A Sinful Duke She Can't Refuse (Steamy Historical Regency) Page 7

  Still, Emmanuel’s instincts told him that Gefferton did indeed have his doubts. The only thing Emmanuel could imagine Gefferton objecting to was his one-leggedness. There was nothing he could do about that, now or ever, and so he would not dwell on it.

  “You’re so deep in thought, Your Grace. What shadows your mind?” Miss Addison’s soft voice broke through his musings and he turned to smile at her.

  “I was simply speculating on any possible objections your father might have to our union.”

  She visibly paled and Emmanuel’s heart went cold. “Why would you think that? Has he said something?” Her eyes were so wide and scared that he could not help but think he was right in his suspicions about her father’s position.

  “He has not said anything to me. In fact, he has hardly spoken two words to me.”

  Miss Addison shrugged one shoulder. “He is not much of a talker, my father. That does not mean that—”

  Emmanuel lifted a finger and put it to her lips. “Shh. Calm yourself. I was merely speculating…preparing for the worst while hoping for the best. It is simply the way I prefer to approach things.”

  Miss Addison’s lashes swept downward as she looked at his finger. Her eyes crossed adorably even as her lips trembled slightly. Helmsfield could not help but laugh in delighted arousal.

  She lifted her lashes, brown eyes unintentionally sultry. “So, you do intend to ask for my hand?”

  The question surprised him, if only because he had supposed that it was the natural assumption to be drawn from his words and actions.

  He picked up her hand, leaning forward slowly as he kept eye contact and planted a kiss on her delicate fingers.

  “But of course. Was there ever a question?”

  Miss Addison’s pleased smile was like the rising sun, spreading its warmth and light slowly across every inch of Emmanuel’s body.

  * * *

  Emmanuel spotted Gefferton walking on his own some time later and hurried after him. Which was easier said than done when he was outside like this. The ground was sometimes uneven, and the grass thicker in some spots than others. The toe of his wooden foot was angled upward, a wondrous embellishment that prevented the toe of his footwear from catching on cobblestones, or stairs, or most unevenness.

  But the bottom of his boot could, and often did, scuff and slow on bare ground, for no apparent reason, causing him to trip and flail his arms in an attempt to regain his balance. It was why he carried a cane whenever he was out walking on his estate.

  Today, he just wanted to appear as any normal young blood of the ton, so he left his cane in his carriage. Let the war veterans, and old men, who were content to sit and watch the play, carry canes. For the first time in a great while, he wanted to be part of the action, not a spectator.

  The Duke caught up to the peer finally. This was his chance to find out what the other man was thinking.

  “Gefferton, I am glad of the chance to speak with you.”

  Miss Addison’s father stopped and turned, a fleeting horror flicking through his eyes. It was gone so fast that Helmsfield wondered if he had imagined it.

  “What would you like to discuss?”

  “I thought that you and I ought to get acquainted. And perhaps you wish to know my intentions for your daughter?”

  Gefferton smirked. “Your intentions are quite apparent. A blind man could see what they are. I have no need to put you on the spot.”

  Helmsfield nodded. “That is good. So you have no objection to me making an offer?”

  “Well…that is a discussion for another day, is it not? Once my daughter has accepted your suit, then we can discuss terms.”

  “Absolutely. Of course. I simply meant that I am hopeful that you think me a good match for her as much as she and I do.”

  Emmanuel watched Gefferton narrowly, wondering why he was being so evasive. “My wife is very happy with the match and I have no objection to it. I wish you much happiness.”

  The Duke nodded. “I thank you for your kind words. I look forward to forging closer connections between us.” Gefferton seemed to pale at those words. “In fact, I should be much obliged if you would consent to visit me at my seat. I can arrange for a week of entertainment for you and your family. At the end of that time, we can look to making an offer.”

  “That is very generous of you.”

  “It is the least I can do. I had despaired of ever finding a bride that would suit me.”

  “Well…I shall make arrangements with my household and let you know when would be a convenient time for us to visit.”

  Emmanuel nodded his acquiescence. “I look forward to it.”

  Gefferton inclined his head, his smile seeming a bit strained. “I am much obliged by your regard for my family.”

  With that, Gefferton walked away. Emmanuel watched him go, a thoughtful look on his face. There was definitely something the matter there, and he intended to find out what it was. I will not let anything stand in the way of my nuptials to Miss Addison.

  “Are you happy now?”

  He turned to find Miss Addison herself holding out a syllabub to him, a smile on her face.

  “Happy? I am always happy.”

  “You were asking about my father and I just saw you having what looked like an amiable discussion. Am I wrong?”

