Chapter Seven

 

Lord Baddick felt his pulses quicken in triumph. “Henrietta, you have made me the happiest of men!” He raised her gloved hand and placed a light kiss on it. He could hardly satisfy his lust at this cursed breakfast, so he would not frighten her. “But I am so dreadfully ashamed,” he bemoaned, his eyes downcast.

“Why, what is amiss, my lord?”

Lord Baddick quickly lied. “I must beg Lady Fuddlesby’s leave to pay my addresses to you, and I do not have the family betrothal ring with me in Town.” He looked at her longingly. “It is a large sapphire, surrounded by diamonds. A perfect match for your eyes.”

“My lord, it does not matter. You may ask my aunt without producing a ring, and I am sure—

Lord Baddick’s mind raced. “Never! It would be an insult to you. I planned to offer you my escort to the Royal Italian Opera tonight. Catalani is to perform. I could leave Town for my estate the first of next week.” This much was true, Lord Baddick thought, unwillingly remembering the suspicious look on the Duke of Winterton’s face earlier. He thought bleakly he would probably have to rusticate again.

“I could be back at your side, with the ring, by the end of next week. Oh, ‘parting is such sweet sorrow,’ fairest one!”

Henrietta really did not care one way or another about the ring, but if it mattered to this man she would one day call husband... “Very well, my lord. We will wait until you have returned with the ring to ask my aunt.”

Lord Baddick grinned. “A secret betrothal, then?”

Her answering smile was bittersweet. How the old Fantasy Henrietta would have relished this! “Yes, a secret betrothal. But only until you return to Town.”

He put his arm around her and gave her a friendly squeeze, as if they were children and had formed a secret pact.

They began walking back to the alfresco meal. No sooner had they rounded the copse of trees when they came face-to-face with a stony Duke of Winterton.

Henrietta shot him a startled look. “Your grace!”

The duke eyed the pair grimly. “Miss Lanford,” he said, his cold gray eyes on the viscount, “I wondered at your absence.” His tone was relatively civil, but his jaw tensed. It appeared the girl had totally ignored his warnings about the blackguard.

Henrietta glared at the duke with burning, reproachful eyes. “It appears your ‘brotherly’ instincts are once again coming to the fore, your grace. I do not know what has given you fancies, but I assure you I am perfectly safe!”

Winterton’s sharp gaze ran the length of her. As he addressed Henrietta, he turned his attention to Lord Baddick. Lazily he drawled, “I hope you may be right, Miss Lanford. I have no desire to visit Chalk Farm.” He bowed mockingly before turning and walking leisurely back to the party.

Henrietta, caught up in her own anxieties, did not see Lord Baddick’s complexion pale at the mention of the famous dueling grounds. She had no idea what Chalk Farm was. Confused, she asked, “Pray, my lord, what did the duke mean by not wanting to visit Chalk Farm?”

Seemingly interested in a small beetle on the path, Lord Baddick replied, “I neither know nor care. It may be one of his properties.”

“But why should that have anything to do with me?”

Lord Baddick squashed the bug with the toe of his boot. “Bless me if I know. Perhaps Winterton’s in his cups.”

As they walked back to the others, Lord Baddick kept up a light flow of conversation regarding the Royal Italian Opera. No mention was made of the betrothal or plans for their wedded future, which would have alerted Henrietta that something was dreadfully wrong here, had she a tendre for Lord Baddick.

Instead she allowed herself to be diverted, her youthful enthusiasm growing at the prospect of her first opera. “Oh, my lord, I must ask my aunt if we may go! I would so love to hear the famous Catalani sing!”

They approached Lady Fuddlesby a few minutes later with the plan. She and Colonel Colchester were enjoying thin slices of Westphalian ham. The lady pronounced herself in alt at the prospect of hearing the diva. “Yes, we would be quite delighted to attend, Lord Baddick. How kind you are to offer your escort.”

