June Calvin (16 page)

The duke raised a curious eyebrow.

“A
private
picnic, sir,” Henry clarified with a knowing smile.

Alexander gave his friend an indignant look, his own expression clearly saying this was not a subject for levity. “Best not to take Lady Cornwall up there, sir.”

“Ah! I see. Yes, well, doubtless as fine a view can be obtained elsewhere.” The duke waited until the youngsters had all passed them in pursuit of an alternate destination before turning back to Deborah.

“I’m grateful Sarah and Jennifer were not at the very front. From the look on all their faces that must be a rather scandalous assignation taking place up there.” With his chin Harwood indicated the rise a few feet above them.

A little embarrassed herself, Deborah turned and took his offered arm. “The wind is picking up again,” she remarked, changing the subject.

A strong sudden gust could be seen twisting tree branches, bending grass, and blowing up skirts as it swooped up the hill. Squeals of laughter from the young women below accompanied the blast as it whipped up a little whirlwind of dust along the footpath.

Deborah let go of the duke’s arm to grasp her hat with one hand and her skirts with the other.

“Look out!” The duke tried to turn her facing away from the dust cloud, but too late.

“Oh! My eyes!” Deborah let her skirt and hat go to shield herself. “I’ve gotten sand . . . oh!” She felt as if she’d had a fistful of dirt thrown in her face. Blinking rapidly, she instinctively started to rub her eyes.

“Here, don’t, let me see.” One strong hand detained her own as the duke tilted her chin up with the other. She couldn’t hold her eyes open for him to examine. They were fluttering of their own will, and she trembled with pain. Again she tried to wipe away the torturing dirt.

“Dee, wait. Don’t!” Once again Harwood grabbed both hands. “You’ll scratch your eyes and cause a serious problem. You need some water.”

“Yes, yes! Please get some from the inn,” she almost sobbed.

“Too far. Sit down.” The duke pushed her onto the grass beside the path. “Wait here,” he commanded urgently, “and whatever you do, don’t scratch your eyes.”

Biting her lip, Deborah nodded, folding her hands in her lap and twining her fingers together to keep from tearing at the maddening sensation.

Harwood vaulted up the path in three giant strides and topped the crest, where he surprised a couple in a passionate embrace beneath a tree. What few clothes the lovely Cyprian in Harrison Curzon’s arms was wearing had been considerably disarranged, and Curzon groaned as he levered himself away from her.

“Not again . . . can’t you young cubs . . . Duke!”

“I need water immediately.” Harwood had already scanned the picnic cloth beside the pair.

“ ’Fraid all we have is wine, but . . .”

Seizing the bucket of ice and melted water, Harwood tossed the wine bottle down beside Curzon. “Excuse me, no time to explain,” drifted back to them as the duke disappeared down the hill.

“Here, Dee.” Suddenly, Deborah felt strong arms gather her as Harwood, dropping down beside her, sat the bucket in front of her. “It’ll be cold, but . . .”

Between blinks Deborah saw the water in the ice bucket and eagerly began dipping it out, splashing it in her eyes. After several minutes she stopped, shuddering with cold, and blinked experimentally.

“Better?”

“Much, but it still feels like I’ve got a rock in my right eye.”

“Let me see.” The duke tilted her chin up and gently lifted the twitching lid. “Ah, I see it, in the upper right corner. More like a log, actually.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “I’ll get it.”

Before she knew what was happening, she found herself lifted onto his lap and laid back across his arm.

“What?” She tried to sit up.

Removing a snowy handkerchief from his pocket, the duke gave her a little shake, settling her back against his arm, as he murmured in a soothing voice, “Be still. I am going to do delicate surgery here. Open your eye wide.”

She obeyed, resisting the violent urge to continue blinking her eyelid. Holding his kerchief so that the very tip of one corner barely extended from his thumb and index finger, the duke gently, delicately probed and stroked the bit of matter.

