Chapter 6

A week later, Dru had given up on Oliver. She had gone to bed every night reliving their kiss, the way he’d held her so close. She tried to imagine what it would be like to share a bed with him. Or a couch, for that matter. Or a table. She wasn’t so innocent as to believe all personal relations happened in the bedchamber.

And the proof of passion was around her every day. Even her brother Darius, who brought his partner to dinner that week, was deeply in love. When nobody, least of all Darius, had believed such a thing possible, by dint of a few sacrifices Darius had found bliss. Although Dru could not begin to understand what he shared with Andrew Grey. Some things were beyond even her vivid imagination. For all she knew, they did not share a bed or engage in the most intimate of exchanges.

While society and the church disapproved what Darius had done, Dru had grown up seeing her brother grow ever more unhappy and distant. Now he’d returned to the carefree boy she had played with in their youth, happy and fulfilled in his new life. Again, the Shaws had skirted scandal and escaped the cut direct, the way society sliced someone out of its midst. If they had done that, the family would have followed them. Because of their wealth and influence, society tolerated them.

Such reminders only served to make Dru more uncomfortable as the week wore on and she heard nothing from his grace the Duke of Mountsorrel. His partiality to her seemed to have disappeared, as had his presence. Yet she read of reports of him visiting this ball or that performance at Drury Lane. Just not when she was there.

If he had decided to cut the connection, she could not force anything. Just mourn what could have been. And move on to a new suitor, even though her heart would break when she did so.

After breakfast one morning, her mother called her to her side. “Go into the drawing room, dear. A gentleman wishes to have a word with you.”

Dru’s throat closed. “Who?”

“Lord Trelawny.”

Oh, no. Why did it have to be him? Of all the gentlemen vying for her hand, he was the one she liked most. But only liked. Perhaps that was for the best. It might be a sign, that he was the first of her suitors to come up to scratch. He had intimated as much when he put his primitive claim on her at the musicale. “Oh. Has anyone else spoken to Papa?”

“Not since the last time we spoke.”

Her final spark died. The fire that Oliver had set last week was now completely extinguished. She would not think of him, would not speak of him ever again. When she saw him in public, she’d grant him a distant nod. That was all. She would be the first member of this generation of her family to enter into an arranged marriage.

Her only married sister, Claudia, had done well, but her love affair with her husband displayed itself whenever they met. So did their frequent quarrels, which both appeared to thrive on.

Dru would have a perfectly conventional, calm marriage. She’d bear children and sail through the rest of her life with tranquility and absolutely no violent emotions.

What a prospect to anticipate! Every bone in her body revolted at such an idea. But she would do it. Perhaps she would find the same connection with her chosen husband as she would have with the Duke of Mountsorrel. For all she knew, that incredible reaction could happen again with someone else. How did she know how these things worked?

Outside the drawing room, she smoothed her voluminous skirts with a hand that had become sweaty. Lifting her chin, she smoothed back an errant curl and prepared to meet her fate. The footman, at his most stiffly formal, probably aware of the decision she was about to take, threw open the door.

She walked through, ready to take the step that would alter the rest of her life.

* * * *

Oliver had not realized how small the London house was before. It had been a convenience, a place he could enjoy because there were no childhood memories to trip him up. Now, he felt penned in, like a sheep waiting for the knife of the slaughterman. The whole place reeked of sickness.

The day after his conversation with Charles, his brother had fallen into one of his fits. Three men had to hold him down for fear he would hurt himself. After he had recovered he had vomited the contents of his stomach and continued to do so. He’d run a dangerously high fever. Oliver was beside himself. Would Charles’s sufferings never end?

He sat with Charles when his brother allowed him to, but he was still annoyingly independent. He insisted Oliver attended a few functions, to demonstrate to the outside world that everything was well in his household. He kept his attendants to their usual minimum, which meant the three men were more than busy in the hours and days following.

When he visited his brother just after lunch, Oliver found one of the men asleep in a chair by his brother’s bed and Charles tossing and moaning. Oliver did not blame the man who had been up for three days straight through, but set to helping his brother himself.