Colonel Colchester’s eyes narrowed. There was to be a reunion of several of his retired military friends that evening. He had committed himself to the festivity and could not draw back at this late time. While he did not like the idea of the ladies being alone with Baddick, he could see no way out of his obligation. “I would like to accompany you, Lady Fuddlesby, but fear I cannot.” After a moment’s consideration he added, “Perhaps I could meet you after the opera, and we could all enjoy a late supper at Grillons.”

The pleased ladies quickly agreed to this plan, and Colonel Colchester decided he had bested the viscount.

Lord Baddick felt he needed to go carefully when planning his next move. The duke and his godfather were proving to be a nuisance. “I shall call for you tonight at nine of the clock.” He bowed and took his leave.

Watching his lordship’s retreating back, Henrietta wished she could confide her betrothal to Lady Fuddlesby. But she suppressed the emotion when she remembered her promise to keep it a secret. There could be no harm in waiting a week, she reasoned.

Lady Fuddlesby looked at her with a decidedly matchmaking gleam in her eye. She leaned close to her niece and whispered encouragingly, “You see, my dear, did I not predict gentlemen would be about you like bees around a rose?”

“Something like that, Aunt,” Henrietta said, and laughed. She impulsively leaned forward and placed a swift kiss on Lady Fuddlesby’s rouged cheek. She did not like keeping secrets from this lady whom she had grown to love.

Straightening the bonnet Henrietta’s kiss had displaced, Lady Fuddlesby allowed her mind to dwell on her desire for a match between her niece and the Duke of Winterton. She wished he were to escort them to the opera. She contented herself with thoughts of the charming events of the carriage ride and the duke’s jolly little parrot. Colonel Colchester had the right of it. There was something between the duke and her niece. The way they had looked at one another when he had spread that handkerchief across her knees! And the situation continued to improve. Why, the two had not come to cuffs in one whole day!

Lady Fuddlesby beamed with pleasure. “Oh, my dear, do help me sneak a little of this wonderful ham home for Knight. He does so enjoy it!”

* * * *

At the Royal Italian Opera that night, Henrietta’s head hurt worse than she could ever remember. The pain began on the drive home from the Peabodys’ in the duke’s carriage. Unable to face conversing with him, she had feigned sleep the entire way. Once she was home, a nap eluded her. She lay upon her bed, unable to believe she was betrothed.

Had she been too hasty in accepting Lord Baddick? She stole a sidelong glance at him as he sat next to her in the opera box. What was she to wait for? A voice sneered in her mind. Did she expect the Duke of Winterton to suddenly cast Lady Clorinda aside, and change his brotherly feelings toward herself to that of the lover?

She could not appreciate the rather piercing voice of Madame Catalani. Many of the Nobility seemed to find each other a more interesting sight than the celebrated woman on stage.

Henrietta turned to Lady Fuddlesby, who sat on her other side. “Why are so many people raising their quizzing glasses to look around them, rather than at the singer?”

Her aunt pursed her lips in disapproval. “The purpose of coming to the opera, dear, is the same as going to any other entertainment, I fear. Thank heaven your reputation seems to be untarnished after the... lapse the other night at Almack’s. People nodded to us most properly when we entered. I am certain word has gotten around about our arrival with the duke at the Peabodys’, so everyone has written the... unpleasantness off as a mere peccadillo.”

“I am glad we will suffer no embarrassment. But you mean Society comes to the opera to be seen?” Henrietta asked. “Just like at the rout or Almack’s? Not to hear the music?”

“Oh, my dear, yes. It can be worse than tonight. Some of the gentlemen can be quite loud. Madame Catalani commands more respect than some other unfortunate divas that have graced the stage.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, Lady Fuddlesby leaned close to Henrietta and discreetly pointed her fan. “Oh, do but look. The Duke of Winterton has arrived in his box with his mother.”

