Tamed by a Duke (Wilful Wallflowers Book 1) Page 6

  "If you say so," Orsino replied mildly, with a secretive smile, which Hugh found highly irritating, upon his face.

  Dragging his gaze away from his friend, Hugh scanned the room until he found where Miss Drew and Miss Havisham had disappeared to. They were back on their seats beneath the balcony and had been joined by the lovely Lady Julia. All three were deep in conversation, with their backs turned to the room; a most determined bunch of wallflowers, Hugh noted wryly.

  He had expected that after their dance, Miss Drew might try to draw him into some light flirtation, but here she was happily ignoring him.

  As he surreptitiously watched her, Miss Drew threw back her head and laughed at something Miss Havisham had said, her smile broad and infectious. Beneath the tapers of the chandelier her auburn hair burned bright and her rust coloured dress was almost alive.

  Hugh had believed that Miss Drew would do as he expected, but as desire coursed through him, he reluctantly conceded that this was a young woman who would never conform to anyone's expectations.

  Chapter Five

  Even though last night they had discussed the Duke of Penrith, ad nauseam, Julia and Violet called on Charlotte the next morning, to continue the conversation afresh.

  "Isn't it wonderful that he walked right up to you and asked you to dance," Julia said, for the fifth time, her blue eyes wide with astonishment.

  Charlotte could think of a number of other adjectives that she would use in place of 'wonderful', but she refrained. Her stomach clenched with guilt, for she still had not told her two friends why it was that Penrith had taken such a quick interest in her. Both Juliet and Violet seemed to believe that she had made efforts to project an aura of allure to attract the duke, when really he had simply wanted to let her know that he had won.

  His cock-sure assertion that he had "found" Charlotte had irritated her so much that she had forgotten her promise to Bianca and had unleashed the sharpness of her tongue. Charlotte had caught her duke and lost him, all in the space of five minutes, thanks to her sass. And, not to mention, that she had sealed his contempt of her by tripping over his ruddy-big foot. All was not as wonderful as she had led her friends to believe.

  "It's almost a miracle," Julia was still speaking, "A divine intervention, of sorts."

  "There was nothing divine about it," Charlotte replied with a sigh, placing her tea-cup down upon the table and staring forlornly at her friends, "I could not tell you last night, as Lady Havisham might have overheard, but I had already met Penrith before..."

  In a whisper, Charlotte explained about her trip to St Bartholomew's Church, for what she had thought would be a meeting of the Hampden Club, and the fracas that had thus ensued.

  "Lud," Julia rubbed her temples, as Charlotte finished speaking, "Charlotte, imagine the scandal if you had been accused of sedition."

  "I know," Charlotte tried to look suitably chastised, but failed somewhat as she continued on to her next point, "But I was there honestly believing that the meeting would be a gathering of intellectuals interested in Parliamentary reform. Penrith has no such excuse."

  "You can't honestly think that a man of Penrith's rank would be interested in toppling the system which has gifted him wealth and power?" Julia replied, with an amused laugh.

  "No," Charlotte admitted, "But why was he there? He has no right to chastise me, when he himself was in attendance."

  "He was probably keeping an eye on things for Whitehall," Violet offered, "I know Papa has said that the government has eyes and ears everywhere. It's possible that Penrith does some work for the War Office—Orsino is quite involved."

  "Really?"

  Both Charlotte and Julia whirled around to look at Violet, who was seated on the sofa opposite them. Their friend clasped a horrified hand over her mouth, as she realised what she had revealed. Violet's Papa, who was heir apparent to Lady Havisham—who held, in her own right, the Baronetcy of Aberford—was heavily involved with government dealings. He was currently on the continent, accompanied by Violet's Mama, working as an emissary for the Crown.

  "Yes. Well. Eh," Violet stammered, her face puce with embarrassment, "Obviously, it's all top-secret, but I know that he and Papa are in correspondence with each other about certain matters, but that is all I can say. Your Penrith was probably just keeping tabs on any hint of dissent brewing."

  "He's not my Penrith," Charlotte replied hotly, but her protests were interrupted by the arrival of a footman, carrying an enormous bouquet of hot-house flowers.

