To Desire a Wicked Duke Page 5

  “I wouldn’t call us mortal enemies, although we don’t get along.”

  “Then why ever were you kissing him? And why would you allow it to go so far? Lady Perry said you looked as if you were already lovers.”

  Tess flushed. “We are not lovers, Lily. We just … became carried away. The deplorable truth is, Rotham kissed me as a sort of experiment, and I lost my senses. I couldn’t help myself.”

  Lily’s expression turned more sympathetic. “When Heath kisses me, I lose all ability to reason, so I am not surprised that Rotham affects you that way. He does have a reputation for being a devil with the ladies. That is partly why they call him ‘the Devil Duke.’ But I hate to think of you wedding him, Tess. It is such a mismatch.”

  “I know,” she agreed feelingly.

  “You are a veritable angel compared to his devil,” Lily added with a faint scowl. “But Lady Wingate insists that you will marry him. You know we will stand by you if you choose to defy her.”

  “In good conscience, I don’t believe I can defy her,” Tess replied quietly.

  She couldn’t lightly dismiss her obligations to her godmother, not after all the baroness had done for her. As girls, Judith and Tess’s mother, Susan, had been bosom friends and attended school together. With no children of her own, Judith considered Tess more a daughter than goddaughter. After Tess’s father died from a fall in a hunting accident when she was sixteen, the baroness had borne the expense of a London Season, and utilized her role as a leader of society to gain Tess’s entry to the best circles.

  When recently Lady Wingate began pushing her to consider matrimony again, Tess had been willing to do so. But Rotham would have been her very last choice for her husband.…

  Upon seeing the despairing look on her face, Lily wrapped her arms tightly around Tess, hugging her close. “I suppose you will have to marry him,” she said, finally drawing back.

  “Yes, I suppose I will. The alternative is unthinkable.” Tess forced a smile, despite her feeling of helplessness. “If I refuse, I will dwindle into an old maid and play the fond aunt to your children instead of having children of my own. Worse, everything I have worked for these past years will be totally wrecked.”

  “What does Rotham say?”

  “He wants the ceremony to be held tomorrow. In fact, he has gone to London to procure a special license.”

  “So soon?” Lily’s tone held the same dismay that Tess’s had.

  “In his view, if we must wed, it is best done quickly, before the scandal has time to set in.”

  Worry darkened Lily’s features. “What do you plan to do now, Tess? Is there any way I can help you?”

  “I think I want to go home. I don’t feel capable of pretending we are making a love match, as Lady Wingate wishes us to do.”

  “I will accompany you. You shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. Heath can remain here and woo Lady Wingate’s houseguests for their donations.”

  Tess shook her head. “I would rather you stay and assume my role. Dorothy will be at home to console me,” she said of her companion, Dorothy Croft.

  “Are you certain?” Lily asked, sounding unpersuaded.

  “Yes. I can manage on my own, dearest. The most pressing decision is where to hold the ceremony. I planned to marry Richard in the village where we grew up, but it doesn’t seem right to use the Chiswick church with Rotham.”

  “Why not Danvers Hall? You know Arabella will support you in any way possible.”

  The Loring sisters had lived at Danvers Hall in Chiswick for several years, before the estate was inherited by the new Earl of Danvers, Marcus Pierce. After Arabella, the eldest sister, had wed Marcus, she continued to make her home there, while Roslyn and Lily had moved out to live with their new husbands.

  Tess pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Danvers Hall might work.”

  “Then I will write Arabella at once and let her know.” Lily shook her head in disbelief. “Just think, Tess, by this time tomorrow you could be married and preparing for your wedding night.”

  At the realization, Tess couldn’t suppress a shiver. Rotham had promised they could live separate lives after the consummation, but she still had the wedding night to get through.

  Heaven help her.

