The Very Daring Duchess Part 40

"Come back to Harborough House with me now," he asked as, at last, he began to dress. "The duke's bed is at least the size of Hanover Square, and I promise we'll test every inch of it before dawn."

"I can't, caro mio," she said, stretching indolently against a cushion. "I must tell Uncle Peac.o.c.k about you first, and that must wait until breakfast."

"I could persuade you, Your Grace," he said, coming back to rest his palms on either side of her waist as he leaned over her and took one rosy nipple into his mouth, teasing her flesh with his tongue. She gasped as sensation rushed through her blood again, and she marveled that her body could still be so responsive after all they'd already done. "And there would be the carriage ride to consider as well, Francesca. The cushions are wide, the springs accommodating, and the coachman discreet. Consider it, la.s.s, consider it well."

"No, Edward, don't!" she cried, giggling as she rolled from the bench and beyond his reach. Swiftly, if haphazardly, she began to dress herself, not bothering to repin her hair and counting on the swath of her shawl to cover any deficiencies. "When you return tomorrow and meet my uncle, then I'll leave with you, but not now. Come, I'll see you to the door myself, so we won't shock the servants."

But despite the hour, she'd underestimated Mrs. Monk's loyalty, curiosity, and her desire to wait upon a d.u.c.h.ess.

"Your Grace," said the housekeeper, bustling forward importantly as soon as Francesca stepped into the hallway. "Shall I fetch supper for you, Your Grace?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Monk," she said, grateful that the hanging night-light in the hall would hide both her blushes and the telltale creases in her muslin gown; she and Edward had been too caught up in each other to be particularly reserved, and she didn't want to consider everything that Mrs. Monk likely had overheard here in the hall. "His Grace is just leaving now."

She wanted to kiss Edward again, but not in front of her uncle's housekeeper. Without a thought for the chilly night, Francesca opened the front door herself and stepped outside, pulling Edward by the hand after her. His carriage was waiting in the street, and though the footman hopped down at once from the box to open the door, he discreetly turned back toward the horses when he saw Francesca. She didn't want to cause a scandal on her uncle's doorstep, but a minute wouldn't hurt. Only a minute, she told herself, a quick farewell to send Edward home thinking of her.

"Whatever are you doing, Your Grace?" teased Edward as she slid her hands beneath his cloak and inside his coat, both to keep warm and to touch him one more time. "We cannot have this sort of low behavior in a respectable neighborhood like Barlow Street!"

Beneath the lantern, her laugh showed like a puff of white in the cold air, and when he pressed her back against the wall she could feel the chill in the bricks through her thin gown. But inside his wool coat it was warm indeed, the slippery silk lining holding not only the heat of his body, but the male, animal scent of it as well, and she burrowed against him with sensual delight.

"Then kiss me quick, husband," she whispered, turning her face up toward his, "before the watch comes and catches us!"

He kissed her as she'd asked, his mouth doubly warm in the cool night air, and when she felt his hand cover her breast, she pressed against his hand with a little groan of pleasure.

"Who needs to go inside to see th' pictures if we can have a show for free in th' street?" called a man's raucous voice, loose with drink. "You didn't lie, McCray, when you promised us a rare bawdy sight at th' Italian doxie's house!"

Francesca gasped and jerked her shawl over her rumpled gown, frantically trying to look around Edward to whoever was in the street. But though she moved fast, Edward was faster, turning instantly not only to face the men but to shield her with his own body.

"McCray!" he roared, at a volume more suited for the quarterdeck than for a quiet street in Westminster. "What the devil are you doing here?"

Finally Francesca wriggled free, and over Edward's shoulder she saw three men, all of them in uniforms and boat cloaks like Edward's, the high curved silhouettes of their hats marking them as other navy captains. No wonder he was so angry, to be treated so by his peers!

"Ah, Ramsden, don't be so blasted righteous," called back the captain who stood in the middle, a stocky bulldog of a man with straggly dark hair. "You can't blame us for coming to see your little foreign missus' wares. She's the one that put the announcement out, wasn't she?"

"I'll thank you not to speak of my wife like that, McCray," said Edward, his voice as ominous as his warning. "Don't you recall our last conversation?"

"Oh, aye, I recall it, Ramsden," said McCray, stepping forward. "You turning so high and mighty that you'd not share a dram with a fellow officer and gentleman who'd wished you well. Your Grace. So b.l.o.o.d.y high and mighty that you knocked me down upon the cobbles and walked away before I could demand my satisfaction."

"Edward, caro, don't do this," begged Francesca, clinging to his arm. Already shadows and candles had appeared at the windows of the surrounding houses, and here and there the sashes had squeaked upward, drawn by the angry raised voices. "Someone truly will summon the watch if you do not end this."

But it was almost as if Edward hadn't heard her, he was so focused on the man in the street.

"I'll treat you like a gentleman when you deserve it, McCray," he said with disgust, "and not before you retract what you said of my wife before the gates at Whitehall."

