Dreaming of the Duke (The Dukes' Club Book 2) Page 4

  It was most annoying that her plans had gone so far awry. Her day was already fairly consumed with appointments she had scheduled with her solicitor and a physician, both of whom were expected within the hour.

  Could the day grow any worse?

  Dread formed a formidable pool in her stomach at the impending doctor’s visit. The very idea of an old man probing at her nether regions to ensure a bit of flesh was still in existence was most alarming. But the existence of that intact scrap of membrane was her assurance of relatively respectable freedom and show it she would.

  Her mother-in-law? That was an entirely different and more than slightly harrowing affair.

  Family was not her forté. She had no notion of it or how it operated beyond the furious and often violent fights that occurred between her now deceased parents and the odd, scrabbling relationship she had with her brothers. They were certainly not the picture of ideal domesticity.

  The doorknocker clacked with a piercing tone and she nearly jumped out of her own already sensitive skin. She whipped towards the closed morning room door, her ears seeming to have some magical power of extraordinary hearing in her apprehension. Muffled voices filled the hall, along with the slight clatter of kid booted feet.

  This was the moment then.

  She only prayed the Duchess of Hunt would view her with the same tolerant views the woman had on her own life, and not proclaim her a whore of Babylon. In either case, she folded her hands before her and once again girded her metaphorical loins.

  The butler, Smythe, entered, his face as unreadable as a doctor’s script. “Lady Gemma Eversleigh, my lady.”

  A whirl of cornflower blue ruffles and russet hair blew into the sunlit room. “My sister!” Lady Gemma squealed at the top of her girlish lungs. “At last!”

  Cordelia staggered as the girl hurled herself forward and took her into her long arms. The scent of roses and peppermint candy surrounded Cordelia as did a mouthful of the girl’s curled dark brown hair. Cordy stood still as a post, wrapped up in muslin and enthusiastic youth, waiting to wake up from this completely absurd dream. It was a dream. It most certainly had to be. And yet, her sister held on with remarkable force, bouncing on the balls of her toes in her glee.

  Somewhere amidst all this, the door snicked shut, signifying Smythe’s departure and the fact she was now alone with Lady Gemma. But she had no idea what to do with her. Should she send her flying home or welcome her to tea? Considering she was going to be immersing the Eversleigh family in scandal very soon, home was probably the correct answer and yet, she couldn’t bring herself to shoo Lady Gemma any more than she could kick a rambunctious puppy. Confound it, where was Kate when she needed her?

  Lady Gemma pulled back and clasped Cordelia’s hands, her heart shaped face all smiles. “Oh dear. You’re shocked, are you not?”

  The girl before her had the ungainly body of one who had not quite reached womanhood, but was old enough to be on the verge of desiring all things inappropriate. Twin dimples teased the corners of her pink mouth and her soft blue striped gown was a perfect match for her almond shaped eyes that were very nearly violet. Those eyes shone with absolute enthusiasm, the kind only the very young and those still foolish enough to believe in love exuded.

  Cordy made several ungraceful motions with her mouth which no doubt resembled the habits of certain genus of codfish. “Y-yes. I must admit I am.”

  “Well,” Lady Gemma squeezed her hands, her blue and lace fringed reticule bouncing against their wrists. “The moment I read you were in town, I knew there was only one thing to do,” she bubbled brightly. “You see, my grandmama, the dowager duchess,” the dowager duchess was said in a dramatic and slightly mocking tone, “would never condone the visit. You have quite the reputation, you know.”

  Lady Gemma’s brows waggled and her voice lowered as one’s does when about to confess a dire sin. “So, I snuck out this afternoon whilst she was organizing some charity ball or the other and decided that I must come and see you!

  “Mother is coming later I believe, and I wanted to be the first to welcome you and warn you that though we might seem like a mad-capped and intimidating lot, we are really quite nice and you shall be very happy in our family.” Lady Gemma’s smile dimmed and her white, lace gloved hand flew to her cupid’s bow mouth. “Oh! Am I talking too much? I’m certain I am. Grandmama is always telling me—”

  “Lady Gemma,” Cordelia charged in before the girl kept rattling on, charming as she was. She hadn’t felt this overblown since being held captive by a desert tribe, entertained by the ladies of the camp who could not seem to stop teasing her for her incorrect pronunciations of their native dialect or her odd adaptation of their dress.

