A Duke for Diana, page 14
A knock sounded at the door to his study. He sighed. It must be time for dinner.
When he said, “Enter,” it proved to be Diana. But no Diana he’d hitherto seen.
“Your mother sent me to fetch you. . . .”
She trailed off as he sprang to his feet. He couldn’t help staring at her. Her golden dress glittered even in the candlelight, turning her into a goddess. The requisite puffy short sleeves barely clung to her shoulders, and the black trim of the bodice seemed to emphasize the fullness of her breasts. It would be so easy to pull those sleeves all the way off her shoulders and lift her breasts out of their hiding place so he could—
Bloody hell. He had to stop gawking at them, but it was hard. He was growing hard, and that would not do. Swiftly, he shifted his gaze up to her auburn curls, which for some reason drew his attention to her full and winsome mouth. He wanted to kiss it so badly he could taste it. Taste her.
“Will this gown do?” she asked nervously when he continued to be silent.
“Most certainly,” was all he managed to eke out. At her frown, he hastily added, “You look as beautiful as your namesake.” You steal my breath. You weaken my resolve. You are more dangerous to me than a bridge crumbling.
No, he mustn’t say any of that. She would consider it encouragement.
And now she was looking at him oddly. “My namesake is my great-aunt Diana.”
“I was referring to the namesake of all Dianas: the Roman goddess of the hunt.”
She smiled coyly. “I wouldn’t have taken you for a classicist.”
“Newcastle-upon-Tyne Academy, remember? I did absorb some of that education beyond mathematics or physics. Besides, for a while my father had a particularly good oil painting in his study of Diana bathing. You could have been her twin.”
She arched one brow. “Let me guess—she was half-undressed.”
“Not at all. She was fully undressed.” He grinned. “Which, for some reason, my mother found utterly appalling.”
“What a surprise.” She was obviously struggling not to laugh. “I believe my father has a similar painting in his study. The subject seems to be a favorite among gentlemen. Very classical.”
“So your father is a classicist, too?”
“In much the same way you are, I would imagine,” she said dryly.
At that moment, he realized he’d as much as said he’d imagined her without clothes. To which any gently bred woman would take offense.
That he had indeed imagined her without clothes wasn’t the point. He had to move this conversation into tamer waters. “Perhaps I should start over with a more gentlemanly approach. Lady Diana, you look very beautiful in that gown.”
“Thank you, kind sir,” she said with a curtsy. “And you look quite handsome, Duke. Somehow you even managed not to wrinkle your cravat. Beau Brummell would be proud.”
“Who’s that?” he asked.
“Doesn’t matter. You wouldn’t like him. I certainly don’t.”
“Sadly, I fear my hair is probably still ‘thrashed into wildness.’”
“True,” she said, approaching to smooth a lock here and a curl there. “Although the look of it is growing on me, actually.”
God, but she tempted him. If the door weren’t open and if his mother hadn’t sent her here, he might have given in to temptation and kissed her again. Her eyes meeting his told him she might actually want him to.
But when he did no such thing, she colored and turned for the door. “In any case, pay me no mind when it comes to fashionable hair. That’s Eliza’s purview. And speaking of Eliza, she would like to see you, your mother, and Rosy all together, to make sure your attire is harmonious.”
He followed her out of the study. “God forbid our attire not be harmonious.”
“All I can say is Eliza has some idea that families should have harmonious attire, especially for important occasions like this one. She says it leads to harmonious family relations. She’s convinced that the lack of it is what tore our family apart years ago.”
“And not the multiple mistresses, I take it?”
Diana shrugged. “I’ve been told my parents were on speaking terms once, long ago. So she might have the right of it. Who really knows?”
“Who really knows, indeed.”
Certainly he was no expert in how to hold a family together. Father had seemed to argue with Mother as often as he’d shown her affection. Grandfather and Mother were always at odds over Father. And lately he and Rosy . . .
No, that relationship was improving, thanks to Elegant Occasions. So he would watch her being launched into high society and applaud her all the way. Because getting her and Mother well-settled would at least set them on the path to harmonious family relations.
And take a hell of a large load off his mind.
Chapter Nine
Why had she insisted on touching him, not once but twice? It made no sense. Men didn’t usually have such a profound effect on her. Only him . . . and his talk of undressed goddesses and the way he’d tried to make it better by starting over and the wit that surprised her every time. She knew no one like him.
That must be his appeal. He was different. A duke, but not really a duke. A gentleman, but not always a gentleman. How could she not want to touch him? His size alone made her feel safe from all the sneering nobles and their gossipy wives.
So she sought to put him from her mind . . . at least until she had time to ponder him further. For now, she had to make sure everyone followed the rules of precedence in seating, that Verity had remembered to arrange the little marzipan swans on the mirror to mimic them swimming on a pure mountain lake, and that someone had put an extra seat at the table for her. By some miracle, one of the ladies expected to be in attendance had bowed out due to an illness, so Diana could actually join the dinner without destroying the ratio of men to women.
Geoffrey didn’t look terribly happy to be seated between a widowed marchioness and the young daughter of a duke, but the rules of precedence had dictated that.
