CHAPTER 9
“ W hat is inappropriate, Your Grace, is the marriage of innocent maidens to men who have indulged in such pleasures. It is wrong that such young ladies should be surrendered at the altar to men of appetites they do not anticipate or understand,” Esmeralda said hotly. “The outcome is predictable – the bride is frightened and uncertain.” She advanced upon him, unable to halt her tirade. “Then she fails to provide satisfaction to her more worldly spouse, out of no fault of her own. It is simply ignorance, a lack of information that no one will offer to her. But she is blamed inevitably, and then her husband abandons her, returning to those clubs, to courtesans, mistresses, and whores in pursuit of his own satisfaction.”
She paced the room, fuming with every word. “And the result is both inevitable and lamentable. Their match becomes an unhappy one, and indeed, it may become an unhealthy one. More than one man returns home at intervals to do his part in conceiving an heir, often granting his wife a souvenir of his adventures. And for what cause? Because no one taught her to touch him. No one taught her how to ensure their mutual pleasure. No one taught her that she could find joy in their union as well as he.”
Esmeralda spun to face the duke, apparently astonished to silence, then flung up her hands. “Indecent and inappropriate, you say,” she repeated in a growl. “I should be the one to say as much, not you, for if marriages were happy and husbands were content, I would have no trade at all! Indeed, did you not tell me once that you would be glad if there were no courtesans? Why are you not the champion of this volume then, sir? It proposes to make your wish come true.”
The duke frowned, dismissing her argument with a wave of his hand. “Do not play games with me, Esmeralda. It cannot be your desire to eliminate your custom. You are not witless or short-sighted.”
“It is not possible to eliminate my custom. Men will always wish for what they do not have. It is the nature of the male of our kind to be discontent, and to hunger always for more.”
He was visibly startled. “You say that with disdain.”
Esmeralda surveyed him. “Is it not an inclination worthy of disdain?”
“If it were true, it might be.”
“I assure you that it is true. Men are never truly satisfied, no matter how much they call their own.”
“You think even I am discontent?”
“Of course.”
This made him bristle. “With what cause? I have been generous with you. I have come to your aid. I have retrieved your sister and made her my ward. I have brought you to my home.”
She shook her head. “Oh, do not present yourself as a champion driven only by honor, Your Grace. You have done all these things, it is true, but you have done them for one reason and one reason alone.” His eyes glittered as he watched her and she knew that if she touched him, she would find him aroused. “Even now, your desire for more determines your actions. You would command me to serve your will at your convenience. Is that not more ?”
“I thought myself in good company in that desire. Were you not pleased last night?”
“I was,” she ceded readily. “But you are the one who insisted upon truth between us. There must be honesty about the wager we have made, as well.”
“I agree.” He watched her, clearly wary now of whatever she might say.
“Then I tell you the truth. I will see this book published, no matter the cost to myself, for I believe the information within it to be vital for the happiness of women. I would make a difference. I would encourage a change in society. I would defend those who do not even know they have need of such a reference.” She took a shaking breath and confessed the rest. “I would achieve something of merit in my life other than granting physical satisfaction to a seemingly endless line of men.”
He studied her for a long moment and she wondered which part of her confession troubled him. When he spoke, she was surprised. “You will be treated as a pariah,” he said quietly.
She smiled. “Do you not think I already am, Your Grace?”
He heaved a sigh. “I would not command you, Esmeralda,” he insisted with heat. “But I would protect you, even from your own impulses. I would not see you put yourself at risk.” He lifted the sheet again. “Do you not see the repercussions that might result from the publication of such a volume?” He lifted a hand. “ Other than marital satisfaction. You could be imperiled, Esmeralda, and you cannot expect me to welcome that prospect.”
Despite herself, his words dissolved her anger. He was the only champion she had ever possessed, and she knew he did not speak idly. Deeds, after all, were more compelling than words.
“Still, I must do it.” she said quietly. “Have you never pursued an objective simply because it was right, even at a cost to yourself?”