Stripping off the bedcovers and Charles’s nightshirt, he’d found the bowl of water put ready and set to sponging him. He tucked towels around Charles’s poor body and bathed him in cool water until Charles opened his eyes with a snap. Shock made them wide.

“I don’t want you,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching for the sheet. “Wake Latimer.”

“No. He is exhausted. Let me do this, Charles. It’s me or no one.”

Charles groaned and gave up, obviously too tired to do anything more to stop him. He watched listlessly as Oliver smoothed the damp sponge over the hottest parts of his brother’s body. He soaked a cloth and draped it across Charles’s eyes. Charles sighed, relief probably.

After, he covered Charles’s naked body with a light sheet and blanket. Whoever had tucked him in before had done their job too well. There was no need for heavy blankets and quilts.

By the time he’d finished, his brother was asleep and Latimer had woken.

Oliver nodded to him. “I think he’ll do now.” He glanced at the various potions laid out on the dressing table, sighing when he found the laudanum. A necessary medicine, but not one he wanted his brother to take on a regular basis. But it helped with his crippling headaches and gave him relief from the constant agony he suffered.

Every time he saw his brother’s body, guilt racked Oliver, but he refused to turn away. The twisted legs, the useless arm. Without the disguise of his elegant clothes, Charles’s slim, white body spoke of his daily agony. He softly drew the sheet up and left the room.

Oliver had done his duty, and he would continue to do so. Was it so terrible for him to ask for a little pleasure for himself?

With his brother asleep, he saw no reason not to continue with his plan. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained. If the lady had promised herself to another man, he could do little. Charles had kept him busy this last week, and he could not do anything but care for him.

Half an hour later, resplendent in dark green velvet, he left the house. Deciding to walk, he ignored the chairmen gathered at the corner of the square and nodded to the watchman. Midafternoon, the visiting hour. He should probably seek an interview with Lord Strenshall, but he rebelled against it. As he’d told Drusilla in Lady Comyn’s garden, he wanted to be sure of her before he sought formal permission. After all, he would be marrying her, not her father.

As he strode through the streets of the West End of London, his heart lifted. With the sick room behind him, he could finally continue what he had left off last week. Here the air smelled as fresh as it ever got in the city. The tang of coal smoke was nearly undetectable but served as a constant reminder of the thousands of people here. While he had to nod to several people on his way, he did not stop to chat. He wasn’t in the mood for chatting. Exchanging the time of day was completely out of the question.

Tension did not affect him, but even as he steeled himself, he knew he was lying. Of course he was tense. He’d made a decision that would impinge on the rest of his life. But although he felt tension, he had no regrets or misgivings. Not where he was concerned. He’d accepted the doubts his brother had imparted, but he would not allow them to rule his life.

Even less now. The only person who would do that was Lady Drusilla Shaw. His fate was completely in her delicate hands. Her delicate ink-stained hands, he recalled with a smile.

The London house of the Marquess of Strenshall was always a hive of activity. The glossy black front door lay open. Oliver tipped his hat to the couple leaving, barely registering their presence, before he strode purposefully inside.

The hall contained two liveried footmen and a butler, distinctive in his dark coat and superior demeanor. Much like his own man. Perhaps that air was required of them. Maybe somewhere was a family that schooled them.

Planting his mind firmly in the present, he handed his hat and gloves to the tallest footman and asked if Drusilla was at home.

“I’m afraid she is otherwise engaged, your grace,” the butler said. He stood a head shorter than Oliver, his hands loosely by his sides, a smooth almost-smile on his face. Oliver took an instant dislike to him. “Should I inform her that you have called?”

A suspicion took hold of Oliver’s mind. “Who is she with?”

“I’m afraid I cannot vouchsafe that information.”

No, and Oliver would not want him to. Until he produced a couple of guineas from his pocket, and let them click in his hand. The butler remained silent. Oliver added another gleaming coin.

The butler sighed. “Her ladyship gave permission for her to speak to another gentleman in private.”

Oliver handed over the coins. That was all he was getting, but it was all he needed. He nodded. “Is her ladyship at home?”

“Not receiving today, your grace. Would you like me to inform her of your presence?”

