Читать онлайн книгу «A Compromised Innocent» автора Elaine Golden
A Compromised Innocent
Elaine Golden
Under intense pressure to secure a marriage contract, Miss Lizzie Talbot doesn't dare hope that handsome Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, would ever be interested in her.Though she longs to know his taste and touch, he is far above her station. So Lizzie is shocked when Oliver promises to show her pleasure she never imagined&. Yet she doesn't expect more than a brief dalliance.For Oliver is destined for a match of importance and wealth, neither of which Lizzie can offer. Book three of the Fortney Follies series.
A Compromised Innocent
Book three of the Fortney Follies series
Elaine Golden
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Under intense pressure to secure a marriage contract, Miss Lizzie Talbot doesn't dare hope that handsome Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, would ever be interested in her. Though she longs to know his taste and touch, he is far above her station.
So Lizzie is shocked when Oliver promises to show her pleasure she never imagined…. Yet she doesn't expect more than a brief dalliance. For Oliver is destined for a match of importance and wealth, neither of which Lizzie can offer….
Book three of the Fortney Follies series.
Since the very first book of the Fortney Follies series, readers have been asking for Ollie’s story. And ever since Oliver Fortney told us how passionately he hated the idea of marrying Miss Milligrew all of those years ago, well… I just knew Roberta played a role in his eventual happily-ever-after. A woman scorned, and all that. Heh.
He was right, too. Roberta was not the right woman for him. You see it’s Roberta’s niece, Lizzie Talbot–or Miss Elspeth Talbot, as her aunt prefers–who blunders into Ollie’s heart and takes it for her own. Quite literally, for Lizzie is not known for her graceful ways.
But Roberta is not about to make things easy for Ollie. At all. In fact, she’ll go to great lengths to pay him back for spurning her.
I’m delighted to bring you this new Undone! short story, A COMPROMISED INNOCENT, the third book in the Fortney Follies series, how Ollie and Lizzie find love and happiness together.
I hope that you enjoy their story and I would love to hear from you! Please visit my website at www.elainegolden.com or email me at elainegolden.author@gmail.com.
Happy Reading!
To Rodney. Always.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Chapter One
“Stop slouching, Elspeth. Chin up and smile. You don’t want to embarrass us, do you?”
“My name is Lizzie,” she muttered just loudly enough to ensure her aunt, but no one else, could hear her.
“I’ve told you I won’t use that awful name, Elspeth. Whatever your father was thinking to call you that, I don’t know.”
Lizzie Talbot—or Miss Elspeth Talbot, as her aunt preferred—didn’t bother to correct her aunt this time. Reminding Aunt Roberta that Lizzie was the nickname her mother, Roberta’s older sister, gave her was pointless. She’d believe whatever she chose to as usual.
Sometimes it was hard to think of Aunt Roberta in a maternal way. Despite being Lizzie’s guardian, Roberta was only a dozen or so years older than her.
“And what have you done with your hair since we left? It looks like you’ve been fidgeting with it again.” When her aunt jerked at a loose curl more forcefully than was necessary, Lizzie stifled a grimace. As they neared the end of the reception line, she held as still as possible and let her aunt fuss.
You can do this. Just don’t rush and all will be well.
This might be her third Season, but she still wasn’t used to large gatherings, had never managed to get comfortable enough to exhibit the grace her aunt would have her show in public.
“Whatever was Lady Delcourt thinking to allow her daughter to purchase such a dress? She looks ready to tread the boards.” The daughter, Lady Cecilia, stood beside her parents as she greeted their guests. The dress in question was a bright turquoise silk, which Lizzie thought did lovely things with the woman’s pale complexion. The feathers, however, were…excessive. They covered the bodice and hem and had even been pinned into her coiffure. She looked like an exotic parrot.
Lizzie trailed her aunt and uncle and smiled as they introduced her to their hosts. Lord and Lady Delcourt greeted her so politely that she almost forgot to be nervous, especially when she executed her curtsies under her aunt’s critical eye.
Slowly.
This was not the place to rush and prove herself clumsy. Her aunt would never forgive her the embarrassment.
Lizzie released a sigh of relief when the greetings were completed without incident, though she nearly trod upon her uncle’s heels when her aunt paused at the ballroom threshold for dramatic effect. Lizzie barely stepped to the side quickly enough to avoid disaster.
The room was alight with movement from the swirl of dancers and the glow of candlelight. Fans fluttered, jewels glittered and the heat of so many bodies pressed in on them.
Lizzie was excited and scared at the same time. Even after years of being out in society, the room seemed full of strangers—influential and intimidating strangers. She’d always been nervous meeting people, but now her anxiety was multiplied by the growing urgency to secure a marriage contract before she was considered to be on the shelf and passed over entirely.
Lizzie didn’t think she deluded herself when she chalked up the reason for a lack of offers to something other than her appearance. She was atleast passable, and her dowry was not unattractive. Rather, it seemed fairly certain that her discomfort around strangers and tendency toward bumbling to be the culprit. Even her dance partners managed to disappear after she tramped on their toes once too often.
