The Matchmaker and the Duke Page 10

  And he wanted to meet her again.

  Her stomach fluttered. A masked ball at Vauxhall sounded deliciously exciting and wicked. And why not? It wasn’t as if he had offered for Charity yet. If he declared himself—when he did, she corrected herself—then their affair would end. It must. She would never come between a betrothed couple. And never between husband and wife. But in the meantime... She stretched, luxuriating in the feel of a body well loved—yes, until then what harm could it do?

  They were both adults. They both understood the rules of the game. As long as she did not let her heart rule her head, all would be fine.

  She rang the bell for her maid. She needed to bathe before dressing and starting her day. And then she must find a suitable costume to wear to the ball. Something that would hide her identity. She did not have much time.

  A trickle of something hot ran through her veins. The thought of seeing Jasper again.

  It seemed that after all this time, after discovering just how wonderful a man could be as a lover, she could not resist his allure. It was going to take more than one night of lovemaking to cure her infatuation.

  * * *

  Jasper regarded himself in the mirror. With a false moustache, a black velvet mask, a tricorne hat and a frock coat fashionable in the previous century, he hardly recognised himself. Not that his disguise could be deemed extraordinary. Likely he would not be the only highwayman at the ball. No, what made him feel like someone else altogether was that he was actually contemplating attending a masked ball. He’d always viewed them as an excuse for sensible people to act out of character. A duke did not do that sort of thing.

  It was beneath his dignity.

  He could not wait. Which was why he did not recognise himself. There was a sense of excitement within him he did not recall ever feeling before. A restlessness. Or perhaps he did recall it. Somewhat. In the years before his parents died, he’d felt similar feelings at Christmas and birthdays, had he not? But those were childish feelings, put aside when he had become Duke at the ripe old age of fifteen. The responsibilities of the dukedom had rested heavily upon his shoulders since then. Aunt Mary had made very certain he knew exactly what was required of him and had guided him along a strict path. What would Aunt Mary think of him now? Would she recognise him as the dutiful Duke she had raised?

  Would he recognise Amelia? Of course, he would. Whatever disguise she had chosen to wear, he would know her by the exotic shape of her eyes and the tilt of her chin.

  More to the point, would she recognise him? He turned this way and that and winced. Perhaps he should not have let his beard grow for the past two days. It now looked quite scruffy, when he was always meticulously clean shaven.

  He should have sent her a note describing his costume. He glanced at the clock. Too late now. He had arranged to meet her there at eleven and she must be on her way. He strode downstairs and out of the house. Normally he would have called for his carriage. Tonight, however, he was travelling incognito.

  The night was pleasantly warm, the air clear, since few fires would have been lit on such a fine evening, and the summer was not far enough along for the heat to cause the river to stink. It would not be long, however, before London became unpleasantly smelly and the members of the ton returned to their homes in the country.

  As he drew nearer to the ferry that would take him across the river, he had the odd sensation he might be making a terrible mistake. His suggestion that they meet at Vauxhall had been pure spur of the moment. He’d feel like a fool if she did not show up. If so, he would slip quietly away.

  Indeed, it would be better if she did not show up. Would it not? He could then go back to being himself.

  He took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders and sauntered down the steps to the river. On the other side, he joined a group of rowdy young gentlemen as they made their way along the walks to the centre of the gardens where boxes surrounded the dance floor. Men and women in costumes ranging from gauzily clad female nymphs to a man wearing a moth-eaten bearskin milled about with drinks. At one end an orchestra played a waltz and shepherdesses and Roman senators whirled about the space set aside for dancing.

  Oddly, only one woman really caught his attention. She was dressed in a full-skirted gown with the sides drawn up to reveal her petticoat, carrying a basket of oranges and wearing a sequin-covered mask over the upper portion of her face. She was the right height and when she turned to scan the crowds around him, he knew he had found his Amelia.