He looked down at his leg and she followed his gaze. Of course. He had gone to war, in defense of England, and he could not have wished to go. A commission was as far from the life of pleasure he had led in London as might be. Yet he had done it.
Perhaps they were not so different after all.
He paced the room, obviously thinking, and Esmeralda wished she could read his thoughts. Instead, she struggled against her unexpected sense that they had disagreed but now would find a solution together, that they might resolve the conundrum together. That was surely too much to wish for, from anyone. She always fought her battles alone.
Or she had, until she had met the Duke of Haynesdale. How curious to consider him as a potential ally. How interesting to feel her instinctive distrust of the prospect, mingled with a yearning she could not explain.
The man addled her wits.
“Why?” he demanded abruptly, spinning to face her from across the room. There was no adversity in his tone, merely curiosity. “Why would you do this thing? You have no need to so ostracize yourself.”
His tone meant that Esmeralda chose to surrender the truth. “But I do have a need to ensure my own financial welfare.”
He frowned. “I thought you were successful, prosperous even.”
She sat down, considering him for a moment before she spoke. “Only so long as I am active in my trade.” He frowned at that but did not speak. “I grow no younger, and my trade is one that favors youth. What if I have lived only half of my measure of years? How will I survive twenty years after my retirement if I have not another trade, much less thirty?”
“So, you would become an author?”
“Others have done as much. I am not inventing the choice.”
He looked like a man who had been granted a revelation, and she liked that he did not argue that choice with her. Instead, he strode back toward her, eyes bright. “But this book. Must it be this book?”
Esmeralda smiled. “If I wish to survive from the earnings, I must write a book that people wish to read. And they do say that one should write what one knows.”
He shook his head. “I still think it ill-advised, even perilous.”
“And so you have shared your view. It will change nothing.”
“You mean to ignore my advice?”
Esmeralda nodded. “I do.”
“But I am right.”
“I do not agree.” She rose smoothly to her feet and began to gather some of the sheets of paper. “In fact, I plan to make an offering of the newer pages to the bride on the morrow, in the hope that she might provide some notes before my return to London. It is imperative, you know, to have readers consult upon the advice given in any such volume before publication, the better to ensure that its counsel is clear. That is what I must finish copying this night.”
The duke sputtered, a sound of vexation so uncharacteristic that it made Esmeralda smile despite herself.
And then he smiled himself, shaking his head. “You would challenge everything I believe to be true,” he muttered.
“Not I, sir, but I recall the sons of Viscount Addersley when they were the talk of the ton .” She granted him an expectant look.
“I do not,” he admitted warily. She admired how intently he listened to her.
“No, you had gone to war. They were rakehells beyond all others. Reckless. Inclined to issue challenges and equally inclined to win duels. They always won, which was curious.”
“I always win.”
“But you do not drink yourself to a stupor each and every night. You do not leave the club, a bottle in one hand, and ride to the duel.”
He inclined his head in agreement. “You have a theory about them.” He pulled a chair closer and lowered himself into it, running a hand absently down his wounded thigh.
“I apologize that I have kept you pacing, sir.”
“No, no, Esmeralda. It is your provocation that has prompted my improvement.” And he smiled at her, a heat in his eyes that made her throat tight. “Sometimes a challenge to one’s convictions is healthy,” he murmured, then gestured for her to continue.
She pulled her chair closer to his, liking that he claimed her hand. She liked even better when he kissed her palm. Could an argument be dispersed so readily as this? It seemed it could be, much to her astonishment.
It seemed that not only the duke had his assumptions challenged on this night.
And perhaps that was how matters should be.
Esmeralda cleared her throat, well aware that he gave her the opportunity to present her view. “They were twins. Impossible to distinguish from each other. I often wondered if one was wild and one was not, but I could never be sure. You see, it was typical to see only one at a time, in the gaming hells and clubs, drinking and gambling with abandon.”
“They might have taken turns.”
Esmeralda nodded. “And yet, at duel, both appeared to have uncommon accuracy.”
