Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes. Laurie Benson
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spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’
‘Would you please focus?’
‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.
‘On my problem, dolt!’
‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’
‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.
‘Maybe you can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’
The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.
‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’
‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’
‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’
‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’
Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’
He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.
Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.
Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.
Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?
Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.
Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.
Later that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.
Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.
‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.
They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.
‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.
‘What do you think possesses a man to seek a mistress?’
‘Lack of contentment, I suppose,’ replied Sarah with a slight lift of her shoulder. ‘It appears much more common here than it does back home. Most of these ton marriages seem to be for convenience and not love. That may explain why there are so many indiscretions.’
Katrina’s gaze drifted back to Lord Phelps, who appeared to be introducing another older gentleman to his mistress. ‘I am grateful joining the ranks of the ton is not to be my fate. I would never want my future tied to a man who would likely have liaisons.’ She turned to Sarah and her spirits lifted. ‘Hopefully when I return home I will find an honourable man who will think me so captivating he will have no choice but to offer for my hand.’
‘Hopefully he will be handsome, as well as honourable,’ Sarah said with a grin.
Before Katrina was able to respond her father sat down in the vacant seat on her other side. ‘And how are the two of you enjoying the evening thus far?’
‘We have been admiring the sights,’ Katrina said as she smiled affectionately at him. ‘It appears a number of boxes are garnering quite a bit of attention, and it’s lovely not having stares and whispers pointed in our direction for once.’
But in a box across from where Katrina sat in comfortable conversation a man was staring—a very surprised man.
* * *
Julian narrowed his eyes and studied the woman in pale pink satin. He lifted his spyglass for a better view. She had rich golden hair, delicately curved shoulders, and her face moved with animation as she talked with the woman to her right. There was no mistaking it: this was the American he had spoken with on the de Lievens’ terrace the night before—the same one who had plagued his thoughts throughout the day.
The older gentleman sitting next to her smiled indulgently, and Julian had an unnatural urge to drag her away from her companions. What the hell was wrong with him?
‘I believe you have not heard a single word I’ve said for the last five minutes,’ Hart complained with annoyance as he flipped a guinea in the air and caught it.
‘Of course I have. You were discussing one of your latest liaisons.’
Hart let out a deep-throated laugh and leaned back in his chair, tipping it precariously. ‘Not unless her name was Royal Rebel. Which, come to think of it, would be an exceptional name for a princess I am intimately acquainted with... I was speaking of the race I attended this afternoon and the amount of blunt Royal Rebel brought to my pockets. Came from behind and all. It was quite exciting.’
Julian was unable to keep his gaze from returning to the American, even though he tried to focus on his friend.
‘What’s her name?’ Hart asked, flipping the guinea again.
‘Whose name?’
‘Whomever the lady is who has your attention—attention, I might add, that should be focused on me. It was sporting of you to invite me out this evening, but you really are an abominable host.’
Julian glanced at this friend. ‘What makes you think it is a lady who has my attention?’
‘Foolish of me. I suppose you are studying the folds of some gentleman’s intricately tied cravat?’ When Julian gave no reply, Hart shook his head. ‘You realise it will not take me long to determine who has captured your attention?’