Lady Saves the Duke Read online

  And yet, he had promised he would not tell anybody about her dress. She knew for a fact not all gentleman would have done the same. She hoped, oh, she hoped he would not speak of it, as he had promised.

  In all honesty, she was also forced to admit to herself that he had been kind to her when she had been lying on the bottom of the boat. He had not done anything to further embarrass her at a time when she had been most mortified. Again, something she would not expect from all gentlemen.

  When she had looked down and seen her bared breasts, she had wished that she would die, then and there. She was not being dramatic about this either. And then, when she thought he might be reaching out to touch her, to touch them, she had been terrified. It had been the most frightening moment of her life.

  No. It had not. But it had been close.

  No. Not really.

  And then she had flinched when he’d only been reaching down to retrieve her shawl from the floor of the boat. How foolish of her! He had, in fact, been rather kind.

  Except when he hadn’t been.

  Abigail determined, as she and Penelope descended the staircase, not to dwell on the incident. It was forgotten, and she was going to enjoy the evening. She even felt almost pretty. There were many people here, and she hoped to be friendly and learn about their interesting lives. She set out to enjoy herself. She was quite unwavering.

  She and Penelope entered the richly furnished drawing room, unnoticed of course, and made their way to a loveseat that was pleasantly situated beside the large fireplace. No fire burned tonight. It was far too warm for that. The servants had utilized the hearth instead to showcase a beautiful flower arrangement. The fragrance delighted as did the effect.

  Shortly after the two single ladies sat down, Lady Natalie joined them dressed in far more sophisticated apparel than she’d worn earlier that afternoon. No pink. No flounces. Rather a fashionably cut gown that set off her figure and coloring to perfection.

  And an unrepentant grin.

  Nonetheless, Abigail knew her manners, and the girl had nearly drowned earlier that day.

  “My lady, I do hope you are feeling well after your frightening experience this afternoon? And the little pup, has he recovered too?” Lady Natalie and the dog both might have died if not for the quick actions of Lord Hawthorne. In light of the younger girl’s experience on the lake, Abigail needed to rethink her own perspective on what had happened with the duke.

  “Please, call me Natalie. And Baby Bear and I are both unscathed by this afternoon’s events.” Natalie smiled.

  Abigail loved the dog’s name! “Baby Bear is his name, oh, how adorable! I have always wanted a pet, but my mother is allergic and could never tolerate an animal in the house.”

  “Your mother barely tolerates other humans about—”

  Abigail sent Penelope a warning look. The woman was her mother, after all.

  “Do let’s sit. I cannot believe how warm it has been these past few days.” The blonde beauty fanned herself and then impishly turned toward Penelope. “Did my brother charm you as you took your turn about the lake? Please tell me he was not a dreadful bore conversing on agricultural outputs and trading prices.”

  “He was quite charming, but yes, in fact, that is exactly what we discussed. Why would such a topic be considered boring?”

  Abigail knew Penelope too well. “I’m sure it was at Penelope’s instigation.” She wished Penelope could move on from the unattainable viscount. “Penelope avoids anything resembling flirtation or romance when a gentleman dares attempt such with her. She is determined to remain unmarried. As am I.”

  “And what of yourself?”

  Apparently Abigail was not to be spared.

  “Did you avoid flirtation as well? Was it necessary to do so with the duke this afternoon?”

  Aha! Lady Natalie was not unaware of her unfair antics! “Naughty of you to pair me with Monfort. A duke, no less! What was I to do when plunked down in a boat with a duke of all things, for nearly forty minutes? What does a grown woman, one for all intents and purposes on the shelf, speak of with a duke? Very naughty indeed, Lady Natalie.” Abigail could hardly believe her audacity at chastising the daughter of a earl. But it had not been a kind act on the young lady’s part!

  “And what does a woman who is practically on the shelf discuss with a duke for forty minutes? Pray tell us, Miss Wright.”