  "Bianca is in her rooms," Charlotte called to the young man, for invariably, any blooms which were delivered to the house were for the younger of the two sisters. Even though she was not yet out, Bianca had already made an impression on the young bloods of London, who were enraptured by her beauty when they spotted her out riding in the park, or promenading on Bond Street. Charlotte, in contrast, had received few bouquets during her three-year tenure in town, and the less said about the sender of those flowers, the better.

  "They are for you, Miss Drew," the footman replied, his surprise as evident as Charlotte's own, "Where shall I place them?"

  "On the sideboard, if you please," Julia dictated, as she realised that Charlotte was too stupefied to give directions. "Is there a card?"

  The footman placed the flowers on the sideboard as instructed, before handing the accompanying card to Julia, who appeared far more in charge of the situation than Charlotte, who was feeling rather dazed.

  It was not possible that the flowers were from the same person who had once sent Charlotte a similarly abundant bouquet, but despite this knowledge, her heart still raced at the sight of them, and her palms felt awfully sweaty.

  "They're from Penrith," Julia exclaimed, waving the card in triumph. Charlotte quickly dragged her thoughts from her disastrous first season out and leapt from the settee to inspect the missive for herself.

  "Miss Drew," she read aloud, so that Violet might be included, "I would very much enjoy the pleasure of your company this afternoon, for a ride in Hyde Park. My sister shall accompany us, if you are willing."

  "Goodness," Violet looked alarmed, "I hope there's not an invitation from Orsino waiting for me at home, one dance was frightening enough."

  "You can refuse Orsino," Julia replied with a wave of her hand, "Charlotte, on the other hand, cannot refuse Penrith—not when our plan is working so perfectly."

  Violet's relief at this news was countered quite obviously by Charlotte's groan of dismay. The prospect of taking a jaunt with Penrith was not an enticing one. When she had thought him a faceless duke, it had been far easier to imagine proceeding with their plan. Now that she knew him to be her handsome stranger, who inspired strange feelings and desires, Charlotte was not entirely certain that she could carry on.

  "Perhaps there is another duke...?" she asked feebly, casting her mind about in the hope that she might conjure a name for Penrith's replacement, "Or perhaps my father will lose interest in the whole affair. He adores Bianca, there is no way that he would really refuse her a come-out. No, I will refuse Penrith's invitation to go riding on the Row."

  "The Duke of Penrith has invited you out riding?"

  Bianca stood in the doorway of the drawing room, her pretty face wearing an expression of surprise. If Charlotte had not been so flustered by the duke's invitation, she might have taken the time to be mildly insulted by her sister's incredulity. She was not so hideous that she warranted exhibition in Polito's Menagerie; was the idea that a duke might be attracted to her really that surprising?

  "Does anyone in this house care to knock?" Charlotte replied, with a sigh. The footman, who had been employed with the Drews for many years, quickly took his leave, perhaps recognising the signs of an impending disagreement between the sisters.

  "I was drawn down by all the shouting," Bianca replied primly, walking across to the sideboard to inspect the bouquet, "It is rather difficult to study sheet music, when it sounds like Bedlam downstairs. Oh my—"

  Bianca had pi
cked up the card that had accompanied the flowers and read it with wide-eyed wonder. For a moment, there was silence, until the young woman turned to Charlotte and threw her arms around her.

  "Oh," she squealed into Charlotte's hair, "I knew that you could do it! Papa thought he was so clever, setting such an insurmountable task, but I knew that you would best him. We shall both have our happily ever afters, thanks to you, Cat."

  There was little that Charlotte could say in the face of her sister's exuberance; she certainly could not tell Bianca that she did not wish to lay eyes on Penrith ever again. So, she meekly accepted her sister's hug, resigning herself to the inevitable.

  It seemed that fate wished to intertwine her life with Penrith's for the foreseeable future, and if that was the case, who was she to argue with the Gods?

  During her two years of service, Charlotte had never appreciated Helga as much as she did that afternoon. The Duke of Penrith had arrived, just before five o'clock, in a handsome barouche whose lacquered wood gleamed in the spring sun.

