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Andrew trudged upstairs, shaking his head in defeat. There was no way to get out of it. Gran was like a dog with a bone, and she wouldn’t let him out of his obligation, no matter what. Andrew’s valet, George, assisted him with preparing. The evening jacket fit perfectly, accentuating his broad shoulders and torso. The pants hugged his long, muscular legs, toned from the long hours working on ships and riding around half of Europe to make his fortune over the last two years. Andrew went downstairs to join his grandmother after the valet handed him his hat and gloves.
The carriage ride was brief, just a few streets away from his townhouse in Mayfair. When they entered the Countess’ home, Andrew glanced around for any familiar faces. Seeing no one who piqued his interest, he walked into the ballroom where seating was arranged for the recital. In the front of the room was a raised dais for the quartet that would perform.
Andrew sat near the back, knowing his grandmother liked to watch the people almost as much as the musicians. When the time drew near for the concert to begin, the guests found their seats. His grandmother settled in the chair beside him with a smug look on her face.
This will not end well for me.
“I was able to get a few words in with Lady Prescott about her daughter, Isabelle. I was told she is not spoken for and, from what I saw, is an attractive young girl. Just finishing her first season.”
“Gran, that’s just the point. She’s a girl. I refuse to marry some flighty youngthing whoisforever going on about this dress or that hat. I told youalready, I will decide when I’m ready to find a wife, and it won’t be one of these debutantes.”
Andrew glanced at Lady Holcombe. Her lips were pressed together tightly as she glared at her grandson.
“Thank you for your concern, but I will choose my own wife.”
“If I wait until you’re ready, I’ll be long dead in my grave and no great-grandchildren to show for it. No, Andrew, I believe you need a little push in the marriage department.”
“Be careful how hard you push, Gran.”
With that last sentence, a hush fell over the crowd as the musicians entered and took their places. They raised their instruments, and the first chords of the piece swept through the room. Everyone was enthralled.
Andrew gave thought to what his grandmother had said. He knew it was important to marry and produce an heir to continue the family name. But he would do it on his own terms, with the woman of his choice. Thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about marrying some rich heiress, thanks to his shipping company and now the title. Once things settled down, then he would fix his sights on a wife.
A brief pause followed the next song before the musicians started again. Andrew noticed further up in the crowd a lady rose to leave. As she drew closer, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and he sat slightly forward in the chair.
It was her—the young lady he’d helped almost two years ago, Miss Tabitha Crestwood. He’d often wondered about her, if she had succeeded with her plan of escape. The night he’d helped her was still the only time in Andrew’s life that he’d been anything close to being chivalrous. Of course, the kiss they’d shared had made him want to be anything but gentlemanly. Miss Crestwood had kissed with the innocence of inexperience, but Andrew had sensed a hidden passion under the surface. Even now, he could remember the feel of her lips. He had to stop himself from licking his lips, as if the taste still lingered.
If he was being honest with himself, he’d thought about Miss Crestwood on more than one occasion over the years. Her fiery spirit had attracted him, no doubt because of his own headstrong personality. She was as alluring as he remembered, perhaps more so. Andrew’s cock throbbed in agreement, and his pulse quickened.
Lord, he must bed a woman soon. Here he was, becoming aroused by the sight of a woman he’d met only for a few hours two years ago and shared one stolen kiss. He was acting like he was seeing a long-lost lover. Why did this woman affect him so?
He kept his gaze fixed on her, and as she passed, their stares collided, but Miss Crestwood quickly averted her eyes. Andrew discretely turned to watch her leave, then got up to follow. He was just in time to see her walk out the door to the gardens.
Perhaps tonight wouldn’t be a total waste after all.
CHAPTER8
Tabitha had excused herself from the concert, wanting to stretch her legs, when she’d walked toward the back of the room and saw a familiar face, one which had filled her dreams frequently. In an instant her skin felt hot, and her heart nearly leapt up into her throat. Somehow, she kept her composure long enough to leave the room.
As soon as she exited Tabitha noticed the open doors to the garden. In need of a quiet place to collect herself, she stepped outside. Tabitha hadn’t thought seeing Lord Claridge would affect her so. No, not Claridge. He was now His Grace the Duke of Holcombe. They were both different people from the last time they’d met. And if there was any truth to the rumors she’d heard, the duke had been busy since she’d last seen him.
Even though Tabitha had hoped to see His Grace, she’d never have guessed to see him here. The concert seemed too subdued an affair for a man of his ilk. Perhaps he was escorting a lady for the evening. The sting of jealousy pierced Tabitha’s chest. For some reason, she wanted him to be unattached. Not that she would let a man like Holcombe know that. No doubt he would find it amusing and use the knowledge it against her. Hadn’t he told her last time that he was a scoundrel?
No, that couldn’t be true. At least, she didn’t think so. Even though they’d only met briefly that one evening, Tabitha’s gut told her the duke wasn’t like the man society portrayed him, and the rumor mill had plenty to say about him.
The previous night, Aunt Caroline had hosted a small, intimate dinner. Of course, the conversation had drifted to the latest gossip. Among those mentioned was the new Duke of Holcombe, who, it was said, had come into his title under suspicious circumstances. After listening further, Tabitha had discovered Lord Claridge was the new duke of whom they spoke.
Tabitha listened to the old matrons wag their tongues. It was rumored that Lord Claridge had been having an affair with his brother’s wife and wanted both her and the title, so he had resorted to poison. Once Lord Claridge had the dukedom, he no longer needed the duchess, and had cast the lady aside. The matrons sympathized with the poor young widow, so carelessly used, in their opinion.
The ladies then expounded on the new duke’s carousing in the gaming halls and frequenting of the brothels. Prior to inheriting the title, it seemed Lord Claridge had been quite the roguish lord. Now that he was a duke, he was prime pickings for the young debutantes.
Some of her aunt’s friends voiced their doubts about the rumors. If the duke was a supposed murderer, who would want to marry their daughter to a man capable of such things? Tabitha had silently agreed with that reasoning.
Even so, a few of the guests continued to spout gossip. Tabitha almost stood up in the middle of dinner to defend the duke and his character. After all, she probably knew him better than anyone gathered in that room. But then again, that wasn’t saying much. How well could you know a person in a few hours? It may not have been long, but somehow, Tabitha knew the duke was a good man. Scoundrel or not, just because he gambled and slept with women didn’t mean he was a murderer.
Now, having seen the very gentleman spoken of just last night, Tabitha needed a few minutes to collect her bearings. She walked along the path until she was certain she wouldn’t be seen, then sat on the nearest bench. Strains of music floated through the open doors from the ballroom. Closing her eyes, Tabitha allowed herself to be swept away by the melodic rhythm.
Distracted by the music, she didn’t hear footsteps on the gravel until they were right next to her. Tabitha opened her eyes and met the same pair of brilliant green eyes she would have recognized anywhere.
