“Only if you don’t destroy it,” he said, chuckling as he handed it over. “They’re called ‘elastic round hats.’ Or chapeau claque , if you prefer, because of the clicking sound they make when they’re opened.”

Tory and Chloe spent the next few minutes popping the hat open to top hat size, then flattening it again.

“It’s as practical as a chapeau bras ,” Chloe said, “but so much more attractive. Those look as if someone is wearing a boat on his head.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time I wish to don a bicorne,” Jon drawled. “Although the hatter informed me that the chapeau bras is going out of fashion anyway.”

“Of course, it is,” Chloe said. “They look ridiculous. Besides, these new opera hats have handy little ribbons to keep the hat closed, making it much easier to tuck it under a carriage or theater seat.”

To demonstrate, she bent to fit it under their seat.

“Stop that!” her mother cried. “You’ll get it dirty.”

“Mother has a point,” Jon said as he bent to retrieve it. But he took his time straightening again because . . .

Oh, Lord, he was staring at Tory’s exposed ankles.

Heat rose in her cheeks. It didn’t matter that Chloe’s dress was of the same length as hers or that Tory’s ankles were covered with white stockings—Tory still felt exposed. Nor did the feeling go away when Jon settled back against the seat to fix his intent gaze on her face.

How unnerving. She couldn’t look away. Everything they’d done this morning came flooding back, and as if he remembered it, too, his gaze dipped to her bodice, and desire flared in his features.

Her heart thundered in her ears. What was he doing? Why did he persist in these flirtations?

If one could even call them that. They were more like sensual reminders of their private moments together that he kept bestowing on her like so many rose petals scattered on the grass.

It made her want to do the same to him just to test her own power over him. Taking out her handkerchief, she blotted the tops of her breasts. “It’s very warm in here, considering that we’ve had quite a cold June until now. I do hope it won’t be too warm in the theater.”

“I doubt it will,” Chloe said. “Although, to be honest, I prefer the warmth to the cold any day.”

“On that, we agree,” Jon said as his gaze hungrily followed the motion of Tory’s hands. “I had enough of the cold in France. Both Verdun and Bitche were in the mountains on the northern border.”

Then he caught her watching him watch her. Stiffening, he turned his attention to his sister, who obliged him by asking how they’d dealt with the cold in prison.

He shrugged. “We wore all our clothes at once. And they did let us have coals occasionally to cook our meals in the grate, although there was never enough for us to warm our cells at night, too. Besides, the windows high above us were open to the weather, so trying to warm our cells was useless anyway.”

The way he said such things so nonchalantly broke her heart. How had he endured the contrast between his cell at Bitche and the memory of his palatial surroundings at Falcon House? He must have missed his home so much.

Papa must have done so, too. The thought made her tear up, forcing her to dab at her eyes with her handkerchief. But if Jon noticed, he didn’t show it, for he was now gazing out the window at London’s streets.

“I wonder if I’ll ever get used to how much the city has changed,” Jon said absently. “I feel like a stranger in my own land.”

“Ah, but at least you’re among friends,” Tory pointed out.

“And family,” Chloe put in. “If you wish, I’d be happy to take you on a tour of the city so you can see everything new.”

“Thanks, Mopsy.”

She lifted an eyebrow at him. “You’re welcome, Bonny Jonny.”

When he groaned, his mother and sister laughed.

Tory grinned. “Am I allowed to use these pet names, too?”

All she got were glares from the two siblings. Now it was her turn to laugh.

They soon arrived at the theater, and Jon climbed down to help the ladies out. She was the first to step down and painfully aware of her gloved hand in his, especially when he squeezed it before turning to help his mother. But even when he was no longer touching her, she couldn’t stop being aware of his every motion—how he snapped the hat open to place it on his head, how he smiled at his sister, how he spoke to the footman in a tone of command, as if he’d been a duke all his life.

While the three women waited for Jon, the footman pointed to something in the carriage, and with a nod Jon reached in to get it. To Tory’s embarrassment, it was her lace shawl. Apparently, she’d been so focused on him that she’d left it behind, just as she’d done in the art room earlier with her other one. Lord, he was sure to think her an absolute widgeon if she kept leaving things everywhere.

He approached and, as before, draped her shawl over her shoulders himself instead of handing it to her. She felt every whisper of his hand settling it into place, every light touch as he smoothed the lacy fabric. Her skin came alive wherever he touched her. Thankfully, once he was done, he moved to escort his mother into the theater ahead of her and Chloe.

Chloe moved closer to whisper, “You and Jon are becoming quite chummy.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Tory answered, hoping her cheeks weren’t blazing bright. “He’s just being polite.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is ‘attentive,’ and it’s not the same at all.”

No, it wasn’t. But until she figured out Jon’s game, she didn’t know what to think about it, let alone do about it.

They’d just entered the theater lobby when Jon was greeted by two handsome gentlemen.

“Lord Heathbrook!” the duchess said before her son could speak a word. “How good to see you again. I confess I will forever have a special place in my heart for you since you brought Jon’s letter to us.”

Ah, so these were Jon’s friends. Chloe leaned close to whisper, “The Earl of Heathbrook is quite attractive, isn’t he?”

He was, indeed, with his black hair and green eyes and roguish smile, the full force of which he now bestowed on the duchess, who fluttered her fan coquettishly.

