The Dark Duke. Margaret Moore
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“And I the prize?”
“Your title,” the duchess replied, sneering as much as a well-bred woman could. “He wants her to become the next duchess. That little nobody!”
“She’s a very beautiful young woman,” Adrian noted.
“They have no family connections worth speaking of, and I will not see this estate in the hands of Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper’s daughter.”
“Since you are likely to be deceased before I am likely to be wed, I do not see that you need to worry,” Adrian remarked, beginning to stand,
“Will you take this matter seriously? Sir Douglas is going to be laying snares for you everywhere! We all know your reputation and, as you so flippantly point out, she is a beautiful creature. You must stay away from her! I will not allow you to pursue your own selfish pleasures!”
It was Adrian’s turn to scowl, although he tried not to, for he could think of only one person on the entire earth who was more selfish than his stepmother, and that was her son. “Then I am not to deflower damris Sackville-Cooper?” he asked, regarding her steadily.
“Must you use such words in my presence?”
“Isn’t that what you are trying to tell me? That Sir Douglas may not care how he manages to get his daughter married to me? That he might, in essence, throw her at my head?”
“Since you insist upon using such terms, yes.”
“Obviously you were too preoccupied to notice that the young lady in question does not seem to regard me with a favorable eye.”
“Don’t try to talk smart to me, Adrian. You and I both know that you could seduce a stone if you took it into your head. Heaven knows you have had enough practice!”
He made a mocking half bow. “I thank you for the compliment, Your Grace. I believe it is the first one you have ever given me.”
“Just stay away from Damaris Sackville-Cooper!”
“But how am I to assuage my base desires, which you seem to think determine my every decision?” he asked with deceptive calm. “Surely you don’t expect me to be as chaste as a monk.”
“I don’t care, as long as you don’t endanger the family honor.”
He knew she meant only the honor of herself and Elliot, her dear boy. “I have no taste for servants,” Adrian replied, wondering how far she was willing to take this subject. “Perhaps Lady Hester?”
“You are a rogue to even think of corrupting Lord Pimblett’s daughter!” the duchess replied. Then she smiled coldly. “Go ahead and try. Not even you would have much success with her.”
“Why not? If I can seduce a stone, surely I could succeed with her.”
The duchess fanned herself. “She is no flighty, silly creature given to overwrought emotions. She is a good, quiet, dutiful young woman who will keep her virtue for her husband.”
“Does this mean I can expect a parade of eligible young men through Barroughby Hall?”
“Don’t be impudent.”
“She seemed quite friendly to Reverend Mc-Kenna,” he noted.
“Are you trying to be amusing?” the duchess demanded. “Lady Hester has more sense than to ally herself to a country curate, even if he does come from a well-to-do family. They made their money in trade.”
“Oh, well, then, obviously he’s out of consideration. What about Sir Douglas Sackville-Cooper? He’s been a widower for years.”
“Lord Edgar Pimblett’s daughter and that man?”
“It would be a decent match for her.”
His stepmother looked at him with something resembling respect. “You might be right, Adrian. She’s rather old and certainly plain. She might be willing to settle for him.”
Adrian reflected that he should have known that if his stepmother approved an idea, he would find it a bad one upon further consideration. The idea of Hester Pimblett and Sir Douglas now struck him as ludicrous, even if he couldn’t say why. All he could be sure of was that he had had quite enough of this conversation, and more than enough of his stepmother for one day. “If you will excuse me, I’m going upstairs. My leg is aching like the devil.” He bowed and strode toward the door.
“Don’t use such vulgar terms in my presence, if you please, Adrian,” the duchess replied tartly. “And I don’t excuse you.”
But the duke had already gone out the door.
Hester led the way along the walk to the rose garden, feeling not unlike the Pied Piper as Reverend Mc-Kenna and Damaris, Sir Douglas and Canon Smeech followed. Reverend McKenna caught up to her quickly, matching her pace. Damaris soon joined them, walking on the other side of Hester.
“Well, isn’t he just the most wicked man!” Damaris exclaimed quietly, with an anxious glance over her shoulder as if she expected to see the Dark Duke pursuing her like Hades after Persephone. “Papa says he’s simply a spirited young man—spirited! I can believe everything I’ve heard, and more.”
That Adrian Fitzwalter had a streak of devilment in him was all too obvious, Hester thought as she recalled his words this morning. He must have been awake when she entered his bedroom, a humiliating realization. And yet, if he was as evil as the duchess and everyone except Sir Douglas seemed to believe, he wouldn’t have continued to feign sleep. He would have done something horrible, like leap from the bed and kiss her.
Moving his full lips, which curled with such secretive, knowing smiles, over hers. Slowly. Seductively. Pressing his hard, muscular body against hers. Embracing her with a fierce and wild passion, perhaps even picking her up and carrying her to the bed—
“Oh, dear, have we been walking too fast?” damris asked. “You seem all out of breath, Lady Hester.”
“No, no, I’m fine”, she replied, trying to compose herself. She had never known she possessed such a vivid imagination!
“We should be charitable,” Reverend McKenna offered meekly, although his tone seemed to imply this would not be an easy task. He gave the lovely damris a sidelong glance and Hester was sure she heard him sigh.
“He is very handsome,” Hester said.
“Handsome in a sly, nasty way!” Damaris said. “And, my dear, I have it on the very best authority that he doesn’t confine his unsavory activities to London. The butcher’s girl told my maid that she actually saw him leaving that house on Stamford Street when he visited here once before.”
Hester knew to which house Damaris was referring with that knowing, condemning tone. Even Bar-roughby had a brothel. “She was quite sure it was the duke?” Hester inquired, finding it hard to believe that a man of the duke’s attributes would have to pay for services of that sort.
“Well,” Damaris equivocated, “she did see only his back—but the man was the right height, and very well dressed, and when he said good-night she recognized his voice.”
Hester didn’t respond, and Reverend McKenna only stared at the ground.
“Why has he come here again?” Damaris demanded. “He and the duchess have no liking for each other.”
“He was hurt,” Hester replied.
“How?”
“A duel, or so I understand,” she said.
“Oh, dear!” Damaris responded, her eyes widening. “No wonder the