Oh, damn! That's why she looked familiar!
The duke grimaced. "It's not what you think."
Haverstock's gaze raked over him from the top of his wet head down the full length of his nakedness. "Oh, isn't it? My god, Aldridge, she's an innocent! How could you?"
By then Aldridge's valet had come striding in with fresh clothing for his master, and Aldridge began to dress. "It seems I owe your sister an apology. Cynthia, is it not?"
"You know very well it was Cynthia! Only she now uses her given name of Elizabeth."
"I assure you I have no dishonorable designs on your sister."
Haverstock regarded him thoughtfully for a long, silent moment. "Then are you saying your intentions toward Elizabeth are honorable?"
"But of course. What do you take me for?"
"It appears I shall now take you for my brother-in-law."
Just as his sister had done a moment earlier, Haverstock spun around and fled from the chamber.
Aldridge wanted to call after him, wanted to reason with him, but what could he say?
A rush of thoughts flooded his brain. It was his own damn fault this debacle had occurred. He was the one who'd told Lawford to instruct poor old, hard-of-hearing Barrow to admit a lady into his bedchamber. It had never occurred to him an innocent young lady--and not the worldly, corrupted Belle Evans--would show up at Aldridge House his first afternoon back in London.
Philip Ponsby, the 5th Duke of Aldridge, had been born to extreme privilege, and accordingly, was accustomed to the gratification of all his wishes whether they be the acquisition of a new thoroughbred or a Rembrandt. Even infirmities that had struck other young men of his acquaintance had never visited him. He had also been favored with tolerable good looks and the ability to attract lovely lasses who had no knowledge of his exalted rank. But this afternoon as he stood only half dressed in his bedchamber, he was numbed by an overwhelming sense of bereavement.
For he knew he would enter into a marriage neither he nor the shocked young lady desired. It was not only the honorable thing to do, it was also what he had to do to restore his friendship with the only fellow whose friendship had ever mattered to him.
He must own that in the hinterland of his brain, he'd realized that upon returning to England he would have to settle down and see to securing the succession. Two and thirty years was more than enough time to sow his wild oats.
At this point in his life he was resigned to marriage. But he had never thought that the selection of the future Duchess of Aldridge would be snatched from his own hands. For the first time in his two and thirty years, he felt powerless.
Elizabeth Upton had never been so humiliated. Every member of her family--save for her brother in the Peninsula and her married sister in Cornwall--had learned of her indiscretion. Because she had exercised the unsound judgment of visiting a bachelor without benefit of a chaperon and, therefore, been exposed to . . . an
exposed
man, it was thought that she had been compromised.
All of her claims of innocence had fallen on deaf ears.
Upon her return to Haverstock House, she had positively refused to speak to Haverstock about the matter. Really, it was too, too embarrassing. She had not been able to purge from her memory the vision of that . . . that
appendage
between the Duke of Aldridge's slender waist and his muscled thighs. The very memory of it sent heat to her cheeks and a breathlessness to her lungs.
Even statues of well-formed Greeks she'd seen in the British Library managed to conceal the . . . the shape of that particular endowment. And though she was no expert, she thought perhaps the Duke of Aldridge in every way was more. . . well,
more
everything than the average well-formed Greek.
After she'd sent away a raging Haverstock, his gentle wife had come to Elizabeth. Anna at least listened to Elizabeth's defense but assured her that Haverstock would accept nothing less from the duke than marriage. "It's not right that he not marry you after you've . . . well, after you've seen things no maiden should see."
Once Elizabeth had sent Anna away, Lydia then came and told her she must marry the duke. In her two decades, Elizabeth had never dared not to obey her wise and much-respected eldest sister. But today she sent Lydia away with vehement refusals to do as her sister bid.
Next, her sister Kate had come to assure her of her stupendous good fortune in securing a--forced though it was--proposal from a duke! Really, Kate insisted, Elizabeth was the most fortunate lady in the kingdom. Being Elizabeth's least favorite sister as well as the sister whose mercenary opinions generated the greatest animosity, Kate, too, was sent away.