Thankfully, few took notice of their arrival. It helped to settle her nerves a bit, though she was grateful when they finally made it across the room so her aunt could join her friends and her uncle could make his escape from his wife’s side. That left Lizzie to stand alone on the perimeter, hoping for anonymity. At this point, her biggest desire was to make it through the evening without embarrassment.
She took a deep breath and scanned the room for a familiar face, but recognized few. Now that Angelica Fortney—oh, but it was Lady Vinedale now, wasn’t it?—was back in town from her wedding trip, Lizzie had hoped to find her at the event. As luck was not her strong suit, her friend didn’t appear to be present.
She knew better than to expect to find Angelica’s older brother in attendance. Wainsborough did not go to events that included scheming mothers.
Ever since she had met him earlier in the week, ever so briefly on the square outside Gunter’s Tea Shop, Lizzie had been unable to forget the tall, somber man that made her heart race and mouth go dry. Had even imagined those light green eyes of his, alight with interest as he looked at her.
Futile dreams. Oliver Fortney was the sixth Duke of Wainsborough, as far from her reach as the moon.
“I would like to make known to you my niece, Miss Elspeth Talbot, who is woolgathering as usual.” Lizzie straightened and forced a polite smile. “Elspeth, this is my dearest friend Lady Wrothton, and her son, the Honorable Francis Layton.”
“My lady. Sir.”
Mr. Layton had kindly eyes and his smile seemed more than polite as he bowed over her hand. Was he interested, perhaps? It would be nice to have a beau. Her first.
Lizzie smiled, this time with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of encouragement. Mr. Layton’s eyes twinkled in response.
“Mr. Layton is only recently come to London, Lizzie.” Roberta looked on, an expectant matchmaker.
“Oh? Have you been traveling, sir?”
He puffed his chest a bit, as a chaffinch would to attract the ladies then proceeded to regale her with tales of his travels across Egypt in search of antiquities.
“I’d be delighted to show you some of my more choice finds.” Mr. Layton’s smile revealed a row of neat white teeth. “For now, Miss Talbot, may I have this dance?”
When Aunt Roberta nodded her approval, Lizzie accepted and selected a place in the line of dancers beside Lady Cecilia, who was now copiously molting feathers from her bright gown.
The musicians struck up a country dance and Lizzie lost herself in the music and snatches of conversation she could exchange with Mr. Layton as they passed each other. Lizzie felt good, almost as if she fit in. She felt lighter than she had in a long time and began to dance with pure abandon.
In other words, she forgot to pay attention.
She wasn’t watching her footing as she neared the end of the dance line, skipping across the polished wood parquet. So, when her soft-soled shoe landed just so on one of Lady Cecilia’s wayward feathers, she lost her footing and went sliding higgledy-piggledy across the herringbone patterned floor.
Time slowed as if to make certain she would recall every excruciating moment in finite detail, and she skidded toward the throng of people bordering the dancing area. No one moved as Lizzie hurtled like a human ball toward a line of pins. Little wonder bowls was still illegal on public lawns.
Lizzie closed her eyes and braced for the worst.
She should have known better. Lizzie Talbot was an impending disaster, even on her most diligent days.
Tonight she would prove herself a pariah.
Chapter Two
Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, was bored witless.
The only reason he was at the Delcourts’ ball this evening was to offer moral support to his brother, William. Wills had only just returned from the continent and their mother had managed to browbeat him to attend. Oliver figured that if he made an appearance, as well, he could help Wills escape all the sooner.
So, here he was at another dreadful ball, talking with the same people and having the same dull conversation.
When had he acquired this ennui? He needed to find something more in life, something to appreciate. Hell, something to look forward to. Something other than the utter sameness society strove for, as if they’d all been pressed from the same butter stamp.
Someone like Angelica’s friend, Miss Elspeth Talbot. A fine-looking woman who could take the social horror of a stained gown at Gunter’s and maintain her dignity as she’d been introduced to him, someone whose consequence made most men stammer. She had glowed with a joy that Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever personally known.
And now he found himself unsettled at the memory of her, with the temptation to seek her out. To see if she could show him just a taste of such delight in life.
Had it only been a few days since they had met? It felt like an eternity.
Oliver was not here to see her though this was the type of place such an unmarried woman was to be found. He hadn’t even looked for her, at least after he skimmed the room upon their arrival. The ball was a bit of a crush, so it was possible she was there. Somewhere.
His pulse began to pound at that thought.
Just then, Wills peered over Oliver’s shoulder with the oddest expression then he reached out in warning. “Move!”
Oliver pivoted in time to see a mass of white muslin skid to a stop at his feet. A young woman, eyes wide and ankles exposed where her gown had rucked up, peered up at him.
Well, well. Miss Elspeth Talbot was at the ball, after all.
The silence of the ballroom was deafening. The musicians had ceased their play, couples had halted their dance and conversation evaporated as all eyes focused on Miss Talbot. Even the man who appeared to be her erstwhile dance partner was frozen in place as if trying to assimilate what had happened.
