Chapter 3 A Well-Needed Bath
A WELL-NEEDED BATH
Michael let out a slow sigh of relief as the door closed behind the last of the inn’s servants who had filled his bath.
The harried maids had unpacked the bags left by his valet, turned down his bed, and placed towels and soaps within reach of the tub.
Having been an army man earlier in life, he was more than capable of handling his own toilette.
God, what a day it had been!
Enjoying the privacy, Michael shed his filthy garments and stepped carefully into hot, fragrant water.
His entire body ached, causing him to wince while lowering into the copper tub.
Not since first returning from the war had a bath felt so heavenly.
As the water eased his muscles, he began to feel human.
Perhaps later, he’d even feel like a duke again.
She’d changed.
With his eyes closed, and his head tilted back, he could not shake himself of her image.
This disturbed him.
He slid down and immersed his head beneath the steaming water. Perhaps it would wash away the torrent of memories assaulting him. Perhaps it would distract him from rehashing her betrayal.
With tightly closed eyes, he held his breath and allowed the water to embrace him.
Why now? Why after all these years? He’d known she’d married. He’d even known where she lived. She’d made her choice. She’d made the choice for both of them.
When he could hold his breath not a second longer, he burst out of the water and then shook his head like a dog. The droplets flew away from him, onto the floor and privacy screen.
She and her stepdaughter were to join him for dinner.
Michael rubbed his face and groaned. It had taken him years to forget. Of course, she would turn up in his life again now! Her timing couldn’t be worse!
He had finally set his mind on a woman to marry and—of course!—he ran into Lilly again.
He’d put it off for years, frankly unable to believe another woman existed who could hold his interest long enough to merit entering the institution.
He’d convinced himself his efforts and time were better spent improving his estates.
Hundreds depended upon the ducal lands for a living, and Michael took this very much to heart.
But this past year he had also decided, for that very same reason, he needed an heir. He needed to ensure the future as well as the present. And so, in a rational and calculated manner, he had chosen his future duchess.
Closing his eyes, Michael endeavored to bring Lady Natalie Spencer’s image to mind.
The girl had turned one-and-twenty this past winter.
She was pretty and pleasant. Her father’s lands abutted one of Michael’s larger estates and combined they could increase efficiencies by thirty percent.
And then there was her astoundingly large dowry.
Not that he needed the funds, but if one is to marry, one might as well make an excellent business transaction out of it.
But what did she look like, for heaven’s sake!
Blond hair, yes, but it was yellower than Lilly’s. Natalie was taller, slimmer. He’d glimpsed her ankles on a few occasions and decided she must have fabulous legs. They had danced together several times, and Michael had enjoyed the feel of her in his arms. She was very graceful but a bit aloof.
Her face was…Dammit, what was the color of her eyes? He tried to picture her lips, but images of Lilly intruded. Suddenly, his mind’s eye pictured golden eyes.
Had she been too young to realize what they had had together? She’d come to London and easily acquired a devoted, lovesick beau. He’d happily followed her from one social event to another throughout the entire season. Had she not experienced love as he had?
And then he recalled how she had yielded to him both physically and emotionally. She’d held back nothing. She’d been his, completely: heart, mind, and soul. Or so he had thought.
When he’d first met Lilly, she had been a vivacious, gorgeous girl.
She’d grown into a hauntingly beautiful woman.
Dressed as a matron, she’d not fooled him with her shapeless gown and severely styled hair. In fact, the utter lack of frivolity about Lilly’s person merely pronounced her delicate features all the more.
Rosebud lips which had once opened so generously for him, and only him, couldn’t help but stir his desire. He tortured himself further with the memory of how those golden eyes had stared into his very soul.
Michael opened his eyes as a servant entered the room.
“Would you care for some brandy, Your Grace?”
“Scotch,” he answered. “Might as well bring the decanter.”
What a fool he’d been! He couldn’t help remembering the first time they’d met.
Spring 1815
If the white dress hadn’t given her away as a debutante, then her wonder and excitement would have. So open in her appreciation of her surroundings, she sparkled. Everything about her sparkled—her dress, her hair, even her skin.
This girl failed miserably at feigning even the slightest ennui.