  “Yes?” Lady Gemma’s smile returned in full force as did her firm clasp on both Cordy’s unwitting hands.

  In the vast and epic speech, one thing had stood out. Something which alarmed Cordy right down to her little toes. “You read about me?”

  Lady Gemma nodded, her large blue bonnet and peacock feathers bobbling slightly at her eagerness. “Certainly. You’ve made quite a splash.” She hesitated a moment and her lips pouted. “I say, how long have you actually been in London? It was very bad of you not to come see me and leave the calling to my poor self. I’m sure grandmama has already taken note of your poor manners.”

  Cordelia closed her suddenly throbbing eyes, wishing she could sink through the floor and find herself magically back in the endlessly rolling sands and cavernous rocky valleys of Egypt. After all, one of Faisal’s friends had voiced a considerable interest in her.

  If she grew tired of her brothers, she could be a desert princess. She could. She liked fast horses, dry heat, majestic tents decked with every luxury, and she could learn to live without champagne and brandy. Mint tea was delicious and dates were really quite tasty, especially when drenched in honey.

  A lifetime as an old man’s darling, decorated with jewels and given stallions as a sign of undying admiration wouldn’t so bad, would it?

  Hmmm. Perhaps it would. She couldn’t quite imagine herself obeying the rather strict orders that the tribesmen gave to their wives. . . But perhaps—”

  “Your Grace?” Lady Gemma asked plaintively. “Your Grace, are you listening?”

  Your Grace. Those two words sucked the air right out of her. She rarely told people she was a duchess. After all, how did one explain the complete disinterest of one’s husband, the duke? It made for horribly awkward conversations. But for now, she was indeed Her Grace, the Duchess of Hunt. But not for long.

  She forced herself to open her eyes and smile with as much good will as she could muster. Her voice on the other hand wasn’t quite so co-operative and her, “Do sit down,” came out a trifle unbridled. But how often exactly was one ambushed by a sister-in-law of the husband one had only just met?

  Not often, so a lack of collectedness could certainly be forgiven. Couldn’t it? Her mother would say no, but her mother had never been in quite such a strange position. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. . . Cordelia grabbed hold of her thoughts before they were half way to India in the palace of her mother’s infamous Raj. “Please, do sit,” she repeated with a great deal more elegance.

  Lady Gemma finally relinquished her hands, now that she knew she was being asked to stay and took a few steps back and plunked herself onto the pink silk sofa, balancing her wrist on the ivory embossed arm. “Why, thank you.”

  “Tea?” That was what every race in the world seemed to drink when everything went pear shaped. Some did hit the bottle of course, and she wouldn’t mind a tipple herself, but breaking out the brandy in front of Lady Gemma didn’t seem a viable option given its lack of propriety and the fact that this girl, as impressionable and eager as she appeared, would no doubt start swilling the stuff from her exceedingly expensive slipper.

  “Certainly.” Lady Gemma eyed her up and down, her lips pursing in critical thought. “I must admit, my dear sister, I thought you’d be dressed more scandal
ously. Given what I read, you see.”

  Worse and worse. What exactly had Lady Gemma expected? Cordelia in Arab dress, lounging on a cushion, smoking a hookah? She’d done that certainly, but would hardly do such a thing in London. At least, not in the presence of such as Lady Gemma. Now Lady Gemma’s brother, most infuriating man that he was she could only imagine what it might be like to lie on a cushion with him. . .

  That absent heat suddenly bloomed in her cheeks, accompanied by a most shocking tingle that danced along her legs and her stomach.

  Desperately trying to collect herself, Cordelia hurried to the bell pull by the fire and tugged it as mightily as she could without pulling the thing free from the plastered wall. “Where exactly was it that you read about me?”