Oliver frowned at the fellow—Wrothton’s boy, if he wasn’t mistaken—and tried to stifle a twinge of…what? The man should help her immediately; she shouldn’t be left in an undignified heap on the floor.
Then the oddest thing happened. Miss Talbot, pretty and pink-cheeked from the dancing or embarrassment or both, tilted her head back and laughed. No dainty giggle of a laugh either, but a howl of amusement, the type that accompanied the abandon of children at play.
The room quieted even more, if that were possible. The exception being the racket from Miss Talbot, though that dwindled to a chuckle.
Here was a woman who could laugh at herself and steal the judgmental power from those who might laugh at her behind gloved hands. Oliver’s heart gave a little lurch.
He noticed that her dance partner had disappeared, leaving Miss Talbot to fend for herself. He wondered who her chaperon was and why they weren’t rushing to aid her. So, Oliver took the initiative and offered Miss Talbot a hand to help her rise.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I’m ever so clumsy!” she said. Her hair listed to the side and her gloves were discolored from contact with the floor, but her eyes sparkled enchantingly.
With her white muslin gown and fresh-faced innocence, she was the type of girl he avoided lest an overexcitable mother set her aspirations on him. But something was different about Miss Talbot, something fundamental that signified she was unique.
The first murmur of censure decided him. Being a duke ought to have some benefits, and halting the tide on cankerous gossip had best be one of them.
With as much finesse as he could muster, Oliver bowed. “At your service, miss.”
“Oh!” It was a soft exclamation and probably carried no farther than his ears, even in the quiet room. Then she extended her dusty, glove-clad hand. “Pleased to see you again, Your Grace. Is your sister, Lady Vinedale, here, as well?” Her voice was bright as a bell, but she’d begun to glance about as she realized they were the center of attention. The color began to leech from her face.
“Not this evening, no. May I reserve a dance, Miss Talbot?”
A little furrow appeared between her brows. “Do you jest?”
“No, indeed. May I?” he repeated, then scrutinized her dance card and scribbled his name. He was fairly certain this incident would cost her any and all future dance partners unless he did something. It had nothing to do with a desire to see what she felt like in his arms. William stepped forward in a show of solidarity and begged an introduction and dance of his own.
Oliver then offered his arm. “I recommend a retreat so you can collect yourself. Nothing swift as to suggest embarrassment; a leisured stroll, head held high,” he said in a low voice.
After a moment of hesitation, Miss Talbot smiled and accepted, her hand light and warm where it rested on his forearm. He liked that she was taller than most and he suspected her head would fit perfectly on his shoulder.
The musicians rumbled back into play, but curious eyes stayed fixed on them as they moved a circuitous route around the ballroom and out the door, no doubt wondering about his interest.
He didn’t know what to make of it, either.
Chapter Three
Lizzie didn’t know what to think of the handsome duke, other than he was probably the most wonderful man in the world. He had single-handedly extracted her from a situation that could only be described as disastrous.
Thank heavens her aunt had left the room sometime after that dance had begun. Lizzie wasn’t looking forward to her reaction once news of the spill made it to her attention, but it just had to be better than if Roberta had witnessed it firsthand.
Just the memory of her inglorious skid across the dance floor nearly set off her helpless giggles again. She had probably looked like a bedlamite laughing when anyone else would have cried in mortification.
Really, it had come down to laughter or tears, and Lizzie wasn’t about to show the gadflies that they had the power to shatter her so easily.
But goodness, to have two gentlemen come to her rescue after Mr. Layton had disappeared so unchivalrously. Did they know the effect of their actions on popular comment? Surely they did, which only made them marvelous in her estimation.
But consider her more surprised when she came out of the ladies’ retiring room and found Wainsborough keeping time in the corridor just outside. He leaned insolently against the wall, a man of means and most pleasing to the eye.
Was he…waiting for her?
He pushed away from the wall with a smile, and her heart fluttered. When he smiled, his eyes glowed, a bright Pomona-green flash of personality in a polished, aristocratic exterior.
Apparently, he had been.
“How do you fare, Miss Talbot?”
“Much better now, thank you.”
“None the worse for wear?”
“No, indeed, Your Grace. I shall live to dance another day.” She smiled self-deprecatingly.
“Wainsborough,” he corrected her and she couldn’t stifle the flush of pleasure such a familiarity gave her. “May I escort you back to the ballroom or would you prefer to take some fresh air?”
Thus far, Lizzie had managed to avoid her aunt and she was inclined to keep it that way as long as possible. There’d be no avoiding Roberta’s fury in the end, but the delay was most welcome.
“I’d like to take the air, please.”
“At your service.” He executed that little bow of his, the one that suggested he was deferring more than a courtesy upon her. Really, the little thrills he gave her were improper. Why did she want more?