"Oh, Edward, please, please, do not do this for my sake!" she pleaded. She knew where this was headed, and knew where it would end: He'd once made a jest about fighting duels, but there was nothing amusing about this at all. "Please, love, please, you cannot challenge every man who'll speak ill of me!"

"Aye, so that's your dear wife looking after you, isn't it?" jeered McCray. "The one that paints the sinful pictures to show what postures and positions she knows? I should've guessed from how she was rubbing up against you in rut."

One of the other captains grabbed McCray's arm, trying to pull him back. "He's been drinking all night, Captain Your Grace," he explained nervously. "He doesn't know what he's saying."

"h.e.l.l, I know exactly what I'm saying, and to whom," insisted McCray, shaking off his friend to take another step toward Edward. "A tawdry dago b.i.t.c.h with filthy habits is what you picked for your d.u.c.h.ess, Your Grace!"

"d.a.m.n your impertinence, McCray," said Edward. "You leave me no choice. Who shall be your second, sir?"

"No, caro mio, don't!" cried Francesca with anguish torn straight from her heart. "Santo cialo, don't! This-this madness and pride is not worth your life, Edward, nor our happiness!"

But he didn't even turn to look at her.

"It's not madness, my love," he said, his initial anger now replaced by an odd sort of calm that frightened her more. "It's a question of honor. I cannot let this b.a.s.t.a.r.d cast my wife's good name and virtue upon the dunghill. You do not deserve such treatment, nor do I. McCray, your second?"

"Robinson here will oblige me," declared McCray, ignoring how the man who'd tried to stop him now twitched with startled misery. "And yours?"

"The Earl of Bonnington," said Edward curtly. "rest a.s.sured that he shall be calling upon Captain Robinson this night to arrange the details of our meeting."

"Pistols," said McCray with far too much antic.i.p.ation to please Francesca. "You're challenging me, and I say pistols."

The man hadn't hesitated to accept Edward's challenge; in fact, he'd seemed to relish it. Was he that skilled with a pistol, to be so confident? Was Edward in even greater danger than she realized?

"Pistols, then," said Edward grimly. "And let us say eight o'clock tomorrow morning, in the west corner of St. James's Park."

"As good a time as any for me to send you directly to the devil, Ramsden," said McCray with a mocking bow before he turned to leave. "Send your second to me and Robinson at the Red Dolphin. And kiss the d.u.c.h.ess good night for me, won't you?"

Francesca seized Edward's coat, the thick wool bunched in her fingers. "Don't listen to him, caro mio," she said frantically. "You told me you would not care what people say. So why must you challenge a man like that? Why risk your life over a handful of words?"

He sighed, and shook his head, lightly running his fingers over her cheek. "Because those words impeached my honor, la.s.s, that's why. He's a vile b.a.s.t.a.r.d, but I shall deal with him handily enough."

"You don't know that, not for certain!" she cried softly, searching his face for any doubt, any chance that he might change his mind. "Look at me, Edward! You wish for a child, a son or daughter to carry your name. What if we conceived one here tonight? What if you die tomorrow never knowing your own son?"

That made him pause, his face by the lantern's light growing inexpressibly sad, but it wasn't enough to change his mind.

"I should much prefer to spend the night with you, Francesca," he said, "but I have a thousand things to do before morning."

"Before you put yourself before another man's gun," she said bitterly. "Before your stubborn male pride begs him to kill you."

He sighed again, and smiled wearily. "I'll be back for breakfast, love. Kiss me for luck, won't you?"

She did, though there were tears on her eyes and cheeks, a quick kiss of farewell that seemed over before it had begun. Then he was gone, too, into the carriage and down the street and around the corner, while she stood there in the doorway as the sound of the horses' hooves on the cobblestones faded away. Still she stood there, feeling the warmth, his warmth, fade from her body and the chill of the night steal the heat of his last kiss from her lips.

"If you please, Your Grace," said Mrs. Monk as soon as Francesca stepped back inside the house. "A moment, if you please."

One look at the trepidation on the housekeeper's face proved that she'd heard and seen everything that had just happened on the doorstep. For a household that was usually so quiet, it had been a most eventful day.

"Edw-His Grace will be fine, Mrs. Monk," she said, forcing herself to rea.s.sure the older woman when she'd no real confidence herself. "He has survived so many battles that a duel will be next to nothing to him."

"As you say, Your Grace," the housekeeper answered dutifully. "I shall keep him in my prayers tonight. But it is the other gentleman I meant, Your Grace, the one that's been waiting so long."

"What gentleman?" asked Francesca. She already knew she must climb the stairs to her uncle's rooms and answer what would inevitably be a great many questions, and she'd no time to squander on anyone else. "I told you before that I would receive no more customers today."

"He's not a customer, Your Grace," said Mrs. Monk indignantly, "else I wouldn't have let him wait. But with him being from Naples and all, I thought sure you'd wish him to wait."