Lady Adventuress 01 - His Wayward Duchess (17 page)

Holly considered cutting her hair daringly short in the style most recently popularised by Lady Caro Lamb. It would go a long way towards annoying the duke
.

But she could not seem to part with her locks. Her long hair was a part of her – always had been, and she would feel naked without it. She would miss the comforting weight of it and the security.

It was one thing to let Lady Louisa’s maid style it, but another to cut her hair completely. The former had been a pleasant shock but the latter would be overwhelming – she doubted very much she could bear to cut it. After all, she couldn’t possibly survive being any more overwhelmed than she already was.

The fault lay almost certa
inly in her country upbringing. Giving up, she returned to bed and pulled the warm blanket around her. She had never been
à la mode
or high born enough to wed for property or succession. It was affection that had guided her choice – affection and a naïve belief that her sentiment was returned.

Perhaps if she had been bred into it gently, she would
not have been so affected by the spark of emotion that shot through her every time she saw the duke or heard his name spoken.

She would have been wiser,
would have known better than to read too much into simple words and gestures, to ascribe to Strathavon more affection that he had ever exhibited towards her. His regard had been particular, but only in the degree that a gentleman owed the lady that he was courting: affection had nothing to do with it.

But then, what were his
true sentiments? The ones she had seen blazing so brightly in his eyes. And what could she make of his jealousy, if jealousy it had been? Could she gain ground after all, if she planned a sound enough campaign?

One thing was
certain, she was too far gone to give up now.

Once, Holly might have been delighted if Strathavon had taken even the
slightest notice of her, but now things were different. Holly was no longer satisfied with so meagre a victory.
Nothing less than love
, she reminded herself. That was important: a goal.

She suspected there was
a kind of madness behind her new determination, but it did not matter. It
must
be all or nothing. It
would
be all or nothing.

A duchess never worries about those little peccadilloes that might ruin the countenance of a lesser lady,
Holly’s mentor had told her. And a good thing, too, because she was about to embark on a peccadillo of note.

She would need all her inventiveness to help her safely navigate her way out of this one.

Holly’s perfectly neat and altogether logical plan for the happiness of Sir John and Verity Dacre was in danger because, while she had decided to dissipate Verity’s romantic fancies by proving that Sir Galahad did not exist, she hadn’t banked on Sir Galahad emerging, promptly and insolently, out of the woodwork.

And that went a
long way towards complicating matters. Sir John had gloomily pointed out that it was the blond fellow who had rained such marked attentions upon her at Lady Castlereagh’s party, and on closer inspection Holly found that he was correct. The man had endeavoured to look more handsome and dashing than ever.

Lord Myles Wooley looked like nothing so much as a
Narcissus walking amongst them, from his golden hair to his enchanting manners. As if that were not enough, there were whispers of the philanthropy in which he by all accounts indulged.

He had a voice that carried well across the room, and the ability
to say exactly the right thing. He also boasted just the suggestion of rakishness, born of his reputation for cards and intrigue.

It
was altogether too perfect an image to be credible – something about his even teeth and angelic visage irritated Holly immensely. Unfortunately, Verity appeared to be noticeably taken with him.

Sir John
’s face, while handsome enough, was nowhere near angelic. He rarely played cards, and when he did, it was never for very long. He became absurdly formal whenever Miss Dacre was near, and he did not seem able to say a single flirtatious thing to save his life.

Furthermore, Sir John
was not known to have had any scandalous intrigues. Undeniably, while good husbands were made out of gentlemen like Sir John, fantasies were not.

Which was why Holly had insisted on the
absolute necessity of driving with him in the Park at the Promenade hour.

“Well, Lady Strathavon, what is your grand plan?” he asked,
looking hesitant, but a little hopeful.

His companion looked unruffled.

“In a word, Sir John, we must make you just a little bit more scandalous. If Lord Myles means to play the saint, which I am very confident is all a production for the benefit of Miss Dacre, you must play the rake.”

“I beg your pardon, the rake?” Sir John did not appear to know whether he ought to be scandalised or flabbergasted. He risked a glance at Holly before returning his attention back to the road.