The duke’s eyes narrowed. “Excessive drinking does not often grant a steady hand.”
“No, it does not.” Esmeralda shook her head. “It was rumored that they traded places. I wondered if one savored the pleasures of a rakehell life and the other defended their honor at duel.” She watched him consider this then nod agreement.
“It could have been thus.”
“Then there was a tragedy. One was to inherit the title and his marriage was arranged. A solemn little chit.”
“And that was a problem?”
“She was very serious, the kind of woman who loves once and with all her being.”
“You knew this…how?”
“I did not know it. It was an impression, no more than that. She and I did not meet, but I noticed the way she watched him. There was a hunger in it, perhaps a desperation. And yet other times, her response to him was almost indifferent, yet polite.”
“Trading places,” the duke murmured and she smiled that he had come to the same conclusion as she.
“She flung herself into peril at one duel, apparently hoping to defend her betrothed, and was instead killed herself.”
“God in Heaven,” he whispered. “Did she have siblings?”
Esmeralda shook her head and he caught his breath. She took a breath, knowing she had to ask. “Which son will wed on the morrow?”
“Joshua, the older twin,” he provided immediately and with reassuring confidence. “He was his father’s heir. The other was rumored to have died at Waterloo but in truth returned here and died just weeks ago.”
Esmeralda tilted her head to study him. “Are you certain which one died?”
“Yes.”
“Are you certain that only the deceased twin had a taste for revels?”
“Yes.” But even as he uttered the word, the duke frowned as if reconsidering. “Their father was a spymaster,” he said quietly, his gaze rising to hers. “They might have been raised to keep secrets well.”
Esmeralda sighed. “And what is this bride to discover when she has bound her life to this man, a man who once savored the revels of London with abandon? Will she satisfy him? Will their match be a contented one? Or will he abandon her by the autumn to return to London, leaving her alone?”
“It is not for me to say, or to influence.” She heard the hesitation in his words and welcomed that his view softened.
“But I can help her and I will.”
“I do not agree with the wisdom of your impulse.” His tone was gentler now, more of an appeal than a command.
“Rely upon it, sir, if I have to walk across the fields to Addersley, wherever it might be, I will do as much.”
He almost smiled. “But he is said to be smitten with Miss Emerson, and she has a merriment in her own right.”
“All the better to grant her the tools to win his heart in truth.”
The duke averted his gaze, clearly struggling with her view, and she moved toward him. She knew this could not be easy for him, this man so accustomed to command and privilege, and she was honored that he strove to find a compromise with her.
Surely that could only be a good sign.
When his throat worked but he did not glance her way, she placed her hand upon his thigh. His muscles tightened beneath her hand and his gaze flicked to her immediately. He was impassive, his eyes gleaming, his expression inscrutable. There was an intensity about him, that watchfulness she found so alluring, and Esmeralda smiled. She had never known a more attractive man, to be sure.
Her voice when she spoke was soft. “I appreciate that you listen, sir, even to views of which you do not approve.”
He lifted a brow, looking wicked and unpredictable himself. “Does that mean we no longer disagree?”
“I would rather we did not.”
“As would I.” He reached for her then, sweeping her into his arms and settling her in his lap. Now his thoughts were easily read, for he was clearly as glad to have her in his arms as she was to be there. “Perhaps we might find a compromise,” he murmured, then eased aside her robe and pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder.
She smiled, watching her fingertips trail down his chest. His heart thundered in anticipation and she felt his pulse leap beneath her hand. “I might do my copying later,” she suggested and his smile flashed.
“Do not surrender the battle so readily, Esmeralda, lest you lose the war.”
“I do not surrender. I find a middle ground.”
“Do you then?”
“I like that we have the honesty between us which you requested. That is no small thing. Perhaps it merits a small celebration.” She untied the belt of his robe, then opened it to survey him. It was clear that he was amenable to her suggestion and she met his gaze steadily. “What do you like? That we argued? That I disagreed with you?”
