“Your Grace, may I present my niece, Lady Henrietta Church,” Gideon’s hostess, Lady Amelia Whiting, said, having already taken Gideon about the room to reacquaint him with the half dozen couples he knew already gathered in the salon before dinner. She had also introduced him to the four single young ladies who were now engaged in a whispered conversation behind their fans in a corner of the room. “She is the daughter of my dear departed sister, Grace, and my brother-in-law, Henry, the Earl of Dunhill,” she added proudly.
“Indeed,” he murmured noncommittally as he gave a formal bow toward that young lady.
Gideon’s research into Henry Church, the man he was here to investigate in connection with the death of one of Gideon’s closest friends, had revealed that Lady Henrietta Church was the earl’s only daughter. She had an older brother, Edward, Viscount Henlow, Dunhill’s heir, whom Gideon had been informed would also be present this weekend.
Henrietta Church, despite bearing little resemblance to the hoyden of a female Gideon had met this afternoon was, nevertheless, the very same young lady who had been sitting bare-legged beside the Whitings’ stream fishing for trout, with her hair loose and windblown and her clothes in disarray.
She looked every inch the young lady of Society this evening, however. Her hair was curled and swept up and secured at her crown, with several loose curls beside her ears and at her temples. Her fashionable gown was the color of a fuchsia in bloom, perfectly complementing the golden flesh of her face, arms, and the swell of her breasts visible above the curved neckline. Gideon could not see her feet beneath the long gown, but he very much doubted they were scandalously bare this evening as they had been earlier today.
She also smelled delicious. A combination of the musk of roses and the more subtle perfume of the lady herself. A heady scent which now invaded all of Gideon’s senses.
Telling Gideon that her appearance might be different, but his visceral reaction to her was still the same: he wished to thread his fingers into her hair as he devoured her sensuous lips and caressed her slender body to match the intensity of his passions.
“Darling, may I present Gideon Harrington, the Duke of Oxford,” Lady Whiting informed her niece.
That young lady looked at him with a challenge in her blue eyes, an emotion that had been nowhere in sight when they met this afternoon. As if she were now daring him to reveal the circumstances of that earlier meeting.
Gideon remained silent on the subject.
Lady Church’s expression turned to one of relief “My aunt is quite correct in that I was christened for my father, Henry, but I prefer to be called—”
“Harry,” he finished huskily.
Lady Whiting’s eyes widened. “How on earth did you know that?”
Gideon gave her a reassuring smile before returning his gaze to meet the blue eyes of Henrietta Church’s. Eyes that were a little less confident than they had been a few seconds ago, and they no longer sparkled. “A lucky guess.” He raised a challenging brow at Harry as he answered the older lady. “I met your brother when I arrived earlier today, but I have not seen your father so far this evening.” The older and usually disheveled-looking man was obviously not amongst the guests already gathered in the Whitings’ salon.
Causing Gideon to wonder if Dunhill was here at all. He would not be best pleased if Henry Church had decided not to attend the house party at his sister-in-law’s home this weekend after all. But the man was eccentric enough to have changed his mind at the last minute and sent his daughter to stay at her aunt and uncle’s house without him. Especially when her brother was here to act as chaperone. Although the disreputable things he had heard about Henlow did not represent him as being suitable for the role.
“I am afraid you will not meet him this evening either,” Harry answered him cheerfully. “I last saw him as he was going up to the roof with his telescope,” she confided to her aunt.
“I shall have Watkins remove his place at the dinner table,” Amelia Whiting said without concern. As if she were used to, and indulged, her brother-in-law’s strange behavior.
Which she probably was, Gideon inwardly derided. Henry Church was a man whom Gideon now recalled had often wandered off into the mountains of Spain or France in the evenings with his telescope before they were called into battle the following day. He would also disappear bird-watching for hours during the day when they were not engaged in or due to go to battle.
Harry nodded. “Before my father ascended the stairs to the roof, I heard him muttering something under his breath about having ‘no wish to spend the evening making polite and pleasant conversation with that pompous ass.’ That he’d ‘put up with enough of him and his friends’ damned arrogance during their months of serving together in the same regiment.’”
