Regency Surrender: Powerful Dukes: An Unsuitable Duchess / An Uncommon Duke

She gestured to the portraits with her hand. ‘The other Dukes.’

He snapped out of his stupor and let out a deep breath. ‘I believe you are simply being polite.’

‘That’s not true. Tell me more about your family.’

They walked from portrait to portrait and he recounted numerous accomplishments spanning hundreds of years. It was an impressive group of men. Had they all been in a room together it would have been difficult to choose one who stood out from the rest.

When they reached a gap between two of the portraits Katrina stopped. ‘Where is this one?’

Lyonsdale cleared his throat and crossed his arms. ‘The Fifth Duke was a disgrace. He was too concerned with his own pleasure and did not live up to the responsibility of his title. His portrait is not fit to hang with the others.’

Now, this sounded interesting. She stepped closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘What exactly did he do?’

He leaned his lips close to her ear and his warm breath fanned her neck. Her eyes fluttered at the sensation.

‘I’ll. Never. Tell.’

When he pulled his head back the cool air was a shock.

The proper thing to do would be to end this discussion, however much she wanted to know what the man had done.

‘Was it something truly dreadful? I’ll wager it was.’

He arched a regal brow, which gave him an expression closely resembling that of the Sixth Duke, who was looking down at them with disdain.

‘Miss Vandenberg, it is not polite to poke into other people’s affairs.’

She gestured to the empty wall. ‘He is dead. He will never know.’

He spun on his heels and walked towards the far end of the room. ‘I meant my affairs,’ he called out over his shoulder.

She hurried to catch up with him. ‘I was not talking about you. I was talking about the Fifth Duke. What was his name?’

‘His history is my history. His actions reflect who I am. Hence it is my affair. His name is inconsequential.’

‘That’s a peculiar name.’ She tried to hold back her smile but it didn’t work.

He stopped abruptly and turned to her. Their eyes met and a smile tugged on his lips.

It felt like an odd little victory.

‘I believe you were interested in my library?’

‘I was... I am.’

What did one have to do to be removed from a portrait gallery? Was he a gambler? A rake? Perhaps he enjoyed his brandy a bit too much?

‘I can keep a secret.’

His dubious expression was the only response she was to receive.

Past his shoulder she spied Lyonsdale’s own portrait. His face was fuller and younger.

‘You appear astonished to find me here,’ he said.

‘Is it a requirement that none of you smile for your portraits?’

‘The responsibility of this title is not a jovial matter. The portraits should imply that.’

She let her gaze drift to the men who were still watching them. ‘I suppose... But none of you appear at all pleased with your illustrious accomplishments.’

‘Would you have us laugh in our portraits?’

‘No, but a hint of a smile would be refreshing. You are an impressive collection of English noblemen. However, I fear dinner would be a dour affair if you all were present.’

He looked insulted, which she found amusing. ‘I believe, Miss Vandenberg, we were heading to the library.’

‘Lead on, Your Grace. I will humbly follow.’

‘You are a sauce-box. You are aware of that, are you not?’

It proved impossible to hold back her laugh.

She was about to respond when she froze at the sight of the library before her. The long oak-panelled room held more books than Katrina had ever seen in any home. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling with rows of books, and at the far end two walls of bookshelves jutted into the middle of the room. She wished she might remain in this room for days.

‘It may prove difficult to make your selection if you do not step inside,’ he called out from inside the room, with a trace of laughter.

Warmth spread across her chest, up her neck and across her cheeks. Avoiding his gaze, she crossed the threshold and was met by the scent of old books and leather.

‘This is lovely.’ Her voice died away in the hushed stillness of the room.

‘Thank you. You may explore it to your heart’s content.’

‘I’d caution against making such an offer. You may find me curled on the floor, surrounded by books in the early-morning hours.’

‘One can only dream, Miss Vandenberg...one can only dream.’

Smiling at his teasing comment, she navigated around a grouping of well-used chairs and highly polished tables. As she walked along, scanning the shelves, she felt the heat of his presence behind her.

‘Are you a great reader?’ she asked. ‘Or do you rarely frequent this room?’