“Such a tiny bit of chaff, yet I know it feels like an entire haystack in your eye. You’re a brave one. Just hold still a moment longer, I’ve almost . . . ah!”

“Is . . . is it gone?”

“I think so. Open your eye as wide as you can. Look up. Look down.” As he examined her eye carefully, Deborah could feel his warm breath on her face, which was chilled by the cold water she had splashed over it.

“Looks good. Let’s rinse it a bit more. No, don’t move. I want to direct some water right on that area.”

So saying, he cupped his big hand in the ice bucket and carefully dribbled the water over her eye.

She jerked as the cold water splashed her eye and ran down her face. He shifted so that she was more firmly in his arms and talked to her soothingly as he continued laving the eye. At last, satisfied, he cupped her head tenderly in his hand.

“How does it feel when you blink now?”

She tried one or two deliberate blinks, which quickly degenerated into distressed flutterings again. “It hurts,” she moaned, “though not as much.”

“I think it is scratched. I don’t see any more matter to be washed out. Just lie still a few moments. Let your tears soothe it.”

Deborah closed her eyes, permitting them to blink at will. Gradually, the pain lessened and the tension left her body. She became aware of being cold, as the breeze whipped through her wet clothing. A shiver caused the duke to wrap his arms about her, sheltering and warming her. With a sigh she relaxed against him.

In the quiet that settled over them, the duke heard a slight sound from above. Harrison Curzon was standing not far away, observing. Harwood shook his head, then glanced at the bucket with a wordless command.

Grinning, Curzon silently stepped forward and picked it up, then as silently disappeared back toward the curious woman peeping over the rise.

Giggles and shouts from below penetrated Deborah’s reverie, and she opened bloodshot eyes.

“The children,” she gasped.

“The children are fine. I can see them clearly. They’re in the trees just below, cavorting like puppies.”

“I . . . should get up.” Awareness of her position had Deborah’s face turning to match her eyes, yet she was curiously reluctant to escape.

“Not just yet. Relax.” Harwood gently combed her hair from her face. “You’ve had a painful experience. Let yourself recover.”

His hand was so soothing as it brushed her hair and smoothed her brow. Deborah let her eyes drift closed. It registered on her that his hand was sinking oh, so gently into her hair, his fingers curling around and behind her head, his thumb stroking her neck and ear.

It was a caress, she realized, and she knew she ought to stop it, but it felt so good. She could never recall such a warm feeling from any other human touch. Certainly Seymour had never . . .

At the thought of Seymour, Deborah’s eyes flew open and surprised such a look of tenderness on Harwood’s face that she was stunned.

“Dee,” he breathed, moving his thumb forward to feather a caress across her lips. “Dearest Dee.”

“Justin.” Deborah lifted her hand, brushing the silver streak at his temple in an unconscious imitation of his movements. His hair was silky beneath her fingers. She stroked her trembling hand over his hair, savoring its smooth texture.

For a long, trembling moment they looked at each other, and then Harwood began to lower his head.

Chapter 17

He’s going to kiss me
, Deborah realized, wondering at herself for lying there so passively. Part of her wanted to push him away; part of her wanted to urge him closer. As his lips settled softly on hers, Deborah moaned, half in desire, half in alarm.

His lips seemed so warm on hers, and their pressure, at once firm and gentle, led her to slip her hand behind his neck and cling to him for a few sizzling seconds.

Then, recollecting herself, Deborah pulled away, shaking her head. Instantly he released her. Still regarding her tenderly, Harwood nevertheless respected her obvious wish to rise. He helped her to stand, rose himself, and found her hat. He stood patiently while she brushed herself free of as much dirt and grass as she could, averting her face from him all the while.

His eyes on her were unnerving. What was he thinking? That she was a wanton, doubtless, on whom he could press his attentions at the earliest opportunity. She felt a bit of a wanton right now! Her body seemed to glow with pleasure from their kiss.