  The image of her bosoms exposed came instantly to mind, and Abigail couldn’t stop the heat from climbing her neck. Fear struck her, again, that the duke would not keep her secret. She swallowed hard, but when she went to speak nothing came out.

  A commotion at the entrance drew her gaze to the door, and all thoughts of the duke vanished. First her heart stopped, and then it raced at the sight of the familiar but unwelcome person who’d just entered the drawing room.

  In her mind, she remembered another time, another place—a dark place with nothing but his hard beady eyes and his clammy bold hands. She had hoped never to lay eyes on him again. She should have known. The ton was interconnected. He would not have disappeared from the face of the earth merely because she wished it so. All of the air swooshed out of the room. She wondered that those around her could not hear her heart pounding.

  The somewhat dusty and disheveled man was accompanied by two other similar creatures, but they went unnoticed by her as Abigail fought the spinning darkness threatening to overtake her.

  She barely noticed when Penelope’s hand reached over to squeeze hers reassuringly.

  ****

  Standing alone in the drawing room, Alex absentmindedly noticed that Miss Abigail Wright wore a gown that was not going to allow any further glimpses of her attributes today. Such was his first thought as he watched her enter the drawing room. Surprisingly, the woman he had earlier considered an antidote had somehow caught his imagination. Perhaps this was because he had gone more than a few months now without any sex. But as he allowed his eyes to remain on her person, he recognized…something.

  Although she lacked any level of presence, she managed to be alluring. She smiled too much, with full lush lips, and she dropped her gaze to her hands often, as though ashamed of herself. But when she did that, when she tipped her chin downward, attention was drawn to the delicate arch of her neck—the fragility of her shoulders and back.

  A fitted bodice and lacy fichu covered the modest glimpse of cleavage allowed by her dress. The dress fit her snugly and emphasized the contrast between her breasts and waist.

  She had her hands primly folded in her lap, lifting them when she spoke to punctuate her words.

  All in all, she possessed an unexpected appeal.

  And he was tempted.

  He would not avail himself of whores, but he wouldn’t mind a discreet affair. Now that could certainly make this house party more interesting. She was different from any other woman he had ever contemplated bedding. Perhaps that was her pull. Lifting his glass, he took another sip of the rich wine Ravensdale had made available to his guests and reconsidered his options.

  Alex deliberately made his demeanor as uninviting as possible. This way, he could avoid situations involving tedious small talk. He repulsed most people easily with a tightening of his jaw and slight narrowing of his eyes. Most persons found those two subtle movements enough to steer into another direction completely. A rather useful technique which left him free to observe.

  Miss Wright, although subdued, had recovered herself enough to join what most likely would be daunting company. In her own words, she had described herself as barely gentry. How must she feel to be mingling with individuals who nearly all held some form of title? And yet she sat tall and proud. She glanced around the room with a cheerful smile and a sparkle in those expressive brown eyes of hers.

  She was chatting gaily with her cousin and Lady Natalie for a few moments before the duke noticed the very life flow completely out of her.

  Her eyes became vacant, and all color left her face. She froze, staring at the doorway. W
hat on earth?

  The duke’s gaze swiveled toward the door just in time to see four late visitors being escorted away by Stone Ravensdale, the second son to the earl. He had gone to school with one of the “gentlemen” who were dressed in traveling clothes and could not have appeared more out of place. Hugh, yes, the Viscount Danbury. But the others were rabble rousers, from what he could remember.

  Odd.

  The Spencers were known as a wholesome type of family, and it would be unusual for one of the sons to entertain the likes of Damien Farley. Yes, that was the bulkier man’s name. The duke could not recall the names of the other two. He did remember, though, that Farley had a tenuous claim to nobility. Rather more valuable, likely, was his talent for attaching himself to naïve lordlings with more fortune than brains.

  And the men’s appearance had been enough to cause Miss Wright to look as though she had seen a ghost. Her cousin, Penelope, had reached over and covered Miss Wright’s hand protectively. Monfort watched as color gradually returned to Miss Wright’s complexion. What the devil was all of that about? Even more vexing, why the hell did it matter to him?