  His? His for tonight, at least. For she would not have come here if he had not asked her to attend. Of that he was certain. Before he could reach her another gentleman dressed as a pirate had reached her side, bowing and clearly asking her to dance. At any other sort of dance, he would simply have indicated his prior claim to the lady and the other man would have withdrawn. Tonight, he intended to keep his rank hidden and enjoy himself as if he was an ordinary man.

  But it certainly had its disadvantages.

  She hesitated, then shook her head.

  Relief flooded through him. Clearly, she had recognised that this man was not whom she sought. He strolled to her side. ‘Good evening, my lady,’ he said softly.

  She glanced up at him and he was surprised to see worry in her eyes. Then she must have recognised him because the worry fled and she smile. ‘Your—’

  He touched a finger to her lips. ‘Tonight, I am simply Dick Turpin. And you, I am guessing from your orange basket, are Nell Gwyn?’

  ‘It was all I could think of at the last moment and the costume was easy enough.’

  ‘It suits you.’

  She frowned.

  Damn, he had meant it as a compliment, but he could see she did not see it that way. ‘You look lovely.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled and there was a shyness to it he had not expected. It was as if their disguises made them two different people.

  His heart felt strangely large as if it was overflowing with an emotion he did not understand. The orchestra began another waltz. ‘May I request your hand for this dance?’

  ‘With pleasure.’

  He swept her on to the floor. She felt so good in his arms, so right, that he could only kick himself for not having recognised her beauty the first time they met. Likely it was not long after his disastrous attempt to find romance where none existed, when he’d realised people cared nothing for the man beneath the title of Duke and he’d distanced himself from society at large.

  Aunt Mary had drilled him by the hour until he knew the name of every nobleman in the country. He had met many of their daughters, but had avoided all women like the plague, in case one of them tried to trap him into marriage.

  Now, he knew better than to fear matchmaking mothers. The Duke of Stone would not be bullied. He was high enough in status to be a law unto himself. Not that he would ever take advantage of a woman because of it. He had been brought up to be an honourable man.

  For the most part.

  It was not exactly honourable to lure Amelia Durant to an event such as this. And yet, for once, he was filled with the need to be reckless. He glanced down at his partner. ‘May I be honest?’

  Her eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. ‘I would prefer it if you were.’

  Yes, and he liked her because of it. ‘This is the first time I have ever attended a Vauxhall Masquerade. I have been to a few private parties masked, of course, but never one open to the public as this one is.’

  She nodded as if she was not at all surprised. And, strangely, that troubled him.

  ‘This is my first time at Vauxhall Gardens,’ she admitted, ‘though I have heard a great deal about it over the years.’

  ‘You did not come here during your come out?’

  ‘No. My Season was very short. I married within a month of my arrival in London.’

  He was not at all surprised that an exotic flower such as
she would have been snapped up right away.

  He glanced around as they circled the floor. Even though the evening was early, several of the young dandies in attendance were visibly inebriated. ‘It is not usually so rackety. Masks seem to give people the idea that they can do anything they want without consequence.’

  He frowned as a young woman leaned out of one of the boxes to help drag a fellow over the railing and into her box where she proceeded to kiss him soundly. Another man was dancing far too close to his partner, whose gown was shockingly revealing. These events attracted not only the ton, but the demi-monde also. One thing was certain, he was not going to leave Amelia’s side for a second.

  ‘Are the walks as dark as they say, I wonder?’ she said, watching a young man lead his partner down one of the paths that ended up here in the centre of the gardens. ‘The pathway I followed from the entrance was well lit, I noticed.’

  ‘As most of them are. What are called the dark walks are at the periphery of the gardens. Not the place for a lady. But come, let us explore a little before we have supper.’

  The dance finished and he led her away from the music and the crowds, taking a path lit by lanterns strategically suspended in trees. They walked arm in arm and they viewed the grottos, where statues and bushes were artfully lit from beneath. They wandered through a brightly lit maze. He admired the waterwheel, the fountains and other features of the gardens until they reached the end of the strings of lights and the path disappeared into the gloom. All around them could be heard giggles and whispered conversations.

