Chapter 6
Chapter Six
“There he is.” Josephine nudged Willa, making her friend stumble on the uneven cobblestones. “Just outside the tobacconist.”
“Consider this carefully.” Willa placed a hand on her arm. “We are not at a garden party at present, but on Bond Street, along with half of London. Also, you broke into his home.”
Josephine had not apprised Willa of what had happened between her and Lavisham during her attempt to steal the brooch.
It would only worry her friend, and she would once again start agonizing over being sent to Aunt Priscilla.
She’d explained the ruining of Isiah’s coat and shirt as having been the result of nearly being stabbed by the duke’s garden fence and falling into a bed of roses.
“Also, I’ve apologized to the duke. It isn’t my fault he refuses to accept. ”
She’d sent Lavisham a note, even signing it, careful to spray her perfume across the page. This time, he sent back a reply.
“An excellent attempt. But no.”
“He’s incredibly arrogant. Stubborn. He doesn’t even care about the brooch.
He’s merely petty.” She’d spent a great deal of time trying to hate Lavisham but her thoughts always, always returned to the press of his body against hers.
The way he’d pleasured Josephine with so little effort.
How he made her feel…delicate. Fragile. Which was no easy task.
All of that excessive, unwanted mooning over Lavisham had put Josephine in a terrible mood.
Lavisham now stood just outside the tobacconist shop, a small package tucked beneath one arm. This was a prime opportunity to engage the duke in conversation. They were in public. On Bond Street. Willa was at her side. And they’d already been introduced.
In a manner of speaking.
Josephine chose not to consider that, for all intents and purposes, she’d been ruined by Lavisham.
Had she said a word, a scandal would erupt into a marriage.
But she didn’t think it fair of her to do such a thing because Lavisham had thought her a courtesan at first, and well…
Josephine hadn’t tried to tell him otherwise until after he’d pleasured her.
Which was really rather poor of her.
Today, she and Willa had been having tea at a lovely shop around the corner, discussing Josephine’s next move with Lavisham, when she had caught sight of her quarry leaving the tobacconist’s.
Lavisham wasn’t difficult to spot in a crowd, not with the way he lumbered about like some great golden bear that had just left hibernation. Several ladies, one old enough to be Josephine’s grandmother, paused to ogle him discreetly.
Disgusting.
Yes, Lavisham was quite glorious, stomping about with his muscled thighs, broad shoulders and chiseled features. Also, his backside, which was somewhat spectacular.
Entirely spectacular. I may have clasped a buttock the other night.
Pushing aside such thoughts, she turned to Willa and nodded before striding down the street in Lavisham’s direction. Willa attempted to follow as best she could, but Josephine’s stride was much longer given her stature, and her poor friend trailed behind, nearly sprinting to keep up with her.
Willa was terrified Josephine would cause a scene on Bond Street which would result in her banishment to Aunt Priscilla and a future in lace tatting.
Josephine followed a few steps behind Lavisham as he walked in the direction of his waiting carriage. He was humming a tune, one she didn’t recognize.
Now or never, Josephine.
“Your Grace,” she said, somewhat breathless from trying to catch up to the duke. “May I have a word?”
Lavisham paused and turned, boredom etched on his handsome features. He looked down his once-broken nose at her. “Do I have a choice in the matter, my lady?”
“You do not.” Josephine stepped forward but in her eagerness, she didn’t bother to pay attention to the uneven cobblestones. Stumbling, she awkwardly spun about like a windmill. Her bosom surged against the confines of her dress, impudently swaying before Lavisham and every other man on the street.
Good lord, I’m going to fall, and one will pop out.
Josephine half-tumbled into Lavisham, who, in trying to catch her, dropped the package he carried. Her half-boot skidded a bit, kicking the package into a nearby muddy puddle.
Oh. Dear. God.
The twine on the package snapped, spilling several pouches of what smelled like expensive tobacco. The finely ground leaves spread across the water of the puddle, floating about and mixing with the dirt of the street.
“Oh, Your Grace.” Josephine jumped back at the contact of his arm against her breast. The shock of his touch had something twisting about pleasantly in her midsection. “Your tobacco.”
Eyes narrowed, Lavisham took her in, lips half-tilted.
Was he amused? Overly annoyed? Difficult to tell.
“My ruined tobacco,” Lavisham growled. “A special blend created just for me. Which is now, ruined, Lady Josephine.”
Good lord, but he was glorious, standing in the middle of Bond Street, frowning at her. Also…somewhat terrifying.