  "Your carriage awaits," he had said, offering Charlotte a flourishing bow, though the smile on his face had faltered somewhat, as he had spotted the lady's maid behind her.

  Helga was gifted with the stature of a Valkyrie and a scowl just as fearsome. She held all men—regardless of rank—with suspicion, and Charlotte took great pleasure in witnessing Penrith shrink slightly under the Nordic woman's censorious gaze.

  "Thank you, your Grace," Charlotte said with forced gaiety, before tripping down the steps of Ashfield House, to where the barouche was waiting by the footpath. Inside the gleaming vehicle, Lady Anne, Penrith's sister, awaited them, with a welcoming smile upon her face.

  "Charmed, Miss Drew," Lady Anne called, as Charlotte clambered inside the carriage. Lady Anne had the same aristocratic features as her brother; high-boned, with a nose that could only be described as noble, and piercing blue eyes. Unlike her brother, however, Lady Anne had no airs of haughtiness, and seemed like a perfectly pleasant woman.

  "Do take a seat," she instructed Charlotte, waving to the empty seat on the bench opposite her.

  Charlotte slid onto the upholstered bench and waited for Helga to alight the carriage. She had hoped that her Valkyrie might sit beside her, but no such luck. Lady Anne patted the cushion beside her, to indicate where Helga should sit, so that the only seat left for Penrith was the one next to Charlotte.

  "Off we go," Penrith said cheerfully, as he deposited himself on the bench.

  He was, Charlotte thought mournfully, a very large man. The duke's athletic, muscular frame took up an obstinate amount of space and Charlotte felt dwarfed by him. There was nowhere she could turn and not feel his presence, and his legs had already accidentally brushed against hers twice.

  Charlotte felt a little dizzy and overwhelmed by Penrith's sheer mass, until she looked up and caught sight of Helga's strict gaze. The Swede's disapproving eyes were not directed at Charlotte—for once—but rather at Penrith. She was quite terrifying.

  "Is she always so jolly?" Penrith whispered in her ear, as the carriage made its way through the streets of London, toward Hyde Park.

  "Are you frightened of a mere lady's maid, your Grace?" Charlotte whispered back innocently, before turning her head to Lady Anne and engaging her in pleasantries. The feel of Penrith's breath tickling her ear had sent her heart racing, and though Charlotte knew that she should try and draw Penrith in to encourage him further, she found that she could not. The strange power that he held over her was new and frightening, and Charlotte longed for the safety and comfort of home.

  The duke's sister was quite the conversationalist, and as the barouche arrived at Hyde Park Corner, she had already exhausted several different topics of conversation.

  "Goodness," Lady Anne said with a laugh, as the barouche began its trip along the Row, "I have monopolised the whole conversation. Hugh always says that I let my mouth run away with me, and now here I am proving him right."

  Charlotte protested politely against Lady Anne's words. While it was true that she had chattered non-stop from Grosvenor Square to Piccadilly, without her talk Charlotte feared that the entire journey would have been made up of strained silences.

  She cast a sidelong glance at Penrith, who was glancing about the carriage at the other riders on the Row. Charlotte had not known that his given name was Hugh; one of their footmen bore the same moniker and the other staff referred to him affectionately as "Shug". The idea of addressing the aloof Penrith as such was so ludicrous that for a moment Charlotte almost laughed.

  Penrith, perhaps sensing her gaze, turned his eyes toward Charlotte and the laugh that was bubbling within quickly died. His eyes, blue as the spring sky above them, were almost challenging, as if he had read her thoughts.

  I dare you, they seemed to say.

  Charlotte, who had never been one to back down from a challenge, found that she struggled to maintain her composure, as she held his gaze. Warmth spread across her face and she knew that she must be blushing furiously, but still she did not look away.

  "I would dearly like to know what it is that you are thinking," Penrith said softly, the first one to break.

  Charlotte, buoyed that she had won their game, felt suddenly brave.

  "I was wondering—as I have just learned your given name—if anyone has ever dared to call you Shug?"

  The duke's eyebrows rose so high in surprise, that they were in danger of disappearing into his hairline altogether. It appeared that Penrith was not a man who was accustomed to being teased, and nor, from the scowl on his face, did it appear that he liked it.