‘In my youth I would spend many agreeable hours here. That large chair by the fire was a particular favourite spot of mine. It is from there that I read about gods and adventures and pirates and kings. Unfortunately now my duties in Westminster keep me too busy to read for pleasure.’

That made her pause and turn to him. ‘There is always time for a good book. Even if that time is before you close your eyes at night. A well-told story feeds the soul.’

‘Spoken like the daughter of an author.’

He didn’t have a true measure of her if that was what he thought.

‘Spoken by a woman who knows the value of literature,’ she replied, poking him in the chest. ‘You should consider my words.’

‘I consider all your words—much to my vexation.’

What man said that to a woman?

‘You think I’m vexing?’

He crossed his arms and raised his chin. ‘I think you provoke me to see the world differently.’

‘Forgive me. I do not wish to inconvenience you,’ she snapped, spinning around to prevent herself from saying more.

He took her arm and gently turned her to face him. ‘Do you seek to purposely misread me? If so, you should be commended. You do a fine job.’ He was wise enough to redirect their conversation. ‘Now, tell me if you have any notion of which subject matter might interest you.’

The heat from his hand on her forearm warmed her entire body. She glanced about, needing to recall the purpose of their excursion. Intrigued by his ancestors, she was curious about the battle he had mentioned.

‘Would you have any books on your country’s history?’

‘Are you certain I cannot interest you in a gothic novel?’ A teasing glint sparkled in his green eyes. ‘Perhaps one with a dungeon?’

She held back a smile and faked eagerness. ‘Do you have any?’

‘I honestly couldn’t say,’ he said dryly.

‘Well, it matters not. I am interested in a historical read.’

He let go of her arm. ‘Follow me. I will show you where to look.’ He led her behind the last row of shelves. ‘Is there anything about our history you have a particular interest in?’

It wasn’t necessary for him to know that she wanted to learn more about his family. She was certain that would make him strut about for the remainder of their time together. He had mentioned a King Henry. She could start there.

‘Since we have no monarchy in America, I’d like to read about yours.’

He slid the brass and oak library ladder towards her. ‘You should look on the upper shelves.’

* * *

Julian picked up a book on Greek mythology and began skimming the contents while he waited for Miss Vandenberg to make her selection. He had read this book before, many years ago. From what he could recall he had enjoyed all the fantastical tales. Maybe he would read a few pages this evening, before he turned in for the night.

He should allow her to peruse his collection without hovering around her like some lovestruck youth. It would be the polite thing to do. But Julian had no desire to be polite.

‘What do you know of King Henry the Eighth?’

She really did have a lovely voice. When he lifted his head, his reply caught in his throat as he found himself at eye level with the delicate curves of her breasts.

Her creamy skin was flushed with a warm glow as his gaze fixed on a small birthmark on the upper swell of her left breast. How he wished he could spend hours exploring that one small spot. How many birthmarks did she have? Did she have them in other enticing places?

The catch of Miss Vandenberg’s breath broke his concentration. He quickly raised his gaze to meet her amused expression.

‘Well?’ she prompted.

That birthmark had caused the blood to rush from his head to his groin, and Julian had no recollection of their conversation. She rolled her eyes and lowered herself to the next step down. Her breasts were now out of his direct line of vision. He wasn’t certain if he was relieved or disappointed.

‘I asked what you know of King Henry the Eighth. There are a number of volumes of books on him here.’

Books. They had been discussing books. Would she think it odd if he banged his head against one of the shelves? Probably. He snapped the book on mythology closed.

‘He ruled England during the sixteenth century and altered the course of our religious practices. You may find it interesting that he had six wives.’

Her shocked expression made him laugh. ‘Six? How could one man have six wives?’

‘One died by natural means, he beheaded two, divorced two, and the last outlived him.’

‘He beheaded his wives?’

‘Two of them, yes.’ He backed away from the ladder to give her room to step down. Curious as to the book she had chosen, he held the tome that was still in her hand and read the title. ‘Excellent choice,’ he informed her.

‘Why would any man behead his wife?’

