Chapter 10
That bloody kiss had only confirmed his suspicions.
He’d been somewhat relieved to depart the house party with Savorton.
Happy to lend the power of a duke to a friend whose daughter had run off with a fortune hunter and required retrieval.
At first, he’d welcomed the reprieve from Miss Bell, hoping that the stirring in his chest every time he saw her would fade once he wasn’t near her.
But the rightness of Miss Bell did not abate.
It was one thing to hear the tale, oft repeated, of how Father had felt struck by a bolt of lightning at first seeing Mother, knowing in that instant she would become everything to him, but another to experience it himself.
“Over bloody terrible meat pies and Arcimboldo, of all things,” he said under his breath, heading for the drawing room. “I knew.”
That was why Hugh had come to the Savorton house party.
Miss Bell. Her audacious, outrageous request to deter Todson had been a surprise, though completely understandable given her disdain for marriage and the earl.
Also, it had saved Hugh from coming up with another excuse to be in her company so that he could be… sure.
I’m damned sure now.
Hugh was a duke, so there was only one way this situation would end—in marriage. Yes, he could be a complete cad and simply compromise her, but he wanted her to want him. Feel, as he did.
Hugh laughed at the thought, causing Lord Hedsworth to shoot him a strange look.
Worrying whether a woman wanted him had never been a concern of his. He was attractive and a duke. But Hugh thought that kiss had convinced Miss Bell.
“Your Grace.” Lady Lavinia appeared at his side as he entered the drawing room. She looked down at his coat. “You’ve…paint on you.”
He recalled the way Miss Bell had clutched at his coat, kissing him with little experience but much enthusiasm. “I’m having my portrait painted. Surely you’ve noticed.” He nodded to Savorton’s butler to bring him a brandy. “You’ve done everything but press your nose to the glass of the greenhouse.”
Lavinia’s perfect mouth hardened as she considered how to reply. “I was merely walking about the lawn.”
She was a beautiful woman. Stunning, really. But as the lack of stirring in his heart indicated, Lavinia was no match for Miss Bell, though she’d make a splendid duchess. Just not his. “What is it you wish to ask me, my lady? Speak bluntly, if you please.”
Lavinia worried her bottom lip. “You have made your interest in Miss Bell known to the entire house party.”
“I have.”
“I find it difficult.” Her brows drew tight, lips pursing in consternation. “To believe your interest is genuine. I think—you are punishing me for Lord Alpert.”
“My lady…” Hugh could not care less about Alpert. He never had. Because he didn’t want Lavinia.
Lavinia drew her fingers along his arm. “And…I believe Miss Bell is using you to dissuade Todson, who boasted before your arrival at the house party that he would wed her.” She took a deep breath.
“Not that I blame her, Your Grace. I wouldn’t wish to wed Todson either.
But your chivalry is no longer required.
Lord Todson has offered for Miss Phipps. ”
Muriel stood, frozen, a few steps behind Buxton, the view of his shoulders partially blocking Lady Lavinia’s smaller form.
She took a step back, silently, bumping into Lady Swindon.
Apologizing profusely, Muriel made her way swiftly to the other side of the room and averted her gaze from Lavinia and Buxton.
I find it difficult to believe your interest is genuine. I think—you are punishing me for Lord Alpert.
Buxton didn’t answer right away. Nor did Muriel stay to hear what else Lady Lavinia might say to him. The sight of Lady Lavinia’s dainty hand on Buxton’s arm, pulling him closer with no objection from him, was answer enough.
I am utterly foolish.
After being kissed so thoroughly, Muriel had stood alone in the greenhouse, trying to regain control of her emotions.
Picking up her paints and brushes, she’d taken them over to the small potting table commandeered from the head gardener days earlier.
As she’d cleaned off the brushes, the press of Buxton’s lips still lingering on her mouth, Muriel had thought once more of what it would mean to have a husband… if that man was Buxton.
She’d insisted for many years that her avoidance of marriage was because she wished to study and practice her art. Didn’t wish her future to be decided by others. But now Muriel knew that wasn’t the case at all. What she’d been waiting for was…feeling.
Buxton.
True, Muriel didn’t have a great deal of experience, but even she knew the kiss they’d shared was special. Important. Buxton had been visibly shaken. The force of that moment, of his lips on hers, had sparked to life—she pressed a palm to her chest—her heart.
Buxton had felt it too. She was sure of it.
Muriel had rushed up the stairs, changed out of her paint-stained dress, and descended to the drawing room, anxious to see Buxton, only to find him in the clutches of Lady Lavinia, who was practically dangling from his arm.
And her foolish, ridiculous heart, had stuttered.
“There you are, Muriel.” Nora looked her up and down. “You’ve still got a bit of paint on your wrist,” she gently touched the spot. “How is the portrait of the duke coming along?”
“Wonderfully. I’m using a lemon for his ear. Olives for buttons. Leaves for his hair.”
Nora forced a brilliant smile to her lips. “How…creative.”
A resigned puff of air came from Father. “I suppose if the Duke of Buxton finds your portrait painting acceptable, we must as well. Todson has offered for Miss Phipps. Happened while tea was being served. Which you missed.”
“I was painting the duke. I felt that took precedence over tea, but I shall offer Miss Phipps and Lord Todson my sincerest congratulations.” If nothing else, Buxton had saved her from such a fate as Miss Phipps now faced.
The duke tilted his head in Muriel’s direction, the golden light of the lamps reflected in the green of his eyes, sparkling back at her like two finely cut emeralds. Father noted the duke’s admiration of her, as did Nora and several others.
Fake, of course. Meaningless. Just as that spectacular kiss had been.
Muriel could not be ungrateful. Buxton had done exactly as she’d asked.
“Thank goodness you’ve secured the duke’s affections,” Nora sniffed. “Which are apparent to everyone in the room despite Lady Lavinia’s determination, or I would grow concerned now that you’ve lost Todson.”
“I didn’t lose him, Mother Nora. Todson isn’t a trinket I’ve misplaced. I did warn you before your arrival that my affections were already fixed.” She gave Buxton a brilliant, false smile that matched his own. “You didn’t believe me.”
“I didn’t. But.” Nora took her arm. “Your father and I couldn’t be more pleased.”
Her stepmother would be less pleased when Buxton failed to call upon Father. There would be no offer from the Duke of Buxton for Lord Allred’s odd daughter. Muriel would fall to the floor, devastated at her broken heart.
Glancing down at her slippers, she took a deep breath.
It wouldn’t be a lie.