Michael couldn’t help smiling as he observed her.
She was going to tug one of the pearls off the back of her gloves if she continued fidgeting with them. She was either restless or nervous, likely a little of both.
Tipping her head back to examine the artwork on the rounded ceiling, she dislodged a few ringlets from her coiffure. The graceful arc of her neck had him unconsciously licking his lips. Her hair shimmered like silk, nearly the color of her pearls. She was utterly delightful.
And then, after dragging her attention away from the ceiling, her gaze drifted around the room and she caught him watching her.
The color of her eyes surprised him. They were such a light brown as to be golden. Michael’s heart jumped as though coming to life after a long slumber. In some way, a connection already existed between them. Surprising himself, he turned away.
She had somehow stolen his equilibrium. Besides her fragile beauty, she possessed an intangible allure he could not identify.
Casting his gaze downwards, he took a deep breath.
He’d fancied himself a bit of a rake, not a complete degenerate, like some of his acquaintances, but somewhat of a ladies’ man.
He’d never failed to maintain his composure where a woman was concerned.
And so, when he looked a second time, he openly admired her.
This time it was she who quickly turned away.
Her chaperones chose that moment to pull her along the line, and she disappeared into the throngs of guests.
Occasionally, while in France and especially during his years at Oxford, Michael had flirted and even dallied with alluring young ladies—regardless of class.
It had been the exotic actresses and dancers though, who appealed to him almost exclusively.
They were safer by far than ladies of gentle birth.
Having seen a few gentlemen caught in parson’s traps, Michael had learned to take care with his attentions when among the beau monde.
Regardless of a lady’s charm, he never let it appear he had singled any one of them out.
None had compelled him into pursuit so much as this one.
He would require an introduction. He needed to discover if that intense spark was real or if it had only been an illusion.
By the time he maneuvered into the ballroom, it was already stifling and crowded.
Candles flickered everywhere, in sconces and on the huge chandeliers dangling overhead.
His eyes searched with a deceptively lazy intent.
She was not alone, of course. She attended with two matrons, a mother and aunt perhaps, as they had some physical similarities.
Ah, yes, the smaller woman must be her mother.
An older, muted version of her daughter—without the golden eyes.
The taller of her chaperones was encouraging his angel to fill her dance card as quickly as possible, introducing the poor girl to every dandy in the room.
Luckily, the dragon was also acquainted with an old friend of his father’s.
Perfect! Just what he needed. He sidled over to Lord Gifford and greeted him cheerfully, striking up some casual conversation.
“My lord, I’m surprised to see you in town this season.
I’d heard you were permanently rusticating in the country these days. ”
Lord James Gifford shook Michael’s hand and smiled. “Good to see you, Redmond! Even better to see you made it back in one piece. Your father mentioned you had joined up. His Grace was proud to boast his younger son had joined the effort against old Boney! Are you home for long?”
Michael was momentarily distracted at the mention of his father’s praise but quickly recovered and answered vaguely.
Questions like this were always difficult when he didn’t know the answer himself.
He exchanged a few more platitudes with Lord Gifford, all the while keeping the blond girl in his sights.
Lord Gifford took notice of the direction of Michael’s gaze and changed the subject accordingly. “Beautiful little gel, isn’t she? The niece of Lady Sheffield. I imagine you’d like an introduction?” He laughed. “I was once a young buck myself. Think I wouldn’t notice? Well, come along then.”
As Michael moved closer to her, that spark, whatever it was, flared up inside of him again.
Lord Gifford moved aside and allowed Michael to step forward. “Miss Lilly Bridge, it is my honor to present to you the younger son of my good friend, the Duke of Cortland, Captain Michael Redmond. Captain Redmond, this is Miss Lilly Bridge, the niece of Lady Eleanor Sheffield.”
Graceful and poised, she curtsied low before him. Michael took her hand briefly. He wanted to place a kiss upon the inside of her wrist, but he dared not.
Next time.
Her name was Lilly, like the flower of innocence. It was perfect for her. She smiled at him as if they shared a secret. Then she commented on the candles and the warmth of the room. Michael leapt on the opportunity to offer to escort her away from her chaperones.