A Princely Dilemma (3 page)

Chapter Seven

Surveying the guests ranged around the laden table, Kester nearly groaned. He must have been insane to have suggested a family dinner like this. It would have been better to invite a few extras. Then his family might actually behave itself.

Instead Mama was putting on her best die-away airs over the soup to impress the marquise, who looked completely unimpressed. Guy was sulking because he had been denied his ‘quick word.’ Kester knew what
that
was all about—money. Even if Farnsworth hadn’t warned him, he would have known. Guy assumed that now the family was afloat again, he could apply to his ducal brother for an endless supply of the ready to pay his mounting debts. Well, he couldn’t. Linette’s money was not going to be wasted on idiocy.

Sophie was sulking, too. She had obviously assumed that at least one eligible young man would have been provided for her entertainment.

Briefly he wondered how the family dinner at St James’s Palace was progressing. Had the prince thought about what he’d said? That he needed to give his bride a chance? Would the princess find a single friend at that dinner table beyond poor Malmesbury?

He could only thank God for Farnsworth and Louisa, happily chatting to Linette at the other end of the table. Even if he
did
intend to murder Louisa over that damn gown. How the devil was a fellow supposed to remember to eat when his wife sat glimmering in silver-shot muslin, with a confounded amethyst between her breasts? Had she really meant to—?

‘Severn!’

He turned to look at his mother. ‘Yes, Mama?’

She adopted a wounded air. ‘I’ve spoken to you three times, Severn. No doubt you have more important things on your mind, but…’

Dead right, he did. Such as whether or not his wife had really meant to kiss him when he gave her the necklace? If he hadn’t stepped back…well, he didn’t think that dinner would have been served at all, let alone on time—

‘Severn!’

He jerked his attention back from that blasted amethyst. ‘Sorry, Mama. What did you say?’

‘I was saying,’ said his mother, in a slightly louder voice that had everyone turning to listen, ‘that since your wife evidently prefers her
own
jewels to the family collection, you might give Sophia the pearl set. If not for your father’s death, she would have come out this year, and—well, Severn, the pearl set would be most becoming to your sister!’

Even separated from her by fifteen feet of mahogany, Kester saw the shock and embarrassment on his wife’s face. In that single unguarded instant he saw the insecurity, the hurt. And then it was gone. Hidden behind the polite, demure façade.

‘Of course, if Lady Sophia—’ she began.

‘No.’ He didn’t bother to sugarcoat his words.
Is something wrong? Have I forgotten something?
She was already unsure of herself and damned if he’d permit anyone, even his mother, to belittle her. ‘Those
are
the Beaulieu pearls, Mama. I had them reset especially for Linette. They are
hers
. Until
she
chooses to hand them on to my heir’s bride.’

His wife was simply scarlet, and he could have cheerfully murdered his mother for embarrassing her. He drew a deep breath and beckoned to a hovering footman. ‘Champagne for everyone—a half-glass for Lady Sophia.’

He waited until everyone was served and then rose.

‘To my bride,’ he said simply, lifting his glass. Their eyes met, hers so soft and—damn it—were those tears? Was it so surprising that he’d defend her? Had she really thought that he’d let his mother insult her?

‘Well, I’m sure that’s very pretty,’ said Louisa, setting down her glass. ‘And the pearls are lovely. Just right, Kester.’ She gave him an approving nod. ‘But is it true what Farnsworth tells me—that Princess Caroline arrived this afternoon and the Prince of Wales actually sent Lady Jersey to meet her?’

Kester looked at his brother-in-law, who shrugged. ‘That’s what I heard, Severn. Seems a mad start, but who knows? Prinny can be such a fool at times.’

‘I cannot think why you should say such a thing,’ snapped the dowager. ‘Lady Jersey is a particular friend of mine, and I am sure she is a most fitting person to greet the princess. Why! She is the daughter of a bishop!’

In the light of Sophia’s presence, Kester could hardly point out that, as the Prince of Wales’s mistress, Lady Jersey was hardly living up to her ecclesiastical origins.