Henrietta’s gaze flew down the auditorium to where the duke was helping his mother to a chair. As she stared at his handsome, athletic figure, shown to perfection in impeccable evening dress, her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. Despite his maddening arrogance, Henrietta could not help dreaming of being crushed within his embrace. What would it be like to feel his arms around her? How would it feel to touch his face, his hair?

“Fairest one, are you feeling quite the thing? You are so pale.”

Lord Baddick’s voice, filled with concern, brought Henrietta sharply back to reality. These wayward thoughts of the duke were most improper, she chastised herself. Though no one but she and Lord Baddick knew it, she was a betrothed lady. Her thoughts must only be for her future husband. She turned to look at him, managing a smile. “You are so perceptive. My head does ache frightfully, but do not concern yourself, my lord. I shall come about.”

When Henrietta’s disobedient gaze next found its way to the duke’s box, she was dealt her punishment. Joining him and his mother were Lady Clorinda and Lord and Lady Mawbly. All over the theater, quizzing glasses rose when the lady assumed to be the future duchess arrived. Her golden beauty and voluptuous figure were most alluring in an aquamarine-colored opera dress.

A gentleman in a nearby box nearly fell to his death as he leaned forward to better appreciate the dress’s neckline.

Henrietta sat back in her chair miserably. She fixed her gaze on the stage, but could hardly see because of the tears forming in her eyes.

Over in the Duke of Winterton’s box, Giles greeted his guests, and then sat back to enjoy Catalani’s performance. But almost at once, his gaze wandered unerringly to where Miss Henrietta Lanford sat with her aunt and—deuce take it—Viscount Baddick. A shadow of anger swept across the duke’s masculine face.

Then he wondered at the emotion. The girl was no concern of his. She was a mere squire’s daughter, well below him in station. He had condescended by doing his duty and warning her about the cur. Now she would have to take care of herself. Had he not washed his hands of her after the contretemps at Almack’s? What had possessed him to threaten Baddick with a duel over Miss Lanford when he had found them together at the Peabodys’? He must have taken leave of his senses.

The Duke of Winterton covertly studied Miss Lanford while she watched the stage. Her color seemed high. He noticed her pale blue dress complemented her dark hair, which was braided into a coronet. Her slender white neck seemed to beckon him, begging for the touch of his lips—

“Giles!” Matilda, Dowager Duchess of Winterton, hissed. “What are you gaping at?”

“Nothing, Mother. I do not gape.” The annoyed duke felt manipulated by both his parents. His mother was the one who had invited the Mawblys to join them at the opera. It was clear Lady Clorinda had the dowager’s approval for the position of the next duchess. The duke felt as if being with Clorinda all afternoon at the breakfast had been sufficient. While her beauty prevented her from being a total bore, the lady was beginning to appear superficial. Her range of attractions was perhaps limited, he mused.

As for his father, through his unholy vessel, Sir Polly Grey, the deceased seventh Duke of Winterton lectured him incessantly on what was due his name. Sometimes the duke felt as if he could cheerfully place his fingers around the parrot’s meddlesome throat and make it produce a sound similar to the one coming from the lady’s mouth onstage.

At the intermission, an incredibly strong desire to speak with Miss Lanford again about Lord Baddick gripped the duke. He argued with himself. Then he chanced to look over and see Baddick place a possessive hand over Miss Lanford’s as they spoke. A decidedly unpleasant picture of the viscount taking further liberties with Miss Lanford presented itself in the duke’s mind, catapulting him out of his box.

As the duke left the box without an explanation, Clorinda’s green eyes lit with shock and anger. She wanted him to remain at her side so members of Society could come and pay their respects to the new couple. An alarming thought that the duke’s interest in her was not as high as it should be crossed her mind. While her lips formed a pout, she glanced about her speculatively, reassured by the gratifying attention being given her by the young bucks in the pit. She sat back and chided herself for being silly. Of course Winterton wanted her.

Since Lady Fuddlesby had wandered away to visit friends, Henrietta and Lord Baddick were alone in their box, conversing in low tones about the performance. Henrietta’s headache reached new proportions and she unconsciously rubbed her temples.

