The Duchess of Love (9 page)

“Ah.” Ellie forced a smile. “Yes.” She knew the main point of the damn party was to find Ned—and Jack, of course—a suitable wife. “I can see that.”

The duchess glanced down at Reggie, who was now cleaning his paws. “Greycliffe is actually hoping Reggie pilfers things again. He thought it made the gathering much more interesting.”

Interesting was one way to describe the screaming and tears Lady Perford had treated them to upon finding her mangled pheasant.

Ellie took a sustaining sip of tea. She might as well know everything now; it would make it easier to appear composed in company. “And whom have you invited for Jack”—she swallowed—“and N-Ned?”

Damn, her voice cracked. Perhaps the duchess hadn't noticed.

And perhaps Reggie would leap upon the tea table and sing an aria.

At least Ned's mother didn't comment beyond a raised eyebrow. “I'd originally had Miss Prudence Merriweather in mind for Jack,” she said, “however, the girl eloped with Mr. Bamford three weeks ago. Quite a shock to everyone, but of course I must take it as a blessing. She clearly would not have done for Jack if she was in love with another man.”

Her grace sent her a significant if obscure look. Ellie took another sip of tea.

“I had to scramble a bit,” her grace continued somewhat dryly, “but I found Miss Isabelle Wharton to take her place. I've never actually met the girl, you understand, but my friend Lady Altman says she is quite striking. I imagine Jack would appreciate a lovely bride.” She shrugged slightly. “And if the match comes to nothing, well, Jack is only your age. He has plenty of time.”

“Yes.” Twenty-six was young for a man; it was firmly on the shelf for a woman.

“And as for Ned”—her grace shot Ellie another indecipherable look—“I invited Lady Juliet Ramsbottom, the Duke of Extley's youngest daughter, for him.”

A vise clamped around Ellie's heart. Stupid. A duke's daughter was an excellent choice for a duke's son. She nodded and took a larger swallow of tea. If only there was some brandy at hand to flavor it.

“Frankly, I hope to see you and Ned married this summer.”

Ellie choked—and made the unpleasant discovery that it was possible to snort tea out one's nose.

“Oh, dear.” The duchess leapt up and slapped her on the back. “Are you all right?”

Ellie, gasping, fished her handkerchief out of her pocket and waved her hand, trying to get the duchess to stop pounding on her. She would be fine if she could just catch her breath.

Of course Ned's mother hadn't meant she hoped to see Ellie married
to
Ned, only that she hoped both their nuptials would happen this summer.

The duchess pounded harder.

“Please,” Ellie gasped, “don't—”

Through watery eyes, she watched Reggie abandon his ablutions and head toward …

“Ah, ah, ah.”

“What are you trying to say, dear?” The duchess paused in her pummeling. If she happened to glance in the direction Ellie's horrified eyes were staring, she'd see Reggie sniffing a pair of red silk drawers.

Ellie sprang to her feet. Panic miraculously cleared her throat. “I'm fine,” she croaked. “Wonderful. Fit as a fiddle.” She glanced over her shoulder. Now Reggie was batting at the drawers with one paw.

She shifted her position to block the duchess's view.

“I shouldn't tease you, I know,” her grace said. Her eyes dimmed and she sighed, shoulders drooping. She suddenly looked every one of her fifty years. “I've certainly learned harping on a subject doesn't get results. If it did, my boys would all be happily married.”

“I'm sure they will be, your grace.” Ellie impulsively laid her hand on the duchess's arm. She hated to see her so blue-deviled. “Just give them time.”

“Time.”
The duchess bit her lip as if she'd like to say more on that head. She let out a short, sharp breath and shrugged, smiling a little. “It's only … well, I'm so happy with the duke. Is it wrong to want that happiness for my sons?”

“Of course not, your grace, but your situation
is
rather extraordinary.” The duke and duchess had fallen in love at first sight when they were both very young. Even more unusual, they'd been happily married for over thirty years and, by all accounts, completely faithful to each other. There was probably not another couple like them in all the English nobility.

Ellie glanced at Reggie again. Damn it. Now the drawers were over his head. If he got caught in them …

“I know,” her grace said. “When I look around the
ton
, I see so many unpleasant unions.” She shook her head. “Well, just consider Ash and Jess. They've been separated for eight years now.”