“Never that. It is solely that you are with me,” he admitted, his voice turning husky as her hands trailed over his skin. “That you touch me. It is your presence that fires my blood.”
“Surely it is more than that.” Her hand passed through the hair on his chest, her fingertips sliding over his nipple so that it tightened in response, then she kissed it sweetly, giving it a little tug that made him moan aloud. She could not resist the opportunity to prove her own point.
“And what if I did not know how to do this?” she whispered, his skin warm against her lips.
“I would still desire you.”
“But how can it be wrong, indecent, or inappropriate to make this encounter more than it might otherwise be?” she asked, flicking her tongue against his nipple as she leaned closer to tease him. His hand rose to her nape, his strong fingers tangling in her hair. His other arm might have locked around her waist to pull her close, but she trailed kisses down his chest, her destination so evident that he tipped his head back in anticipation of her sweet kiss.
“Unless you would prefer that I stop?” she murmured and he almost laughed.
“You know I would not,” he rumbled.
“I could show you how an innocent might greet you abed,” she threatened, her lips sweetly teasing him.
“Like a corpse, no doubt. I need no such example.”
Esmeralda lifted her head, teasing him with the tip of her tongue. “Or I could show you the merit of a partner possessed of the knowledge of what to do.”
“You torment me apurpose, Esmeralda.”
“I do. For I would have you cede the merit of my plan.”
“And if I do?” There was humor in his tone. “You know I would not wish for you to stop on any account.”
She laughed lightly, turning her head so her hair flowed across his erection. She knew it was a most exquisite caress. “You will be rewarded, of course.”
The duke smiled at her, a lazy sensual smile that left his approval of that notion in no doubt. “I might be difficult to convince,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with mischief.
“Oh, I hope so,” Esmeralda replied. “Though I do feel very persuasive, Your Grace.”
“I can only hope I survive.”
He watched, eyes bright, as she took him in her mouth, her own gaze unswerving. He gripped the desk and braced his feet against the floor, his hand still in her hair and his gaze locked upon her. He did not move away, though, nor did he thrust himself upon her. He let her set the pace and choose their path. Esmeralda could only admire that. She gave him one long stroke, and then another, before she pulled back to consider him, her hand assuming the task. “What of that passage you read? Would you review it and its merit?”
“You would be my captive?” His interest in that prospect was evident, but Esmeralda shook her head.
“Oh no, I find no delight in that game. But you, a man in possession of every asset, you might find it thrilling to be restrained.” She let her smile turn wicked as she spoke boldly. “I should like to see you strain against your bonds, sir.”
He swallowed and frowned, averting his gaze, even as his erection revealed the appeal of the idea. “Never,” he said softly. “I share your objections to that manner of frolic.”
“Then we shall have to find another game,” she said and bent over him again. He caught his breath audibly and she felt only delight that he responded so well to her touch.
Perhaps their union might endure longer than this interval, after all.
It was a glorious day for a wedding, a spring morning that could not have been more perfect. Esmeralda regretted the need for her disguise, as it was heavy and warm. This sunlit day with clear skies called for a froth of a spring dress, flowers in one’s hair, and the most delightful of beribboned bonnets. Instead, she clambered into her padded garments with Ophelia’s help and pulled the thick gloves over her hands. They did look suitably gnarled and arthritic with the additional padding in the gloves. Ophelia pulled back her hair and secured the matted wig in place. She swathed Esmeralda in tattered and stained veils with fearsome speed, and Esmeralda watched herself be transformed into a woman many decades her senior.
Did this feint hint at the future that awaited her? A life as an unattractive crone, one without sufficient funds to see herself clothed and fed? It was a glorified manner of begging to invite oneself to the country houses of those aristocrats with whom she had a passing acquaintance. Although Mrs. Oliver was an act, there were details of her circumstance that had their roots in the truth – or at least in possibilities.
The duke had left her after only one encounter the night before, insisting that she see to her book. She appreciated his choice and had worked until three – when he had tapped on the door and insisted she sleep. As a result, she had awakened late, but the book pages had been copied and she hoped the bride made good use of them.