That night Elizabeth refused to leave her bedchamber. She even sent away untouched trays of food that kindly Anna had sent up.
* * *
Aldridge never would have believed his first night back in London would find him standing behind closed doors in Haverstock's library, begging the hand of his youngest sister. Or was she the second youngest? Deuced if he knew. She'd been but a babe in arms the first time Aldridge had come home from Eton with Haverstock, who was then Lord Charles Upton. There must be a dozen years separating Aldridge's age from hers.
She had still been in the schoolroom when he left England five years earlier. In the ensuing years she had come out, and despite that she was in possession of a pretty face and figure had failed to attract a husband.
To his great misfortune.
Nevertheless, in the past half a dozen hours he had resigned himself to this marriage. Ever pragmatic, he had enumerated the advantages to this alliance. First, it would unite his family to that of his greatest friend. Secondly, the Haverstocks were an old family of lineage nearly as noble as his own. Third, this Elizabeth-Who-Used-to-be-Cynthia was prettier than most of the young ladies of his acquaintance. And, fourth, if she was in possession of even half the intelligence of her plain elder sister, Lydia, he would count himself fortunate to be wed to so sensible a woman.
Haverstock sat behind a sweeping desk, glaring. His anger obviously prevented him from extending the courtesy of asking Aldridge to sit. Consequently, Aldridge stood there feeling much as he had as a twelve-year-old standing before the headmaster.
"You must know one of the reasons I've returned to England is to seek a wife, and it would give me inordinate pleasure if you'd do me the honor of allowing Lady Elizabeth to become my duchess."
Still staring at him, Haverstock rose, then a smile slowly lifted as he stuck out his hand. "Welcome home, brother."
The two shook hands.
"Won't you have a seat?"
Aldridge dropped into a nearby chair.
"Damn, but it's good to have you back," Haverstock said.
"It's good to be back. I'm looking forward to meeting your marchioness. Word of her extraordinary beauty reached me in Italy."
"I hope one day your marriage to Elizabeth will bring you the happiness Anna's brought me." Haverstock grew solemn. "Despite her extraordinary beauty, I wasn't in love with Anna when we wed, but I soon fell under her captivating spell."
It was a pity Aldridge would never be as besotted over Elizabeth as he'd been told Haverstock was over his wife. "I pray that you're right."
Haverstock's countenance brightened. "Did you know Morgie and Lydia have a son?"
"I did not. As fond as I am of Morgie, I never credited him with having such good sense as he demonstrated by marrying Lydia."
His comment launched Haverstock into a chuckle. "They are uncommonly good for each other--and devoted to one another."
Aldridge shook his head. "I cannot picture Morgie as a father."
"Nor can he. I don't think he quite knows what to make of the little fellow, but in his own way, Morgie's very proud to have a son."
Now Aldridge grew solemn. "What about you? Is your Incomparable breeding yet?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Aldridge regretted bringing up a possibly painful subject.
Haverstock's face shadowed. "We're just in the second year of our marriage. Anna's young. There will be time."
Aldridge had obviously touched on a sensitive topic. Beastly of him.
At the thought of the three life-long friends having sons, something deep inside of Aldridge unfurled. Neither his horse winning the stakes nor his winning bid for the
da Vinci
had made him feel as exhilarated as he felt at this moment contemplating a son of his own. "It's delightful to think of our offspring growing up as close to one another as we have been all these years." Now why had he gone and babbled such?
"I hope that means you'll not be leaving the country anytime in the next twenty years."
A smile on his face, Aldridge shrugged. "That depends. I mean to offer myself at the Foreign Office."
"By Jove, that's the second-best news I've heard in a long while. We can put your analytical mind to good use on cryptology."
"Is that not what you've been doing these past few years?"
"It is, and I could use a hand."
Aldridge leaned back in the chair and regarded his old friend. "If that's the second-best news you've heard, may I ask what's the best?"
"Having you as a brother," Haverstock said with great solemnity. Then he stood. "I suppose it's time for you to speak to Elizabeth. I'll have her come down."