This last comment, with the addition of the challenging smirk currently curving Henrietta Church’s pink and full lips, left Gideon in no doubt that he was the pompous ass Dunhill had been referring to.
It was true, he and Dunhill had been in the same regiment for several months after Napoleon’s escape from Elba. But they had never progressed beyond nodding acquaintances. Gideon had preferred to be in the company of his closest friends, those other five gentlemen known in Society as the Ruthless Dukes. Until Plymouth had been struck down and they were no longer numbered six but five.
Gideon had believed at the time that Dunhill should never have become a soldier when his nature was obviously one of absentminded gentleness.
Events since then had caused Gideon to question that opinion. They had learned just months ago, from a totally reliable witness, that Plymouth had not perished in battle at all, but had been struck down by the sword of an English officer.
Since learning of this, the five Ruthless Dukes remaining had been on a mission to find Plymouth’s murderer. Henry Church was one of five other officers in their regiment who could have been responsible.
Indeed, he was the last of them, the other four having already been proven innocent.
The older man’s presence this weekend, when he rarely left the Dunhill estate in Gloucester, was Gideon’s only reason for subjecting himself to the coming four days of socializing with people he had no wish to spend so much as an hour with.
With the exception, now that he had met her, of Harry Church…
Did that make him a pompous and arrogant ass?
Probably, Gideon acknowledged ruefully.
The mocking sparkle in Harry’s eyes said she certainly believed that to be the case. “Please see to your other guests, Aunt,” she encouraged lightly. “I am sure His Grace and I are perfectly capable of entertaining each other until it is time for us to go through to the dining room. Where you have already informed me the two of us are to be seated next to each other,” she added with what Gideon knew to be her belief there would be a lack of enthusiasm on his part for that seating arrangement.
A lack he did not feel in the slightest. “Yes, please do not feel obliged to remain at my side a moment longer, Lady Whiting,” he encouraged smoothly as two more couples entered the room dressed for dinner. “Now that we have been introduced, I believe Lady…Harry’s company to be more than sufficiently diverting for any discerning gentleman.” Although the thought of sitting next to this vibrantly beautiful woman during dinner, when he was suffering from this unexpected desire for her and breathing in her unique and arousing perfume for hours, was less than ideal.
Despite the incongruousness of their first meeting, Gideon had been unable to stop thinking about the unusual young woman he had previously known only as Harry. So much so that, once he was soaking in the bath in his suite of rooms—having already irritably removed the reeds from his hair and the mud upon his cheek—his cock had hardened and risen beneath the soapy water. He’d had to send his valet, Billings, from the room until the evidence of his arousal subsided. The other man had arrived at the Whiting estate that morning, along with carriage containing the clothes Gideon would need for this weekend in the country.
As he refused to take himself in hand like some callow youth, Gideon’s arousal had been so persistent that it had been a considerable amount of time before he was able to ring for Billings to return.
Harry was not only hauntingly beautiful, but her forthright nature was completely unlike that of any other woman Gideon had ever met. She was a puzzle of innocence and outspokenness. Of bare and shapely legs and sun-tanned hands he could so easily imagine caressing his body.
Until now, Gideon had believed her to be a lass from the village, perhaps someone he might seek out and see again once his business at Whiting Manor was completed.
He had never thought of taking a mistress before, but if, as he hoped, he was able to entice Harry into feeling an attraction toward him, he had even considered the possibility of persuading her into coming back to London with him when he departed in four days’ time.
His intention, once there, had been to see her settled in a little house of her own for the duration of their liaison. He knew from observing other such relationships that he would be expected to pay for servants and a carriage, along with a weekly or monthly stipend which would allow her to purchase items from London’s fashionable shops. There would also be the expectation of presents of jewelry.
Knowing Harry was the unmarried and no doubt virginal daughter of Henry Church, a man who might be responsible for the slaying of one of Gideon’s closest friends, must surely put an end to any and all of those intentions?
* * *
“I am beginning to suspect you are not a gentleman at all,” Harry accused once her aunt had departed, leaving her alone with the duke.
“Why is that?” Oxford returned mildly.
“Because you deliberately dangled a carrot of curiosity in front of my aunt by your already knowing my preferred name.”