  Lady Gemma beamed with pride, her chest puffing out, her frills trembling. Who was it who dressed the girl in such frothy child-like concoctions? They should be taken out at first light and made to stand before a cannon. Lady Gemma was far too bold for such foibles.

  “Since grandmama tells me nothing,” Lady Gemma be-moaned, wronged clearly by said grandmama beyond all measure, “I am a devoted reader of all the sheets. A Most Concerned Bachelor writes my favorite papers. Quite scandalous of course, but he discusses anyone who is absolutely anyone, don’t you know. And let me confide to you, you are quite the someone.”

  She’d been mentioned in a newssheet? A scandalous newssheet? Oh, now that was too amusing, if one found being tossed upside down and drowned in the Thames amusing. How in God’s name was she going to convince anyone that she was a virgin when her name was being trampled upon?

  Lady Gemma leaned forward, her eyes widening with a conspiratorial light. “They say you are here to make my brother wildly jealous and that you two will begin a grand passion. Is this true? Oh!” she exclaimed. “I should love it if you did. The only grand passion I have ever seen was my parents and that hardly counts, does it? Do you think you could allow me to watch a bit of—”

  “Lady Gemma!” Even she could barely countenance the idea (not for lack of detail but rather inclination) of a grand passion between herself and Jack Eversleigh, Duke of Hunt.

  Lady Gemma blinked innocently. “Yes?”

  Cordy swallowed, trying to decide how to say what needed to be said to a girl about to be launched upon society. Though launching Lady Gemma was going to be more like launching a Spanish Galleon than a young and proper woman. She couldn’t exactly say, I’d rather be ruined by a whole raiding party than your brother, despite and perhaps because of his obvious skill with women, so she settled with a more careful, “What you are saying—”

  Lady Gemma’s eyes narrowed and she leaned forward so far, she was nearly off the couch. “Then it is not true?”

  “No. It is not.” Cordelia said it with as much finality as she could find within her. Encouraging Lady Gemma was not something she was willing to do. One might find themselves in a full parade being lauded about London as the new Duchess of Hunt if she was not careful.

  Lady Gemma’s eyes widened to two pools of abject tragedy. “No grand passion?”

  Passion? Oh, passion was quite a possibility. There had been one moment when she had been certain Jack was going to kiss her. It had nearly burned her to a cinder that tantalizing and most upsetting moment. The word grand didn’t even begin to describe what her traitorous physique had experienced in his presence. Fire, wicked, blazing fire that would scorch and consume any who was absorbed in its heat was the only way she could think of the way his hands had felt upon her flesh. No wonder half the female population of London worshipped him like the ancient Egyptians had worshipped their all powerful Ra. Which was why it would never happen again, not whilst an annulment was still a consideration. “Definitely not.”

  Lady Gemma flung herself back, all propriety disappearing as she slouched with disappointment. “Then what are you here for, if not to make him jealous?”

  Cordelia drew herself up, prepared to finally begin severing her ties from the Hunt family. She could not tell the truth, that she was here for an annulment, for no one would believe it given her reputation. At least, not until the doctor could give his report. “The only thing your brother could want from a woman of my reputation.”

  Lady Gemma cocked her head to the side, confusion writ upon her pert features. “Which is?”

  “Divorce.”

  Chapter 5

  “No!” This salacious bit of information was clearly too much for Lady Gemma, because she bounded right out of the seat she had only just taken, her whole body aquiver. “I shan’t allow it.”

  Cordelia took a step back at the full force of the girl’s determination. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I shan’t allow it,” she said indignantly, her chin lifting with the same kind of passion one showed to king and country when Rule Britannia was being played by a full military band.

  Clearly, the girl needed to be soothed. Cordy lifted a conciliatory hand. “I know it is quite a scandal—”

  “Ha! Scandal! I say ha again.”

  Hmmm. Either the girl was far more familiar with scandal than Cordy had first believed or another tack was needed, “The difficulty of understanding—”

  “I understand very well, thank you,” Lady Gemma said tightly. “You don’t wish to be my sister.”