  ****

  In spite of the long day, a large supper, and a few sips of sherry, sleep eluded Abigail. She tossed and turned for hours but could not find any position in which she could relax for long. When she closed her eyes, she could not chase away the image of Damian Farley. Age had done nothing to improve his appearance. His eyes were a bit more bloodshot, his hair a bit thinner, and his skin somewhat sallower. Why was he here? Had he remembered her? Of course he would have, wouldn’t he? Did she want him to? God, no! And yet she shuddered to think that he should not remember.

  Abigail rolled to her other side. How could Penelope sleep in this heat? Although they’d left the window open, not so much as a slight breeze stirred the stifling air, successfully ruining Abigail’s attempts to slumber. Combined with the distress of her embarrassment that afternoon, she could endure it not one second longer.

  She needed fresh air. Perhaps the grass beneath her feet.

  With only a few shafts of moonlight for illumination, she climbed out of the small bed and rifled around, locating the gown she’d worn earlier that evening. Once dressed, she slipped out the door and down the corridor. Surely, she could find her way outside through the french doors off the drawing room. She did not wish to attempt opening the large main door, and she did not know her way around well enough to find the servants’ entrance.

  On bare feet, with her hair tied in one long braid down her back, she opened the drawing room door and tiptoed over to one of the glass-paned doors which exited to a terrace. She turned the knob, but it did not budge. Moving to another door, she tried it with no success either.

  “Oh, blast!” she whispered.

  ****

  Ah, so she had found him. Not quite as imaginative as the busted bodice, but he gave her points for tenacity. The uncle apparently had not been exaggerating. For here she was, in the library, so very late, with such a thin excuse as wishing to go outdoors. She had even cleverly managed to stage herself so that the moonlight streamed in behind her, revealing more than a silhouette of what he now admitted to himself was a delectable and voluptuous figure. She was wearing the dress she’d worn to dinner earlier, but without stays or chemise. It was quite transparent when the unfiltered moonlight shone behind her, and the effect was causing a tightening in his groin. He wondered, vaguely, if she had attempted to find him in his bedchamber first. Marco, his valet, would have been tucked away on his trundle off the dressing room and most likely would not have heard her knocking. Perhaps Alex ought to have gone to bed after all. That would have saved them both a bit of effort.

  He had known he would not be able to sleep, though. Discussing Hyacinth and the children with Miss Wright earlier had stirred up too many disturbing memories. He’d decided to avail himself of Ravensdale’s fine scotch—quite a bit of it, in fact.

  “Such language,” he said, laughing softly. “And from such a pretty mouth.”

  Abigail froze. She was not alone. Spinning about, her eyes searched the shadowy room. She had entered the library several moments ago. Why had the person not brought his presence to her attention then? An inkling of fear ghosted down her spine.

  “Who is there?” she asked, attempting to sound unafraid.

  And then she saw a movement from one of the large chairs by the fireplace. “Hopefully not your worst nightmare.”

  She knew that voice. Bored sounding and arrogant, yes, it was the duke.

  “They are locked at the top. You’ll never reach them.” And then, seeming to guess at her confusion, a hand gestured toward the outside terrace. “The doors.”

  “Oh,” was all she said. And then feeling the need to fill in the silence, “The heat upstairs is unbearable. I could not sleep.”

  The duke rose to his feet and moved quietly across the room. Did he seem just a tad off balance? The lines of his face were all she could make out, cast in shadows by the moonlight. He was holding a glass in one of his hands and his hair was disheveled, as though he’d run his hand through it several times. Even knowing it was he, and that she was quite safe, her heart skipped a beat. He was a man, after all.

  “So you thought it would be wise to explore your host’s estate in the middle of the night all alone?” His tone suggested an insult. “I’m beginning to think you are not a very smart woman, Miss Wright.”

  Oh, he really was annoyingly arrogant. And then she shivered. He did have a point. Why had she not considered her safety before making a mad dash to be outside? And after seeing that nasty excuse for a gentleman earlier this evening no less? At the time, all that had mattered was to find some relief from the heat. “I was hot.”