They slipped out to the gardens, nodding to a few couples as they passed. Where Lizzie expected sniggers and stifled giggles—at this point, the incident most assuredly had made it round the attendees—she was afforded courtesy because she was on Wainsborough’s arm. No one wanted to anger a duke.
“Your Grace?” she said.
They had worked their way to the far side of the gardens where the shadows deepened and beckoned with cooler temperatures.
“Hmm?” Wainsborough turned toward her, and she could barely make out his expression in the dim light.
“Did you really once paint your headmaster’s carriage pink?”
A rusty chuckle seemed to escape from him, and she wondered when it was he last laughed. “I haven’t thought of that in a very long time, Miss Talbot. Has my sister been telling tales?”
“So, it’s true? I’ve often wondered if it was a story Angelica crafted to entertain the girls at school on a late night.”
“Ah, the antics of youth.” When he smiled like that, Wainsborough looked younger, closer to his age, which would be somewhere in his early thirties. More approachable. And, heaven help her, more appealing. “The story is indeed correct, much to my chagrin now. That would have been before Angelica was born—I wonder that she even knew about it.”
“I believe she’d got ahold of your older sister’s diary for a time and read about it there. Whatever inspired you to do such a thing?”
Once more, his face clouded over and he assumed the somber ducal mien. Lizzie’s heart sank at the loss of his good humor.
“At the time, it seemed a harmless prank to tweak both the stodgy headmaster’s nose as well as my father’s, with whom I was especially ill-willed at the time. In short, I was a selfish young man with little sense of the consequences my actions wrought on others.”
“Everyone does things that they regret.”
“Some things are more difficult than others to atone for, and the weight of it…” He tilted his head and studied her closely. “Such serious questions, Miss Talbot.”
“I’m a serious young lady.”
“And a curious one.”
She nodded and offered a tentative smile. Did he think her a prying gossip?
“Well, then. What else would you know?”
Apparently, he didn’t think her questions too intrusive, and she liked him even more for the trust he offered her.
“You don’t like being a duke, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You tense and frown when others greet you with deference.”
It was a bold question, and entirely too familiar. For a moment, Lizzie didn’t think he’d answer, but then he sighed.
“No, I don’t. It’s the obligations and power. I rather enjoy managing the estates—they’re wonderfully extensive and complex. I like overseeing the towns and the people who are tied to Wainsborough. But the obligations and the power of such a position…it’s seductive, and entirely too easy to misuse. I’ve seen it used to ruin lives.” He shook his head and his grip tightened where he held her hand to his arm, as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. “And, that I will not do.”
This far from the house, the music was a faint sound in the stillness of the garden. “Is it very lonely?”
“Not often, but it is very dull. I’m sought after for my influence. The title, the money—it’s what they all see.” Wainsborough stared at her in the dim light. “Do you? Or do you see me, the man?”
At some point he had moved close enough that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the bergamot of his cologne water. It was an enticing scent that seeped into her senses. She was acutely aware that he still held her hand clasped to his arm.
“Can you see past the coronet, Miss Talbot?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice a trembling thread of sound, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Wainsborough sighed heavily. “Now, see? That’s precisely what I was hoping to avoid when I gave you leave to call me Wainsborough.”
She smiled despite herself. Who’d have thought a peer of his stature would be so…approachable? She rather liked his dry wit. “Anything else you were hoping for?”
“Indeed, yes.” He moved closer and dipped his head, his breath hot on her cheek where his mouth hovered just above hers. “May I kiss you, Miss Talbot?”
Unconsciously, her lips parted and delight radiated within her, tickling her fingertips. It was inconceivable that this man of note was interested in her, wasn’t put off by her clumsy behavior, despite the very recent public embarrassment that he had witnessed.
It would seem her aunt was wrong—she wasn’t either pitiful or pitiable. Lizzie could attract a man of means.
And she wanted to allow him the liberty of a kiss, despite the admonishments they schooled young girls in. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, to know the touch of a man. She trembled at the bold thought.
“May I?” he said again, and he stroked the back of a single finger down her cheek to her jaw.
“Oh, yes.”
She didn’t have to wonder any longer, for he pressed his lips to hers before she was even done with the words. It was a sweet kiss, tender and slow, a gentle exploration that set a deep tremor loose within her, not unlike the chills that accompany a fever.
All too soon, it was over. Wainsborough pulled his head back and stared at her in the moonlight. Her hand was still clasped to his forearm, a sustained connection between them.
Words escaped her as she stood there trembling, inhaling the scent of him and wishing the kiss had never ended. She caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and peeked up at him, wondering if it would be too forward of her to lean in and encourage another.
Was she supposed to say something in the quiet, private moment? Thank him? Never having been kissed before, a budding worry unfurled in her stomach.
“Sweet,” he finally whispered then he released her hand, only to slip his arms around her waist and pull her close. Then his lips claimed hers once again.
This was an entirely different kiss, as dissimilar from the first one as night to day. It was consuming, stealing thought and time and place.