  Unable to resist, he pulled her into a nearby alcove cut into a yew bush and tipped her face up to his with one finger. He waited a moment. Gave her a chance to protest.

  When she did not, he pulled her close and kissed her. Instantly, she twined her arms about his neck and kissed him back. His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears and drummed in his chest. His blood ran hot. He stroked her back and she made a soft sound of longing in the back of her throat.

  His body responded to the sound, hardening, desiring.

  And this was why a gentleman did not take a lady into the dark walks of Vauxhall.

  He broke the kiss and took a deep breath.

  Even in the shadowy dark, he could see she was smiling.

  ‘You lead me astray, madam,’ he said, trying to control his breathing.

  She laughed outright. ‘Sirrah, it is you who dragged me into the bushes.’

  ‘If I was to drag you into the bushes, you would not be laughing.’

  She placed a hand flat on his shoulder. ‘No, indeed, I would not. And I trust you would not do such a thing or I would not have let you lead me here.’

  Trust. To have earned it from her made his heart swell. He cupped her face in his hands. ‘You deserve much better than a quick tumble in the dark walks of Vauxhall, my dear. Come. Our supper is ordered. You will give me your opinion on the shaved ham. It is touted by all as their speciality.’

  He put an arm about her waist and she rested her head against his upper arm as they walked back the way they had come.

  As they crossed the brightly lit dance floor, a gentleman in medieval garb, with the cowl of his costume making it impossible to see his face, almost collided with Jasper.

  ‘Look where you are going, why don’t you?’ he snapped.

  ‘I might say the same to you,’ Jasper said coldly.

  ‘Good Lord! Coz, is it really you?’

  Jasper stiffened. ‘Albert?’

  The man chortled. ‘Of all people, you are the last I would expect to bump into at Vauxhall. Well met.’ He peered at Amelia. ‘And who is this lovely? Not Mrs Garnet. Well, well. Are you going to introduce me?’

  ‘Albert Carling, meet Nell Gwyn,’ he said haughtily.

  ‘You old dog!’ Albert exclaimed. ‘Mum’s the word.’ He bowed. ‘I wish you a pleasant evening.’

  He hurried off.

  ‘Damn,’ Jasper muttered. ‘Of all the people to run into us, it would have to be him.’

  ‘You do not want it bruited about that the Duke of Stone attended such a boisterous affair, no doubt.’ She sounded cool and kept her face averted.

  ‘I do not want people trying to guess the name of the lady the Duke of Stone brought to Vauxhall.’

  ‘Naturally,’ she said, but the idea did not seem to please her.

  ‘Amelia, are you telling me you wish to have it known by all and sundry you are here cavorting with me? For, be assured, Albert Carling would be only too happy to dine out on that titbit for a month.’

  Her lovely mouth drooped for a second and then she smiled, but it looked a little forced. ‘You are right, Jasper. It would not do at all.’

  Damn. He should never have come here. It was just the sort of place he could expect to run into Albert.

  He guided her into the box and signalled to a waiter, who immediately brought them a bottle of champagne and two glasses.

  ‘Your supper will be served shortly, Mr Smith,’ the waiter said.

  Amelia stared at him in surprise. ‘Mr Smith?’

  ‘We are incognito, are we not?’

  After a moment’s hesitation, she raised her champagne glass in a toast. ‘Here is to our evening at Vauxhall.’

  Why did he sense an air of sadness in her? But, no, her eyes were sparkling and her lips curved in a happy smile. He was imagining it. This evening was as perfect as he had planned and he was looking forward to taking her home.

  ‘To our evening at Vauxhall,’ he replied, lifting his glass in return. ‘I am so glad to have the pleasure of your company.’

  She started, her lovely mouth forming an ‘o’ of surprise. ‘Jasper, that is the loveliest thing anyone has ever said to me.’