Oliver considered. He had moved well into the hall and stood at the base of the stairs. Another ten minutes and his mission could be rendered useless. A gentleman would withdraw, leaving the field to his rival. Oliver had learned that a gentleman had his limits. He could also appear and disappear at will.

Turning, he took the first stair and then the next two. “I’ll inform her myself,” he threw back, without slowing his pace.

A shout went up from behind him, and feet thumped behind him. He thought that might happen, which was why he was taking the stairs two at a time. At the top, he turned right, racing across the short, though gracious landing. Another footman stood outside the door to the main drawing room.

Oliver nodded to him. “Let me in. Now.”

The man flung open the door. Oliver would give him five guineas before he left. Ten.

Inside, a man knelt in front of the woman on the sofa. Drusilla made a magnificent picture, the sun lighting her hair, revealing the golden glints, her ultramarine gown spread around her. The man, not so much. He should be out of the picture.

He leaped to his feet and spun around as Oliver made his precipitate entry. “Sir!” he exclaimed indignantly.

Oliver straightened his coat. “My lord.” He spared the man a brief nod. “May I have a word with Lady Drusilla?”

* * * *

Dru had not understood what a prosy bore Lord Trelawny could be until she received his proposal of marriage. He’d reached his fifth paragraph when she heard the noise outside.

The door burst open, and if it were not for the stop it would have crashed into her mother’s precious lacquer cabinet. As it was, the duke was ready for the rebound and caught it on the flat of his hand as it sprang back at him. She had to admire his presence of mind. Even as she leaped to her feet and wondered what the right response should be, she noticed little details about him. She took them in like a woman dying of thirst gulped water. She saw the way the end of his neckcloth was thrust through the buttonholes of his coat in the latest fashion and how his hands were clenched by his side. And how well his green velvet coat and waistcoat would compliment her blue gown.

Unfortunately, Lord Trelawny had chosen a shade of apricot that made him look bilious, but she had done her best not to hold his choice of finery against him. Nor his pomposity. He’d made a speech at her.

But if he had not prosed on, she’d have accepted him by now. As soon as she saw Mountsorrel, she knew that she would have made a terrible mistake. Choosing mediocrity over taking a risk and living. Even though mediocrity could be comfortable and easy.

Comfortable and easy were no longer good enough.

She decided on a moderate remark, considering Mountsorrel was breathing enough fire for two. “Did the footman not tell you I was not at home?”

The duke’s eyelids drooped, but not before Dru had caught the wicked gleam in the depths of his eyes. “And yet, you are. Do you pay your servants to behave mendaciously?”

“Of course we do.” Didn’t everyone? The world would be interesting if they did not. I’m sorry, but her ladyship is entertaining her lover. I’m sorry, the earl’s latest tantrum destroyed the drawing room. I’m sorry, but nobody in this family likes you, and they’ve told me not to admit you.

“Of course,” he repeated, and joined her in watching his lordship ungracefully scramble to his feet.

“You should have planned that part before you got on the floor,” Mountsorrel observed.

He received a savage glare from the earl in response.

“I would prefer that you leave me alone with my betrothed.” Trelawny reached for Dru’s hand.

She clasped her hands tightly in her lap, indignation making her stubborn. “I fear you are mistaken, my lord. We hadn’t got to that part yet.”

A grown man should not scowl.

Mountsorrel closed the door much more softly than when he’d entered. Leaning against it, he folded his arms across his chest. She couldn’t help noticing the way his shoulders flexed.

“Do go on, my lord. I would hate to think I had interrupted something…important.”

That was unkind of him. But undeterred, Trelawny turned his back on the duke. And at last, got down to business. “I have long admired your beauty and dignified behavior in sometimes difficult circumstances. Your beauty outshines the sun. I would be honored if you would accept my hand in marriage, so I might care for you for the rest of our lives.”

“And bear your heirs?” she prompted. What did he mean by “difficult circumstances”? Did that imply he would not wish her to contact her family?

He nodded. “That too, although you are probably aware my last wife presented me with three children. You would be the perfect mother to my poor babies.”

“He wants a drudge,” Mountsorrel put in. “And somebody to warm his bed.”

Dru shot the duke a quelling glare. “And you don’t?”

“I’m waiting my turn,” the duke said. “I am fortunate to be second in the queue.”