A brief knock preceded the Duke of Winterton’s unexpected appearance. His voice was quiet, yet held an undertone of cold contempt. “I wish to speak with Miss Lanford, Baddick.”

Lord Baddick rose to his feet and faced the duke. “She is right here at my side, Winterton.’’ The viscount placed a slight emphasis on the word “my.” “Go ahead and say what you will,” he taunted.

Henrietta stood anxiously, not knowing how to react to the animosity she felt flowing between the two gentlemen now glaring at each other.

The duke’s gray eyes were as cold as the North Sea. “I wish to be private with Miss Lanford. Take yourself off, Baddick.”

Lord Baddick’s voice was inflamed and belligerent. “No. I don’t think I shall allow you to be private with my fiancée,” he said from beneath his teeth. Instantly, as the words were out of his mouth, Lord Baddick regretted allowing the duke to goad him into this portentous slip of the tongue.

Henrietta gasped.

An odd twinge of disappointment squeezed the duke’s heart. Through stiff lips he addressed a visibly trembling Henrietta. “You are betrothed?”

A sharp denial rose in Henrietta’s throat. She pressed her gloved fingers across her mouth to prevent it from escaping. Controlling herself, she dropped her hand to her side. She answered calmly, with no lighting of her eyes, no smile of tenderness regarding her prospective nuptials. “Yes, your grace.”

The Duke of Winterton searched Miss Lanford’s face. “I wish you happy,” he said at last. Without looking at Lord Baddick, the duke turned and left the box.

Afterward, Henrietta lost all sense of time until the final curtain on the opera fell.

While they made their way to his lordship’s carriage, Lady Fuddlesby chattered. “We did so enjoy ourselves, Lord Baddick, did we not, Henrietta? We owe you our thanks, my lord.”

“Yes, indeed we did,” Henrietta replied, and then stumbled slightly. Lord Baddick’s arm reached out to steady her before she could fall.

“Henrietta, whatever is the matter?” Lady Fuddlesby asked, alarmed.

Breathing deeply of the evening air to refresh herself, Henrietta confessed, “My lady, I am sorry to spoil our plans to join Colonel Colchester at Grillon’s, but I have the most horrible headache. I must beg you to allow me to return home.”

“Oh, my dear, but of course! One can hardly function with one’s temples pounding. I know from experience the only thing for it is to lie upon one’s bed until it passes!” Lady Fuddlesby said sympathetically. Turning to Lord Baddick, she announced, “We must take her home at once.”

Lord Baddick, who had been thinking furiously ever since his careless admission of the betrothal in front of the duke, felt as though the Fates smiled upon him. What an absolutely splendid opportunity. He must take his pleasure this night and be gone to the country on the morrow. If ever asked, he would say both the duke and Miss Lanford were mistaken. He never offered marriage.

Arriving at his carriage, Lord Baddick helped the ladies inside. Once they were settled he said, “Lady Fuddlesby, allow me to take Miss Lanford back to Grosvenor Square after setting you down at Grillons. I am persuaded that if Miss Lanford is merely to retire upon arriving home, there is no need for you to miss the pleasure of a late supper.”

Before Lady Fuddlesby could protest, Henrietta quickly added, “Yes, dear Aunt, Lord Baddick is correct. You must not disappoint the colonel just because of my wretched head. Besides, if you return home with me, Colonel Colchester will be at Grillons wondering what has become of us until you are able to send a messenger.”

Lady Fuddlesby looked doubtful. “Thinking we would be quite late, I gave the servants the evening off, although Felice most likely is home. I would need to give you the key, Henrietta, for Felice is a terribly sound sleeper, and will never hear the knocker. You would need to go up to the attics and wake her to help take care of you.” She did not mention her other concern, which was the impropriety of Lord Baddick and Henrietta driving from Grillon’s to Grosvenor Square alone. Of course, since the evening was fine, Lord Baddick did have his open carriage, so it might answer....