“
Yes, a rake! Don’t look so nervous – it’s really the most expedient way to go about it. You must seduce Miss Dacre without appearing to try. But first, you must catch her attention and that of society. And there can be nothing better to catch Miss Dacre’s attention than to be seen flying down the carriage drive with another lady,” Holly explained patiently.

“
That is all well and good, if hers are the only eyes watching, but the Duke of Strathavon is known for being rather good with the barking irons and I would not care to end up on the wrong end of those,” Sir John said mildly.

“Oh,
pish!” Holly dismissed. “Why should the duke mind? It is very common to drive in the Park. I assure you, he won’t challenge you over it – I shall speak to him myself if I must.”

“Still, I do not think…”

“Oh, come now, Sir John: have some faith. It will work out just fine. At a pinch, I shall think of a Banbury tale – you cannot expect to come out triumphant without some slight risk,” Holly said. “Now, since you cannot seem to speak to Miss Dacre, we shall use that to our advantage – gentlemen are always at their best when they are listening, and you must listen ardently to all she says. You need only ask her a few questions about her work, or her art. She dearly loves to paint. And then you must show what a great interest you have in all she enjoys.”

“I suppose I should be able to manage that…”

“Indeed, you must. Wooley is a cad, I am sure of it – and this has become nothing short of a heroic rescue.”

As was her habit, Verity was out at the park
with another young lady, a Miss Sanford, who had been a girlhood friend of Verity’s. They sat in an elegant barouche which stood off to the side of the drive.

Their folding hood was down
, the better to sight other fashionables, and they appeared to be talking animatedly, while a spaniel dozed on the opposite seat.

Holly did not know what possessed her to persuade Sir John to permit her to drive his curricle
once they had finally reached the park.

It might have been
the fact that she glimpsed Strathavon resting his horse along Rotten Row and conversing with Mrs Drummond-Burrell as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

Equally, she supposed she could blame
it on the way the duke had given her one of his disapproving looks when he glimpsed her arrival, and then pretended not to see her at all.

She just barely
succeeded in stopping herself from admiring his striking features and strong built when his piercing gaze met hers for a brief moment, and a frown darkened his face.

It wouldn’t have done to look meek, when he was
so obviously weighing up her daring. She was sorry that she could not bring herself to gallop the horses in Hyde Park. Still, the pair of greys favoured by Sir John was notorious flighty, and once Holly held the reins she felt the greys shift uncertainly.

Sir John
looked suddenly flinty. He had noticed the duke also. “Your Grace, are you certain –”

“Ver
y! Besides, it would make you look extremely gallant, permitting me to drive your horses,” she said airily, inclining her head in the direction of Miss Dacre’s vehicle.

“I doubt that such a thing would be at all possible.”

“Then I wish you would stop it with your silly doubts. They aren’t doing anyone the least bit of good, I assure you. And driving out in the fresh air is very improving.”

He seemed grateful for a change of subject.
“Ah, I must disagree with you there, Lady Strathavon. Driving out is quite unnecessary – you see, I have recently purchased one of those marvellous chamber horses: very good for exercise right at home. You merely sit in the chair, and it is just as though you were riding a horse out in the fields. A wondrous contraption. My physician recommends them most highly – he tells me the king has several.”

Holly did not hide her appalled expression. “But I do not
recommend it at all. Chamber horses – what a notion! You must do away with it, Sir John. Exercise is all well and good, but you won’t beat fresh air for it, and you won’t catch the eye of Miss Dacre if you sequester yourself at home bouncing about on that absurd contraption. Now, shall we?”

With one last, defiant look in the direction of her husband,
the young duchess moved the horses into as fast a pace as she dared along the South Carriage Drive, enjoying the wind on her face and the thrill of the fast curricle.

The air was crisp and smelled of
Autumn.

Holly thought it
was a wonder she had lived a full nineteen years in the world without having driven so much as a little landau. If not for Lady Louisa, she would never have discovered this invigorating past-time.

She couldn’t
stop the peal of laughter that escaped her.

“I say, Lady
Strathavon,” Sir John exclaimed, holding on to his hat and looking intensely alarmed as she turned the curricle, driving them back towards the spot where Verity and her friend were conversing with the stately Lord Upton.

Reaching her destination, she drew the carriage to a sudden halt, beaming at Verity and her companions, and issuing a greeting as she handed the reins back to Sir John.