“Thank you so much for helping me with my eye, Justin,” she murmured, embarrassed. How could she have let such a thing happen?

Showing no similar embarrassment, the duke shrugged. “We were fortunate indeed that Mr. Curzon was picnicking so close by.”

“It was Mr. Curzon at the top of the hill, who threw the young people in such panic?”

“They don’t call him ‘The Golden Rake’ for nothing.”

“I am thankful, then, that Jennifer discouraged his attentions.” Deborah primmed her mouth and started briskly down the path, this time sheltering her eyes against the wind.

“So the children are in plain sight right below,” she snapped, stopping abruptly as she realized the view was devoid of humanity.

Harwood stepped up beside her, chagrin in his voice. “I guess while my attention was focused, ah, elsewhere, they moved on. Come. Let me get you in out of this wind and then I will find them.”

***

A general movement back to the Star and Garter had left Sarah and her escort behind, for Henry had used the brief absence of chaperonage to maneuver Sarah a little away from the group. He quickly took advantage of the tête-à-tête to declare his love for her.

“Mr. Fortesque,” Sarah responded, alarmed by his proximity and their isolation. “You should not be speaking to me so before receiving my father’s permission. And I am sure this is not the place . . .”

“Forgive me, Sarah. You look so fetching today, and I am growing desperate for some sign of hope. I do not wish to offer for you unless I know you would like it.” He took her hand and peeled back her glove to expose the slender white wrist, which he pressed to his lips while watching her expression carefully.

Sarah’s nostrils flared at the touch of flesh against flesh. It was unexpectedly pleasant. Her eyes met his, surprise clear in her expression.

“I think you are not indifferent to me.” Henry slid his arm around her waist and drew her close.

“N-no, but this is not proper, and . . .”

“Sarah, do you have another suitor whom you prefer? Is it still Alexander?”

Drawing back as far as his restraining arm would allow, she gave a rueful smile. “I am sorry, Fort. I do like you, very much. But at one time I had hoped, had believed . . .”

“I understand. You were disappointed by his engagement to Anna-Marie.” Henry dropped his arm and stood back.

“Then he
is
engaged to her?”

“Not yet. He appears to be hovering between that and going to India.”

Sarah looked at the ground, moving her toe back and forth despondently. “Oh! I see.”

Henry took her hand and tucked it under his arm, patting her hand gently. “At least tell me whether I have reason to hope?”

He was being very sweet and understanding, Sarah thought. And indeed, why should she not encourage him? Her father seemed pleased by her friendship with him. He was very likeable and devastatingly attractive. She was no longer sure she felt equal to choosing spinsterhood; if for no other reason, pride dictated that she not wear the willow permanently for Alexander Meade. She could do much worse than Henry Fortesque.

Eyes demurely averted, she told Henry, “We should become better acquainted, to see if we shall suit.”

“Say no more. I am content. And now I had better get you back to our friends before your father finds us alone together and calls me out.” He led her briskly to rejoin the knot of young people from one direction just as the Duke of Harwood strolled up from the other. Sarah and Henry exchanged conspiratorial grins as they melted into the crowd before the duke spotted them.

***

Jennifer was sweetly sympathetic to Deborah’s need to leave the picnic early. Once their maid had undressed the viscountess and put her to bed, Jenny treated Deborah’s eyes with warm salt water and then sat with her in the darkened room.

“Did you have a good time today, dear? I hope Lord Threlbourne wasn’t provoked that we had to leave early.”

There was a long, pregnant silence.

“Jennifer?”

“Oh, Mama, I hate to distress you when you are not feeling well.”

Deborah sat up, dislodging the cloth over her eyes. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“Nothing so terrible, Mama. But . . . but I do believe I had better concentrate on winning the duke’s affections.”

Deborah collapsed against the pillows. “Why do you say that? Has Lord Threlbourne behaved badly?”

