The Duke of Dark Desires Read online

“Jane is my Delilah.”

  “Miss Grey? I wouldn’t have considered her in that light. She seems such a pleasant young woman.”

  “She’s a dangerous temptress. I saw that at once. Secretive too.”

  “How observant you are. I know this is an intimate question but since I’ve become your advisor I’d like to know where I stand. Are you in love with her?”

  “I was, but not since I saw Lady Belinda.”

  Miss Cazalet regarded him with a baffled expression and shook her head. “Why? I do not think you and Her Ladyship are well suited. In short, I think she will swallow you whole and spit you out.”

  Oliver gaped at her. His friends teased him about his inamoratas, but never in such forthright terms. Oliver’s in love again, they would say, but never asked him why. Why he fell in love so often, and why didn’t it last.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “I like being in love, especially when the lady inspires my painting. It never stops me working.”

  Miss Cazalet smiled warmly. “I’m glad to hear it. I should hate to see you distracted from the full exploitation of your talents. I would like to hear your plans.”

  Thrilled to have a willing and receptive audience, he described his religious series and she thoroughly approved his goal of finding subject matter that would appeal to a wide variety of people. “I’m not sure you have chosen the right subjects, however. Samson and Delilah won’t do. Their story is too warm for the new rich, or for the patron I have in mind for you. And a Madonna is all very well for the Old Masters but a modern painter might be suspected of popery. How about a nice English scene? St. George and the Dragon perhaps.”

  “I wouldn’t mind trying a dragon, and there’s plenty of armor here at Denford.” Before his imagination took flight and he tackled the technical challenge of painting metal, he had one more question. “Why do you think I should paint St. George?”

  “My father has the ear of the king, you know. What you need is a royal commission.”

  Oliver stared at this amazing woman, who understood him as no one had in his entire life. “Do you realize,” he said, “that while we have been talking I forgot to draw?”

  “We can’t have that, Mr. Bream,” she said. “Get to work.”

  To their disgust, the Misses Osbourne found their governess only slightly less demanding because of the presence of guests. As the castle became more crowded with every new arrival, Fenella and Laura would have liked to take up permanent residence behind the hall screen, or in the gardens once the fine weather drew the visitors outside.

  Instead Jane kept them hard at work in the schoolroom, as she adhered to her resolution to avoid Louis. Unfortunately it meant avoiding Denford too, since they couldn’t visit each other’s rooms at night. She kept telling herself it was for the best and almost believed it.

  The nursery was not entirely free of visitors. Miss Cazalet had struck up Maria’s acquaintance at dinner and came to visit them several times. Jane’s first impression that she would like her proved correct. Oliver had always availed himself of the schoolroom, especially between meals. He and Miss Cazalet had become friends and were planning a series of paintings. Miracle, she had managed to persuade him that not all canvases needed to be executed in epic proportions but that smaller works would sell better.

  Lord and Lady Windermere arrived late to the party, recently returned from Paris. Their infant son was lodged in the nursery quarters with his nurse. They were amiable and polite to Jane but, like most of their rank, tended to ignore servants. Or if not ignore, at least behave as though their presence was of little account. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop when they came into the schoolroom after a visit to their baby; they failed to notice her sitting in the corner, reading Maria’s latest essay while the girls went riding.

  Lady Windermere knelt on the window seat, set into the thick castle wall. “I had no idea Denford Castle was so overwhelming.” An understandable response to the sight of Maiden’s Keep, a looming presence that might make the occupants feel protected or threatened, depending on their point of view. “It’s so massive and ancient, yet it suits Julian.”

  Her husband, whose most obvious characteristic was a restrained elegance, agreed. “I would not have expected it since he has always been so dismissive of the place.”

  “That’s because he dared not become attached to a house he didn’t feel he really owned. Now that he has come to terms with the Fortescue family he’s becoming more ducal by the day. I wouldn’t be surprised if soon he refuses to speak to us.”

  Her Ladyship’s observation made Jane smile. She had watched Julian grow into his role as duke, just as he had learned how to be a brother.