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Elaine Golden
Under intense pressure to secure a marriage contract, Miss Lizzie Talbot doesn't dare hope that handsome Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, would ever be interested in her.Though she longs to know his taste and touch, he is far above her station. So Lizzie is shocked when Oliver promises to show her pleasure she never imagined&. Yet she doesn't expect more than a brief dalliance.For Oliver is destined for a match of importance and wealth, neither of which Lizzie can offer. Book three of the Fortney Follies series.
A Compromised Innocent
Book three of the Fortney Follies series
Elaine Golden
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Under intense pressure to secure a marriage contract, Miss Lizzie Talbot doesn't dare hope that handsome Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, would ever be interested in her. Though she longs to know his taste and touch, he is far above her station.
So Lizzie is shocked when Oliver promises to show her pleasure she never imagined…. Yet she doesn't expect more than a brief dalliance. For Oliver is destined for a match of importance and wealth, neither of which Lizzie can offer….
Book three of the Fortney Follies series.
Since the very first book of the Fortney Follies series, readers have been asking for Ollie’s story. And ever since Oliver Fortney told us how passionately he hated the idea of marrying Miss Milligrew all of those years ago, well… I just knew Roberta played a role in his eventual happily-ever-after. A woman scorned, and all that. Heh.
He was right, too. Roberta was not the right woman for him. You see it’s Roberta’s niece, Lizzie Talbot–or Miss Elspeth Talbot, as her aunt prefers–who blunders into Ollie’s heart and takes it for her own. Quite literally, for Lizzie is not known for her graceful ways.
But Roberta is not about to make things easy for Ollie. At all. In fact, she’ll go to great lengths to pay him back for spurning her.
I’m delighted to bring you this new Undone! short story, A COMPROMISED INNOCENT, the third book in the Fortney Follies series, how Ollie and Lizzie find love and happiness together.
I hope that you enjoy their story and I would love to hear from you! Please visit my website at www.elainegolden.com or email me at elainegolden.author@gmail.com.
Happy Reading!
To Rodney. Always.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
Chapter One
“Stop slouching, Elspeth. Chin up and smile. You don’t want to embarrass us, do you?”
“My name is Lizzie,” she muttered just loudly enough to ensure her aunt, but no one else, could hear her.
“I’ve told you I won’t use that awful name, Elspeth. Whatever your father was thinking to call you that, I don’t know.”
Lizzie Talbot—or Miss Elspeth Talbot, as her aunt preferred—didn’t bother to correct her aunt this time. Reminding Aunt Roberta that Lizzie was the nickname her mother, Roberta’s older sister, gave her was pointless. She’d believe whatever she chose to as usual.
Sometimes it was hard to think of Aunt Roberta in a maternal way. Despite being Lizzie’s guardian, Roberta was only a dozen or so years older than her.
“And what have you done with your hair since we left? It looks like you’ve been fidgeting with it again.” When her aunt jerked at a loose curl more forcefully than was necessary, Lizzie stifled a grimace. As they neared the end of the reception line, she held as still as possible and let her aunt fuss.
You can do this. Just don’t rush and all will be well.
This might be her third Season, but she still wasn’t used to large gatherings, had never managed to get comfortable enough to exhibit the grace her aunt would have her show in public.
“Whatever was Lady Delcourt thinking to allow her daughter to purchase such a dress? She looks ready to tread the boards.” The daughter, Lady Cecilia, stood beside her parents as she greeted their guests. The dress in question was a bright turquoise silk, which Lizzie thought did lovely things with the woman’s pale complexion. The feathers, however, were…excessive. They covered the bodice and hem and had even been pinned into her coiffure. She looked like an exotic parrot.
Lizzie trailed her aunt and uncle and smiled as they introduced her to their hosts. Lord and Lady Delcourt greeted her so politely that she almost forgot to be nervous, especially when she executed her curtsies under her aunt’s critical eye.
Slowly.
This was not the place to rush and prove herself clumsy. Her aunt would never forgive her the embarrassment.
Lizzie released a sigh of relief when the greetings were completed without incident, though she nearly trod upon her uncle’s heels when her aunt paused at the ballroom threshold for dramatic effect. Lizzie barely stepped to the side quickly enough to avoid disaster.
The room was alight with movement from the swirl of dancers and the glow of candlelight. Fans fluttered, jewels glittered and the heat of so many bodies pressed in on them.
Lizzie was excited and scared at the same time. Even after years of being out in society, the room seemed full of strangers—influential and intimidating strangers. She’d always been nervous meeting people, but now her anxiety was multiplied by the growing urgency to secure a marriage contract before she was considered to be on the shelf and passed over entirely.
Lizzie didn’t think she deluded herself when she chalked up the reason for a lack of offers to something other than her appearance. She was atleast passable, and her dowry was not unattractive. Rather, it seemed fairly certain that her discomfort around strangers and tendency toward bumbling to be the culprit. Even her dance partners managed to disappear after she tramped on their toes once too often.
