Stolen Encounters With The Duchess

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‘Bring your boys, too. They could become acquainted with their cousins.’

‘Witlow said I should be able to take them where I like, now that I don’t need their father’s permission. When shall we go?’

‘Arrange what is convenient for you, and send me a note.’

She nodded eagerly. ‘I will. Tonight was wonderful! Thank you again.’ With a glance towards the waiting butler at the open front door, she said, ‘Goodbye, Davie. I’m so glad I’ll be seeing you again.’

‘Make it soon.’

‘I will.’ She turned to leave, hesitated, then gave his hand a squeeze before hurrying over to the door.

As she disappeared into the night, Davie raised his hand, inhaling her faint scent of lavender. The skin she’d touched still sparked and tingled, the aftermath of a desire so powerful he’d almost done something foolish and irreparable.

It shook him to realise how swiftly being with her, alone, had unravelled his control.

Maybe it wasn’t wise to see her again, lest his hold over himself crumble altogether, leading him to commit some irreversible act that would tarnish his honour and hers and sever for good this tenuous revival of their friendship.

And yet... With her sons along to play chaperone, they wouldn’t be alone on the road to Highgate. After they arrived, she’d most likely be closeted with her sister, while he could discuss the latest compromise position with Englemere, focusing his mind on business and away from her enchanting face. With her within the protective embrace of her family, there would be no opportunity for passion to get out of hand; he’d be able to enjoy the delight of her company without fearing for his sanity or his honour.

Besides, he knew in the depths of his soul that he could never stop himself from seeing her unless she herself forbade it.

Chapter Five (#ulink_cbe90959-b968-54e2-9865-fd9ec4120472)

Faith’s euphoria buoyed her through the short hackney ride back home. She hadn’t felt so energised, challenged, and alive since the early days of her marriage—before she discovered what a tragic farce her dreams of being loved and cherished had become. To attend a society function and meet encouragement and appreciation, rather than smug or pitying glances, made it seem as if she’d suddenly emerged from the dark room of isolation and sadness in which she’d been trapped for so long into a glorious dawn of new possibilities.

And then there was that thrilling, titillating connection with Davie. How could so strong a bond re-establish itself so quickly with a man she’d seen only half a dozen times over the last ten years?

She couldn’t thank him enough for this evening, where he’d stood beside her, encouraging with a glance, assisting with a helpful comment, supporting her with his silent presence. And always, simmering underneath—until it had nearly erupted into action in Witlow’s front hall—was the powerful physical link that seemed to strengthen each time they were together.

How could she find words to thank him for the sense he gave her of being attractive, desirable, and wanted, nurturing her crushed and battered spirit to a renewed confidence? His obvious desire unleashed an unprecedented, heady sense of feminine power—and an urge to use that power to satisfy the increasing demands of desire.

Ah, yes, desire. Having endured so many years of unhappiness made her a little reckless. She’d never be permitted to marry a man like Davie—if marriage were in fact on his mind, which it probably wasn’t. Lust certainly was, as it was on hers.

Dare she yield to it? Would he let her?

She didn’t know. Continuing to associate with him would lead her into a maze full of risks and dangerous choices—but also to the possibility of fulfilment, even joy. She wasn’t prepared yet to decide whether to proceed down that path. For the present, she’d seize every opportunity to be with him, and just enjoy.

Make it soon.

She’d write a note to Sarah this very night, seeking a convenient time for a visit.

Still aglow with energy and optimism, she sprang down from the hackney and waltzed up the front steps. Not until the butler admitted her, informing her that the Dowager had returned from her entertainment and would enjoy a glass of wine with her in the Blue Salon, did her soaring spirits make an abrupt descent.

She was home again, and back to being the much-maligned Duchess.

But not any longer, she told herself. Not that she would be rude to her mother-in-law, but she did not intend to meekly endure her criticism. Though she wasn’t sure Lady Lyndlington’s ‘stare’ would work to silence so overbearing and self-important a woman, she would certainly excuse herself, if her husband’s mother decided that a ‘chat over wine’ meant a litany of reproof for her behaviour today.

Bracing herself, she entered the Blue Salon. ‘Did you enjoy the opera?’ she asked, seating herself and accepting a glass from the footman the Dowager waved to serve her.

‘It was tolerable. Although it had to be more entertaining than a dull political evening at Lord Witlow’s. I can’t imagine why you accepted that invitation.’

‘I didn’t find it dull at all. Conversation about the new Reform Bill was fascinating, and Lady Lyndlington is a very gracious hostess.’

‘Lyndlington? Ah, yes—Witlow’s daughter, Lady Margaret, married that jumped-up by-blow of the Earl of Telbridge—who is to inherit, despite the fact that the earl divorced his harlot of a mother! Quite the scandal!’

Just like the Dowager, to have some bit of disparaging gossip to divulge about every person one could mention. Avoiding any response that would allow her to elaborate, Faith said instead, ‘My brother-in-law, Lord Englemere, was also present, and asked me to call; his youngest child has been ill. I shall send my sister a note directly to see when is convenient. You mustn’t be alarmed,’ she added quickly, when the Dowager held up a hand in protest. ‘I know what a dread you have of illness, so there is no need for you to accompany me.’

‘Very well, if you feel you must, although I think it is very inconsiderate of your relations to ask you to visit a sick house, especially as you are a mother with three children of your own to protect!’

‘I believe the child is recovering, and most of my visit will be spent with my sister.’

‘I still think it encroaching. But I didn’t ask you to stop by to discuss some dull political gathering—I have exciting news that will certainly raise your spirits! Which have, quite properly, been downcast since the demise of our dear Edward—’ The Dowager paused, her voice wobbling as she wiped her eyes with a bit of muslin. ‘Well, no longer must we suffer being a household of women. My dear Randall has consented to live here with us! Now we shall have a gentleman’s escort to any entertainments we find proper to attend!’

The memory of her brother-in-law’s leering face, drunken smile and hard, grasping hands swept over her, followed by a wave of revulsion. Faith set down a glass that suddenly wobbled in her hand.

‘How...useful,’ she said at last.

‘I would have expected you to exhibit a bit more enthusiasm,’ the Dowager said tartly.

‘I’m tired, and the news is...shocking.’

‘Shocking? What is so unusual about a son coming to care for his mother?’

Faith bit down hard on her lip to stifle the replies that immediately sprang to mind. That the arrangement was probably more about the estate taking care of Lord Randall’s needs, than him caring for his mother. That he was highly unlikely to escort them to a gathering unless he wished to attend, and since he preferred spending most of his evenings at gambling hells, bordellos, and other establishments of dubious repute, they would be as often without masculine escort as they were currently.