“Oh, no, Mama. Never that. It is just that Gilbert spent most of our time together talking about his cousin. He thought she would make her come-out this year, and then they would be married, but she declared herself unwilling and her parents kept her home to punish her.

“He is distressed about it, thinks this is the wrong way to deal with her. It is very clear to me from the way he worries over her that he loves her.”

“Oh, my. That doesn’t sound promising, does it?” Deborah put the cloth back over her eyes.

“So you see, it will just have to be the duke.” Jennifer’s voice lacked any enthusiasm or conviction.

“Yes.” Deborah sighed. Before today this announcement would have delighted her, so why did she now feel the prick of tears at the back of her eyes?

Still, nothing had changed, really. “Yes, it will.”

***

“Are you trifling with her, or are you going to offer for her soon?” Alexander stood head-to-head with Henry. He had seen Sarah return with Fort from their tête-à-tête and was determined to know his friend’s intentions.

“Don’t rush me, damn your eyes. If you would only make up your mind about Anna-Marie—”

“Why should that signify? I’ll not cut you out with Sarah. I’ve already told you I wouldn’t grieve her by separating her from her father.”

“Truth is, she’s still very aware of you. Well, she as much as told me so. I don’t think she’ll be able to take another man’s suit seriously until your fate is decided.”

Alexander groaned. “If that’s true, I am robbing her of the chance to select a husband her father will accept. I don’t want that.”

“Then perhaps, if you aren’t going to marry Anna-Marie, you ought to leave for India and set both those young women free to find eligible husbands.” Henry lowered himself into a straight-backed chair and crossed his legs, swinging the right over the left in seeming nonchalance, but his eyes were intent and serious.

Alexander paced to the window and stood with his back to Henry, moodily staring into the evening gloom. At last he growled, “You are right, of course. But I want your word of honor you won’t—”

Jumping from the chair, Henry grabbed him by the arm and spun him around. “You can’t seriously think my intentions dishonorable?”

“No, you’d never get your hands on either fortune that way.”

“Damn you! And I thought we were friends. But no friend of mine could suspect me of such a thing. Say what you might of me, I’ve never harmed innocent females!”

Alexander dropped his eyes first. “You’re right, of course. It is jealousy that makes me speak so.”

“Especially would I not harm Sarah, Alex. You are right about one thing. She would be very easy to fall in love with.”

Alexander shrugged off the hand on his shoulder. “I am glad to hear it, for if you ever hurt her, I’ll see you regret it . . .”

“Then you’ll marry Anna-Marie?”

“That wouldn’t be fair to her. I feel nothing for her but a wish to be kind. And I believe Lord Eberlin might court her if I were not in the picture.” Alexander sighed deeply. “I will go to India. I’ll wind up my affairs, visit my parents, and set sail as soon as may be.”

Henry’s shoulders slumped in relief. With Alexander out of the way, he would have an excellent chance of engaging Lady Sarah’s affections.

“I hope you come back a nabob.” Henry clapped his arm around Alex’s shoulders. “Come, let us crack a bottle of brandy together to salute the future.”

Alexander shook his head. “Sorry, Fort. I wish you well, indeed, but I cannot toast these painful prospects.”

***

“Good morning, Jennifer. How is your mother today?” The duke gave his hat and gloves to the Cornwall butler as he greeted Jenny, who was coming down the stairs, dressed in a bright blue walking dress. Her maid was following her.

Jenny smiled and gave him a respectful curtsy. “She is doing very well, sir, but has elected not to go out today, for this wind would surely irritate her eye.”

The duke glanced upstairs. “Is she receiving?”

“She is in her office, and I know she would be glad to see you.” Jennifer gave him a cheery smile as she turned toward the door.

She is acting like her old self
,
now
, the duke thought.
Glad to see she got over that nonsense of flirting with me.
Then a thought sent his pulse tripping.
Perhaps Deborah told her what happened yesterday. Perhaps she even confided a change in attitude toward me.
Hastening up the steps, the duke allowed the footman barely time to announce him before hurrying into Deborah’s cramped little office.

