Page 19 of The Duke Meets His Match

Jealousy.

The foreign emotion was as unsettling as it was uncomfortable. He was never possessive over a woman. No one had ever intrigued him enough to care. But Chloe Somerton was magnificent, unlike every other young lady at this ridiculous party. A large part of him admired her grit. The rest of him fiercely desired her.

He’d been right. She was not a virginal miss, and she hadn’t protested when he claimed she wasn’t innocent. Her past was too unsavory, and she was lucky she’d escaped the hangman’s noose. Rather than dissuade him, it only made her infinitely more interesting. He’d found himself hovering nearby in the conservatory tour, interrupting Henry’s attempts to court her.

He was still surprised at his own offer to make her his mistress. The thought had churned in his mind, but he hadn’t intended to voice it until he’d seen her with Fairchild. Now that the offer had been made, he knew it was the perfect solution.

He refused to marry with his condition. The fits were increasing in frequency. But he needn’t worry about a mistress. He’d only see her when he was certain an episode would not occur, and unlike a wife, he could leave at any time. Meanwhile, their shared attraction was strong and mutual. No one would know of their secret liaison.

Michael’s only hesitation was Henry. The young man had his heart set on Chloe, and Michael struggled with remorse. He tried to push his guilt aside. Henry didn’t know about her colorful past or that she was using him for his newfound title and wealth. He believed her innocent, and she acted the part to perfection.

Whatever doubts Michael had that she would make a good match for Henry multiplied after their second heated kiss. Chloe Somerton needed a man who could match her mettle. Not a fawning admirer who would send flowers and read poetry and bend to her every demand. She’d quickly tire of such a companion. No, she needed a man who could tame her wild rebelliousness while unleashing her hidden passion.

Too old, be damned.

She’d challenged him. Again. He wondered what it would take for her to accept.

Chapter Seven

Deep in the recesses of her subconscious, Chloe knew she was dreaming.

She stood in an alley between a haberdashery and milliner’s and watched as pedestrians rushed from one shop to another on the busy street to escape the cold. She had gotten bolder over time. The handkerchief had been worth a few shillings, a pair of kidskin leather gloves a bit more, and a gold button the most. But now she needed to set her sights on something bigger.

She would have ceased taking greater risks, but the tonic she needed was almost finished, and Eliza would have to purchase more for her from Mr. Allenson at the apothecary.

A gust of wind blew through the streets and down the alley. Wisps of hair flew into her face. Shivering, she clasped her thin cloak tighter to her chest. She’d have to hurry before Eliza and Amelia noticed her missing from the print shop. The winter hadn’t been kind to their business. The merchants and middle class who visited the Peacock Print Shop for paintings, prints, and bric-a-brac items for their homes rarely ventured out in this weather. With little income, the three sisters had had to ration food and coal for the brazier. Their living quarters, upstairs from the print shop, had an ever-present chill.

Chloe coughed. Once she started, it was difficult to stop. The cough racked her lungs, made her chest squeeze painfully until the simple act of breathing took concentration and effort. It took five minutes for the cough to subside and her lungs to ease. She pulled a glass bottle from her skirt pocket and uncorked it. The distasteful smell of the apothecary’s tonic made her wrinkle her nose. The bottle was light, only a few drops of the tonic remained, and Chloe drank the precious drops. If she were lucky, the medicine would work for a few hours. She slipped the empty bottle into her skirt pocket.

A fine, crested carriage stopped in front of the haberdashery. A pair of well-matched bays snorted in the cold air and steam rose from their nostrils. The driver hopped down to open the door and lowered the step. Two women stepped out, a mother and daughter. They pulled the hoods of their fur-lined cloaks over their heads as they hurried into the shop and out of the cold.

Just in time.

Chloe followed the pair into the shop. The shopkeeper, a thin man with bushy eyebrows and a square forehead, approached to help the women. From the fine quality of their clothing, she suspected they were nobility. Perhaps the wife and daughter of a marquess, an earl…or a duke.

Chloe smiled and made eye contact with the shopkeeper, then feigned interest in a simple straw bonnet with blue ribbon on one of the tall shelves.

“No, Mother. That hat is hideous and makes my complexion look pallid,” the girl whined.

The hat in question was puke green with a bright orange ribbon. Chloe agreed with the daughter. The hat was quite ugly and did make the blonde look ashen.

“Nonsense,” the mother snapped. “It’s perfect for a ride in Hyde Park during the promenade hour. Try it on, my dear.”

The daughter pouted.

“You do want to attract Lord Barker, don’t you?”

“Fine,” the girl snapped. She removed her bonnet and attempted to try on the hat, but she had trouble. “It’s catching on my pin.”

Chloe’s eyes were instantly drawn to a jeweled pin in the daughter’s hair. The opal stone glowed iridescent in the afternoon light from the bay window.

The girl removed the pin from her hair and dropped it on a table among a collection of ribbons as if it were worthless.

Perfect. Chloe stared at the jeweled pin longingly then watched the shopkeeper out of the corner of her eye. He licked his lips, clearly eager to satisfy his wealthy customers and make a sale.

Chloe’s hand slipped into her skirt pocket and touched the smooth glass bottle. She knew Eliza and Amelia would willingly give up a meal to pay for more medicine. But how could Chloe allow them to go hungry?

She couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when taking something so small from someone so wealthy could aid them all.