Aldridge cleared his throat. He wanted his closest friend to know that he wasn't as debauched as he'd appeared that afternoon. "When I arrived at Aldridge House this afternoon, I received a note from Belle Evans informing me she was going to pay a call." He shrugged. "She needed the loan of a hundred quid. It was she I was expecting in my bedchamber--not your sister."
Haverstock stiffened and did not respond for a moment. "What was my sister doing there?"
"I have no idea."
"Then I understand if you wish to retract your offer."
"No one forced me to come here tonight. It's a marriage I want." If only he could mean those words.
Haverstock nodded solemnly and left the chamber.
* * *
No matter how humiliated one was and no matter how mortified one was over one's scandalous situation, one simply had to eat. Elizabeth regretted that she'd sent away the uneaten tray for she now realized how terribly hungry she actually was. She'd not eaten since she'd partaken of toast and tea that morning. Perhaps she could slip out of her bedchamber and stealthily make her way down to the kitchen.
Still wearing the same periwinkle gown she'd worn on her disastrous visit to Aldridge House, she began to creep down the stairs. When she reached the entry corridor, the door to Haverstock's library opened, and her brother came strolling out. "Oh, there you are, Lizzie. You have a visitor." He waved his arm toward the library. "Right this way."
She most particularly did not want to see a caller right now--even if she was wearing her most becoming dress. Unfortunately, she was not courageous enough to defy her commanding brother. It was one thing to turn him away from her bedchamber, but she could hardly stomp her foot and refuse to do as he bid her now. Now that she'd left the security of her locked room.
Her brow raised in query, she reluctantly moved toward the library, opened the door, and started into the chamber. The room was dark. Its only source of light came from the fire blazing in the hearth and an oil lamp burning upon the desk. She saw that a man rose as she entered. As she moved closer, her breath caught. It was the Duke of Aldridge! Obviously, he was the most debauched man in all of England. And Italy, too, she imagined!
She was powerless to prevent the red, hot heat from rushing to her cheeks. Facing him made her recall that awkward moment when she had seen his glistening flesh.
Every inch of it.
Yet as the duke stood in her brother's library, effecting a courtly bow to a humiliated maiden, she could almost forget his wickedness.
Now he looked ever so proper dressed in well-fitted gray breeches, a fine black jacket, and snowy white cravat tied beneath a pensive face. He could have cut a dashing figure at Almack's. And this brooding-looking, dark-haired man now standing before her would undoubtedly be the most handsome man to grace its chamber in years.
Inarticulate sounds emanated from her vocal chords, then she spun back toward the door.
He raced to bar her progress. "I beg that you not go away before I have the chance to apologize to you for . . ." Setting a gentle hand to her arm, he swallowed. "For this afternoon. All I can say in my defense is that I thought---"
"You thought I was Belle Evans." Even in her innocence, Elizabeth had heard of the most notorious courtesan in London. Once Elizabeth had leave to think on the duke's exclamation that afternoon, she realized who he had been expecting to come strolling through his bedchamber door. Which still did not diminish her disgust with his behavior. To think that a tryst with a trollop was uppermost in his mind his first day home in half a decade!
He nodded gravely. "I had reason to believe she was coming to my chamber--but not for the purpose you must imagine." He shook his head as if he had blundered. "Forgive me for introducing so delicate a subject. I am deeply sorry."
She drew a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "I should never have gone to your house without a chaperon. I am deeply sorry." Then she shook her head as if
she
had blundered. "I assure you it was never my intention to accuse you of compromising my virtue, never my intention to wrangle a marriage proposal from my brother's dearest friend."
"Nevertheless, I feel I
have
compromised your virtue."
Suddenly, she realized why he was here. Her brother
had
forced him into marriage with her--a marriage neither of them wanted. She had thought she couldn't be more humiliated than she'd been that afternoon.
She'd been wrong. "No, no, no!" She held up a hand. "If you mean to offer for me, I mean to refuse."
His dark brows quirked. "Haverstock did not force me to come here tonight."