  The Windermeres sat together in the window embrasure, with every sign of settling in. Jane ought to give a tactful cough, but she wouldn’t have stopped them for the world, not when she could listen to them talk about the man who obsessed her thoughts. Even hearing his name was a pleasure to be relished.

  “He’ll never cut your acquaintance, more’s the pity.” Lord Windermere laughed softly. “Don’t protest, I’m only joking.”

  “Julian no longer has any feelings for me. But he’ll never cease flirting, just to annoy you.”

  “And I refuse to be annoyed.” He kissed his wife’s hand, his dark head contrasting with her blond prettiness. A pang of envy pierced Jane’s breast. Not at the idea of Denford flirting: Of course he did and she was French enough to expect it. But the sight of so devoted a married couple filled her with hopeless longing for such a loving alliance. “Entertaining guests at his castle,” the earl continued, “is the sort of thing a duke should do, but reformed or not, Julian has shown himself true to form in assembling such a strange group. When I asked him why he’d invited the Radcliffes he smiled and told me to expect interesting developments.”

  “I can’t wait. Just as long as I don’t have to spend much time in Lady Belinda’s company. Fortunately she’s quite engrossed by that Frenchman.” Lady Windermere laughed. “Poor Oliver. Have you spoken with Sir Richard?”

  “Sir Richard and I are on the best of terms. Which is to say I never turn my back on him lest he stick a knife into it.”

  “And Lady Ashfield! Why did Julian invite her? She still terrifies me.”

  “I suspect it was the only way he could get Cazalet, and we know why he wanted him.”

  Lady Windermere’s voice turned low and confidential so Jane had to strain to hear. “It’s my belief that Lady Ashfield is trying to make a match between Julian and Henrietta Cazalet, and she may just succeed. Julian seems quite taken with her.”

  “Really? You think he is showing her more attention than he would to any guest who is also a pretty girl?”

  “Why not? He needs to settle down, for the sake of his sisters if no other reason. Miss Cazalet has been spending a lot of time with Miss Osbourne.” Jane froze, seeing the pleasant young woman’s entry into their circle in a new light. “I can’t help thinking she is cultivating the family,” Her Ladyship continued, “and they do share an interest. He’d be hard put to find a suitable bride who knew as much about pictures.”

  Windermere shook his head. “I don’t see it. Julian can’t have changed so much that he would tamely agree to a suitable match. He’s more likely to marry his kitchen maid, just to cock a snoot at the ton, not to mention his relations.”

  “I disagree, Damian. He is different. He has come to care for those girls.”

  Lady Windermere was right. The duke did care for his sisters, and for once the knowledge stabbed Jane to the heart. Fool that she was, Jane had never thought of Denford taking a bride. He would one day, naturally, but long after she had left. It made perfect sense that he would wed for their sake. As a daughter of aristocracy, Jane approved of such an action. As Jane Grey, the idea sent her heart into the toes of her sensible shoes. An irrational loathing for her stout kid footwear seized her when she’d been born to wear pearl embroidered slippers like Lady Belinda. She hated what she had been forced to b
ecome. Hated it. She dipped her quill in the ink pot and corrected an error in Maria’s French with such vehemence that she tore the paper.

  “You may be right about what Julian intends, Cynthia, but not why. He has a reason to court Miss Cazalet and it has nothing to do with his sisters, or any other piece of sentimentality. Cazalet would like to net a duke for his daughter and he may make it a condition for using his influence with the king.”

  “Always the diplomat, my love, and that is not a compliment. I’m afraid you are right about Julian’s motives. Yet I believe it will work out well. Henrietta Cazalet is delightful and they share so many interests. I shall do everything I can to promote the match.”

  “In that case, knowing Julian, you’d do better to leave him alone. Or disparage the lady and he’ll offer for her just to be contrary.”

  To watch Julian court another woman was more than Jane could stand. Was this why she’d barely set eyes on him since his arrival? There were perfectly good explanations, but he could have found a way for them to meet if he wanted it. He was the duke, for goodness’ sake, and all-powerful in this house.