  She didn’t want to share a marital bed with him, even for one night. She didn’t want him arousing her or tempting her or overwhelming her with his devastatingly sensual kisses. Her wild response to him earlier today had frightened her. Never in her life had she ever lost control like that—

  Lily evidently comprehended her reservations, for she offered a suggestion. “If you are worried about the physical aspects of marriage, you know you can apply to Fanny for advice. If anyone can help you defend yourself against Rotham’s sensual powers, it will be Fanny. No one knows more about men than she does.”

  Lily made an excellent point. A dear childhood friend of the Loring sisters, Fanny Irwin had craved a more exciting life than rural Hampshire offered, and so had run off to London at the tender age of sixteen to become a renowned Cyprian. But the sisters had loyally refused to repudiate Fanny for her sins, particularly after their own reputations were irretrievably tarnished by their parents’ vivid scandals.

  In fact, Tess had discreetly aided Fanny in the past—last summer, when Lily had taught several young courtesans at Fanny’s London boardinghouse to improve their manners and grace. Fanny would likely be willing to return the favor, Tess presumed, and advise her how to deal with an expert lover like Rotham.

  Particularly what to do on your wedding night during the consummation.

  Her heart leaping at that alarming thought, Tess nodded. “I shall write Fanny immediately and have a Wingate footman deliver my message. Hopefully she will have time to meet with me before the ceremony takes place.”

  She desperately needed Fanny’s help in defending herself from Rotham, Tess knew. If his mere kisses could steal her senses and incite her to abandon a lifetime of training and all her moral scruples, what would an entire night in his bed do to her?

  Turning back to her valise, Tess drew out her small leather-bound diary and tore out a blank sheet in order to pen a note to Fanny.

  She firmly refused to acknowledge feeling anything but dismay just now. Her pulse was not thrumming with excitement at the prospect of consummating a marital union with Ian Sutherland, the Duke of Rotham.

  This marriage would be a total disaster, for they were utterly mismatched. Rotham brought out the very worst in her, Tess declared silently.

  Furthermore, she adamantly ignored the sly voice in her head insisting that he also brought out an admirable quality in her: The way Rotham constantly challenged her and roused her fighting spirit set her blood to racing.

  The only thing she was willing to admit, Tess vowed, was that she was in very, very big trouble.

  I rashly longed for sparks in my life and now my wish will be granted in spades. My marriage will be vastly different from the sweet, gentle love match I expected to make.

  —Diary Entry of Miss Tess Blanchard

  In the end, Tess agreed to marry the Duke of Rotham.

  When she sought out her godmother to report her decision, Lady Wingate seemed appropriately mollified by her capitulation, and allowed that since the house party at Wingate Manor was scheduled to last three more days, Danvers Hall would serve best for a small, quiet wedding ceremony.

  However, the baroness opined, it would be most fitting for the newlyweds to repair directly to Rotham’s family seat afterward, so as to remain out of the public eye for a time. Additionally, such a magnificent estate as Bellacourt would remind the Beau Monde just what a grand match Tess was making, even if it was a bit tainted by scandal.

  Lady Wingate also softened her condemnation of Tess with something of an apology.

  “You may think I am being cruel, my dear, by forcing this marriage upon you—and I do regret that you object so violently to taking Rotham as your husband. But I have high hopes that your union will wor
k out when all is said and done.”

  Tess shared nothing of her godmother’s confidence and saw very little prospect for wedded bliss with Rotham. But she dutifully permitted the baroness to announce their betrothal that evening and asked that her absence from the amateur play performance be excused since she needed to prepare for her wedding the next day.

  Patrick Hennessy’s apology to Tess, on the other hand, was visibly more abject and heartfelt.

  Despite the awkwardness of facing the actor so soon after the debacle of their interrupted kiss, she had to consult with him briefly before leaving for Chiswick in order to settle their account and give him a bank draft to pay for his troupe’s services over the past week.

  “Please allow me to beg your forgiveness again for daring to kiss you, Miss Blanchard,” Hennessy implored after pocketing the draft. “I have no notion what came over me.”

  “It was not entirely your fault, Mr. Hennessy,” Tess replied, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her own willing participation.