  She watched as a sly, not a smile really, rather a smirk, passed across the duke’s features. A ray of moonlight fell on his face, revealing raised eyebrows and glowing silver eyes. He now stood uncomfortably close to her, holding a brandy snifter.

  “And looking for a bit of relief, eh? Perhaps you’d like some company?” He reached up and unlatched the lock at the top of the door. As he raised his arm, his body skimmed Abigail’s. She inhaled and a strange energy pulsed through her. He was all male, and he was very close. The sensations caused by his nearness befuddled her. She’d spent little time in the presence of gentlemen. Even less in the presence of worldly dukes.

  And then, just as smoothly, he lowered his arm, pushed the lever, and swung the door open. Not moving away, he took a slow sip of his drink and watched her over the rim of his glass. His silver eyes were again caught by the moonlight. They were hooded but focused.

  On her.

  The air was only slightly cooler in the library than it had been upstairs. That is until the duke pushed open the door.

  A refreshing breeze beckoned her outside. But although the cool air tempted her, Abigail was beginning to believe coming downstairs had not been one of her better ideas. It was bad enough she’d run into the duke. What if Farley were wandering about outside? She’d most definitely not used good judgment.

  A rush of cool air swirled her gown around her legs.

  If the duke were to stroll outside with her for a few harmless minutes, she would be safe from Farley. The duke seemed like an honorable gentleman, after all. And he was awaiting her response. Would she appreciate his company?

  “Thank you, Your Grace. That is kind of you.” The minute she spoke, an altogether different apprehension settled on her. The duke was not wearing his cravat or waistcoat. The top half of his shirt had come unbuttoned, and a smattering of dark curling hair showed on his exposed chest. Tiny black hairs covered the line of his jaw, and his eyes gleamed amongst the shadows on his face. He’d rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows and removed his stockings and shoes. The sight of his bare feet moved her.

  “You must be feeling the heat this evening as well,” she said nervously.

  He merely raised one eyebrow and then indicated with a slight jerk of his chin t
hat she step outside.

  The stones on the patio cooled the bottom of her own bare feet. After the duke closed the door behind them, he turned back toward her and offered his arm. She took it hesitantly and they proceeded to stroll toward the front lawn. His proximity sent a shiver racing through her.

  “You could not sleep?” she asked. Silence unnerved her.

  He did not answer. A shaft of moonlight caught his face again. His eyes appeared more silver than they had in the daylight and his chiseled features set and hard. Even walking casually, he carried a tension. Did he never sleep?

  “Penelope had no difficulty falling asleep whatsoever.” Realizing he might not remember who Penelope was, she forged onward. “Penelope is my cousin on my father’s side. As long as I’ve known her, and that has been a very long time, she has never suffered from insomnia. What a blessing that must be!” In his continued silence, she babbled nervously. “To lay one’s head on the pillow, take a few deep relaxing breaths, and voilà! Be asleep. I can hardly image anything lovelier.”

  “Has this inability to sleep been with you since the scandal of your come-out?” He spoke the words in that lazy, uncaring voice. Abigail swallowed hard.

  Had he known all along? Had he remembered it himself? Her ruin had been public, but she had not thought it would be a matter of consequence to such a high and exalted person as the duke.

  “No,” she said, remembering. “It began shortly after.”

  “It took some time then,” he pressed, “to realize you would live a different life than you supposed? To succumb to your true nature?”

  At the thought of the drastic changes in her life when she returned from London, she chuckled, feeling no amusement whatsoever. “I suppose you could say that, Your Grace.”

  “But a sleepless night can hold a great deal of pleasure, would you not agree?” His voice sounded gravelly. “For a single woman…and an unattached male.”

  She inhaled sharply. Surely he was not implying…Surely not! “I often find something productive to do when sleep eludes me, Your Grace. It is amazing what one can accomplish under the light of just one candle.” She often did some sewing; she’d embroidered many a stitch sitting up alone at night.