Thankfully, few took notice of their arrival. It helped to settle her nerves a bit, though she was grateful when they finally made it across the room so her aunt could join her friends and her uncle could make his escape from his wife’s side. That left Lizzie to stand alone on the perimeter, hoping for anonymity. At this point, her biggest desire was to make it through the evening without embarrassment.
She took a deep breath and scanned the room for a familiar face, but recognized few. Now that Angelica Fortney—oh, but it was Lady Vinedale now, wasn’t it?—was back in town from her wedding trip, Lizzie had hoped to find her at the event. As luck was not her strong suit, her friend didn’t appear to be present.
She knew better than to expect to find Angelica’s older brother in attendance. Wainsborough did not go to events that included scheming mothers.
Ever since she had met him earlier in the week, ever so briefly on the square outside Gunter’s Tea Shop, Lizzie had been unable to forget the tall, somber man that made her heart race and mouth go dry. Had even imagined those light green eyes of his, alight with interest as he looked at her.
Futile dreams. Oliver Fortney was the sixth Duke of Wainsborough, as far from her reach as the moon.
“I would like to make known to you my niece, Miss Elspeth Talbot, who is woolgathering as usual.” Lizzie straightened and forced a polite smile. “Elspeth, this is my dearest friend Lady Wrothton, and her son, the Honorable Francis Layton.”
“My lady. Sir.”
Mr. Layton had kindly eyes and his smile seemed more than polite as he bowed over her hand. Was he interested, perhaps? It would be nice to have a beau. Her first.
Lizzie smiled, this time with what she hoped was an appropriate amount of encouragement. Mr. Layton’s eyes twinkled in response.
“Mr. Layton is only recently come to London, Lizzie.” Roberta looked on, an expectant matchmaker.
“Oh? Have you been traveling, sir?”
He puffed his chest a bit, as a chaffinch would to attract the ladies then proceeded to regale her with tales of his travels across Egypt in search of antiquities.
“I’d be delighted to show you some of my more choice finds.” Mr. Layton’s smile revealed a row of neat white teeth. “For now, Miss Talbot, may I have this dance?”
When Aunt Roberta nodded her approval, Lizzie accepted and selected a place in the line of dancers beside Lady Cecilia, who was now copiously molting feathers from her bright gown.
The musicians struck up a country dance and Lizzie lost herself in the music and snatches of conversation she could exchange with Mr. Layton as they passed each other. Lizzie felt good, almost as if she fit in. She felt lighter than she had in a long time and began to dance with pure abandon.
In other words, she forgot to pay attention.
She wasn’t watching her footing as she neared the end of the dance line, skipping across the polished wood parquet. So, when her soft-soled shoe landed just so on one of Lady Cecilia’s wayward feathers, she lost her footing and went sliding higgledy-piggledy across the herringbone patterned floor.
Time slowed as if to make certain she would recall every excruciating moment in finite detail, and she skidded toward the throng of people bordering the dancing area. No one moved as Lizzie hurtled like a human ball toward a line of pins. Little wonder bowls was still illegal on public lawns.
Lizzie closed her eyes and braced for the worst.
She should have known better. Lizzie Talbot was an impending disaster, even on her most diligent days.
Tonight she would prove herself a pariah.
Chapter Two
Oliver Fortney, Duke of Wainsborough, was bored witless.
The only reason he was at the Delcourts’ ball this evening was to offer moral support to his brother, William. Wills had only just returned from the continent and their mother had managed to browbeat him to attend. Oliver figured that if he made an appearance, as well, he could help Wills escape all the sooner.
So, here he was at another dreadful ball, talking with the same people and having the same dull conversation.
When had he acquired this ennui? He needed to find something more in life, something to appreciate. Hell, something to look forward to. Something other than the utter sameness society strove for, as if they’d all been pressed from the same butter stamp.
Someone like Angelica’s friend, Miss Elspeth Talbot. A fine-looking woman who could take the social horror of a stained gown at Gunter’s and maintain her dignity as she’d been introduced to him, someone whose consequence made most men stammer. She had glowed with a joy that Oliver wasn’t sure he’d ever personally known.
And now he found himself unsettled at the memory of her, with the temptation to seek her out. To see if she could show him just a taste of such delight in life.
Had it only been a few days since they had met? It felt like an eternity.
Oliver was not here to see her though this was the type of place such an unmarried woman was to be found. He hadn’t even looked for her, at least after he skimmed the room upon their arrival. The ball was a bit of a crush, so it was possible she was there. Somewhere.
His pulse began to pound at that thought.
Just then, Wills peered over Oliver’s shoulder with the oddest expression then he reached out in warning. “Move!”
Oliver pivoted in time to see a mass of white muslin skid to a stop at his feet. A young woman, eyes wide and ankles exposed where her gown had rucked up, peered up at him.
Well, well. Miss Elspeth Talbot was at the ball, after all.
The silence of the ballroom was deafening. The musicians had ceased their play, couples had halted their dance and conversation evaporated as all eyes focused on Miss Talbot. Even the man who appeared to be her erstwhile dance partner was frozen in place as if trying to assimilate what had happened.