Guy, however, laughed. ‘For God’s sake, Mama! She’s Prinny’s mistress, and everyone knows it! Smack in the eye for the bride though. Wonder what she’s like? And can he marry her after Mrs Fitzherbert?’

‘Guy!’ Kester rapped it out.

His brother scowled. ‘Oh, don’t be so stuffy, Severn! Everyone suspects he actually married Mrs Fitzherbert.’

Kester caught his wife’s gaze. She looked stunned. No, unfamiliar with his world, she might not have known. But she probably knew he’d been at the palace this afternoon. Would she say something about that?

‘Poor Princess Caroline, if it is all true,’ she said quietly. Her eyes met his searchingly.l Kester swallowed. Dammit. Did she think he would insult her like that? Take a mistress when without her he would have lost everything?

‘Well, it’s not as though he can possibly be in love with her,’ said Sophia indifferently. ‘It’s an arranged marriage. Everyone knows
that
!’

He opened his mouth to scarify Sophie, but his wife was speaking again.

‘I dare say such things are common,’ she said. ‘That does not make them right. And he could still be polite, even if he does have a mistress.’ Kester blinked at the suddenly fierce note in her voice. ‘She has come all this way, to a strange land to live amongst strangers,’ she went on, ‘away from her family and friends. How hard can it be for a prince to be polite? And…and kind!’ Her chin went up a notch. ‘Even in an arranged marriage, courtesy is important.’

The marquise nodded. ‘
Exactement!
Why, when la Reine Marie-Antoinette came to France,
le dauphin
was most gracious to her. As befitted his breeding.’

Kester had an odd feeling that his wife was not thinking about the martyred French queen. Sometimes you did not have to cross seas or continents to find yourself in regions marked Here Be Dragons.

Chapter Eight

Linnet heaved a mental sigh of relief when the conversation veered from the prince’s impending marriage. Since it was only a family affair they used the small dining parlour and were seated at a round table so the talk could range freely.

She made several efforts to coax Lady Sophia out of her sulks, asking about the plans for her Season next year, but received the most gloomy of replies, amidst bitter glances at the pearls. Sophia expected hardly to enjoy herself at all—how could one, when everyone knew how
low
they were sunk? She would be unlikely to receive as much as a single offer! Since Linnet was aware that a decent dowry had been set aside for Sophia, she knew this was nonsense, unless of course the dowry was not sufficient to compensate for Lady Sophia’s petulance.

Lord Guy was not much better. He supposed he was enjoying town. Not much fun when a fellow was kept so dashed short though. And of course, being in mourning a fellow couldn’t
do
much. Still it was better than being down at Camley Priory. And he had been put on to a sure thing just yesterday, if only Kester would oblige! Not as though
he
was short!

Linnet noted that Lord Guy kept his voice low enough that his remarks did not carry to the other side of the table. She also rather thought that although Lord Farnsworth was chatting with his wife across the table, they were both very much aware of the tenor of Lord Guy’s conversation.

‘
You
could have a word with Kester though, could you not?’ Lord Guy said to her, as though he had only just thought of it.

Lord Farnsworth’s eyes snapped into focus and his mouth opened.

‘No. I’m afraid not, Lord Guy,’ said Linnet gently. She smiled at his chagrined face and looked across to his lordship. ‘Is the dinner to your liking, my lord?’

‘Excellent,’ Farnsworth assured her. ‘Most entertaining dinner I’ve been to in years. You must come to us next week. Meet a few people, eh? Louisa will see to it now that you’re fixed in town.’

‘I should like that very much,’ she said. An invitation. Even if it was given out of family obligation and kindness.

By the time Linnet rose to lead the ladies out and leave the gentlemen to their wine, her head ached. But the drawing room was almost worse than the dinner table.

Lady Sophia opened hostilities. ‘It’s not really so surprising that the prince has a mistress,’ she said, sipping her tea. ‘After all, most men do. Even Kester, I should think. He was very interested in Lady Anne Davison last year. Everyone knew.’