‘It is said he found them...unfaithful.’ This really was not a discussion one should have with a young, unmarried lady.

She stepped closer to him. ‘So he killed them? I have heard of many instances of wives being unfaithful here. Are they still beheaded for it?’

‘If that were the case there would be quite a few ladies missing.’

‘I really cannot begin to comprehend you English.’

‘And what puzzles you so?’

‘Your ideas on marriage and what constitutes a good one.’

‘And what constitutes a good marriage to an American?’

‘Love, fidelity, friendship...respect.’ She tilted her head to the side and a loose blonde curl caressed her long neck. ‘Have you ever been in love?’

A duke did not fall in love. Duty came before personal interest. Everyone knew that. He shook his head.

She nodded, as if she understood. Since she was an American, she would never have to concern herself with duty. This woman would be able to marry for love.

As an unmarried gentleman, he knew he should tread lightly in conversations of marriage. Yet she had been the one to broach the subject first. It would be poor form to end a discussion she was clearly interested in.

‘Have you ever been in love?’ he asked.

A wistful look crossed her beautiful face. ‘I have not fallen in love yet, but I have witnessed it enough. Have you not seen two people so in love that it appears their hearts will stop beating if they are not together? That is the love I believe my parents had and what I wish for myself. I want to wake to thoughts of one gentleman and close my eyes to dream of him.’

‘The sounds rather consuming.’

‘I believe love is consuming—in the most wondrous of ways.’

‘Now you are waxing poetical, Miss Vandenberg.’

‘Laugh if you will. But I shall live my life in America, in a marriage of love and fidelity, happy to keep my head.’

The thought of her married to someone else and living far away disturbed him. He could not fathom why it should bother him. He did not believe her silly notions of love. He certainly did not want her to love him!

‘And you, Your Grace—what is your idea of a perfect marriage?’

He had no idea. A knot formed in his stomach. His marriage had not been perfect. Even in the best of times it had felt awkward. His grandmother said she had been happy with his grandfather, but the man had died before Julian was born.

‘I do not know,’ he replied honestly.

‘Maybe some day you will discover what it means to be happily married.’

‘I doubt that.’

‘For that I am truly sorry.’

She proceeded to walk past him, and he moved his arm across the aisle to block her passage. It was mere inches from her breasts. He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet.

Their eyes locked and he lowered his head towards her, taking in her lemon scent. She was unaware of how captivating she was when she smiled.

‘You think I’m vexing,’ she said softly, with those tempting lips.

He lowered his head closer. ‘I think you’re enchanting.’ Just one taste was all he needed. ‘Katrina...’ he whispered, testing the sound of her name.

‘I don’t know your name,’ she said, their breaths mingling.

‘Carlisle.’

‘What Carlisle?’

‘Julian Henry Michael Charles Carlisle.’

‘That’s quite a long name.’

‘We English like to impress.’

When their lips finally touched he closed his eyes.

Almost instantly she pulled back and ducked under his arm. Reaching the end of the row, she paused and gave him a devilish grin. ‘As impressive as your name is, I do not believe it is impressive enough to warrant a kiss from me.’

By the time he walked out from where they were hidden, he caught sight of her walking out through the library door. Crossing his arms and leaning against the bookcase, Julian chided himself at his own stupidity. Dreaming about her was one thing, but actually knowing the feel of her lips and the taste of her mouth would be a mistake. He suspected that if he ever did kiss her thoroughly, she would be impossible to forget.

Chapter Twelve

People from various classes and backgrounds were strolling around the British Museum as Katrina and Sarah made their way from one marble statue to the next.

‘I don’t see what all the fuss is about. I understand they are quite old, but most of them are broken,’ Sarah mused.

Suddenly both women stopped at a marble sculpture of a nude man reclining.

‘On the other hand,’ Sarah continued, ‘I’m beginning to see what merit there is to these works.’

They both tilted their heads slightly, taking in the statue’s details.

‘Do you think it is accurate?’ Katrina whispered. ‘Even the size?’

Sarah gave a gentle tug on her arm. ‘If we have seen one naked man today, I am sure we will see others.’