Oliver frowned at the fellow—Wrothton’s boy, if he wasn’t mistaken—and tried to stifle a twinge of…what? The man should help her immediately; she shouldn’t be left in an undignified heap on the floor.
Then the oddest thing happened. Miss Talbot, pretty and pink-cheeked from the dancing or embarrassment or both, tilted her head back and laughed. No dainty giggle of a laugh either, but a howl of amusement, the type that accompanied the abandon of children at play.
The room quieted even more, if that were possible. The exception being the racket from Miss Talbot, though that dwindled to a chuckle.
Here was a woman who could laugh at herself and steal the judgmental power from those who might laugh at her behind gloved hands. Oliver’s heart gave a little lurch.
He noticed that her dance partner had disappeared, leaving Miss Talbot to fend for herself. He wondered who her chaperon was and why they weren’t rushing to aid her. So, Oliver took the initiative and offered Miss Talbot a hand to help her rise.
“I beg your pardon, Your Grace. I’m ever so clumsy!” she said. Her hair listed to the side and her gloves were discolored from contact with the floor, but her eyes sparkled enchantingly.
With her white muslin gown and fresh-faced innocence, she was the type of girl he avoided lest an overexcitable mother set her aspirations on him. But something was different about Miss Talbot, something fundamental that signified she was unique.
The first murmur of censure decided him. Being a duke ought to have some benefits, and halting the tide on cankerous gossip had best be one of them.
With as much finesse as he could muster, Oliver bowed. “At your service, miss.”
“Oh!” It was a soft exclamation and probably carried no farther than his ears, even in the quiet room. Then she extended her dusty, glove-clad hand. “Pleased to see you again, Your Grace. Is your sister, Lady Vinedale, here, as well?” Her voice was bright as a bell, but she’d begun to glance about as she realized they were the center of attention. The color began to leech from her face.
“Not this evening, no. May I reserve a dance, Miss Talbot?”
A little furrow appeared between her brows. “Do you jest?”
“No, indeed. May I?” he repeated, then scrutinized her dance card and scribbled his name. He was fairly certain this incident would cost her any and all future dance partners unless he did something. It had nothing to do with a desire to see what she felt like in his arms. William stepped forward in a show of solidarity and begged an introduction and dance of his own.
Oliver then offered his arm. “I recommend a retreat so you can collect yourself. Nothing swift as to suggest embarrassment; a leisured stroll, head held high,” he said in a low voice.
After a moment of hesitation, Miss Talbot smiled and accepted, her hand light and warm where it rested on his forearm. He liked that she was taller than most and he suspected her head would fit perfectly on his shoulder.
The musicians rumbled back into play, but curious eyes stayed fixed on them as they moved a circuitous route around the ballroom and out the door, no doubt wondering about his interest.
He didn’t know what to make of it, either.
Chapter Three
Lizzie didn’t know what to think of the handsome duke, other than he was probably the most wonderful man in the world. He had single-handedly extracted her from a situation that could only be described as disastrous.
Thank heavens her aunt had left the room sometime after that dance had begun. Lizzie wasn’t looking forward to her reaction once news of the spill made it to her attention, but it just had to be better than if Roberta had witnessed it firsthand.
Just the memory of her inglorious skid across the dance floor nearly set off her helpless giggles again. She had probably looked like a bedlamite laughing when anyone else would have cried in mortification.
Really, it had come down to laughter or tears, and Lizzie wasn’t about to show the gadflies that they had the power to shatter her so easily.
But goodness, to have two gentlemen come to her rescue after Mr. Layton had disappeared so unchivalrously. Did they know the effect of their actions on popular comment? Surely they did, which only made them marvelous in her estimation.
But consider her more surprised when she came out of the ladies’ retiring room and found Wainsborough keeping time in the corridor just outside. He leaned insolently against the wall, a man of means and most pleasing to the eye.
Was he…waiting for her?
He pushed away from the wall with a smile, and her heart fluttered. When he smiled, his eyes glowed, a bright Pomona-green flash of personality in a polished, aristocratic exterior.
Apparently, he had been.
“How do you fare, Miss Talbot?”
“Much better now, thank you.”
“None the worse for wear?”
“No, indeed, Your Grace. I shall live to dance another day.” She smiled self-deprecatingly.
“Wainsborough,” he corrected her and she couldn’t stifle the flush of pleasure such a familiarity gave her. “May I escort you back to the ballroom or would you prefer to take some fresh air?”
Thus far, Lizzie had managed to avoid her aunt and she was inclined to keep it that way as long as possible. There’d be no avoiding Roberta’s fury in the end, but the delay was most welcome.
“I’d like to take the air, please.”
“At your service.” He executed that little bow of his, the one that suggested he was deferring more than a courtesy upon her. Really, the little thrills he gave her were improper. Why did she want more?
They slipped out to the gardens, nodding to a few couples as they passed. Where Lizzie expected sniggers and stifled giggles—at this point, the incident most assuredly had made it round the attendees—she was afforded courtesy because she was on Wainsborough’s arm. No one wanted to anger a duke.