Ellie wrenched her gaze away from Reggie's activities. “I'm certain they will reconcile eventually.”

“But when?” The duchess's voice was tight with frustration. “Ash will be the duke; the duchy needs an heir, and neither he nor Jess is getting any younger.” She frowned. “And I want a grandchild or two before I'm completely in my dotage.”

Damnation. Reggie was now coming their way, the silk drawers in his mouth. Ellie took the duchess's arm and started to walk toward the door with her.

“Ash—and Ned and Jack—can manage their own lives, your grace. You must know you've raised them well.”

The duchess sighed. “And there's nothing I can do about it anyway, is there?” She paused and glanced around. “Where has Reggie got to?”

“Likely he finished his cream and left,” Ellie said. The blasted cat had just passed behind the duchess's skirts and out the door. Where the hell was he going? Certainly not … last year he had … but he wouldn't this year, would he? “Has Ned”—Ellie caught herself—“and Jack arrived yet?”

“Oh, no. I don't expect them for a while.”

Ellie almost collapsed with relief. If Reggie was taking her undergarment to Ned's room, she'd have time to get it back before anyone—especial Ned—found it. “I hope they reach the castle before the storm. Mrs. Dalton was just saying her rheumatism is acting up.”

“Oh, dear. Mrs. Dalton's rheumatism never lies.” The duchess stopped on the threshold and smiled, her good spirits returning. “Just think! You young people can go on sleigh rides.”

“I'm hardly young.” At the moment she just wanted to chase down one misbehaving cat.

“Oh, don't be such a wet rag; you'll freeze stiff in this weather.” The duchess laughed. “You can make snow angels, and I'm sure the men will get into a snowball battle.”

“Everyone will be cold and wet.” Ellie did not want to play in the snow. Such activities were for children.

“And there are ever so many games and things we can do inside.” Her grace clapped her hands. “You know, I have the greatest hope this will be a wonderful party.”

“Er, yes.” Just wonderful, though perhaps snow would be better than rain or general February dreariness.

The duchess patted her arm. “And I have great hopes for you as well, dear.” She stepped into the corridor. “I'll expect you downstairs in the blue drawing room before dinner. Don't be late.”

“I won't.”

Ellie watched the duchess walk down the passage—and the moment she turned the corner, she bolted for Ned's room.

A native of Washington, DC,
Sally MacKenzie
still lives in suburban Maryland with her transplanted upstate New Yorker husband. She's written federal regulations, school newsletters, auction programs, class plays, and swim league guidance, but it wasn't until the first of her four sons headed off to college that she tried her hand at romance. She can be reached by e-mail at [email protected] or by snail mail at P.O. Box 2453, Kensington, MD 20891. Please visit her home in cyberspace at www.sallymackenzie.net.

 

If you enjoyed THE DUCHESS OF LOVE don't miss Sally MacKenzie's delightful “Naked Nobility” series, each book brimming with her trademark humor, witty intelligence, sexy situations, and impeccably drawn Regency settings. Read on for more details about each title.

 

Available now as Kensington e-books and printed Zebra paperbacks!

THE NAKED DUKE

The Surprise Of Her Life

Sophisticated. Scandalous. In fact, Miss Sarah Hamilton, a proper Philadelphian, finds London society altogether shocking. How can it be that she has awakened from her innocent slumber to find herself in bed next to a handsome—and exceedingly naked—man? The laughing onlookers standing in the doorway are no help whatsoever and surely this amorous lunatic cannot be a duke, as he claims. She is compromised—though she most certainly will not marry him!

The Sweetest Moment Of His

James, the Duke of Alvord, is enchanted by his unexpected bedmate—and not at all afraid of her pink-cheeked fury. True, the circumstances and place of their meeting are most unusual, but the spirited American who's pummeling him with a pillow is an incomparable beauty. If Sarah will only listen to his perfectly reasonable explanation, James is sure that he can capture her heart … forever.

THE NAKED MARQUIS

The Man Is Practical

As marriage proposals go, Charles Draysmith's suit is as romantic as the moors in December. Emma Peterson might be only a vicar's daughter, and he the new Marquis of Knightsdale, and perhaps he
would
rather marry her than endure the marriage mart. But when he suggests how much he'll enjoy securing an heir, well, a lady can only endure so much.