As if reading her thoughts, Lord Baddick reassured her. “My lady, you have my word as a gentleman no harm shall come to your niece. The conventions will be satisfied. I shall see Miss Lanford safely to the door, unlock it for her, and be on my way.”

Lady Fuddlesby capitulated. “Very well, let us be off. But you must promise, my dear, to wake Felice the moment you arrive.”

Henrietta nodded her agreement, and when they pulled away from the curb, her ladyship thought her niece looked very pale indeed. It was highly doubtful the viscount would be boorish enough to press his attentions on an ill girl, she told herself. And Lady Fuddlesby did so wish to be in the colonel’s company. Her feelings for him were growing most affectionate, and she believed them returned by the handsome military man.

When the carriage pulled up in front of Grillons, Lady Fuddlesby could see Colonel Colchester walking up to the entryway. Pulling a key out of her reticule, she handed it to Henrietta, and a last-minute wave of doubt struck her. Her brows drew together in concern. “You are certain, my dear, that you do not wish me to accompany you?”

“I am certain, ma’am. Please go and enjoy yourself.” Henrietta managed a weak smile. She wished she could tell her she and Lord Baddick were engaged so her aunt might not worry.

Lord Baddick barely waited to see Lady Fuddlesby at Colonel Colchester’s side before moving off toward what he anticipated would be a very invigorating end to the evening.

The drive to the town house passed quietly and uneventfully. Lord Baddick did not wish to alarm his prey now that the moment had arrived.

At the door to the town house, Henrietta withdrew the key her aunt had given her. Lord Baddick took it from her cold fingers. “Here, allow me,” he said, turning the lock. The door swung open. The viscount waved his hand toward the inside of the hall, motioning Henrietta to precede him.

“My lord, perhaps you should not come in,” Henrietta began uncertainly as she crossed the doorway and turned to face him.

Lord Baddick obediently remained outside. “If you do not wish me to, then of course, I will not.” He spoke softly while he cajoled, “My heart, we are betrothed. I beg a moment to be private with you. I have decided to leave for my estate in the morning so I may place my ring upon your lovely finger without any further delay.” He grinned boyishly. “My mother will have questions for me about you, which I confess I know not the answers to. Can you not spare a few minutes for me?”

It did not seem an unreasonable request. “Very well, then.” Henrietta stepped back so his lordship could enter.

She led him upstairs to the drawing room where candles were lit and a fire burned low. They stood near the hearth.

When Lord Baddick moved close to her, Henrietta abruptly felt herself become nervous. “You are so young and fresh, Henrietta. Where is the pain in your head?” he asked in a whisper. “I will ease it.” His hazel eyes gazed intently into her blue ones.

To her dismay, when Henrietta tried to speak, her voice wavered. “There is no need. I am feeling a little better. What were the questions you wanted to ask?”

The viscount chuckled and delayed answering. A spark popped from a log in the fireplace next to them and Henrietta started. He smiled slowly at her. Reaching out, he captured a dark curl close to her face and wound it around his finger. “Have you ever been kissed before, my innocent?” His gaze moved from her hair and rested on her pink lips.

“My lord! Naturally I have not allowed anyone such a liberty.” She was becoming increasingly uneasy under his scrutiny. She supposed he was within his rights to want a kiss from his fiancée but she did not want it.

She swallowed hard. Once they were married, he had a right to as many kisses as he wanted and much more. Although what that “more” might be, Henrietta had no idea. She only knew more than kisses were required to have babies. This aspect of marriage to Lord Baddick had not been considered, and her stomach clenched tightly.

Lord Baddick sensed her fear and it fed his desire. Moving his hand from where his fingers had been toying with the glossy curl, he held her head still and his mouth came down to hers.

At the last second, Henrietta twisted her face away from his and the wet kiss landed on her neck. His lordship did not seem overly concerned with this change in location, however, because he began kissing the slender white column with a frightening intensity.