  “ ’Tis a wonder you didn’t box my ears as I deserved. And that his grace refrained from running me through in a fit of jealousy. At least it seems to have brought him up to scratch and inspired him to offer for your hand after all this time.”

  Tess’s flush deepened. Clearly the news of their imaginary love match had spread through Wingate Manor like an outbreak of ague. “His offer had little to do with jealousy of you, I am certain.”

  When a skeptical look crossed the actor’s face, his response reminded Tess of Rotham’s earlier unexpected revelation.

  “Why did you never tell me he had hired you to keep an eye on me?”

  Hennessy regarded her ruefully. “The duke bade me keep quiet on pain of death because he feared you would take offense at his interference. But he thought concern for your safety was warranted—a lady going about town alone, and in Covent Garden no less, where you could be mistaken for a … a …”

  When the actor hesitated, Tess filled in the missing word. “A lightskirt, you mean.”

  “Well … yes,” Hennessy admitted sheepishly. “You are nothing of the kind, Miss Blanchard, but your forays into the thespian sphere open you to certain charges, no matter how admirable your motives. Once you become a duchess, though, your ventures are likely to cease.”

  Tess frowned at him. “I well know how my forays are regarded, Mr. Hennessy, but I intend to continue holding charitable benefits even after my marriage to Rotham.”

  “I wonder if you will be permitted to do so,” the actor said worriedly. “Especially after today. The duke is no doubt eager to cut out my liver, and he will not wish you to employ my troupe again. Indeed, he could ruin me and my company with scant effort.”

  “I would never allow that to happen,” Tess declared loyally. “I assure you, he will have no say in my future endeavors.”

  She would make certain Rotham stayed out of her business dealings, Tess vowed to herself, especially when it came to employing Patrick Hennessy and his theatrical company. With his remarkable talent, Hennessy had been invaluable in orchestrating this week’s amateur performance by wealthy houseguests who could then become patrons of her charities, and in raising funds for her two London benefits—deciding on the programs, hiring and managing the actors and opera singers, and building the stage sets. The recent musical evening at the Theatre Royal alone had brought in the enormous sum of two thousand pounds. Tess knew she could never have had a fraction of that success on her own. She was not about to give up Hennessy’s organizational skills or relinquish the opportunity to raise even more funds using his creative genius.

  The actor obviously held doubts about his continued employment, but he shrugged and flashed a placating smile. “I hope you are right, Miss Blanchard. I expect, however, that I have just missed my best chance to advance my investigation of the spirit world. A recent ghost sighting was reportedly made at the duke’s castle in Cornwall, but now in all likelihood, I shall never be granted permission to visit there and examine the truth of the rumors for myself.”

  “Rotham’s castle is said to be haunted?” Tess asked with mild interest.

  “Yes. I only learned of it while researching the play I wrote for your theatrical tonight. I have been corresponding with a scholar who is a noted authority on Cornish spirits. The ghosts at Drury Lane have not been spied for years, but those at Falwell Castle are of recent origin—last winter, in fact.”

  Tess pursed her lips in thought. She vaguely recalled that Rotham possessed a castle in Cornwall, but had never heard of it being haunted.

  “Still,” the actor added hopefully when she was silent, “might you consider putting in a good word for me with the duke once you are his duchess, Miss Blanchard? If I could somehow garner an invitation to Falwell, I could experience a new ghost firsthand. I would be forever in your debt.”

  The return of Hennessy’s good-natured brashness did not surprise Tess, yet almost made her roll her eyes in exasperation. Her life was in chaos, her future with her soon-to-be husband completely uncertain, and all the actor was interested in was researching ghosts? Moreover, he had to know that after the contretemps this afternoon, this would hardly be the ideal time to ask the duke to help him.

  Since she owed Hennessy more than she could repay, however, Tess didn’t reject his request out of hand.

