The Forbidden Duke (2 page)

“Will you be at all anxious to be in London?” Jo asked.

Nora thought about what she might say or do if she saw the people who’d been so quick to disdain her, or worse, if she encountered Lord Haywood. She shook her head. She was getting ahead of herself. “I may not even end up working in London.”

“If you’re to be a companion, I daresay that’s precisely where you’ll be, especially with the Season starting.”

Yes, that would be the best arrangement. The thought of returning to London—the dinner parties, the promenades, the balls—was a bit daunting, but it would also be a change of pace from the lonely life she’d inhabited in St. Ives. It was also far better than a sheep pasture.

“You’ll write to me every day?” Jo asked, her gaze earnest and intense. “I will write to you too—for support.”

Nora nudged Jo’s arm as they stood side by side facing the stream. She was immeasurably glad to have this one ally. “I will.”

“I wish Mother hadn’t died,” Jo said quietly, her gaze directed at the water, her mouth turned down at the corners.

Nora put her arm around Jo’s shoulders. “I wish that too, but at least we have each other.”

Jo turned a warm smile toward her sister. “We do, and we always will. Even if you aren’t anxious about London, I am. I don’t want to see you hurt again.”

Nora appreciated Jo’s concern more than she could know. She let go of Jo and squatted down to pick up another rock. “It’s unlikely anything like that would happen again—I’ve quite learned my lesson.” She tossed the rock into the stream.

Jo clapped her hand over her mouth. When she dropped it, she said, “You shouldn’t tempt fate like that.”

No, she shouldn’t, but it seemed Nora didn’t know any other way.

T
itus St. John, fifth Duke of Kendal, sat alone in his private dining chamber at Brooks’s, the way he always did when he had to be in town. It was one of the few public activities he allowed himself, not that it was remotely public. Muted harmonies of laughter and conversation drifted to his ears whenever a footman opened the door to bring him his meal or replenish his whisky. He didn’t find the sounds inviting. No, he found them largely grating, which some, who had known him in his youth, would find odd. He’d once been drawn to such conviviality like a bird to a bright, fragrant flower.

As a young buck and the Marquess of Ravenglass before his father’s death, he’d taken advantage of everything his title and wealth could offer. He’d gambled. He’d spent exorbitant sums. He’d developed a ghastly reputation as a rake. He’d enjoyed himself immensely until a series of events had knocked him completely and irrevocably off his self-constructed pedestal. Since then, he’d turned his back on all the things that had once defined him.
 

“Your Grace?”

Titus looked up at the footman who’d entered and saw his stepfather moving over the threshold beside him. “Good evening, Satterfield.”

“Evening, Kendal.” The earl nodded, his nearly bald head shining in the lamplight. “Your mother sends her best.”

His stepmother, but really the only mother he’d ever known. Titus had been just five when she’d married his father, and she’d cared for Titus as if he’d been her own. She’d wed Satterfield nearly seven years ago, after a more than suitable two-year mourning period following Titus’s father’s death.
 

The footman poured a glass of whisky and handed it to Satterfield, then left.

Satterfield joined Titus near the fireplace, taking the chair opposite him. “Your mother also wanted me to harass you about coming to tea tomorrow, but I’m not going to do that.”

Titus arched a brow at him over his whisky glass. “You just did.”

“I
mentioned
it. This will save me great heartache with her as I can honestly say we discussed it. Wives are a complicated business.” He gave Titus a meaningful glance that likely tried to communicate,
You’d know this if you were married
.

Titus’s unwed state was the sole source of strife between him and his stepmother. Every time she wrote to him or saw him in person, she asked when he planned to take a wife. It was an obligatory conversation, one he was certain would take place tomorrow if he went to tea.
 

“Did she ask you to harass me about marriage too?”

Satterfield chuckled. “No. In fact, I think she’s finally accepted your unmarried state. She’s hiring a companion.”

Titus leaned forward slightly. “Indeed? When did she decide this?”

“One of her friends suggested it recently—something, rather someone, to keep her occupied.”

“Isn’t that why she married you?” Titus asked drily. One of the things his stepmother always told him was that if he took a wife, he wouldn’t be lonely anymore. Except Titus wasn’t lonely; he was alone. They were not the same thing.

“There are certain activities I won’t do, even under threat of torture, such as shopping.” Satterfield shuddered. “Your mother adores shopping. Yes, she goes with friends, but a companion will be ever ready, you see.”

Titus did see, and was quite pleased with this development. With a companion to manage, she would leave Titus alone when it came to marriage prospects. Splendid. He picked up his whisky. “Tell her I’ll be at the tea.”

The door opened swiftly and banged backward against the wall. A young chap, his cravat askew, stumbled inside. “This Fitzpatrick’s room?” he slurred.

Titus took in the buck’s disheveled hair and flushed cheeks and judged him thoroughly sotted. “No.”

A second man, a few years older than the first, appeared behind the young man. He clasped the younger man’s shoulder, his eyes narrowed and disapproving as he dragged him back over the threshold. “Christ, Lyndhurst, that’s Kendal’s room,” he hissed. He glanced apologetically at Titus and muttered, “Sorry, Your Grace.”

Titus nodded. “Do close the door behind you.”