Diana had dictated who was invited. Having heard that the aging marchioness’s eldest grandson was of an age to marry, Diana had hastened to add the widow. Meanwhile, the duke’s daughter had a favorite brother who was heir to her father. Short of marrying a duke or a marquess, Rosy could do no better than to marry the heir to one of those, and sadly, there weren’t many heirs to dukes and marquesses running around.
Still, Diana now regretted inviting the duke’s daughter, because the girl looked so adoringly at Geoffrey that Diana wished she could shove the chit’s face into her bowl of chilled Russian soup.
“Have you tried the duck?” her dinner companion to the right asked. “It’s better than I expected of a dinner thrown by a duke who is rumored to have no breeding whatsoever.”
A strangely fierce urge to defend Geoffrey seized her. “You do realize that in addition to his father’s prestigious line, His Grace is also descended from the Newcastle Stock-dons on his mother’s side? His breeding was forged at that old and very expensive school—Newcastle-upon-Tyne Academy. Her Majesty is considering sending one of her grandsons there.”
The fellow nodded as she spoke, as if she weren’t telling the most blatant lie of her life. She doubted he would ever know the truth anyway. And the ne’ er-do-well had sparked her temper, which was generally hard to do. He deserved to feel cut out of the general flow of gossip.
After a second such conversation with her dinner companion on the left, she was more than happy to see the dessert course arrive, a massive endeavor involving a sugar paste castle, marzipan swans on a mountain lake, and piles of nonpareil-covered chocolate drops for the snowy foothills surrounding the castle. On either end of the centerpiece were sugar paste bowls of marzipan fruit and assorted biscuits. From the way the other diners oohed and aahed, she wasn’t the only person impressed with Verity’s handiwork.
When the ladies withdrew to Mrs. Brookhouse’s boudoir to let the gentlemen have their port, Diana took the opportunity to pull Rosy aside. “How are you, my dear?” Diana asked. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
“Yes. But the guests are all so old.”
“They are, indeed. But because none of them were eligible gentlemen, did you find them easier to talk to?”
“Well . . . yes, but how am I to find a husband if I never meet eligible men?”
“You’ll meet them at your début ball in two weeks, which their parents, who are here now, will encourage them to attend after finding you to be the lovely eligible woman you are. And I’m sure the parents will invite you to any events they have in the interim, so you might even meet the gentlemen sooner. For tonight, I thought you might find it less taxing to converse with older people.”
Rosy’s eyes went wide. “Oh! It is much less taxing.”
“Now, the question is, will you wish to dance with the gentlemen who are here? Because it will be very good practice for when there are men who are more your age.”
“I’m always happy to dance as long as someone asks me.”
Diana patted her shoulder. “Trust me, being asked won’t be an issue. The couples here are all fine dancers who enjoy a lively reel or two.”
“What a coincidence. So do I!”
Rosy had said it in all earnestness. Diana could only nod and smile. The young lady wasn’t much like her brother, was she? He seized whatever he needed, and Rosy waited for someone to offer it to her. Perhaps it was a matter of differences between the sexes. Or perhaps it was the gap in their ages. At nineteen, Rosy wasn’t very worldly, but she would catch up eventually. Diana didn’t know Geoffrey’s precise age, but she would guess him to be in his late twenties.
“I never thought to ask,” Diana said, “but how old is your brother?” Diana regretted the question when Rosy got a speculative glint in her eyes.
“He’s thirty,” Rosy said. “And very eligible, I believe.”
Diana fought not to betray her interest in him. “Sadly, there are few eligible ladies here, but I will certainly make sure to invite some to your ball on his behalf.”
Then, before she could give away any of her true feelings, she went to the boudoir to make sure the women were comfortable. She sat a while, enjoying the chatter of the ladies, most of whom were kind and intelligent, which was why they were invited to Elegant Occasions’ affairs.
Before long, the sounds of music being played wafted to the boudoir. Lured by the lilting tune of “Monymusk,” the dinner guests rose and surged toward the formal drawing room. By the time Diana got there, nearly everyone had found a partner and joined the dance.
Except for Geoffrey. He stood near the door, drinking a glass of port and watching his guests twirl around the floor . . . particularly his sister.
She approached him. “Rosy is doing well, don’t you think? She definitely has more confidence than she showed a few weeks ago.”
“True. She dances nicely, too. But then, once she learned, she took to it readily.”
“And I see she had no trouble whatsoever gaining a partner.”
He smiled to himself. “I didn’t expect her to do otherwise. She’s going to break a number of gentlemen’s hearts, I daresay.”
“No doubt.”
He looked at her. “Why aren’t you dancing? I was surprised to see you weren’t already on the floor.”
“Perhaps I’m waiting to be asked,” she said coyly, hoping that was a broad enough hint for him.
“I can find you a partner, if that’s what you need,” he said, sweeping the room with his gaze.
She sighed. “I suppose I should find you a partner. Your dinner companion, perhaps?”
“The marchioness? I don’t think so. Besides, I see her there dancing with some nimble chap already.”