But The Lady Is Passionate

There's something about a woman throwing pottery at a man that piques his interest. Perhaps his proposal lacks grace, Charles thinks. But it does seem a perfect solution. He acquires a wife; his young charges have the mother they so desperately need, and Emma gains security and position. You see? Simple. Practical. Sensib—oh no, not the ceramic dog … he will have to confess the truth to calm her down. And the truth is, he's madly in love …

THE NAKED EARL

He Took Her By Surprise

When a naked earl climbs through the window into her bedchamber, Lady Elizabeth Runyon does the proper thing: She screams. Loudly. And then … well, Lizzie has had enough of being proper. She wishes to be bold. Wanton, even. She won't be commanded to put on her nightgown. Just this once, she will be absolutely daring …

She Returned The Favor

Robert Hamilton, Earl of Westbrooke, has no intention of being tricked into marriage by a detestable female, and if he has to flee naked across a rooftop, he will. Jolly good there's an open window waiting—as well as an undressed, slightly drunk, and alluringly beautiful Lady Elizabeth. Oh dear. If they are caught together, he might have to marry her. The idea is delicious … and the temptation is irresistible …

THE NAKED GENTLEMAN

He Couldn't Refuse

John Parker-Roth cannot believe that marriage is necessary for his happiness. He would far rather pursue his interest in horticulture, but if one day he should find a female who shared his passion for flowers—a level-headed, calm sort of female—he might reconsider. Certainly the lovely young woman who has just tumbled into his lap will not do, as she possesses neither of those admirable qualities. Yet Miss Margaret Peterson does have many things in her favor. To begin with, she is a true English rose, blushing a delectable pink. And she is not entirely clothed. Her full mouth begs to be kissed. If only she would not wriggle so … oh, dear. He cannot ignore the sudden vision of her in his bed, but he must.

 

What? Is Meg actually asking him to kiss her? Well, well, well. John Parker-Roth is a gentleman, first and foremost. And he cannot turn down a lady's request …

THE NAKED BARON

Tell Me What You Want

New to London society and rather …
awkward
… Lady Grace Belmont would just as soon hide behind the palm trees as dance with a man she doesn't know. But Baron Dawson is on the hunt for a wife. Grace's generous curves and remarkable height do not intimidate him. In fact, it would be more accurate to describe his reaction to the charming newcomer as
lust
.

 

Before Grace can so much as gather her thoughts, she finds herself in his arms, committing one shocking impropriety after another. The Baron's devilish attractiveness—to say nothing of his splendid muscles—is simply impossible to resist. Her beloved aunt and chaperone advises patience, but Grace is not about to listen. The handsome baron is whispering such delightful things in her ear …

THE NAKED VISCOUNT

The Naked Truth

After eight Seasons in London, Miss Jane Parker-Roth is ready to quit the dull search for a husband in favor of more exciting pursuits. So when she encounters an intruder in her host's townhouse, she's not about to let the scoundrel escape. Until she discovers she's wrestling a viscount—Edmund Smyth, the one noble she wouldn't mind meeting in the dark. And when their struggle shatters a randy statue of the god Pan, even more mischief ensues …

 

Edmund was indeed searching for evidence of a scandal, but the shocking clues inside the nude statue are far from what he expected. The same can be said of Jane, who shows a talent for interfering in his affairs. And as his quest becomes more than a little improper, he finds the impetuous lady has a talent for that as well …

THE NAKED KING

Indiscretion Is Just The Beginning

One night of slight overindulgence—oh, all right, he was drunk—and Stephen Parker-Roth finds he must betroth himself to prevent yet another scandal. But his “intended” is lovely, a redheaded beauty under her horrendous, unfashionable bonnet, and before long, he's congratulating himself on compromising such an excellent candidate—and anticipating what other naughtiness they'll get caught at before the wedding …

 

Lady Anne Marston has long since given up any thought of marriage. That is the price she pays for the mistakes of her past. But one little conversation with a handsome rogue should never have led to a sham engagement. Even if it did end in a rather shocking kiss … in broad daylight … on the front step of London's premier gossip. Now, trapped between a secret and a lie, Anne must somehow disentangle herself from this charming, maddening man before the truth comes out—or her heart gives in …