Page 2 of Never a Duchess
“For a night with Dounreay, I think I could manage.”
Laughter rang through the room.
Lillian was in no mind to listen, let alone pee into the pot. She stormed out from behind the screen and thrust the empty bourdaloue into the maid’s outstretched hand.
“Dounreay is like a wolf not an ox,” she said aloud. When it came to the duke, her body reacted before her brain engaged. “He’s clever and cunning. He knows what he wants, and he stalks his prey.” She should know. Dounreay watched her with an intensity that warmed her blood. “Miss Cartwright will need more than a sturdy constitution if she means to hold his attention.”
And with that, Lillian left the women gawping and flounced out of the retiring room. Seeking a distraction, she waited until the coast was clear before darting along the corridor and up the staircase.
Having scouted the rooms during the wedding breakfast last week, she made for the spare bedchamber overlooking the garden.
Once safely inside, she locked the door and pulled off her gloves.
In her reticule, she carried a collapsible telescope, notebook and pencil. Should an amorous rogue attempt to accost her, she would whip out a vial of pepper and blow it in the miscreant’s face.
“Now,” she said, dragging a chair to the window and willing herself to forget the attractive Scotsman, “let’s watch the deceivers at work, shall we?”
Pencil at the ready, she settled in the seat to observe the comings and goings in the garden. The moon was full in a cloudless sky—a perfect night for lecherous lords seeking bed sport.
Based on her studies, the moon’s phase turned sensible fellows into mindless beasts. They prowled the paths at balls and soirees, searching for any witless female to seduce.
Hearing faint strains of laughter, Lillian reached for her telescope and studied the shady area near the high topiary hedges.
Someone was there.
A man in a dark coat.
She had become skilled at identifying silhouettes.
He was tall and broad, and her mind conjured an image of the dashing duke. Had Dounreay grown tired of looking for his dance partner? Bored with her antics, had he set his sights elsewhere? Had he escorted Miss Cartwright into the garden for a secret moonlight rendezvous?
Seeking confirmation, Lillian narrowed her gaze.
The devil had Dounreay’s warm brown hair. He stood strong and firm, like an idol to a Greek god. Then she noticed pale pink skirts flapping about the fellow’s legs, and her heartbeat thumped like a drum in her ears. The bruised organ thundered so hard in her chest it would likely crack a rib.
“I swear you’ll be the death of me, Dounreay.”
“I assumed ye’d nae heard me enter,” her nemesis whispered from the shadows behind her.
As fast as a spooked hare, Lillian shot off the chair and whirled around to see the man who turned her blood molten.
Heaven help her!
In the gloom, the duke appeared compelling, formidable. His dark eyes were like obsidian pools, the wicked glint a dangerous component. On the scale of devilish grins, his had the power to slice through her defences, to send delicious shivers down her spine.
Panicked, she cried, “What are you doing here?”
“I came looking for ye.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“Dinnae shout unless ye want to draw undue attention.” His playful tone said he found the situation amusing. He gestured to the door she had locked minutes earlier. “Lord Forrester and his mistress are having relations in the corridor. Ye wouldnae want them to find us alone here. Else ye may be forced to do more than dance with me, Miss Ware.”
Was he threatening marriage?
She had no intention of being a wife, let alone a duchess.
“I’m accustomed to seeing my name in theScandal Sheet, Your Grace. Nothing as petty as ruination would tempt me to wed.”