“There are a line of men waiting to ask for my hand in marriage?” Scorn infused her voice. “After all these years?”

When the duke would have replied, she held up her free hand. Fortunately, he did not reply to her last question. She addressed the earl. “Lord Trelawny you do me great honor. Indeed, I thank you most sincerely for your kind offer. However—” As Mountsorrel sucked in a breath, no doubt to start again, she gave him another stare. “However, I am concerned with your remark about difficult circumstances. I’ve been carefully reared, I come from the best stock in England and received the finest education. I do not consider anything difficult about that.” She’d made herself sound like a horse, but she couldn’t help that now. Her breeding was the least of her problems.

“Madam, your family is one of the most prominent in the country, but not always for the best reasons.” Trelawny kept wading deeper into the mire. “I would care for my wife—you—with the utmost attention, and I would remove you from this den of iniquity.”

Dru ignored Mountsorrel’s snort of derision. She would scold him for that. And she would make him suffer for standing there instead of retreating gracefully.

Except in that case she might have been forced to accept Trelawny’s offer.

“Sir, you are speaking of my family,” she said, as sternly as she could. “I am deeply grateful for your kind offer, but I fear I must refuse. Anyone who marries me also acknowledges my strong connection to my family.”

“I see.” He stepped back.

She took a deep breath.

“I am very sorry to hear that.”

But also relieved, she guessed, from the expression on his face. His slight, superior smile had returned, and he held his head in the haughty way she recognized in him.

“I am forced to accept your refusal. I will not renew my request.” He took a step back and bowed to her.

She didn’t offer her hand. She might not get it back.

Turning smartly, he went to the door, which the duke obligingly opened for him.

She turned around and went to the window, staring out at the street below, folding her arms under her breasts. She felt rather than heard him come up behind her.

“My turn,” he said softly.

“To do what?”

“Don’t you know?”

She lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “I swear I do not have the faintest idea. And for your information, I had decided to reject the earl’s offer before you’d even entered the room.”

“Good. But I wouldn’t have let you do it. He’s not suitable for you. You must know that.”

“I didn’t, until he started talking to me. Then I realized I wouldn’t abide more than a year with him. We just do not suit.”

“Your family won’t abide him, either.”

“Careful.” She added a warning note to her voice.

He grazed his hand along the silk of her sleeve. Even that slight touch affected her, although she tried not to let it. She continued to stare out of the window. Trelawny crossed the road, dodging the traveling carriage that swept past as if it had been laying in wait for him.

“Lord Trelawny is not having a good day,” she remarked.

“I have yet to discover if I am to follow suit.”

Mountsorrel sounded grave, but she wasn’t done. “You should speak to my father. Have you done so?”

“Not yet. I would rather speak to you first.”

“What if my father says no?”

He paused. “I will have to pray that he doesn’t. But the decision is yours. You are the person who will have to live with the consequences.”

She turned then, facing him, her astonishment not hidden. “The consequences? What do you mean?”

His face was bland, completely devoid of expression. What was he hiding? What consequences? “Of taking me. I am not a paragon. If you have waited to find a perfect man, I am far from that.”

“Thank God,” she said fervently. “I couldn’t live up to the expectations of the perfect man.” He was dancing around the subject, as he always did. Was she then expected to push him? She would not. She absolutely refused. “Lord Trelawny told me that he would provide for me. He assured me he would not touch the settlement my father wishes to give me. Will you promise the same?”

“Just that?” He shook his head. “Paltry. I could buy you the moon, except it wouldn’t do you any good. I could find the largest diamond in London for you. But you don’t wear diamonds often. You prefer sapphires.”

He’d noticed that much about her. Trelawny probably wouldn’t have discerned that in ten years. She would have been a status symbol, an accessory he could wear on his arm at important events. But Mountsorrel noticed her, Drusilla, not the daughter of the Marquess of Strenshall.

“You’re not serious now.”

“Not entirely. But if you want the diamonds, say the word.”

“Even if I refuse you?”

“Even then.” His smile melted her. “May I ask now?”

Her heart thumped far too hard, but she kept her control. Just. Because she wanted the answer to another question. “Why did you keep away from me?”