“Oh, Lady Strathavon, what marvellous driving,” said Verity, with an uneasy look at the greys. “Y
ou are a most capital whip.”

“A natural,” agreed Lord Upton.
“And the greys are in fine form, Compton – I am all admiration.”

“Yes, a most
impressive display,” agreed another voice behind Holly. “Will you honour me with a walk? I dare say you will want one after so thrilling a drive.”

Strathavon ignored the curious eyes that
were suddenly upon him.

Holly
stared up into the dark blue gaze of her husband and did her best to look defiant even as a shiver ran through her. It was infuriating that despite her determination to keep a cool demeanour around him, she could not deny the attraction she felt towards the hateful man.

To think, s
he had considered herself immune to such nonsense.

“Certainly,” Holly
said lightly, accepting his arm. “If Sir John would be so good as to excuse me?”

“
But of course,” said that gentleman with a bow, even though Holly could see his unease at being left to fend for himself with Verity.

“Then pray
pardon me,” she said to the rest of the company. “I believe Sir John wished to ask Miss Dacre about her landscapes anyway, and I should only be in the way.”

She accepted the duke’s help to disembark from the carriage, and felt her breath catch at the spark that shot through her at this brief contact.

They strolled away looking the very picture of marital felicity.

“Tell me,” said his lordship pleasantly
once they were alone, “what possessed you to do something so bacon-brained as drive that curricle? Race it, almost – though I am sure you will wriggle out on a technicality. I know Compton has no sense when it comes to such things, but I would have expected more from you.”

“What
ever do you mean? I can’t imagine what I may have done that you take such exception to my driving. I think I handled the greys beautifully.”

“Surely, you are
bamming: you must know you have made a spectacle of yourself, driving as you had done. And with Compton, no less.” The pleasant conversational tone did not slip for a moment.

“Ah,” Holly said, her
own politeness matching his perfectly, “I cannot help but wonder, in that case, if it is my driving or Sir John to which you object so ardently.”

They were alone now, in a
thick copse. The yellow and red leaves swayed lightly in the breeze that ruffled Holly’s curls. The duke also seemed to have noticed their newfound seclusion, for he drew nearer, backing her into the tree until his body almost pressed into hers.

Reaching out one gloved hand
, he stroked a finger down her cheek and toyed with the ribbons of her bonnet. Pulse racing, Holly found her gaze completely locked with his. His eyes blazed at her with anger… And something else.

Strathavon
leaned in until his lips were almost touching hers.

“You will find,
I think, that I do many things ardently, but none of those has anything to do with your driving… or
Sir John.
”

Something in his velvety tone made a flush
creep across her cheeks. He gave her an intent look, gaze dropping momentarily to the daring cut of her muslin dress, and the pale flesh that fluttered with every breath.

An expectant
stillness hung in the air, which had nothing to do with the surprisingly pleasant weather.

Holly struggled to find her voice, which seemed to have completely disappeared. She floundered a moment, then recovered with as much gusto as she could muster under the present circumstances.

“I don’t doubt that is true. You are a very ardent man. For example, the journals have been very meticulous in reporting your distinct admiration of that celebrated hostess, Lady Charlotte Holland,” she said coldly, because she didn’t know how she ought to deal with the strange current that drew them closer and closer with every breath. “It is very fortunate that the late Mr Holland died so conveniently in the Indies, is it not?”

He raised an eyebrow coolly.

She resisted the urge to push him away and retreat then and there. Reappearing without him would only serve to turn her snub into a public spectacle.

“Lady Charlotte?” his lordshi
p sounded intrigued. “A most gifted thespian, though I have never thought of her as much of a hostess. But I fear I am not given to the reading of such publications – perchance you will enlighten me?”

Holly
was appalled at the amused front which he dared put up before her.

“I shall do no such thing, Y
our Grace. If you cannot be troubled to recall your own escapades, there is nothing I can do for you. Now, if you please, I believe I have kept Sir John waiting quite long enough.”

With a wry tilt of his mouth, the duke
retreated, decorously offering his elbow to the duchess. He wondered what society would make of her flustered appearance emerging from the trees. He was surprised to find that this pleased him.