“Justin!” Deborah had been staring out the window. “You must have just missed Jennifer. She was . . .”

“I saw her on her way out.”

“But . . .”

“She was taking her maid; no need to fret yourself. I want to see that eye.” By this time the duke had reached Deborah where she stood in the brilliant morning light. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so he could study her eye.

“Look up!” He gently touched the upper lid, holding it in place. “Now look down. Good. It is red, but no sign of infection that I can see.”

Deborah slid from his grasp. “Thank you for your concern, sir. It feels much better this morning.”

“What is this ‘sir’ nonsense? Yesterday we were using first names.” He smiled and attempted to take her in his arms.

Eluding him, she exclaimed, “No. You mustn’t. That is, I don’t understand why Jennifer left. She was coming to see . . . that is . . .”

“How prettily you color up when embarrassed. No, Jennifer was conducting herself very sensibly this morning, I am pleased to say. I supposed you had told her—”

“There was nothing to tell her.” Deborah’s voice was sharp, almost panicky.

“Now, Dee. I am sure you know that our kiss put an end to all this nonsense of courting Jennifer.”

“No!” Deborah put her hands to her mouth.

“It showed me my heart, my love, not that I really had any doubts. I had hoped it did the same for you.”

“You presume much too much from a kiss. You took me by surprise, and I was vulnerable, and—”

“Deborah!” The duke’s mouth firmed. “I am getting out of patience with you. I love you, and that’s an end to it. And I think you love me, if you will only admit it. There is no question of courting Jennifer, for I plan to marry you. We will find some other way to deal with Vincent.”

“You love me?” Deborah walked away, taking refuge behind her desk. “That is very unfortunate, sir, for I can never return your love. And as for marriage, never again!”

Harwood’s expression slowly changed from one of poorly suppressed excitement to one of somber thoughtfulness. “You feel that way still? I think it is time and past that you told me about your marriage, Dee.”

She shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter.”

“Did he beat you?”

“Yes.” She hung her head, her voice faint. “I couldn’t draw a breath without thinking how it might affect him, set him off. Always guessing: Would this action bring me a beating? Would that action cause me to be locked in my room? How long would I have to go hungry to pay for his friend’s attempting to steal a kiss from me?”

Deborah’s voice began to shake with suppressed rage. “I never knew one moment of real peace. I can never put myself in that position again. I want to be
free
!”

“I would not fetter you in that way, my love, and I think you know it.”

“As for a wife’s . . . marital duties . . .” She clenched her hands into fists. Her voice rose. “I abhorred it. Even when he wasn’t trying to hurt me, I found it disgusting and humiliating. You want kisses and . . . and more. I would make you a terrible wife.”

Harwood stared at the agitated woman before him, and despair settled in his heart. “It would not be that way with a man you loved, Dee. But obviously that man is not me, or you would have some awareness of the truth.” He sighed and turned to the window, staring out wordlessly for several moments. “Very well, Deborah. I won’t importune you. I shall make up my mind to be lonely.”

Deborah’s heart twisted at the bleak words and his strained, unhappy countenance. A little sob escaped her lips. “I never meant to hurt you . . .”

“No.” He turned and forced a little smile to his lips. “Forgive me for wallowing in self-pity. I shall do better.” Visibly straining for control, he asked, “How are the plans for your ball coming?”

Gratefully, she grasped at the change of subject. “Almost ready.” She picked up a piece of parchment from her desk with shaking hands. “I’ve received word this morning that Vincent and Winnifred will arrive day after tomorrow, to replenish their wardrobes.”

Deborah yearned to ask the duke if he would still pretend to court Jennifer, but didn’t dare. It seemed too cruel after what had passed between them. Her own thoughts and feelings were in such turmoil she could hardly have told
how
she felt.