Chapter 2
At last, Frederick had his arms about the harpist who had been haunting his dreams.
The problem was, he’d been so taken by holding her that half of the song was over before he realized he’d yet to utter a word.
At the headquarters of the Grand Bucks, Frederick Clare, Duke of FitzOsbern, was the confident and liberated High Buckthorn.
In the ballrooms of the ton, his status and noble bearing masked a deep discomfort with social niceties.
No, that was putting it mildly. He was a conversational disaster.
“Weather,” he said.
Her eyebrows arched questioningly. Oh, they were lovely winged little things, and he risked wasting the rest of the song if he kept admiring them.
“The weather is…”
“It is, Your Grace,” she agreed, modestly looking down. Did she like his tie pin? He made a note of her interest.
“Do you…play instruments, Miss Vyler?”
Her eyes flew to his as if she, too, had secrets. He supposed she must if she performed at the Forest. Was he wrong to have asked her?
“I enjoy playing many instruments, Your Grace.”
They turned about the ballroom, the skirts of her gown brushing against his legs most pleasurably.
“Do you enjoy any of them more than the others?”
“I’d have to think about that,” she said, her voice trailing off. At least she’d dropped his title. He held her a little closer.
“I have a harp,” he said abruptly. Would she be suspicious of his bringing it up?
“How lovely,” she said noncommittally.
“One for every estate. I have”—he counted and realized that the silence was intolerable—“many.”
They twirled around a couple that seemed to be well on their way to falling in love. Inconsiderate of them to stop in the middle of the dance floor!
“Do you play?” she asked, clearly unnerved by the lull in conversation.
“I do not,” he said. “I spend most of my time managing my affairs.”
She nodded pleasantly, and he perceived she might take “affairs” to mean something quite different from what he intended.
“My estate affairs, that is. I engage in business.”
“You might find that playing offers a reprieve from the burden of estate management,” she said, her lips curving into a smile. They were pretty lips, the bottom fuller than the top with a little dip in the middle to give her a most charming pout. “Perhaps you might learn.”
“Learn the harp?” he asked, taken aback by the idea. He wasn’t a lithe goddess with gifted fingers; why would he need to play? That would be her role.
“Yes, you might find it quite pleasurable.”
He had to calm himself; her mention of pleasure had him randy as a buck in spring. Which was quite poetic since the first time he’d seen her, he’d been wearing a stag mask with his cock out as he admired the harpist who had been haunting his dreams with her melodies.
Against his better judgment, Frederick pulled her closer.
“How long are you in London?” he asked, peering down at her flushed cheeks.
“Just a few more days,” she said. “Unless…”
He waited expectantly.
“Unless I am to be married,” she said, not sounding even the slightest bit happy at the idea.
“You are engaged?” he asked, trying to fight the urge to rear back.
“My guardians must return to the country. And things are so dear in London…”
She did not know how dear they were.
“So what’s this about getting married?” he asked, sweeping Marianne from the dance floor and maneuvering her to the open doors of a terrace overlooking the garden.
“My guardians entertain some hopes still,” she said, bearing up but clearly glum. “After many years of keeping me alive, they’re ready to be done with me.”
“You fear for your life?” he asked, shocked and prepared to carry her off immediately.
“Oh, no, not at all!” she exclaimed. “They simply want to close the book on me and send me off to be a drain on someone else’s purse.”
“Skinflints, are they?”
She cast him a rueful glance and a secret smile. His heart galloped.
“What are the prospects?”
“I’m told one has half of his teeth yet and another should be allowed a grope.”
“That dismal?” he asked, relaxing against the balustrade. Here in the twilight, in the company of Miss Vyler, his shell of ducal reserve dissolved as he sought to get closer to her in ways that had nothing to do with mere bodies.
Well. Perhaps it had something to do with bodies. But also minds, a first for him.
“I’m lucky,” she said with a forced smile, as if drawing forth a speech she gave herself daily to survive the life into which she’d landed. “I have a warm bed, a full plate, and my dear parents taught me my prayers before they passed. Very fortunate.”
“Is that enough?” he asked softly.
She turned her eyes on him, at once fiery and unyielding. Miss Vyler would be magnificent in her old age — provided that the earthly concerns that plagued her now didn’t bow her shoulders under their weight. It would be a shame for a musician of exceptional talent to be so strained.
“It will have to be enough,” she said, not for a moment allowing melancholy to seep into her voice.
Frederick looked down and realized he was still holding her hand. He’d failed to relinquish it after their dance. Gazing at her small fingers, he reasoned it must be too late now to give it back. Such an action might prove awkward. In the interest of good manners, he continued to hold it.
“I suppose we should go inside. I wouldn’t want anyone to think—”
“Think what?”
Miss Vyler’s eyes darted to the glass doors that allowed revelers in the ballroom to observe them.
“Think we’re up to something illicit?” Frederick asked, his voice warm.
She blanched. “No! No, I…hardly think people would believe you might do such a thing.”
He held back a snort. How little she knew.
“I simply wouldn’t want rumors about you to start. About licit activities,” she continued.
He studied the slope of her nose. It would look so fine captured in oil paint.
“Why shouldn’t people whisper about me?” he asked. “I’m a duke. It happens.”
“Well, I mean, regarding me.”
He moved closer, their gloved hands trading warmth in the evening chill.
“And why shouldn’t you be mentioned in connection with me? Are you not a good girl?”
The way her bosom rose above the neckline of her bodice at his murmured words was most interesting.
“I try to be good,” she whispered.
Frederick had to angle himself away so his raging cockstand didn’t bruise the lady, such was the effect of her speech.
She tried to be good? He could help her tap into that instinct and enjoy surrendering to his will.
If the ballroom doors had been wooden instead of glass, he would have had her bent over the balustrade right now. Damn glaziers and their cursed craft.
He struggled for words appropriate for the moment that wouldn’t send her screaming, but Frederick had to settle for staring at the stars.
His balls ached for need of filling her, and here she stood, oblivious and not at all affected by him!
What a twist of fate for a duke who had dodged marriage traps the entirety of his adult life.
“I’m glad to have met you, Your Grace,” she said, the formality returning along with a lift to her voice that signaled she’d soon take her leave.
“And I you, Miss Vyler.”
“Thank you for the dance.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She turned to go, but her hand was still within his. He didn’t relinquish it. The wind moved through the trees and bushes in the garden in a way that reminded him of her playing. It seemed like a sign from the heavens.
“I wonder if you might be induced to stay in London,” he said.
“Stay in London?” she asked, her face painted with consternation. “The only reason my guardians would permit it is if I were to marry one of those men, the toothless gentleman or the groping baronet.” She gestured with her free hand to the ballroom.
“If you were to marry,” he said.
“Yes, if I were to marry.”
She wasn’t catching on, the dear thing. How he longed to kiss her.
Did he even know how to kiss?
“Well, that settles it,” he said.
“Settles what?”
“You’ll have to marry me.”