“I meant your other dinner companion,” she clipped out, fighting to hide the jealousy in her voice.
“No, indeed. That chit yammered at me long enough at dinner—nothing but inane gossip about people I’d never heard of. Why do I care if some earl got into trouble with his wife over some bet he placed in White’s betting book?”
Thank heavens he had no interest in the duke’s daughter. Diana was relieved, though she wasn’t sure why. She doubted he would marry any woman whose whole existence was tied up in a business so foreign to his own.
“You could always dance with me,” she said, as coolly as she could manage.
“No, I couldn’t,” he said belligerently, then followed his refusal with a large swallow of port.
She tamped down her hurt, but couldn’t resist asking, “Why not?”
“I can’t dance.”
“But why? It seems to me—”
“I can’t dance.” He glared at her. “I don’t know how.”
That caught her completely off guard. “How can that be? Didn’t you ever dance at parties or assemblies in Newcastle?”
He snorted. “When I wasn’t attending my all-male academy, my grandfather was taking me to various engineering projects and showing me how things work at Stockdon and Sons. Once I was old enough to travel with him, I was away from home half the time.” He turned defensive. “I didn’t mind not learning to dance. It wasn’t as if I could guess that one day I’d have a use for the ability.”
“Didn’t your mother care that you were gone so much? How old were you?”
“Twelve. And I was glad to go. At home . . .” He shrugged. “Mother had Rosy and Father. And she knew I was in good hands with Grandfather.”
Just when she thought she was beginning to understand him, she found out something that threw everything else into disarray. “All right, but after your grandfather and father died, why didn’t you take dancing lessons when you got them for your sister?”
“Because I was overseeing the building of a canal. Because I had no idea I was going to be handed a dukedom in a matter of months. And because . . .” He hesitated, his dark brows bent in a scowl. “I don’t think I’d be very good at dancing. I’d feel like an elephant trying to perform a minuet.”
“I once saw an elephant dancing at the Tower Menagerie. Despite its size, it danced quite nimbly. Besides, you’re no elephant. Your size doesn’t prevent you from being light on your feet.” She looked out over the other dancers. “And anyone who can balance atop half-finished bridges and locks, as I assume you do routinely, is perfectly capable of dancing. You might even find you enjoy it.”
“I highly doubt that.”
“Then why don’t we prove it? Let’s slip out to the terrace and I’ll give you your first dancing lesson. We can hear the music easily enough out there, and it has turned cold again, so no one else will want to be out there.”
He stared hard at her, as if trying to determine why she wanted to do this. She wasn’t entirely sure herself. All she knew was that she needed to explore this tenuous connection between them, and she had to do it more privately than in a room full of people.
While she merely waited for his answer, he nodded and gestured for her to precede him out of the drawing room into the hall rather than the terrace. “This way no one will jump to any conclusions,” he explained. “You and I are just going to take care of an emergency somewhere in the house.” He led her through the now-empty boudoir and then out onto the terrace.
She hadn’t been out here much. She’d inspected it as a possible place to set up tables if they had their dinner outside, but the cool, foggy weather had made that unwise. So, once they were out there, Geoffrey took the lead, guiding her down the steps to the outer perimeter of the terrace, where they could still hear the music but could not easily be seen in the darkness.
But the darkness might actually hamper them. It was hard to demonstrate a dance step if your companion couldn’t see you. As if for their benefit, the clouds broke just then, and the full moon shone bright enough for them to make their way. Ahead of them, a low brick wall encircled the terrace. At least it gave them some boundaries to work within.
He halted and faced her with a serious expression. “I’m all yours, Diana. Do as you will with me.”
“Don’t tempt me,” she said with a laugh. “I hardly think dancing lessons require such devotion. But you will have to be the judge of that. Is there a specific step you wish to learn, or is it all beyond your abilities?”
“I should like to learn the trotting step,” he said, and when she eyed him in confusion, he added, “Of course it’s ‘all beyond my abilities’! If I can’t dance, that means, by its very definition, that I don’t know any of it, or even what the steps are called!”
“All right, all right,” she grumbled. “You don’t have to be snippy about it.” So she began the same way her own dancing master had begun. “Have you ever learned to skip?”
He looked perplexed. “Can you demonstrate what you mean?”
So she did, hoping he could see well enough in the moonlight and the light of the Argand lamps in the drawing room to pick up what she was doing. “Now you try it,” she said.
“I actually do know this from when I was a boy,” he said as he skipped back and forth. “I just never knew what it was called.”
“Wonderful! So now we’ll join hands and skip together.”
That went well, so she started expanding on the skipping to turn it into a chassé step. Then she made him practice it several times. She could almost see his engineer’s brain taking apart what she did and applying it to himself.
She’d been right about his ability to balance beautifully, not to mention his agility. He definitely was not an elephant in any way, except that he wasn’t terribly aware of his own strength or even his own weight. If he ever trod on her foot, he would probably break it.
So she would simply have to make sure that never happened.
The music had changed inside, signaling that the dance was changing as well. They ought to go in, just in case someone had noticed they were both missing, but she didn’t suggest that and neither did he.