“Could we…scoop it out?” She tried to move towards the puddle but realized Lavisham still had a tight hold on her arm.
“I don’t think”—he frowned, looking at her with those brilliant blue eyes—“that will help matters.” A pained sound came from him. “Unfortunately, I don’t think anything will.”
Retreat, Josephine.
“I wanted to speak to you about the brooch. Perhaps we can come to terms. I sent you a note—”
“I replied.”
Josephine wanted to scream in frustration. “Yes, but I don’t believe you understand the importance of my request.”
“I’m aware. No brooch. No inheritance. I was listening, Lady Josephine. Unlike you, who continue to persist in ignoring my answer. Which is still no.”
“But…” She raised her voice. “You haven’t bothered to tell me why.”
This time Lavisham smiled broadly, the lines at the corner of his eyes crinkling, making him not simply handsome but…breathtaking.
“It is a family treasure,” she pleaded, heart stopping in her chest at that smile.
“Then it should not have been wagered in a game of cards,” Lavisham replied. He waved over a footman, who plucked the now ruined tobacco from the puddle. “Take that to McKay’s. Perhaps he can do something with it. Ask him to replace my order.”
The footman bowed and hurried off.
“But—” Josephine stuttered.
His teeth flashed at her in the sunlight.
“I’m sure we’ll see each other again, my lady.
You seem to enjoy walking past my home.” Lavisham leaned a bit closer, and Josephine caught that enticing smell of salt air and clean linen.
“I assure you, I’ve made sure all the doors and lower windows are locked. ”
“I am only on my way to the park,” she countered. “Your home is on the way.”
“The upper floors as well.” He gave a small chuckle. “I don’t trust you not to attempt to jump from the roof next door or find an exceptionally tall ladder.”
“I can use a rope.” The words flew out of her mouth, forgetting she was supposed to be convincing Lavisham and failing miserably.
“I doubt that very much. Did you really nearly knock the head off one of your father’s footmen during a game of pall-mall?”
Embarrassment singed her cheeks. “That is not relevant to the brooch.”
“I understand that at one point,” Lavisham said, his grin making him more beautiful, “while out riding, you caught your skirts in a tree branch which pulled you sideways but did not unseat you.”
“Because I am an excellent horsewoman. I am very capable.” Her riding habit, had in fact, been torn from the lower half of her body during a hunt.
The ends had flapped about creating such a diversion the fox had escaped.
“The saddle wasn’t properly cinched.” She took a deep breath. “I find you unpleasant.”
Lavisham’s brilliant blue gaze trailed over her in an indolent manner, sparking bits of heat along Josephine’s body. “I would have to agree.”
Marcus had a brief flash of insanity, standing before Josephine Harrington, his bold Valkyrie.
The entire time she spoke, all he could think of was once more having her luscious form beneath his own.
He didn’t even care about the ruined tobacco.
Besides, all he could smell was lavender and vanilla.
Like the most glorious of cakes. Marcus wanted to eat her up, one bite at a time.
I could simply toss her in my carriage and seduce her.
He was fairly certain, by the flush creeping up her skin, that she would be agreeable.
But a duke, especially one with Marcus’s reputation, could hardly abscond with a young lady of good family in front of witnesses.
But he wanted to touch her so badly his fingers stretched towards her and his cock…
well he was grateful his coat hid the worst of it.
He’d made discreet inquiries on Lady Josephine. The part about her inheritance was entirely true—apparently all her sisters had received similar tasks. She was considered a bit…awkward, clumsy and of dubious athletic ability.
All of which Marcus found strangely endearing. He knew what it was like, trying to find something special about yourself. A trait others valued. In that, he and Josephine were much alike. Dukes had to prove themselves as well. But that didn’t mean he would hand over the brooch.
Marcus was having far too much fun.
Also, he didn’t care to be manipulated, and it was certain that Kenbrooks had done so. The old duke had been right, but that was hardly the point.
“I find you unpleasant.”
Marcus had to bite his lip to keep from laughing out loud.
Women never said such things to him. Perhaps that was why he enjoyed her so much.
Or it could be Josephine’s continued belief in her athletic abilities when, according to his discreet inquiries, the fact she hadn’t injured herself or anyone else yet was nothing short of a small miracle.
“I would have to agree.”
Marcus turned and jumped into his carriage, leaving his lovely Valkyrie to fume and debate over how best to gain the advantage and get the brooch. He couldn’t wait to see what she’d do next.
Foreplay was everything. He’d always thought so.