  Emmanuel shook his head. “You are…not wrong.” He took a sip of his dessert, relishing the sweetness of the confection.

  “So are you satisfied now?”

  Helmsfield smiled, not knowing what to say. “I feel that we are headed toward the same destination.”

  Miss Addison smiled. “Excellent. Now come and tell me about the book you are reading.” She looped her arm through his.

  “Oh no, Miss Addison, today it is your turn. Tell me about these pirates I remind you of.”

  The rosy bloom on Miss Addison’s cheeks at his words had his body reacting in ways that would embarrass him shortly, should he not get a handle on them.

  Chapter 8

  Absence Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

  Over the next few days, Isabella was quieter than usual because she had a lot to think about. She had yet to confront her father about his cutting words at Almack’s and now that she knew the Duke had spoken to him of their impending engagement, she felt that she should leave it alone. If he had not objected to their marriage, perhaps the snide comments were just some aberration that was best forgotten by all involved.

  She was still perturbed that he would conspire with her rejected suitors to mock her current suitor, especially when the Duke was clearly so much better than they were. Her father must have had a lot of sherry before they left for Almack’s or else he had temporarily taken leave of his senses.

  Whatever it was, Isabella prayed it was over because she was very excited about her Duke and she did not want anything marring her happiness. She tripped down the stairs every morning, eager to read his latest missive, while already mentally composing a reply. She had just finished reading Don Quixote and she was eager to discuss it with him in depth.

  She missed him and felt that they should set up a way to meet again. She knew he was not enamored of social functions—neither was she—but perhaps they could take a walk in Hyde Park. Or take in a play at Convent Garden. That sounded like a good time for both of them.

  Perhaps they would be doing one of the Shakespeare plays!

  She had been dying to read Hamlet but her father had flatly refused to buy it for her. Sarah Siddons might even be performing. Isabella had heard an awful lot about her. She was eager to see her in action.

  She could not imagine why she had never realized that courting had so many tremendous advantages.

  Just like clockwork, there was a letter from the Duke waiting with her breakfast, sealed as usual with his ducal crest and smelling faintly of sandalwood. She was beginning to think of that scent as his, and every time she caught a whiff of it in the air, her heart sped up.

  She opened it eagerly, wondering what n
ew sentiments the paper might hold.

  My Dearest Miss Addison,

  It is with a heavy heart that I must inform you that I will be away for the next week. Business I cannot put off has called me away to the country. I do assure you that I leave with great reluctance and ask that I may call upon you once I am back in Town so that we may have tea together or perhaps take a walk in Hyde Park and take in a play.

  Isabella’s heart skipped a beat at these words.

  I shall return in a week hence and hope to find your reply awaiting me.

  I shall miss you every day.

  Yours sincerely,

  Emmanuel, Duke of Helmsfield

  She clutched at the paper, giving a deep sad sigh at his absence. The week seemed to stretch out before her with no letters to greet her at the breakfast table and knowing that the Duke was far away from her. She missed him already.

  She got to her feet, breakfast forgotten, and went at once to her father’s study to compose a reply. She knew his office was unoccupied for by this hour he was usually already at Whitehall. She grabbed a paper, quill, and ink, and sat herself down to write a reply to her Duke.

  Your Grace,

  I was heartbroken indeed to read that you have left the city for the entire week for I was looking forward immensely to your company. I too had it in mind to take a walk along Rotten Row and catch a play at Convent Garden. Perhaps you would take me to Gunter’s for some ice.

  But now my impatient heart has to wait an entire week and I do not know how I shall stand it. Hurry back will you for I am most eager to see you and share with you the latest story that I have read, a new pirate tale for my own personal pirate.

  Do stay safe and I shall see you when you return.

  Warmest regards,

  Miss Isabella Addison

  “Oh, I did not expect to find anyone in here.”

  Isabella looked up at the voice to see her father’s steward, George Chandler, hovering by the door. Try as she might, she had never reconciled herself to liking the man. He repulsed her in a way she could not explain.

  “It’s quite all right. I have finished my letter.”

  Mr. Chandler’s eyebrows lifted. “Is it to the Duke of Helmsfield?”

  She turned to face him in surprise, wondering how he could ask such an impertinent question. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business.”

  “Is it not?” His dark eyes flashed and she wanted to recoil from him as if he were a striking snake. She held her ground instead, chin lifted.

  “No, it is not. Now if you will excuse me.”

  She brushed rudely past him when he did not move away from the doorway fast enough, then walked quickly down the hall, refraining from looking back or breaking into a run as if the hounds of Hell were after her. She had tried many times to speak with her father about his steward and let him know that Mr. Chandler scared her, but her father had been dismissive of her fears. Especially since there was nothing specific she could accuse him of; he simply made her uneasy.