Ophelia, ever cheerful and efficient, fixed a rubber wart to the nose of her mask and another to the cheek, then helped Esmeralda to her feet. “I took the book to the driver who was delivering Lady Haynesdale’s roses to Addersley this morning,” she confessed. “I told him it was a gift for the bride, and he vowed to deliver it.”
“Could anyone see what it was?”
“No. I asked the housekeeper if she might have a box, then wrapped it in that in a length of floral muslin. It looked quite pretty.”
Esmeralda studied the actress pretending to be her maid. “And whence came the muslin?”
Ophelia flushed. “I brought it with me, thinking I might try my hand at sewing while we were here. I wagered there would be some quiet evenings.”
“And now you are without it. I will see that it is replaced, if not here then when we return to London.”
“You need not, Esmeralda…”
“But I will. It is only right, Perkins.” She spoke gruffly as Mrs. Oliver might, using Ophelia’s chosen name for her part. It was an impulsive choice and proved to be a good one, for the duke tapped upon the connecting door in that moment. He opened it without invitation, his brows rising at the sight of her.
Truly, the man looked more hale every day. She wondered how much credit she could take for the change in his manner. The man would find himself surrounded by even more eligible ladies if he ever returned to town.
There was a thought that Esmeralda could have done without. She turned away from his perceptive gaze, wondering how she would fare when she saw him first with another lady on his arm.
That day had yet to come, at least.
“Excellent,” he said softly. “My concern that you might not be prepared in time was unjustified then.” He shook his head slightly. “It should be a crime to wear such a ghastly shade of grey to a wedding.”
Esmeralda cackled and wheezed, then made one of her crooked curtsies.
He grinned at her, then bowed and took his leave. The key turned audibly in the lock of the door. Moments later, there was a knock upon the door to the corridor. “Mrs. Oliver?” the duke said. “We intend to depart shortly for the church. Are you joining us?”
“Ha!” Esmeralda cried. “I would never miss a wedding!” She thumped her cane loudly en route to the door, and Perkins opened it for her. “Mind you keep yourself out of trouble on this day,” Esmeralda advised the younger woman, who curtsied dutifully. “There is no greater peril to a decent young woman than a handsome footman with time on his hands.”
“I assure you, Mrs. Oliver, that every servant engaged in my household has duties this day.”
“Ha! And I assure you, Your Grace, that I could uncover tales about each and every one of them. All that task requires is diligence.”
“Then we shall have to agree to disagree, Mrs. Oliver,” he replied calmly. “Considerable research governs the selection of every soul in this house, and Farrell ensures that every visiting maid can be confident of her safety.”
“We shall see,” Esmeralda said darkly, noting how the butler’s lips tightened. The discussion had not been an idle one, for she had been concerned that Ophelia might find herself cornered. The younger woman was more practical than most and experienced in defending her own virtue, thanks to her employment at the theater, but she was on unfamiliar ground and Esmeralda would allow no one to take advantage of her.
She allowed herself the thrill of taking the duke’s elbow, of feeling his heat so close to her side and inhaling the scent of his cologne. If circumstances had permitted, she would not have minded a morning interval with him on this day.
“I trust you slept well, Mrs. Oliver,” he said, the rumble of his voice in his chest vibrating against her arm. She could only think of that same rumble against her breasts when they were skin to skin, and wished this day might be over with haste.
“Well enough. Those wretched cats in your garden were quieter last night, which was a mercy.”
“They were indeed subdued,” he noted. “Though I cannot promise you that the situation will continue. Last night, I believe, might have been the exception rather than a new rule.”
Esmeralda glanced up at him in time to catch his quick conspiratorial smile. “I do not know how you bear it, Your Grace. Such noxious creatures should be silenced for the good of the entire household. I have no doubt your mother would agree.”
“It is entirely likely that you are correct, Mrs. Oliver,” he ceded with a chuckle.