Chapter Ten
The Duke of Brantingham appeared shaken to his very core. The arrival of Lord Mathieson had brought their outing to a swift end, and His Grace quickly shepherded his siblings to their carriage. He handed the Ladies Margery and Fanetta into their seats, urging Lord Peregrine to climb in after them.
He waved them off before joining Aurelia in the landau. The conveyance rocked and swayed as he leaped onto the cushioned squabs beside her and slammed the door at his back. With a thump of his fist onto the leather hood, he ordered his driver to depart.
She watched the brilliant lights of the Victoria Embankment fade away. “I hope you’re not upset with me for drawing His Lordship’s attention…”
His Grace’s eyes went wide. “Not at all. You did nothing wrong, Miss Goldsworthy. The man is a blackguard and a cad—so far as Mama was concerned—and he ought to have known better than to gawp at you. When he realized that we were together, he should’ve removed himself entirely.
I don’t know what Margie and Fannie were thinking to even speak to him! ”
“Perhaps they were merely being polite.”
He huffed and sat back against the seat. “They don’t know how awful he is, and I cannot tell them what he has done. It wouldn’t be proper.” He gave Aurelia a half-hearted smile. “I suppose I shall have to call him out.”
It was her turn to balk. “For what offense, Your Grace?”
“For treating you in an ungentlemanly fashion.”
She laughed at that, and her heart danced in her chest at the thought of him defending her honor. She didn’t wish him to duel with Lord Mathieson, but it was sweet justice indeed to imagine the Duke of Brantingham as her champion.
“I would fight for you, Aurelia,” he vowed.
It was the first time he’d used her Christian name—the name she’d given herself—though she had not permitted him to do so.
Yet she didn’t mind, for the moniker sounded perfectly natural spoken in his clipped, aristocratic tongue, as though she belonged on his breath, in his lungs.
At the very beating heart of him.
She leaned toward him, meeting his gaze in the quiet, darkened carriage.
“I believe you would go to war for me, Your Grace,” she said, for she daredn’t call him by his given name.
It was too intimate and too bold, even for her, “but I don’t need you to fight my battles.
I’ve never had anyone to stick up for me, you see, so I’ve become adept at looking inward for strength.
” She placed her hand on his arm, breaching the slight distance between their bodies.
“Lord Mathieson didn’t hurt me. He couldn’t even reach me. ”
The only man in danger of harming her was the one seated beside her. He could break her heart with a word, wound her with a glance. Oh, she would recover—of that she had no doubt—yet getting over him wouldn’t be easy.
His Grace’s handsome face was illuminated by the street lamps beyond the windows of their landau.
His skin looked burnished and harsh, for he was a fearsome gentleman in all his power.
He would fight for her, if necessary, and he would undoubtedly win, for even a man like Lord Mathieson would be a fool to challenge the great Duke of Brantingham.
Aurelia smiled inwardly at the thought.
Her cheeks flushed and her heart warmed, and—emboldened by her own desire—she placed a trembling palm upon his greatcoat lapel. She traced her fingers through the soft, fluffy astrakhan collar, stroking him.
With her free hand, she steadied herself against his thigh, feeling the warm wool and the firm man beneath his taut trousers. Aurelia was desperate for a human touch and leaned toward his puzzled, slightly slackened mouth as he gazed into her eyes.
She pressed her lips to his in a chaste kiss.
Her first and only kiss, for she had saved her affections for the Duke these past five years.
It had been foolish and fruitless, she knew now, as he would never make her his duchess.
At best, she might be invited to become his mistress, yet Aurelia knew she could never share him, or even love a part of him. She wanted all of him for herself.
“Miss Goldsworthy…” he murmured into her mouth. “Aurelia…”
He was going to protest! He was going to pull away!
She slid her hand from his collar into his hair, searching her fingers through the thick, brown mass to clutch the back of his skull. Using soft strength and the persuasion of her lips, she held him in place.
She did not wish to lose him—not yet.
Aurelia moaned as His Grace’s arms encircled her waist. He cradled her as the carriage rocked, and his large, capable hands spanned her shoulders and stroked her spine. He clasped her to his chest, and she felt his heart drumming into her breast.
Their lips feathered against one another. He was a bold and purposeful kisser, while she relied on her natural instincts to guide her.
“You are so good, my darling,” he whispered encouragingly. “So sweet…”
She felt cherished in his embrace, though she knew they weren’t lovers. They were friends, perhaps more than friends, as the attraction they felt for each other was unquestionable.
She gathered her skirts in her hands, rucking the layers of claret-colored wool and lace-edged petticoats up over her knees. The Duke lifted her into his lap, settling her on his thighs, which were spread to accommodate her bustle and train. He made a steady seat in the gently swaying conveyance.
Aurelia rubbed against the hardened placket of his trousers. She clutched at the soft silk of his waistcoat. She understood what he wanted from her—what his body desired—and she felt gratified that she’d stirred this stolid, sensible man into behaving in a slightly ungentlemanly fashion.
He wanted her.
She wanted him.
Yet His Grace would never compromise her or treat her disrespectfully. As the landau turned onto Park Lane, he pried his lips away from hers, groaning.
“Miss Goldsworthy, you are altogether too tempting,” he said, ruefully. “Can you forgive me for losing myself in your arms?”
Aurelia touched his lips with the tips of her fingers, marveling at their soft, supple warmth. He was kiss-swollen and flushed. His body was strained with arousal, and yet he begged her pardon when she had been the one to enflame him!
She felt powerful and desirable, and she relished her new discovery. Her feminine enlightenment. “I shan’t apologize for being attracted to you, Your Grace.”
He smiled. “No, you wouldn’t, would you? You want everything that lies within your reach. You’re like Margie in her quest for an education and independence, or Fannie in her yearning for frocks and fun. It seems that I am surrounded by intrepid women.”
“You should be so fortunate,” said she, petting the collar of his greatcoat, delighting at the thrum of his heartbeat beneath her hands. She had made his pulse race.
His eyes studied her face, and for a moment, he looked wistful.
Sad, even. “I do count myself fortunate, Aurelia. I shan’t ever forget seeing the electric lights…
or feeling this spark we share.” He caressed her cheek.
“Tomorrow, I must tell you something, and I fear you will not look kindly upon me then.”
She shook her head. “I know you cannot marry me. I understand that I have no pedigree, no connections—”
The carriage door swung open to reveal the warmth and light of his residence. Dowell stood upon the columned portico flanked by footmen carrying silver trays of steaming cocoa.
His Grace took her hand and helped her to alight from the landau.
When she was settled safely onto the pavements at his side, the Duke angled toward her to say, “Come to me tomorrow morning. I’ll send your maid to fetch you.
Then I will tell you of what I suspect is your birthright and everything that has been denied you. ”
At last, the moment Aurelia feared had arrived. It was time that she learned the truth and why her identity had been kept from her. Somehow—and for some good reason, surely—the Duke of Brantingham had been involved.