Page 30 of Enslaved to the Seduction of a Lady
“Mr. Jones, if I may,” Lady Teresa said. “I truly do understand your concerns. Please—I do not doubt you know about my circumstances and the life I have lived.”
“Yes, My Lady,” Luke said. “And quite an impressive life it has been. You could be the protagonist in some novel.”
“Indeed,” she said, chuckling. “It has sometimes felt as such. But the other benefit it has brought me is that it has allowed me a certain clarity of vision. I can often see a situation from both sides of the coin, as it were—from my father’s, for example, and from yours.”
“That is an excellent trait to have, My Lady, if you don’t mind my saying. I don’t believe many nobles can claim the same.”
“Well then, believe me when I say that you cannot let a love like yours go to waste. My sister has swooned over you this afternoon, and—”
“Teresa!” Alison said through gritted teeth, her eyes closed in embarrassment. Luke allowed himself an amused smile. She couldn’t be more adorable than she was right then, her cheeks blushing a deep red thanks to her love for him.
“No, it’s true. And from what very little I have seen of you, Mr. Jones, you are entirely smitten, too.”
“I cannot deny that, My Lady,” he said. “I’ve told Alison as much. Your sister is like no one I have ever met. But do you really think it can be possible? I can’t imagine your father will be too pleased with Alison marrying a servant.”
“Anything is possible,” Teresa said. “I never thought I’d find my way out of the workhouse and not only did that happen, but I became a Duchess to boot. Finding a way for you to marry my sister is nothing compared to that. And I am on your side, at least. I am determined to see this marriage happen, no matter what it takes.”
Luke caught Alison’s gaze and he held it, the two lovers looking into each other’s eyes with such passion and meaning that Luke could feel his heart swell. Lady Teresa was right—there would be a way, and they would find it.
* * *
“Your Graces,” Jeffries said, bowing at the Duke and Duchess. “Rupert, the Earl of Belmont has arrived.”
“Excellent,” the Duke said. “Show him in.”
But even before the Duke had finished his sentence, Rupert had pushed past the butler and made his way into the room. It was a large and spacious room. The oak flooring was covered in a large, red Turkish rug, intricately patterned. The walls were paneled and ornately decorated, a duck-egg blue for the background and ormolu gold for the detail.
There were three doors in total—one that led from the entrance hall of the house, another that went directly into the Duke’s study, and a third that went into the library. At the far end, an unlit fire sparkled in its cleanliness, and just in front of it sat a grand piano on which, Rupert had no doubt, Lady Alison had played a ditty or two.
The Duchess sat on the couch, and Rupert hungrily eyed the glittering jewels that lined her fingers. She smiled politely at him, nodding her head, but she did not deign to stand for him.
“Your Grace,” he said to her and bowed. He turned then to the chair in which the Duke sat, hands folded together over his growing paunch.
“Your Grace,” he repeated, nodding this time to the Duke. “I wish to thank you, first of all, for agreeing to see me.”
“Nonsense, Belmont,” the Duke said. “You know I always welcome guests, especially ones bringing good news and I suspect you have something to ask that shall cheer me. Please, take a seat. Can I fetch you something? Tea? Brandy? A cigar?”
“Brandy, please, and thank you,” Rupert said.
He made his way to the chair between the two of them, a third point in the triangle, and adjusted his waistcoat as he sat. As the butler wordlessly handed him his glass, Rupert looked between the Duke and Duchess.
“Now,” he said. “You are quite right, Your Grace. I have come here with specific intent. I wish to ask—”
“Let’s not get straight to business,” the Duke said, his voice an irritating drawl. “We have plenty of time for all that.”
He seemed so certain of himself, so content to lounge, and Rupert found that galling at best. He had no time for a man who did not wish to better himself. Rupert had the urge to sneer, but he managed to keep his facial expressions under control.
“You’re right,” he said, forcing himself to smile politely.
“It’s another beautiful day, isn’t it?” the Duchess asked. Her voice was high pitched and haughty, a tone that implied her superiority, and Rupert had the urge to remind her she was a mere woman, nothing more.
At the Duchess’ side sat a small table, on which had been placed a teapot and cup, with a jug of milk. She spooned a little sugar into her cup and raised it to her face, blowing over the surface to cool it.
Rupert looked at her over-rouged cheeks, at the way her skin sagged into jowls, and he shuddered to think Lady Alison would grow into that. He would have to find a younger mistress long before that ever happened, or perhaps before that—it couldn’t do any harm, after all.
“We seem to have so many beautiful days lately,” Rupert agreed. “Perfect for fencing practice on the lawns.”
“All rather too hot for me, I’m afraid,” the Duke muttered, wiping at his damp forehead. “Give me autumn over summer any day.”