Henrietta closed her eyes briefly to fight down a wave of fear and nausea. “You must help yourself to some claret while I fetch Felice,” she said, panic such as she’d never known before causing her voice to shake. The Duke of Winterton’s words suddenly rang in her head. His intentions toward you are the very worst.

“We do not need Felice for what we are going to

do, Henrietta.” The viscount’s voice sounded as if it were coming from far away, and his kisses moved to her bare shoulder.

How could she ever have thought she could marry him! Her hands came up to push at his strong shoulders, but his arm was a steel band around her waist. “No! You must not,” she cried sharply. His hands seemed all over her, and then one made its way to her breast. She pulled away with all her might, hearing the sleeve of her dress tear. Without thinking, she drew back her hand and slapped his face.

They stood there, breathing hard, stunned. Then an evil look appeared across Lord Baddick’s features. Henrietta felt as if a mask had dropped from his face and she was seeing the true man for the first time.

“Now, fairest one, that will not do at all,” he stated furiously. Something in his posture reminded her of a wild animal about to spring on its prey. “You have tried my patience, you little vixen.”

His voice and manner changed back into that of the charming gentleman. “Henrietta, accept your fate and be merry. You will enjoy yourself, I promise.”

A sheer black fright swept through Henrietta. She opened her mouth and screamed.

Lord Baddick lunged for her, but the shock of that cultured voice in the middle of his barbaric attack caused Henrietta to feel a cold courage. She grabbed a brass candlestick off the fireplace mantel, stepped back, and hurled it at him with all her might. The viscount ducked, cursing all the while, and the heavy candlestick flew harmlessly over his head to smash one of the drawing room windows.

Henrietta turned to run, but the enraged Lord Baddick caught her by her dress’s skirt, causing them both to tumble to the floor.

At that moment Knight, his sleep disturbed by Henrietta’s scream, raced into the room. He threw himself, needle-sharp claws extended, onto Lord Baddick’s head. A bloodcurdling yell erupted from the viscount.

Henrietta scrambled to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest, and ran from the room.

While these horrible events transpired, the Duke of Winterton sat in a rented hack outside in the street in front of Lady Fuddlesby’s town house, calling himself every kind of fool. Upon leaving the opera, he had ordered his astonished mother to make use of his carriage and driver to convey herself home.

Giles felt convinced there was something shilly-shallying about the “betrothal” between Miss Lanford and Baddick. When he had studied her face after Baddick’s announcement, he could detect no joy. She did not love the viscount, he was certain. Why, then, had she agreed to marry him? Was it to obtain a title? In his experience most women married for a title or money or both. Somehow, though, he had not received the impression Miss Lanford was mercenary.

The fact of the matter, the duke decided, was that Baddick most likely had no intention of going through with the marriage. Giles shrewdly guessed the viscount had probably blurted out the information in anger when he had demanded to speak to Miss Lanford in private.

These deductions, and fear that it was all a ruse on Baddick’s part to further a physical intimacy with Miss Lanford, motivated the duke to hire a hack and keep an eye on Lady Fuddlesby’s town house. The ladies were in Baddick’s care this evening, and he wanted to be certain they arrived home safely.

Now, as he sat watching the house, his white cravat gleaming in the darkness, he questioned his judgment and his sanity. What was this unfamiliar, protective feeling he felt for Miss Lanford? The blue-eyed squire’s daughter was dominating his thoughts, causing him to behave in ways foreign to him. Never before had he cared one whit for the fate of any young miss.

Abruptly his attention was caught. Had that faint sound been a scream?

All at once one of the windows of Lady Fuddles-by’s town house shattered. An icy dread washed over him, and the duke vaulted out of the hackney and raced up the front steps of the town house. The front door was mercifully unlocked. He flung it open, dashing into the hall in time to catch a breathless Henrietta, who rushed headlong down the stairs into his arms.