  “Miss Grey! Are you all right?” Lady Windermere started as Maria’s essay floated to the floor, overtaken by Jane’s dropped pen. “I hope we haven’t been disturbing you.”

  Jane scrambled to her feet and picked up the quill, which had sprayed ink over Maria’s pristine composition. “Not at all, my lady. Just a little headache. I believe I shall rest until the Misses Osbourne return.”

  The other woman smiled. “They’re charming girls and do you much credit. The duke made quite a to-do about finding a governess, begging me to interview the candidates, but I can see he did a splendid job. Shall we go, Damian? I wouldn’t want to miss Julian’s tour of the grounds. I intend to ask him lots of difficult questions about gardening. Good-bye, Miss Grey. I trust you feel better.”

  Jane curtseyed and retreated to her room, but she couldn’t resist placing her ear to the keyhole.

  Windermere’s voice drifted through. “Trust Julian to hire such a lovely governess. And they’ve been sharing a house all these weeks.”

  “Shame on you, Damian, for suggesting such a thing. I’m sure Miss Grey is entirely respectable.”

  “But Julian is not.”

  Chapter 16

  It hadn’t occurred to Julian that in a castle the size of a small town it would be so difficult to snatch a private hour—or even five minutes—with another denizen. Not that five minutes would be long enough for what he most craved.

  He’d tried stealing into Jane’s room at dead of night, only to be caught tiptoeing through the schoolroom by Laura, who claimed to be looking for a drink of water. His own room was hopeless: None other than Lady Ashfield had been assigned the rooms adjacent to his, and he feared she had the ears of an owl to accompany her eagle eyes. The last thing he needed was a visit from the nosy old witch when in flagrante delicto. Every room in this wing of the castle was occupied by one of the people he’d been stupid enough to invite to his house party.

  Even a brief interlude of Jane’s stimulating conversation, a quick scolding, a few seconds of her smile, would be better than nothing. He hardly ever saw her. On the rare occasions she emerged from the schoolroom there was never an opportunity when they were both alone. And ever present was his fear that one day she would evaporate like morning dew and he’d have no idea where to find her.

  Two days later, desperate for her company, he requested the governess bring the younger girls down after dinner to join their sister for some music. Desperate indeed if he was prepared to listen to the trio’s singularly mediocre talents. When the party gathered in the Crimson State Room, so called for the color of its turkey carpet and silk hangings, he listened to Lord Cazalet with half an ear while keeping his eye on the door. Jane, or rather the tantalizing absence of her company, was distracting him from the main reason for this party, persuading Cazalet to recommend his pictures to the king for purchase as the core of a new national gallery.

  That evening he’d decided to tempt him with a sample, a good Dutch interior he bought a few years ago and not one of the Falleron pictures.

  “I’ll admit I am intrigued,” Cazalet said. “And impressed too.”

  “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

  “I commend your strategy for whetting my appetite, if that is what it is. But that’s not what I meant. I am impressed by Denford Castle, and I am intrigued by you. You’ve turned out to be a more worthy duke than I would have expected, given your background and history.”

  “I am obliged to you.”

  “Henrietta is impressed too. She says your taste is impeccable. My daughter has an unerring eye for quality since I taught her myself.”

  “The quality of dukes?”

  Cazalet had no sense of humor. “I was speaking of pictures, of course.”

  Julian liked Henrietta Cazalet. Everyone did. She was a handsome girl, clever and agreeable, and shared many of his tastes. Lady Ashfield had chosen well for him except for one thing. She was not Jane Grey. He’d been doing his best to pay her attention just short of unmistakable wooing. He didn’t want to put himself in a position where he was obliged to offer for her, or risk her father’s enmity. Since well-bred young ladies of good reputation were largely outside his experience, he trod carefully.

  “Miss Cazalet has excellent taste herself,” he said. “What do you think of that portrait of the first duke?”

  Cazalet was not to be deflected. “Let me lay down my cards, Denford. I believe you to be a man I could welcome into my family. Naturally, should the pictures be all you say, I would under the circumstances commend you to His Majesty.”