But it was the other man who interested Tory more. His attractions—a head full of chestnut-brown wavy hair, warm brown eyes, and a military bearing that showed in every inch of his lean frame—were more understated than the earl’s but every bit as potent. Most importantly, his gaze was fixed on Chloe and had been from the moment they approached.

How very interesting, especially considering that he and Chloe had never met as far as Tory knew. When Jon introduced his mother to him, Tory learned that the man’s name was Captain Scovell.

“Scovell, Scovell . . .” the duchess said, holding out her hand for him to take. “Oh, wait. You’re one of the Marquess of Glencraig’s sons, aren’t you? The one who is a naval officer?”

“I am indeed,” the captain said, bowing over her hand. “Did you know my father?”

“I did, back in my day. I was very sad when I heard he’d died. But I understand that your eldest brother inherited the title and the estate. You’re, what, your father’s third son?”

“Second son now,” Captain Scovell said. “My elder brother, William, died not too long ago. Now there are just four of us.”

“Still, that’s a lot of sons.” When the duchess eyed him consideringly, Tory bit back a smile, knowing exactly what the duchess was thinking—that the captain was now next to inherit the title. Assuming that his oldest brother hadn’t had any heirs of his own and didn’t live to a ripe old age.

“Is your eldest brother . . . married?” the duchess asked.

Captain Scovell smiled. “I daresay Your Grace knows he is. A woman of your obvious stature probably also knows he hasn’t sired an heir yet.”

The duchess cast him an assessing look, then looked over at Jon. “You didn’t tell me that your friends are so clever, my dear.”

“We had to be to survive Bitche,” the earl put in. “Eh, Falconridge?”

Jon darted a glance at Tory, for no reason she could see. Then he introduced Chloe to Captain Scovell, who gave the man her usual placid smile, clearly saving her genuine ones for the earl. But Captain Scovell didn’t seem to mind, since he continued to stare at her with unveiled interest.

Next, Jon introduced Tory to his two friends as his sister’s former governess. The second the name Victoria Morris left Jon’s lips, Lord Heathbrook gave a start. “You’re Morris’s daughter? Jon, why didn’t you tell us you’d already met Morris’s daughter?”

“Didn’t I say so?” Jon remarked, avoiding her gaze.

“You know perfectly well you did not,” Captain Scovell told Jon, then offered her his hand. “Miss Morris, your father was a man we all respected greatly. We were devastated when he died.”

She pressed his hand with a smile. “Thank you for saying so. That means a great deal.”

The earl held out his hand, too. “Morris was a fine fellow, and a man we were proud to call a friend.”

As she took his hand, tears started in her eyes despite her efforts to restrain them. “I’m just glad he had friends like you three at the end.”

“We join you in mourning him,” the captain said. “He was a very decent fellow.” He shot Jon a veiled look. “But I’m curious, Miss Morris, to hear how you came to be Lady Chloe’s governess.”

Tory smiled at Jon’s mother. “The duchess was kind enough to give me a position after my mother died.”

“ Mrs. Morris is dead?” the earl exclaimed. “Jon, you really are quite the secretive fellow, aren’t you? You couldn’t even tell us about that ?”

“I didn’t get the chance the last time I saw you, remember?” Jon bit out. “We were discussing other things.”

Both men looked at him and got quiet.

“I forgot that,” the earl said. “Yes, other things.”

“Right,” Captain Scovell said.

The three men shared a covert look.

“I see that His Grace is not the only one who’s secretive,” Tory said.

“Forgive us, Miss Morris,” the captain said. “We have a great deal to do now that we’re back in England, and that requires much discussion. But tonight, we’d rather enjoy our delightful company.” He held out his arm to her. “May I?”

“I’d be honored,” Tory said.

Lord Heathbrook offered his arm to Chloe, who smiled back at Tory as she took it. After hesitating a moment to dart a glance at Tory himself, Jon took his mother’s arm. Then the three couples trooped toward the stairs.

“May I ask you something, Miss Morris?” Captain Scovell said as they walked.

“Of course.”

He nodded to where Lord Heathbrook and Chloe were talking as if they’d known each other all their lives. “Does Lady Chloe have a suitor?”

Tory figured she should be truthful. “She’s had several. At present, I’m not sure who is top of the list.”

“Ah.”

“Your friend there seems to have gained her attention handily,” Tory said. “If you’re seeking to court her, you might have to compete with him.”

The captain chuckled. “I’m not worried about Heathbrook. He charms every woman he meets, but I’ve yet to see one capture his heart.” He stared down at her. “I hope Lady Chloe’s own heart isn’t already engaged.”

“No,” Tory said. “ She charms every man she meets. She and your friend are probably too much alike in that.”

“She’s not the only woman who charms men,” he said, patting her hand.

Tory recognized flattery when she heard it. “Thank you, but I’m under no illusions on that score. Few gentlemen in Society are interested in former governesses.”

“You might be surprised,” he said.

Tory decided that she liked this friend of Jon’s. He had a way of making her feel at ease. She never felt that way with Jon. Excited, yes. Fully engaged, yes. But at ease? Hardly.

They were nearly to the box when it dawned on Tory that her new friend might answer one question Jon had been evading.

“Now I have something to ask you ,” she said. “How, exactly, did you three end up in Bitche prison? Every time I ask the duke about it, he changes the subject.”

“That’s odd. It’s no great secret, I would think. We were sent to Bitche after we tried to escape from Verdun.”