“Your Grace?” she said.
They had worked their way to the far side of the gardens where the shadows deepened and beckoned with cooler temperatures.
“Hmm?” Wainsborough turned toward her, and she could barely make out his expression in the dim light.
“Did you really once paint your headmaster’s carriage pink?”
A rusty chuckle seemed to escape from him, and she wondered when it was he last laughed. “I haven’t thought of that in a very long time, Miss Talbot. Has my sister been telling tales?”
“So, it’s true? I’ve often wondered if it was a story Angelica crafted to entertain the girls at school on a late night.”
“Ah, the antics of youth.” When he smiled like that, Wainsborough looked younger, closer to his age, which would be somewhere in his early thirties. More approachable. And, heaven help her, more appealing. “The story is indeed correct, much to my chagrin now. That would have been before Angelica was born—I wonder that she even knew about it.”
“I believe she’d got ahold of your older sister’s diary for a time and read about it there. Whatever inspired you to do such a thing?”
Once more, his face clouded over and he assumed the somber ducal mien. Lizzie’s heart sank at the loss of his good humor.
“At the time, it seemed a harmless prank to tweak both the stodgy headmaster’s nose as well as my father’s, with whom I was especially ill-willed at the time. In short, I was a selfish young man with little sense of the consequences my actions wrought on others.”
“Everyone does things that they regret.”
“Some things are more difficult than others to atone for, and the weight of it…” He tilted his head and studied her closely. “Such serious questions, Miss Talbot.”
“I’m a serious young lady.”
“And a curious one.”
She nodded and offered a tentative smile. Did he think her a prying gossip?
“Well, then. What else would you know?”
Apparently, he didn’t think her questions too intrusive, and she liked him even more for the trust he offered her.
“You don’t like being a duke, do you?”
His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“You tense and frown when others greet you with deference.”
It was a bold question, and entirely too familiar. For a moment, Lizzie didn’t think he’d answer, but then he sighed.
“No, I don’t. It’s the obligations and power. I rather enjoy managing the estates—they’re wonderfully extensive and complex. I like overseeing the towns and the people who are tied to Wainsborough. But the obligations and the power of such a position…it’s seductive, and entirely too easy to misuse. I’ve seen it used to ruin lives.” He shook his head and his grip tightened where he held her hand to his arm, as if he were remembering something particularly unpleasant. “And, that I will not do.”
This far from the house, the music was a faint sound in the stillness of the garden. “Is it very lonely?”
“Not often, but it is very dull. I’m sought after for my influence. The title, the money—it’s what they all see.” Wainsborough stared at her in the dim light. “Do you? Or do you see me, the man?”
At some point he had moved close enough that she could feel the heat from his body and smell the bergamot of his cologne water. It was an enticing scent that seeped into her senses. She was acutely aware that he still held her hand clasped to his arm.
“Can you see past the coronet, Miss Talbot?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” she whispered, her voice a trembling thread of sound, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Wainsborough sighed heavily. “Now, see? That’s precisely what I was hoping to avoid when I gave you leave to call me Wainsborough.”
She smiled despite herself. Who’d have thought a peer of his stature would be so…approachable? She rather liked his dry wit. “Anything else you were hoping for?”
“Indeed, yes.” He moved closer and dipped his head, his breath hot on her cheek where his mouth hovered just above hers. “May I kiss you, Miss Talbot?”
Unconsciously, her lips parted and delight radiated within her, tickling her fingertips. It was inconceivable that this man of note was interested in her, wasn’t put off by her clumsy behavior, despite the very recent public embarrassment that he had witnessed.
It would seem her aunt was wrong—she wasn’t either pitiful or pitiable. Lizzie could attract a man of means.
And she wanted to allow him the liberty of a kiss, despite the admonishments they schooled young girls in. She wanted to know his taste, wanted to feel his lips upon hers, to know the touch of a man. She trembled at the bold thought.
“May I?” he said again, and he stroked the back of a single finger down her cheek to her jaw.
“Oh, yes.”
She didn’t have to wonder any longer, for he pressed his lips to hers before she was even done with the words. It was a sweet kiss, tender and slow, a gentle exploration that set a deep tremor loose within her, not unlike the chills that accompany a fever.
All too soon, it was over. Wainsborough pulled his head back and stared at her in the moonlight. Her hand was still clasped to his forearm, a sustained connection between them.
Words escaped her as she stood there trembling, inhaling the scent of him and wishing the kiss had never ended. She caught the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth and peeked up at him, wondering if it would be too forward of her to lean in and encourage another.
Was she supposed to say something in the quiet, private moment? Thank him? Never having been kissed before, a budding worry unfurled in her stomach.
“Sweet,” he finally whispered then he released her hand, only to slip his arms around her waist and pull her close. Then his lips claimed hers once again.
This was an entirely different kiss, as dissimilar from the first one as night to day. It was consuming, stealing thought and time and place.
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