He closed his eyes, and an expression of pain crossed his face. Opening his eyes again, he reached for her hands, and held them between his own. “I will tell you nothing but the truth. I confess I have been caring for my brother who has not been well recently, but even then I could have written to you. But I did not. I didn’t know if you would want to. I backed away. Our previous meeting in the garden at Lady Comyn’s… It unnerved me, I confess. I came to town to look for a wife, but only halfheartedly, to please my mother, who wants to see me wed. Then I met you.” His smile deepened, grew more intimate. “I was taught that great ladies are reared to do their duty but no more. While I have seen enough to cast doubt on that, I still saw marriages made cold-bloodedly. I assumed the arrangement was a business transaction, and I would have the same when the time came. Then I met you.”

“Oh? And you can’t engage in a business transaction with me?” She wasn’t sure what to think.

“I daresay I could.” He shook his head. “No, that is wrong. I can’t. Not with you. If you stood here in nothing more than the clothes you wore, I would take you and care for you much the same. That is not what I should feel. I should care about dowries, connections, Parliamentary influence and the rest. But I do not, not when I’m with you. I only think about those things later.”

“That’s the best thing anybody has ever said to me.” She breathed through the words, trying to control her wayward body. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her breath came shallowly. He really thought those things about her? He wanted her, not what she brought with her? Dru knew she brought a lot. Her father had taken her through the settlement, the lands and money she would bring to the marriage, and what he would expect from her future husband. Now she wished she had listened with more attention. He, clearly, did not.

“I don’t care about land and all the things that should be forefront in my mind. That unnerved me. I needed time to think. I beg your pardon if I did not immediately rush to your side, and I see I barely stopped you making your choice.”

“Is that why you shoved your way in here?”

He nodded. “I’ve never behaved so badly in my life before. But I’d do more than that for you.”

“Would you fight a duel for me?”

“Like your brother did for his beloved?” He nodded. “Probably. Especially given the circumstances of your brother’s challenge. Do I have to?”

Mutely, she shook her head.

“Do you want me to wait longer?”

She found her voice. “If you do, my mother will have me married off quick smart. She says I must decide.”

“Have you decided?”

She wanted more. “Kiss me,” she said, more daring than she’d ever been before.

So there, in front of the window where the whole of fashionable London could gather and watch, if they wished, he did as she asked.

Drawing her closer, he released her hands. Immediately she clasped his shoulders, needing the solidity of male muscle to steady her. He wrapped his arms around her, gazing into her eyes before he let his heavy-lashed lids drop as he brushed his lips against hers.

That first gentle touch slowly increased, and as if the progression was natural, she opened her mouth and accepted his tongue, giving him hers in response. They tasted each other, warmth flowing from one to the other and back again. Lifting one hand, she cupped his cheek, thrilling at the rough male flesh under the delicate skin of her palm.

He grunted, such a masculine sound. She would have smiled, had her mouth not been engaged in responding to his increasingly passionate embrace. He ran his hands up the heavily ribbed fabric covering her back to the high neckline and traced the edge, just as he had before. Cradling her head as if she were the most delicate thing in the world, he attacked her mouth with passion and vigor, teaching her how to respond. She had so much to learn.

He lifted his head. “Perhaps we should take this somewhere a little less public.” He glanced at the window.

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

His reddened lips shaped the words but she took a moment to catch up with the meaning. She didn’t care for anything except this.

“Come, my sweet. We have a lot to discuss.”

Taking her hand, he led her to the sofa, where she sank in a froth of silk and lace, her skirts shushing around her. Unceremoniously, he lifted one side and took his place next to her, draping the excess fabric over his lap. That way he could stay close to her, and she wanted that above all things.

“My mother will send someone in here soon,” she warned him. “She will know when you arrived, and she won’t give us more than half an hour together.”

“But you can do so much in half an hour!”

She blinked, shocked at the deep, wicked tone infusing his voice. “We can’t do anything. Can we?”

His chuckle reverberated around the room. As if to remind them, the clock banged out the quarter-hour. A quarter past what, she didn’t know or care.

His slight jerk made her laugh. “Everybody reacts like that to the clock.”