  She bumped into her mother coming from the breakfast nook and drew back with a gasp of surprise.

  “Mother! I was not expecting to see you there.”

  “Whyever not? Do I not live here? Is it not breakfast time?”

  Isabella snorted wryly. “You know what I mean, Mother.”

  “Yes, I do know. Now why are you rushing about like your hair is on fire?”

  Isabella laughed. “I was merely hurrying to have my letter delivered to the Duke. Perhaps I shall catch him before he leaves.”

  “Oh, is he going somewhere?”

  “He has been called out of town on business. He says he shall be away for a week.”

  “Oh, that is not too long, then.”

  Isabella glared at her mother. “Not too long? It is forever…”

  Her mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, you are so dramatic.”

  * * *

  The afternoon post brought a letter from an unexpected source.

  Dearest Isabella,

  It has been a while since we corresponded but I felt I should write as I have heard from Mother that it is possible you are to be married soon! I cannot tell you how happy I am at this turn of events and look forward with joy to the wedding.

  I must say, it has been dreary, being stuck at my country estate. It does not suit my current temperament. You may remind me of all the reasons I am confined to our estate. I refer of course to our unfortunate row and the words that were spoken regarding my husband’s restrictions upon my movements, which, at the time, I denied voraciously, and put on a very good face. You have always been able to see through my very best faces. I remember when you used to laugh at me then, but someday I will be able to outwit you, and I shall have the last chortle.

  The point being, I am most put out, being stuck here with nobody but my poor lady’s maid to talk to, while my husband is at Whitehall, and you know how silly she is. There is simply no one of our caliber to talk with, except perhaps my neighbor, Lady Cowper, but she simply loves to endlessly discuss the ton and months old on-dits. It’s quite tedious.

  Ever since my husband left for Town, the company has been dreadful. I do hope there is a ball soon—we could do with some joie de vivre, even if I should enjoy it by myself. Therefore, in light of my predicament, I urge you to tell me everything about London—the sights, the smells, the sounds, and most of all, the people.

  I am so jealous, you cannot even know. I imagine all the teas, balls, and dances you must be attending at this very moment, with your intended fawning over you, and I simply turn green. A shade that never suited my coloring, as you very well know. So the only solution, my dear Bella, is to tell me everything so that I won’t stay green for long.

  I do hope that I can convince Peregrine to bring me to London, preferably soon, so that I may attend the Season. It is simply a tragedy that I am missing it, despite all that nonsense we got into last time I was in Town. I am sure you have already discounted it, as have I.

  I shall return to this letter later.

  I misspoke when I said nothing of note was happening. Apparently, a small gathering is to take place in a few weeks, a country-dance, but I shall have nothing to wear. Unless, that is, you could find me a shade of rose pink crinoline by next Tuesday? Moreover, Isabella, I swear to the high heavens, if you send me one more length of sky blue and cream, I shall cut you the next time we see each other in public. You know very well I cannot carry those colors off in the dimmest of lighting, despite your fixation with them.

  Your loving sister,

  Sarah

  Isabella accepted it for the olive branch it was and was quite happy to put their spat behind her. She had missed talking with Sarah and now they were to have a lot more in common, for soon they would both be married ladies, probably living in the country. Isabella could not wait but she sensed that her sister would much rather be in London. She wondered if she should write and invite her.

  Sarah’s husband, Peregrine, was an older gentleman and jealous of his wife’s attention. He might not like it if she came to London without his say so. Still, she could write and ask.

  Isabella decided that it was something to do while she waited for her own Prince Charming to return from his country sojourn. She set out to reply to Sarah’s letter right away.

  * * *

  Emmanuel was as eager as a lad afflicted with calf love to see Miss Addison as soon as he arrived back in Town. He had only been away for five days but it felt like an eternity since he had seen her. He dropped off his bags at Helmsfield House before having his carriage take him to the Gefferton residence. He arrived just past noon, hoping that it was not too early to call.

  The butler ushered him into the drawing room to wait and he paced unsteadily about the room, unable to settle down sufficiently to have a seat. His leg was throbbing from the long journey and the hours he had spent with his prosthetic leg on. He needed to sit down and take it off, let the stump breathe. And he would do that, just as soon as he had
seen Miss Addison and satisfied himself that she was still his.

  She came into the room in a rush and threw herself into his arms with no reserve.

  “Your Grace!” she held him close until her chaperone cleared her throat discreetly.

  “Oh!” Miss Addison exclaimed as she jumped away from Emmanuel, much to his regret, “Forgive my forwardness.”