Heat began to creep up Katrina’s face and she lowered her head. Still, the prospect of actually seeing what was inside a man’s breeches was too great a temptation. She turned her head one last time before Sarah pulled her forward.

‘I noticed the beautiful bouquet in your drawing room earlier,’ Sarah said with a smile. ‘I presume the roses were from Monsieur DuBois? He is very handsome, and he was attentive to you last night at the musicale.’

Katrina lifted her shoulder. ‘He is passable.’

‘Come, now, with his dark eyes and comely features, you must admit he is fine on the eyes.’

Katrina shrugged again.

Sarah looked surprised. ‘He is not to your liking?’

‘He is...in some respects. DuBois is pleasant company, and we have things in common...’

‘But?’

Katrina wished she could explain it—especially to herself. Monsieur DuBois was a lovely man. She enjoyed his company. When they had first met in Paris, months ago, she’d fancied herself smitten with him. However, things had changed since she had arrived in London. Lyonsdale had tried to kiss her.

‘He doesn’t make my heart race.’

‘I wasn’t aware you thought requiring a physician was desirable,’ Sarah said, laughing.

‘I believe a man should make you feel something. When he kisses you it should feel like...’

‘When he kisses you it should make you feel as if you can’t quite catch your breath.’

‘Exactly.’

‘So kissing him does not make you feel like that?’

Katrina shook her head. ‘We shared one small kiss in Paris. My breathing never altered.’

There was no reason that Sarah needed to know the kiss hadn’t exactly been a small one. At the time she had thought it a great passionate adventure to be held in his arms and kissed deeply. Now she was trying to recall why she had thought it was so wonderful. Perhaps because it had been her first kiss. Lyonsdale had merely bushed his lips against hers and she had felt as if she would melt into the floor. There was no telling what would have happened if she had allowed him to actually kiss her.

‘I think the next time you find yourself alone with DuBois you should kiss him again.’

‘Sarah!’ she chided, looking around.

‘No one can hear. My mother is in the next gallery,’ her friend replied dismissively. ‘Perhaps he was trying not to offend your delicate feminine sensibilities.’

‘Sarah, he is French.’ Katrina rolled her eyes. ‘And I am not going to kiss him again. Let’s concentrate on the exhibition.’

‘I think our discussion is infinitely more interesting,’ Sarah countered, trudging behind her to the next group of statues.

* * *

Julian wasn’t surprised that Hart had already moved on to the next gallery. When he finally caught up with him he found his friend lounging against the large doorway with his arms crossed, staring into the second room displaying the Elgin Marbles.

‘You know, you might not grumble every time I mention coming here if you actually took the time to look at the pieces,’ Julian commented, approaching his side.

‘I believe the attendees are much more stimulating subjects.’ Hart motioned with his head to the other side of the room. ‘I have been watching them for the last ten minutes. They really are quite entertaining.’

Julian looked across the room and froze. This could not be happening. He had thought he might be making progress. He hadn’t thought of her once since early morning. Fate truly was playing tricks on him.

Miss Vandenberg looked fetching in a small navy bonnet and a navy pelisse over a pale green dress, and she appeared to be enjoying the time she was spending with Miss Forrester.

‘I understand you waltzed together.’

Julian was uneasy with the mischief in his friend’s eyes. ‘How do you know that?’

‘I read the papers, like everyone else—albeit later in the day. What do you say you introduce me?’

‘No.’

‘I promise to behave.’

‘No.’

‘Windsucker.’

‘Dolt.’

Hart tossed the lock of hair out of his eyes. ‘Well, I think you’re going to have to do something. It seems the lady knows you are here.’

The moment their eyes met every part of Julian’s body reacted to the sight of her. When she gave him a small smile he managed to nod in return.

‘Capital! You’ve been acknowledged. Now, go and speak with her.’

What could he possibly say to her when all he could think about was taking her to some remote area of the museum? Trying to kiss her had been highly improper. What if she was angry with him for his boldness?

He was at war with himself. Part of him wanted to go over to her and remain with her for the rest of the day. The other part of him knew that spending any more time with her would make him miserable with unfulfilled longing.

