Page 21 of The Duke's Dream
Deliberately, he reviewed each clause until he reached the annuity. What if it wasn’t enough to sway her?
A knock brought in Cavendish. “I didn’t know you were occupied. I can return later.”
“Stay. Cooper was already leaving.”
After collecting his beleaguered briefcase, the solicitor nodded thrice and left William’s study.
“You look terrible. Have you been sleeping?” Cavendish opened the buttons of his military coat and sat in the chair opposite him.
William merely lifted his eyebrows. He never slept well, and last night, the dream had been relentless. “I trust you didn’t abandon the comfort of your own hearth to notice my appearance.”
“Who said I went to my home?” After a jaunty wink, Cavendish lit a cigar. “I received news from the Peninsula. Wellington plans to siege the city of Badajoz.”
William stiffened. “Did you speak with him about Astley?”
“Yes. The Iron Duke enlisted him as his aide-de-camp. Your brother won’t be in the front.”
William nodded, relieved. As the oldest, he should have been in the war, not his idealistic twenty-year-old sibling, who didn’t know how to tie his own neckcloth.
Cavendish smiled. “Astley is an excellent officer, Will. I fought in that terrain, and I’m certain the offensive will succeed. You will have him back raiding your coffers sooner than you think.”
“Thank you,” William said gruffly.
Thinking about Astley was a rabbit hole he couldn’t face. His brother had sailed to Portugal against his wishes, and William had to believe he would return.
Cavendish pointed at the contract. “What have I missed in the Committee this time?”
“This isn’t about the Safety Committee—or politics.” William splayed his hands over the mahogany, his gaze shifting from the document to his best friend.
Cavendish might be a libertine, but he was a trustworthy libertine. A libertine much more acquainted with the demimonde than him.
“I trust your discretion.” He passed the sheet to Cavendish. “I must know if the annuity is satisfactory.”
Last night, she had displayed intelligence and pride. The contract was made to appeal to her intelligence and overcome her pride. Who would flaunt the security of a generous allowance? Being under his protection would safeguard her reputation and shield her from the attention of others.
Cavendish scanned the lines. “Is Miss Helene de Beaumont the dancing beauty who entranced you at the theater?”
William crossed his arms. Her name in his friend’s voice sounded wrong. And beauty was too simple a word to describe her. Of course, she was beautiful in the traditional sense—the kind a master might paint—doe eyes filled with emotion, a perfect, lithe form, and milky white skin. But she had more. A grace no artist could capture. She didn’t move, she glided, fluid and delicate, a being beyond this world. Yes. When she moved, she was a Venus among mortals.
“Do you know she is French, right? I thought you hated all things French,” Cavendish said.
“I don’t hate the French.”
“Of course you do. It’s a prerogative of being English. If an Englishman uses a whore’s services, he takes French lessons. If he gets syphilis as a result, he gets the French disease, or French pox. If particularly badly Frenchified, he might lose his nose, in which case he ends up breathing through a French faggot-stick—”
“Are you done?” Asking Cavendish had been a mistake. William motioned to have the contract back.
Cavendish lifted his hands placatingly. “You met her yesterday and will already make her an offer? I don’t know when was the last time you acquired a mistress, but this is not how to go about it.”
William exhaled, tapping his fingers over the table. “I don’t require a textbook, Charles. My question was straightforward.”
“How do you know if she will, er... you know—”
“That’s a matter formycommand, not yours,” William replied, his tone sharp, cutting off any further intrusion.
She was not indifferent to him. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her gasping when he tested the breath of her waist and brought her closer to scent her hair. The blush that rose on her neck when he caressed her spine… William cleared his throat and uncrossed his legs. He knew she would suit him—in every way.
Cavendish returned the contract. “Look, send her some gifts, buy her a promotion. When she is ready to be reeled in, take her to your secret apartment and get rid of this obsession. It might save you a lot of gold.”