  That was plain speaking.

  He was saved from answering by the approach of the lady herself. “Duke,” she said with a bright smile that had nothing wrong with it apart from not belonging to Jane Grey. “Miss Osbourne tells me that she and her sisters have prepared a special appearance this evening. She asked me if I would play the piano for them since their governess is indisposed.”

  “Unwell? Miss Grey?” He spoke with enough vehemence to draw a curious look from his would-be father-in-law. “My sisters are attached to her,” he said in a more measured way. “I do not believe they would put on any kind of performance if she were ill.”

  “Miss Osbourne says it is only a headache, and I am glad to be of service in her place. I don’t know the Mozart piece Miss Grey was to play, but we agreed that Handel’s Scipio would do as well.”

  Julian had heard that Mozart flooding the London house a dozen times; it was the only piece Jane played even moderately well. Skilled musician or not, he’d rather hear her than Henrietta. The fact that she wasn’t coming downstairs made the evening an utter waste.

  Henrietta took her seat at the instrument and struck a warning chord. The room fell silent, all attention on the double doors at the end. As the notes of Handel’s march poured from the pianist’s able fingers, Maria and her sisters processed into the room. They looked charming in white silk evening gowns with contrasting sashes, but what amazed was the way they walked, if that was what you’d call it. They entered like stately ships, their limbs not making a ripple in their pristine skirts. The progress across the floor was smooth as silk, as though they were propelled on wheels.

  Most of the company looked on with appreciative indulgence but Lord Cazalet’s jaw had dropped. A few other guests also seemed astonished, including Windermere, Radcliffe, and Belinda Radcliffe’s French lover, Louis de Beauville.

  The girls reached the center of the room and halted. Miss Cazalet brought the march to an end and all three of them curtseyed deeply in perfect synchronism.

  “The Versailles glide,” Cazalet murmured. “I never thought I’d see it again.”

  “What do you mean?” Julian asked.

  “It’s the way the ladies of high nobility walked at the Court of Versailles. It is said that Marie-Antoinette learned it from the great ballet master Noverre. How do yo
ur sisters come to know it? I did not think your governess was French.”

  “Miss Grey is English,” he said, not believing it for a minute. A Frenchwoman and an aristocrat too, he’d wager his dukedom.

  Continuing to glide, though Julian now detected a minuscule wobble breaking the fluency of Fenella’s movement, the Osbournes reached him.

  “Can we stop now?” Fenella asked. “My knees hurt.”

  “Hush!” Maria said. “Do not mention your limbs in front of gentlemen.”

  Noticing that Lord Cazalet was listening, Fenella refrained from further argument. Julian guessed that later he would hear an earful from his opinionated sister. He counted on it.

  “How did you learn to glide so beautifully?” Cazalet asked. “It took me back twenty years.”

  Maria stared. “Miss Grey was preparing us for presentation at court. You said yourself, brother, that I would make my curtsey to the queen.”

  Yes, but which queen? Miss Grey had slipped up here, confusing the late Queen of France with Queen Charlotte.

  “We’ve been practicing for weeks,” Laura said. “It’s very hard. Did we not do it correctly?”

  “You did it perfectly,” Julian said. “I’m sorry Miss Grey isn’t well enough to witness the fruits of her teaching.”

  Laura tugged his hand and stood on tiptoe to whisper. “She doesn’t seem very ill to me. I think she’s shy in front of the guests.”

  She wasn’t going to stand it.

  After cravenly excusing herself from appearing in the drawing room while the girls made their grand entrance, and lying awake half the night until her head truly did ache, Jane awoke with her pride in full working order.

  She was a Falleron, acknowledged or not, and she was not going to be treated this way by her lover, even if he was a duke. If he wanted to marry, that was his right and his duty. In the lost world of the noblesse it was not comme il faut to keep this fact from his mistress. The mistress should be among the first to know, and then she would know how to comport herself if she encountered the lady with whom she must, henceforth, share her lover.