  “Perhaps a visit to the castle can be arranged, Mr. Hennessy. Meanwhile, I would ask that you oversee tonight’s performance and treat our amateur actors with special care, since I will not be here to assist you. You know as well as I how to flatter their vanity and keep in their good graces.”

  “Certainly, Miss Blanchard. And again, I am grievously sorry for taking liberties, particularly if I precipitated complications with the duke in any way.”

  As am I, Tess thought as she turned away and headed toward the stables. As am I.

  * * *

  Tess was grateful when her dependable coachman and footmen whisked her away from her godmother’s country estate in Richmond to her own home some ten miles away.

  After her mother’s death, Tess had turned down the baroness’s invitation to come live at Wingate Manor. Instead, she’d remained in Chiswick, near her dearest friends, in her family home. Not only was the charming house large and comfortable, it was less than an hour’s drive to London—a significant advantage since she visited London so frequently on behalf of her charitable causes.

  Tess had taken a companion for propriety’s sake, however, in a mutually beneficial arrangement. Dorothy Croft’s presence allowed her a vital measure of independence that she could never have had otherwise. And she provided the widow with a home and much-needed income, as well as a large, well-lit studio for painting her precious watercolors.

  Dorothy was actually fairly skilled as an amateur artist, and she had the dreamy mentality of an artist as well. Tess found her companion in the attic studio, brush in hand as she contemplated a blank canvas. When told about Tess’s impending marriage to the Duke of Rotham, the elder lady did not seem at all surprised.

  “That is lovely, dear. I am very pleased for you. It is high time you married, you know.” Her eyes clearing, Dorothy suddenly regarded Tess in dismay. “Do you mean to tell me I will soon be out of a home? Will his grace wish to reside here? Do you want me to leave?”

  “No, dearest,” Tess said quickly. “You may live here as long as you please. I expect Rotham to remain at his family seat in Richmond or his house in London, and I shall likely move in with him.”

  At least for a time, Tess added to herself. Thankfully, he had promised they could live separate lives and even have separate homes once the sensation of their abrupt marriage faded.

  Dorothy looked relieved before returning her attention to her canvas. “Thank you, dear Tess. Now if you will excuse me, I must paint this rosebush before I lose my inspiration. I had the most marvelous concept.…”

  Tess managed a smile and kissed her companion’s soft cheek, then made her way downstairs to her bed
chamber. She loved Dorothy dearly, but the absentminded lady was not likely to provide much support in helping her deal with her menacing disaster.

  With the aid of her maid Alice, Tess began to unpack her luggage from her weeklong stay at Wingate Manor, then tried to decide what gown she should wear for the marriage ceremony and what clothing she would need once she wed Rotham. Her wardrobe was smaller these days, since she’d given away her mourning weeds of black crepe and gray bombazine as part of her resolve to rejoin the living. She had no wedding trousseau, of course—

  Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, Tess sank down helplessly in a chair.

  “Are you ill, Miss Blanchard?” her maid asked in a worried tone. “Shall I fetch Mrs. Croft’s smelling salts?”

  “Thank you, Alice, but I will be fine in a moment. I think perhaps I will leave my packing until tomorrow, when Lady Claybourne will be here to help me choose what to take with me.”

  Lily, bless her, had promised to bring her two sisters over first thing in the morning. Thank heaven, Tess thought morosely, since there was no possibility of her managing the feat just now. Not when her entire future was on the verge of being shattered.

  After dismissing Alice, Tess pulled out her diary and opened it to the last entry, when she had been so hopeful about the outcome of the house party. She was at a loss now about what to write, though, given all her chaotic thoughts and feelings.

  “Stop wallowing in self-pity,” Tess chided herself. “Throughout history, women have been forced to make unwanted marriages, and most of them survived.”

  And I will too.…

  I hope.

  Since she had failed to bolster her flagging spirits, Tess eagerly welcomed the crunch of carriage wheels in the drive barely an hour later. A glance out her window confirmed her hope that Fanny Irwin had come in response to her panicked note.

  Hugely relieved, Tess hurried downstairs herself to admit Fanny.