He shrugged broad shoulders. “As you have already told me you are not always a lady, it would seem we are well met,” he returned evenly. “What?” He mocked her surprised expression. “Were you under the misapprehension I would allow you to continue to play your word games with me without retaliation? Especially when you did so in front of someone who is unaware of our previous…acquaintance.”
Harry didn’t know what she’d thought would happen when she and the duke met again this evening and her identity as Lady Henrietta Church was revealed.
She had expected to be rendered breathless by the duke’s elegant appearance in evening clothes.
She had been correct.
She had also believed he might be the handsomest gentleman in the room.
Again, she was proven correct.
She had not thought to encounter something that looked suspiciously like heat in those steely gray eyes as the duke continued to look at her from between narrowed lids.
That Gideon Harrington, the Duke of Oxford, was here at all after accepting her aunt and uncle’s weekend invitation was surprise enough. Her aunt had confided that the duke had deliberately sought out the invitation, making his presence here even more intriguing.
He did not appear to be a gentleman who enjoyed weekends in the country, where the daytime entertainment was to be walking about the gardens and beside the lake for the ladies and shooting for the gentlemen.
Not that Harry’s father would join in the latter part of those plans. No, he was far more likely to go off on his own to watch his beloved birds than harm a single feather on one.
Harry wished she might join him!
Bird-watching would be preferable to spending the morning with the ladies and then meeting up with the gentlemen for a picnic luncheon. After which they would part again and not meet again until dinner in the evening, followed by the playing of cards or parlor games.
She could envisage the Duke of Oxford playing cards out of politeness to his host and hostess, but no amount of her imagination could see him participating in any after-dinner parlor games.
“You find something amusing?”
Harry continued to smile as she refocused her gaze on the arrogantly toplofty gentleman beside her. “I was trying to envision you joining in the parlor games after diner. And failing,” she derided.
“Rightly so,” he murmured. “Such entertainments are for the young and frivolous. Of which I am neither.” His whole demeanor tensed, shoulders becoming rigid, expression losing all teasing as his attention was caught and held by the loud chatter of several gentlemen entering the room. “What in hell is he doing here?”
Harry was a little taken aback, both by the swearing and the harshness of Oxford’s tone. “I do not know which he you are referring to.” How could she when four young and single gentlemen had entered the room? One of those men was her older brother, their father’s heir, Edward, Viscount Henlow.
“The usurper,” he grated.
“I do not…” Her brow cleared. “Can you be referring to Robert Granger, the Duke of Plymouth?”
Oxford’s nostrils flared. “I will never be able to think of or accept him as such.”
“Understandably.” She knew the previous Duke of Plymouth had been a close friend of Oxford’s. “Except you cannot change the fact he has now become the recipient of his cousin’s, and your friend’s, title,” she added gently.
Oxford continued to stare at the young duke through narrowed lids. “What is he doing here?” he demanded harshly.
She shrugged. “Well, for one, Robert Granger is the son of my uncle’s closest friend. Secondly, he is also a friend of my brother’s from when they were at school together. I also believe it to be a distinct feather in my aunt’s social bonnet that she has not one but two single and eligible dukes as guests at her weekend party. My aunt sees herself as something of a matchmaker,” she explained affectionately.
“Single and eligible…?” Oxford glanced about the room before looking down at her from his superior height. “There are four single gentlemen present and five single young ladies.”
“Five gentlemen,” Harry corrected softly. “You forgot to include yourself,” she added when he continued to frown.
He recoiled in obvious horror. “I am not young, nor did I come here in search of a wife.”
“I believe I had already guessed as much from your scowling countenance,” she derided. “Unfortunately, it is my aunt you will have to convince of your disinterest, not me.” She grimaced. “But at least let me assure you I do not have any designs on becoming your duchess. I am sure our meeting earlier today will have provided you with more than enough evidence of my complete lack of feminine wiles and machinations with which to entice you.”
His top lip curled back. “There is nothing in the least enticing about a woman using wiles and machinations to ensnare a husband.”
Her eyes widened at the thought this stern gentleman might find her lack of those things attractive. “There isn’t?”
He shook his head. “I have absolutely no interest in a woman who does not behave as her true self.”