  Now, that stopped Cordy. She blinked. When precisely had she said anything of that nature? It also managed to strike a surprising chord. She’d never actually had a sister. Brothers most certainly, irritating souls that they were, but the idea that she didn’t want a sister? She’d always longed to have another female to be that close to, to confide in. Her mother had been an impossibility. A distant, divinely tempestuous creature who didn’t foster anything but awe. “I never—”

  “If you divorce my brother, you shan’t be my sister any longer and I won’t allow it.”

  “Lady Gemma,” she said carefully, a sudden and foolish ache in her heart. Her own family was the oddest hodgepodge with archeology, not affection, being the bedrock which held it together and here, this ferocious girl was clinging onto her steadfastly. She almost wished they could be family. But the type of family Gemma desired was a concept Cordy couldn’t truly understand, not in the way that Lady Gemma did. “There are far more appropriate ladies to be your sister.”

  “Bugger appropriate. I want you.”

  A laugh bubbled out of her throat. She couldn’t help it. The girl standing so tenaciously before her meant every word she said and Cordelia couldn’t help seeing a large degree of herself in the young woman. For when Cordy wanted something, she let nothing stand in her way, and her bullheaded surety was only tainted by the gradually learned bitter truth about the nature of the world and the people in it. “You have no idea as to my character, Lady Gemma.”

  “I am made aware of the most pertinent facts,” she said defensively.

  “Indeed?” Cordy couldn’t stop her brows from rising. If the girl did know, she was quite brave to wish to ally herself with such a pariah. Or at least, a pariah in certain circles. In other circles, she was on her way to being the first gem. Despite her bizarre ways and dress, she’d held Paris in her palm.

  “You are exactly the opposite of what grandmama wants for our family,” she said firmly, her eyes probing with the need to make herself clear, “and so you are exactly what we need.”

  A sigh heaved past Cordelia’s lips. “If the dowager duchess would hate me then it—”

  “Loathe,” Lady Gemma put in.

  Cordy took the word in for a full moment before stuttering, “I-I beg your pardon?”

  “This morning,” Lady Gemma supplied with a twirl of her fingertips. “She read the paper and said she loathed women of your sort and that they were a warning to me, lest I should fall into a similar pattern.”

  A surprising flare of resentment and desire to trounce upon the dowager duchess’s upturned nose rushed through her. Perhaps, if the dowager duchess had come to her aid years ago, her life would not have hea
ded down such an offensive path. But then again, if this was her attitude, she was rather glad she’d been left to rot, digging up petrified beetles. “Oh, she did, did she?”

  “Yes.” Lady Gemma had the good grace to look a trifle ashamed of her grandmama before declaring, “And all I can say is I long to fall into a similar pattern.”

  “No.” She rolled her eyes at the girlish ignorance and romanticism of the bumpy road that was a woman’s independence in a world owned and controlled by men. “You don’t.”

  “Yes, I do. Anything would be better than the endless circle of boring parties filled with boring ladies. But you! You have been the lover of a sheik, a Russian prince, and a French duc.” Gemma let out a sigh of sheer delight, her face rapt.

  That was not actually true. She’d kept company with them as intellectual equals but she had never, ever been their lover. In fact, she’d never even been kissed, so separate from the world of amour she’d been.

  Taking this aspect away from Gemma’s statement, these relationships weren’t even the beginning of the scandalous things Cordelia had done. If Gemma admired such behavior, Jack’s sister was headed for ruin if someone didn’t take her in hand. But who was she to tell the girl she was wrong?

  Society, dictated by men, was designed to steal all the individuality and power from its women, and ensure they were far beneath the lords who controlled them.

  Smythe opened the door and entered with a small, tiered tea tray and behind him Kathryn, Duchess of Darkwell, strode in, her verdant skirts whooshing. A cat and cream smile tilted her lips the moment she spotted their guest. “Lady Gemma! What a pleasant surprise.”

  Lady Gemma beamed. “Your Grace.”

  “Kathryn,” Cordy hissed. “Do you have any idea what is transpiring?”

  Kate tossed back her golden head and let out a delicious laugh. “I do hate to tell you, but you are the talk of the town, my dear. I think you have even replaced me as the most scandalous woman in London.”