Page 46 of My Own True Duchess
“Keep watching, say nothing, and I’ll tell… I’ll let the owner know of your concerns. Why didn’t you simply approach Tresham yourself?”
Dorning made a motion with his index finger, and the dog rose to sit beside him. “Tresham is reported to be hunting a bride. Having a brother in the same condition, I can tell you the hunt takes a toll on a man’s disposition. Then too, I trust the word of my friends over that of other people’s presuming younger brothers. Tresham needs to take the matter in hand immediately and silently. A rousing altercation with a noted young wastrel—regardless of the wastrel’s obvious reform—in the middle of the day would be hard for even ducal servants to keep quiet.”
He bowed and started for the corridor.
“Nobody considers you a wastrel,” Anselm said, retracing their steps to the front door.
“Only because I haven’t any means to waste.”
“A helpful limitation for some, but your reputation is merely that of a young man in the process of learning self-restraint. Most of the House of Lords has yet to master the same challenge. Your brothers know this. They will do their utmost to assist you.”
When they reached the front door, he passed Dorning a high-crowned beaver and a plain oaken walking stick.
“One doesn’t want their assistance,” Dorning said, setting his hat at a dapper angle. “One wants to be of assistance to them. I’m an uncle. Makes a man think. You’ll not let Tresham know we’ve spoken, or he’ll consider the source and ignore the message.”
And that—knowing that a propensity for overimbibing and placing stupid wagers made one noncredible—also made a man think.
“I’ll find a moment to tell him in the near future. My thanks for your concern.”
Sycamore went on his way, the dog trotting at his side, while Anselm considered how to tell a very proud and private man that he had allowed a serpent to slither over his garden wall.
Chapter Nine
* * *
Being kissed by Theodosia Haviland brought a second dawn to Jonathan’s day, one even more glorious than Hyde Park on a sunny spring morning. Her kisses shot straight past flirtation to a ringing declaration of desire, of intent to share intimacies long denied.
He stood in the alley, stroking his fingers along the resolute angle of her jaw, while the softness of her fragrance made him want to sniff every curve, hollow, and secret place on her body. A sense of having seized on a worthy ambition muted pure lust, for his dreams where Theo was concerned encompassed more than carnal appetites.
But what of her dreams? “You have had years to indulge in a discreet affair, Theodosia. At least some part of you must be attracted to me, else you’d never allow me liberties in a sunny alley.”
If the patronesses from Almack’s had burst through the nearest garden gate, she could not have leaped back more quickly.
“I am losing my mind,” she muttered. “Perhaps senility has set in, despite being only halfway to my dotage. I’ve heard of such things.” She paced away, skirts swishing.
“We kissed, Theo, and a marvelous kiss it was. Why castigate yourself for that?” Of all women, the widow alone was allowed to kiss whom she pleased with impunity, provided she was discreet.
She glowered at him over her shoulder. “Marvelous, indeed. Magical. This is your fault.”
Marriage to her would be a marvelous, magical puzzle. “I should hope so, though as I recall, you initiated the magic.”
“Very bad of me.”
“Very wonderful of you.” He held out a hand. “You are trying to talk yourself into a case of guilt, because you are supposed to be my matchmaker, not my duchess. We haven’t executed a contract excluding you from consideration, and yet, I see you flagellating yourself with that nonsense.”
She didn’t take his hand, but she took his arm, wrapping her fingers around his sleeve. “I woke up this morning, expecting to spend my day in the agreeable pursuit of purchasing fabric for Seraphina’s first ball gown.”
Jonathan could buy the girl an entire shop full of ball gowns. If he said as much, he’d doubtless compound whatever muddle Theodosia was determined to visit upon herself.
“My kisses pale compared to an expedition to the mercer’s?”
Ah, finally. A small smile. Self-conscious but genuine. “Your kisses outshine a Beltane bonfire. You cannot marry me.”
“Why not?” Jonathan did not expect an honest answer. Theodosia was flustered, meaning she’d be all the more cautious with her truths. “List the excuses, madam, for that’s all they’ll be. You like me, you find me attractive, and you have every quality I need in a duchess.”
She dropped his arm. “While you lack the humility needed in a duke. Good heavens, Mr. Tresham. Do you suppose I’d marry any man simply because I fancy his kisses? Look how that ended with Archimedes.”
She twitched at her fichu, a gauzy bit of lavender lace that brought out the blue of her eyes—and reminded Jonathan of the pleasure of her breasts pressed to his chest.