  "No one," the duke replied pompously, "Would ever dare to even think about doing such a thing."

  "What a pity," Charlotte replied breezily, unbowed by his glunch of sour disdain, "For I think it would be darling."

  "I have no interest in adopting darling monikers," Penrith bristled, "I am a duke."

  "And a duke cannot possibly be anything else except his title?" Charlotte questioned, "Surely even the Prince Regent allows himself an afternoon off from being the monarch?"

  "Prinny allows himself plenty of time off," Penrith shot back, with another dark scowl, "And look how well that has worked out for his subjects. My title comes with responsibilities; I am a duke from the moment I rise, until the minute my head touches the pillow at night."

  "Meaning you are only free in your dreams," Charlotte replied lightly, a little taken-aback by Penrith's ferocity.

  "Yes," the duke harrumphed, "And I would not waste those precious moments on dreaming of being called 'Shug'. There are far more titillating scenarios I would prefer to fill my dreams with, Miss Drew."

  Penrith bestowed upon Charlotte a glance so smouldering, that she could not fail to understand his innuendo. Her face burned with embarrassment—coupled with some other, deliciously unfamiliar feeling—and this time she was the first of the two to avert her gaze.

  She had won the battle, but he would win the war, she thought nervously, as the carriage continued on its journey. Perhaps she had been a fool to think that she might outwit the suave and assured Duke of Penrith.

  A tense silence fell between the pair, whilst Lady Anne continued on her chatter, occasionally waving at acquaintances in passing vehicles. Charlotte could feel Penrith's thigh, pressed against her own, taut and hard, as though he too was struggling with the tension between them.

  Such was Charlotte's discomfort, that it was almost a relief when the barouche came to an abrupt halt. She lurched forward and surely would have landed in Lady Anne's lap, had a strong arm not grabbed her by the waist, preventing her tumble.

  "Goodness," she said, fixing her bonnet which had come askew, "What happened?"

  "It seems there is a problem with the wheel," Penrith replied, apparently unconscious of the fact that his arm was still wrapped around her waist.

  His strong, muscular arm.

  Charlotte gulped, wondering how she could politely pull away from him, but was saved by a p
ointed cough from the opposite side of the carriage. Helga was glaring daggers at Penrith, who quickly released a hold of Charlotte as he caught the Nordic woman's murderous expression.

  "I will investigate the matter," the duke said, rising to a stand and disembarking the vehicle, nearly tripping in his haste to be away from Helga.

  "Well," Lady Anne said, once Penrith was out of sight, "I don't know how you have managed to fluster my brother, Miss Drew, but I do hope you will continue. It is a delight to see him acting like a human, for once."

  Charlotte wanted to protest that it was not she who had flustered Penrith, but Helga. Out of loyalty to her maid however, she resisted the urge to defend herself, and simply made an unintelligible noise that she hoped might sound self-deprecating.

  "Oh, no need to be modest," Lady Anne said, with a broad smile, "I saw the way he was with you—he couldn't take his eyes off you. He is quite the smitten kitten and I, for one, am delighted to see it. Hugh is a dear boy, but he is wont to think of himself as a title, rather than as a man."

  Charlotte was left in stupefied silence by Lady Anne's pronouncement, not to mention the off-hand way in which she had described her brother as a 'kitten'. The man who had smouldered at Charlotte just minutes before was no tame cat, but a wild beast; feral and completely unpredictable. The idea of Penrith being comparable to a sweet kitten, was almost as ludicrous as Lady Anne's assertion that he was 'smitten' by Charlotte.

  Seemingly sensing Charlotte's discomfort, Lady Anne changed the subject to matters more mundane, which was lucky, for Helga looked as though she were about to have an apoplectic fit with all the talk of smitten dukes.

  After a short while, Penrith clambered back into the carriage, murmuring vaguely about a chassis and wearing the universal smug look of a man who has just fixed something.

  "We tightened one of the bolts, it should get us home safely," Penrith said, his chest swelling with masculine pride, though his companions were universally uninterested in his statement.