“Really?” She chuckled. “Then you must love me!” She winced the moment the words left her lips. “What I meant to say…”
“I also prefer for a woman to say exactly what she means,” Oxford murmured. “It saves wasting time on empty conversations which ultimately have no substance or meaning.”
Harry felt color warm her cheeks. “You would prefer me to speak the truth?”
“Yes,” he bit out softly between even white teeth.
She leaned forward confidingly. “In that case, I think I should tell you…”
“Yes?”
“That I find your appearance far more ducal this evening now there is no tangle of reeds in your hair and streaks of mud down your cheek!”
* * *
Gideon should have expected this young lady’s irrepressible humor at his expense to continue. She didn’t seem capable of wishing to maintain a serious conversation for longer than a few minutes at a time. Although he was sure that was through choice rather than any lack of intelligence.
A subterfuge that made his palm twitch to administer the spanking such behavior deserved.
He wondered if the Whitings had an orangery or another private room on the ground floor of the house to which he might take Harry and thoroughly demonstrate his reaction to her continued levity toward him.
Unfortunately, the Whitings’ butler chose that moment to announce that dinner was served.
Fortunately, knowing they were seated next to each other, Gideon was able to present his arm and escort Harry through to the dining room.
He was less pleased at having to nod acknowledgment of Robert Granger as they passed by the other man. The last thing he had expected this weekend was to find himself face-to-face with the man who now held the Plymouth title.
To make matters worse, the younger man was a fop of the highest order. To a degree the ridiculous height of the collar of his evening shirt even managed to make the traditional plain black-and-white evening clothes look outlandish.
This young gentleman had also, Gideon knew, recently become aware of the Ruthless Dukes’ search for the English officer who had been seen to strike down his cousin.
Was that what Granger was doing here?
Had he also realized there was only one officer of their regiment left to investigate? Had Granger come here to carry out that investigation himself?
If so, Gideon would be having words with him tomorrow.
“I hope you will take special note to enjoy the fish course.” Harry drew Gideon’s attention back to her as he pulled her chair back from the table.
He waited until she was seated before taking his place in the chair beside her. “Trout?”
The feigned widening of her eyes lacked all sincerity. “How clever of you to guess.”
Gideon stared at her for several seconds before startling himself with a burst of laughter that had spontaneously erupted from his chest.
Which, considering the darkness of his thoughts seconds earlier, was completely unexpected.
He could tell by the curious glances being cast in his direction that several other people at the table were just as surprised by his unprecedented behavior. The Duke of Oxford was not known for his public displays of humor.
He had no intention of explaining to anyone, including Harry, that her unfiltered teasing was like a breath of fresh air in his otherwise stifling life.
His days were spent at The House and the evenings either at his club or with his close-knit group of male friends. That all four of those friends were now married had changed that dynamic to include their wives.
Which brought Gideon neatly back to the reason he was here at all and why he should not be enjoying the company of Henry Church’s unmarried daughter.
He sobered. “How old are you?”
She looked taken aback by the sudden change of subject. “I am nineteen.”
“And unmarried.”
“Yes.”
“With not even a betrothal in sight?”
She visibly bristled. “I have no wish to be molded into some man’s perfect and obedient wife.”
Gideon gave another chuckle. “The first you might manage, depending on the gentleman’s requirements. But I very much doubt you are capable of the second.”
Her eyes glittered with an intent Gideon already knew to be wary of. “How old are you?”
“Three and thirty.”
“Unmarried?”
He had been right to expect she might retaliate. “Yes.”
“There is no betrothal on your horizon either?”
His mouth quirked. “None.”
“Then it would seem neither of us enamored with the idea of marriage,” she dismissed.
“I am not against the idea.” To Gideon’s surprise, he realized he was no longer as averse to that possibility as he had been. “It is only that I have not yet met the lady I would wish to make my wife.”
“Or one who might wish to become your wife,” Harry scorned predictably.
Perhaps.
But Henry Church had left out certain vital ingredients earlier when he described Gideon’s character to his daughter. Because Gideon was also stubborn and decisive, and once his mind was set upon a course of action, it would not be altered.
It was currently set on ensuring the beautiful, unpredictable, and highly entertaining Harry Church would one day become his.