  Anyone? Surely...

  Supper arrived and was laid out between them on a small table. They shared the shaved ham and buttered crusty bread along with a lobster and thinly sliced cucumber.

  ‘The ham lives up to its reputation,’ Amelia said. ‘And the wine is delicious.’

  He poured her another glass. ‘Then we must not let it go to waste.’

  A young fellow dressed as a Roman in a toga made from a bedsheet and slung carelessly over his shoulder leaned into their box.

  ‘Pretty, witty Nell Gwyn, will you grant me this next waltz?’

  The brandy on his breath wafted into the box and Amelia drew back from his groping hand.

  ‘The lady is not interested,’ Jasper said coldly.

  ‘Can she not speak for herself?’ the unruly fellow asked, with a leer.

  ‘I most certainly can,’ Amelia said. ‘While you may be able to quote the great diarist himself, your behaviour is not gentlemanly, sir, and I would be obliged if you would depart immediately.’

  Pride filled Jasper at her lack of fear. ‘You heard the lady.’

  Chapter Eight

  Amelia was beginning to think this little adventure of hers was more than she could handle. First an uncomfortable meeting with Jasper’s cousin and now the belligerent young man who would not leave.

  When Jasper rose to his feet, looking every inch a duke, at least in Amelia’s eyes, the young man muttered an unpleasant curse and backed away.

  She frowned. ‘Jasper, do you know that young man?’

  Jasper shook his head. ‘He is no acquaintance of mine? Do you recognise him?’

  She watched him retreat around the dance floor. Her stomach sank. ‘Oh, dear. I remember now. He is one of Lord Sherbourn’s set. A Mr Cox. And, if I am not mistaken, the person he is talking to, the one dressed in an artist’s smock and wearing a beret, is Lord Sherbourn. Dash it. They are looking this way. Mr Cox must have recognised one or other of us.’

  ‘Are you certain it is Sherbourn? He looks quite the card in that get up.’

  She stifled a laugh. He did look very foolish, though no doubt he
thought himself quite the romantic. ‘I would recognise that cleft in his chin anywhere.’

  But being recognised by Lord Sherbourn wasn’t the worst of it. A sylph-like young woman in the costume of a fairy queen hung on his arm. A costume Amelia had heard described more than once. ‘Oh, no! It cannot be.’

  ‘Cannot be what?’ Jasper said, his gaze narrowing.

  ‘The young fool.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’ Jasper asked. ‘Sherbourn?’

  ‘No. Charity. She is also here.’

  The ducal expression of disapproval settled on his face. ‘I see.’

  What did he see? Dash it. How like a man. It was all very well for him to go to Vauxhall with a woman he did not intend to wed, but it was not all right for his intended to follow in his footsteps. On the other hand... ‘If her papa ever finds out—I need to take her home.’

  Jasper sighed. ‘Let me handle this, my dear, since you will not wish her to know you are here with me.’

  Her stomach dipped. He was right. ‘Oh, dear, this is dreadful.’

  He glared at the party on the other side of the dance floor. ‘Not nearly as dreadful as young Sherbourn risking her reputation. Wait here.’

  ‘No. It will not do. What if someone has already guessed at her identity? We must make it clear to all and sundry that she is here with a proper chaperon and as the guest of the Duke of Stone. There is no other choice.’

  He made a sound of impatience. ‘I would far rather teach Sherbourn a lesson. What is he thinking, risking her reputation that way? Not to mention yours.’

  ‘Mine?’ She laughed and it sounded brittle. ‘How is mine at risk?’

  ‘You may not have noticed, but several of those present have been wondering who it is who has come on the Duke of Stone’s arm. They know we arrived together and dined alone. Once they put two and two together, the whole evening will be turned into a scandal broth.’

  ‘My reputation matters not a whit since I am not in the market for a husband and you cannot mean to throw Charity to the wolves, surely? No one will give you the lie if you say we are a party of four that got split up earlier in the evening.’