“Of course.” The man, the Marquess of Axbridge, Titus believed, all but shoved the drunken Lyndhurst from the room, then closed the door as quietly as possible.

“Does their deference amuse you?” Satterfield asked, looking at him askance. He shook his head. “Bah, I know it doesn’t.”

No, it did not. It was, however, relieving, for it meant they cut him a wide berth. He had no patience for such ninnyhammer antics. When he’d shed his own dissolute behavior, he’d quite lost the ability to tolerate it from anyone else. And Society knew it.

“They’re mostly harmless,” Satterfield said.

“They are not, but I shan’t debate it with you.” Titus had seen firsthand the harm of such careless conduct, but he wouldn’t disclose that to Satterfield. Not when he hadn’t ever disclosed it to anyone. He finished his whisky and set the glass on a table next to his chair. “I believe I’m finished for tonight. Do stay as long as you like.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere you’d care to accompany me.” Titus was on his way to a soiree outside the realm of Polite Society where he would meet several courtesans. He typically spent his first weeks back in London searching for a mistress to keep for the Season. It could be a tedious endeavor, but necessary in order to find the right woman who would warm his bed without making demands, all while behaving in the most discreet manner possible. This was paramount to him. His business was no one’s but his own.

“Just so,” Satterfield said. “See you tomorrow, then.”

Titus left the room, closing the door as he went into the now empty corridor. He made his way downstairs, and the men seated in the subscription room fell silent, save one who loudly whispered, “The Forbidden Duke?”

Titus didn’t turn his head to see who’d uttered his nickname. He didn’t turn his head to acknowledge anyone. He stared straight ahead and left the club, never wondering nor caring what anyone thought of him.

Chapter Two

A
fortnight after sending an inquiry to a London agency, Nora walked into the drawing room of Lady Satterfield’s town house on Mount Street for her first interview as a lady’s companion. She’d arrived via post chaise late yesterday.

Nora took in the magnificence of the drawing room with its tall windows cloaked with gold curtains overlooking the street, a myriad of landscape paintings that gave the space a welcome feeling of the outdoors, as well as gilt-edged mirrors that lent an expansive air to the already large chamber, and three ornate chandeliers, whose crystal sparkled and winked in the afternoon light.

It was as elegant as Cousin Frederick’s had been, yet somehow more comfortable. Or maybe that was just Nora’s maturity showing, that she wasn’t intimidated by a fancy London house. She wasn’t as green as she’d once been.

A moment later, Lady Satterfield entered the drawing room. She was tall, with dark hair and a regal bearing, but also a warm smile that lent her approachability. Nora immediately relaxed.

“Good day, Miss Lockhart. I’m so pleased you could meet with me today. Please, sit.” Lady Satterfield gestured toward a settee, while she sank into an armed chair covered with blue silk.

Nora perched on the edge. “Thank you, my lady. It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“My butler is bringing tea in a moment. Do you know how to pour?”

Nora nodded. “I do, my lady.”

“Excellent. I thought as much, since you’ve been out in Society.”

The countess made the statement without inflection, making it impossible for Nora to infer what her opinion might be of Nora’s past. And she didn’t think for a moment that the agency hadn’t informed Lady Satterfield of Nora’s indiscretions. Nora had been honest and forthright when she’d inquired with them, and they’d been just as direct in their response, telling her that placement might be difficult.

Yet, here she was with an interview.

She rushed to answer Lady Satterfield, even though she hadn’t asked a direct question. “Yes, I was out in Society for two Seasons.” Not quite, but close enough.

“The agency informed me of your past experience.”

Again, Nora couldn’t tell what Lady Satterfield thought of any of it, but Lady Satterfield’s invitation to today’s appointment had to mean that she wasn’t bothered. Still, she’d feel better to have the issue out in the open. “You’re aware of the circumstances under which I left London?”

Lady Satterfield looked at her with…kindness? Yes, her eyes crinkled at the edges and her lips curved into a compassionate smile. “I am, and all I can say is that I’m sorry things worked out that way for you. We’ve all done foolish things in our youth, but most are fortunate to keep them private. Society is most unforgiving when it comes to women. Never mind that the man is at least equally accountable, or in some cases more so. It was Lord Haywood?”

An image of the exceedingly handsome Haywood, an Untouchable, rose in her mind. With his dazzling smile, blond, wavy hair, and golden tongue, he’d quite charmed her nine years ago. “Yes.” She coughed softly to clear her suddenly cobwebbed throat. “I take full responsibility for my actions.”

Lady Satterfield cocked her head to the side. “I admire your maturity. Did you hope to marry him?”

“Foolishly, yes.” Nora didn’t bother trying to hide the self-derision in her tone. “When he pledged his undying love and said he planned to make me his wife, I believed him. At the time, an assignation in the library with my future betrothed seemed a touch risky, but I thought my future was secure.”
 

How wrong she’d been. They’d been caught in an embrace in that library—during a ball—and the occasion had been the
on dit
of the Season. Cousin Frederick had packed Nora back to the country two days later. Haywood, meanwhile, had only been obliged to leave town for the Season; his reputation had been salvageable. He’d even gone on to marry a few years later. Nora, on the other hand, had been utterly ruined. All over a kiss, and not a particularly good one at that.