“It’s hideous,” he said, without turning his head to look at the monstrosity. The cherubs would be smirking at him. They always did.

“But expensive. And it does remind people when it’s time to go.”

“Do you want me to go?”

Hastily, she shook her head. “Not yet. I want you to kiss me again.”

“Willingly.”

He cradled her so tenderly, he made her feel precious. In his arms she didn’t feel inadequate or clumsy. She came from a large, loving family, but as the middle child between two sets of twins, she’d often been left on her own.

This time he kept the embrace gentle. He gave her several small, sweet kisses, peppering them over her face and lips, before taking her earlobe into his mouth and nipping it lightly.

“Oh!” Who would have thought the earlobe would be a sensitive place? Not she, for sure. She adored being this close to him, feeling his breath hot on her skin, and his body pressing against hers. He did not try to move her neckcloth, and she was sorely tempted to do it herself. All of her against all of him.

But they would have to wait for that. The prospect of having him to herself filled her with joy. Was this love? She had absolutely no idea, but she would accept it. “What is love?” she said, before realizing she’d said it aloud.

“Love?” Abruptly he drew back. “Why did you say that?”

He’d withdrawn, and to her surprise she found that it hurt. She didn’t want him to do that.

“I mean, I love my family, of course. But some people do astonishing things in its name.” She’d wanted to say it, but his withdrawal warned her she was treading on delicate ground.

“I don’t know,” he confessed. “I take it for granted, I suppose. And yes, they do, but I suspect their reason is not always love. Maybe they wanted to escape from a difficult home life. Maybe they want to be in love. I don’t believe it is necessary for a happy marriage.”

She swallowed her disappointment. “I wasn’t sure. That’s all. This is so new to me.”

“Good,” he said with emphasis.

“Would you not have preferred me to know more about…kissing and such before I met you?”

“And such?” A smile tilted his mouth, and she wanted to forget any conversation and kiss him again. “No.”

He would not let her draw him on the matter, however much she teased, so she asked him the other question that burned at her. “Do you have a mistress?”

His arm, which was draped over her shoulders, stiffened. “You know that is none of your concern, don’t you?”

“I know no such thing.” The very notion of him kissing someone else as he’d kissed her repelled Dru. She sat up, pushing him away.

“Then you should not have asked. Do you want the answer?”

She nodded. Of course she did. If she had to share her bed with an invisible third person, she wanted to know it. “I won’t be fooled.”

“Some women dislike the intimacies necessary in making a child. That’s why men take mistresses. Some of the time.”

“Well, I’m sure I will not dislike them.” She remembered something he’d said. “You wanted honesty from me. That should go both ways, or it will not work at all.” She did not look at him, but she heard his sigh.

“You are right. I don’t want an obedient, meek wife who endures my presence in her bed for twenty minutes every year. No, my dear, I do not have a mistress. I had one, but I presented her with her congé before I came to town. I knew I would most likely return with a wife. To my mind, it would be an insult to expect a wife to tolerate someone else so early in the marriage.”

Turning, she met his eyes, still dark with the passion they had just shared. Relief flooded her, so she wanted to fall back into his arms and forget what she’d said. “Thank you.” She bit off her next question. Did he plan to take another, when he considered the initial stage of their marriage done? Or when she was pregnant and unable to receive him in her bedchamber?

He took her hands between his, as he had before, warming them, stilling their trembling. “My dear, I want a partner, a friend, a companion, and a lover. I thought I would not find all those things in one person, but I am beginning to believe that in you, I have found it. You make me laugh, you are deliciously responsive, and I already know you are intelligent.”

His last compliment delighted her the most. “I’m not sure, but I try.”

“You come from a very bright family. They did not reach their current altitude on birth alone.” He huffed a laugh. “Although I daresay that helped.”

“Julius married a governess, and my oldest brother married the daughter of our land steward.” They married for love, she reflected with melancholy. True, the two ladies in question had other more private identities, but the men would not have married them had they not fallen irrevocably in love.

She had always dreamed of that, but now she had to put away childish expectations. That, she realized regretfully, included the stories she spun for her own amusement. They would have to go. All of them.

As the clock hammered the half hour, the door opened and her parents came in. Her new life was about to begin.