‘Are you going to stare at her all afternoon?’ teased Hart.

‘The thought did occur to me.’

* * *

Katrina could actually hear the pounding of her own heart. She had spied Lyonsdale standing near the doorway and simply wanted to observe him. But he had caught her staring, and Katrina had been so embarrassed she had lowered her head so he wouldn’t witness her blush. Now, because they had made eye contact, he would feel obligated to say hello.

With a confident stride he crossed the gallery with his companion and stopped a few feet in front of her. ‘I hope you ladies are both well,’ he said, inclining his head politely.

She struggled with the urge to finish the kiss he had started. ‘Yes, thank you, and you?’ she said, twisting her finger around the braided handle of her reticule.

‘Quite well, thank you,’ he replied, and then introduced Katrina and Sarah to his friend, Lord Hartwick.

‘Have you both been enjoying the exhibition?’ Sarah asked.

‘He has,’ replied Lord Hartwick. ‘I must confess broken statues do not hold my interest—especially when most of them are of men.’

Lyonsdale eyed his friend sharply, and a silent communication passed between them before Lyonsdale turned back to Katrina. ‘Has any particular piece caught your eye?’ he asked.

Why was it that the only sculpture she could remember seeing was that of the nude man? Was Lyonsdale as muscular as the man carved out of marble? From the way the cut of his coat accentuated his frame, he appeared to be. There had to be another piece of art she could remember seeing...

‘The horse’s head,’ she blurted out, grateful she had thought of such an innocuous piece.

‘It is quite lifelike, is it not? I enjoy the friezes myself.’

Their almost kiss had muddled her brain. Katrina was beginning to picture his head upon the statue that had so intrigued her earlier. That odd flutter was back, low in her abdomen, and the air was growing thin. If she didn’t distance herself from him immediately she was certain to make a cake of herself.

‘Well, it was nice to see you again. I believe we will leave you gentlemen to your leisure and continue on.’

When Lyonsdale inclined his head and was about to turn away, his friend cleared his throat. Katrina caught the questioning look that crossed Lyonsdale’s face.

Lord Hartwick tipped his head. ‘I believe, ladies, that you could not have a better guide than His Grace. Perhaps you would be interested in having him explain the Marbles to you?’

Katrina eyed both men hesitantly. How could she possibly say no without insulting Lyonsdale? But if she spent any more time with him in a room full of barely clad statues she might tug him behind one and kiss him till he had trouble breathing as well.

‘It is very kind of you to offer, however, we would not want to keep you longer than necessary with our pace,’ she said, feeling Sarah’s eyes on her.

‘I assure you it would be of no inconvenience. Although I can understand you wanting to take your time with the exhibition,’ Lyonsdale said, glancing at his friend.

‘Well...thank you again for your offer,’ she said, linking her arm through Sarah’s. Hopefully the air was cooler in the adjoining gallery. ‘Perhaps we will see each other again.’

* * *

When Miss Vandenberg and her friend were a good distance away, Julian rounded on Hart. ‘What in the world possessed you to do that?’

‘Well, pardon me for trying to extend the encounter.’

‘Next time do not lend me your assistance.’

‘Next time I won’t. You are on your own, Romeo.’

‘Do not call me that.’

Hart shook his head. ‘You must be aware that the two of you produce an interesting display when you’re together. It’s like nothing I’ve witnessed with you before.’

‘What display?’

‘When the two of you stare at one other, one might expect you each to drag the other behind some grand statue in this room.’ Hart glanced around. ‘Possibly that one over there.’

Julian’s eyes narrowed. ‘She declined your offer to have me show her the Marbles. What in the world could possibly make you think she wants me?’

She had also refused his kiss, however, he was not about to state that fact. Her eagerness to leave just now told him how insulted she must be by his improper advance. He had allowed his passion to overtake him. Guilt churned in his gut.

‘Oh, we are not playing the two young simpering misses, are we? If there is one thing I know, it’s the look of a woman who wants to be taken. Now, don’t expect me to give you an exact recounting of the number of times she glanced at you and the way her breathing increased when you drew close to her.’