Linnet nearly dropped the teapot into Lady Farnsworth’s lap. She had met Lady Anne, a charming widow, shortly before her marriage. The dowager had made the introductions.

‘What rubbish!’ said Lady Farnsworth. ‘Just a drop of milk, thank you. Sophie, your manners are disgusting! It’s just as well Mama can’t bring you out this year if you can’t hold your tongue!’

‘I do not say that Severn
does
have a mistress,’ said the dowager. She flicked a glance at Linnet, whose stomach churned. ‘But he has certainly done so in the past, and it would not be anything at all surprising if he were to continue to do so.’ Another pitying glance at Linnet.

Linnet forced her features to remain blank. Yes, she had considered this possibility when she had realised Severn was likely to offer for her. Considered it and accepted the likelihood. She had thought she would be able to cope, that common sense would be enough. She had been a fool.

‘Most gentlemen do,’ continued the dowager. She primmed her mouth and sipped her tea. ‘Dear Linette would be well-advised to bear in mind that a
lady
does not notice these things.’

‘Which does not explain how you and Sophia come to be noticing them,’ said Lady Farnsworth dryly.

Her mother glared. ‘I
meant
that a lady does not make a fuss, or fall into the dismals when her husband strays, as he inevitably does.’

‘I can assure you that when Farnsworth takes a mistress, I shall not fall into the dismals, Mama,’ said Lady Farnsworth. ‘I’ll be too busy beating him about the head with his own duelling pistols!’

‘
Really
, Louisa!’ The dowager looked pained. ‘That would be most improper.’

Linnet couldn’t help it; she laughed out loud, despite the aching pain of wondering if Severn would stray.

Lady Farnsworth turned to look at her. ‘I doubt you’ll need them, but Kester keeps his in the bottom of his armoire. Or he used to. If you can’t find them, let me know. I’ll lend you Roger’s.’

‘It is not at all the thing for
madame la duchesse
to be beating her husband around the head,’ pronounced Grandmère. ‘In that—’ she nodded to the dowager ‘—Madame is perfectly correct. However—’ and she looked down her nose in scorn ‘—I think it is most vulgar to speculate upon whether or not
monsieur le duc
has, or may perhaps take, a mistress in front of his bride. At the court of Versailles, such manners would not have been tolerated.’

The door opened and the gentlemen entered. Linnet’s stomach dropped. Had Severn heard any of that? Whether he had or not, she would survive this evening with her head held high. She gritted her teeth and smiled.

‘Tea, Lord Farnsworth?’

Chapter Nine

After bidding his mother and Sophia farewell, Kester looked at Louisa and Farnsworth, who were the only guests left.

‘I suppose you think I ought to be grateful you didn’t make a dash for it an hour ago.’

‘Yes,’ said Farnsworth. ‘I do. Damned grateful. What’s all this nonsense about Prinny and the Princess Caroline?’

Kester cleared his throat. ‘Can’t discuss it. Sorry.’

Louisa snorted. ‘Really, Kester! You must be the only person in town who
won’t
discuss it. Were you, or were you not, at St James’s Palace this afternoon?’

‘Yes. And that’s all I’m going to say.’ He looked over at his wife. She appeared pale, sad. What the devil had the ladies been talking about earlier? When he’d brought the gentlemen up the conversation had died instantly, and Linette had looked as though someone had struck her. ‘Why don’t you go up? I’ll see these two out.’

She looked hesitant, but Louisa spoke up. ‘Yes, don’t stand on ceremony with us.’ She went over and gave her sister-in-law a hug. ‘Cheer up. Mama never behaves at family dinners. Don’t pay any attention to her nonsense—we none of us do.’

‘Which particular nonsense was Mama spouting over the teacups?’ asked Kester as he accompanied Louisa and Farnsworth downstairs. ‘Did it have something to do with the court of Versailles?’

Louisa glanced at Farnsworth, who shrugged. ‘He’s your brother.’

‘True,’ said Louisa. ‘Very well.’ She looked at Kester. ‘Do you, or do you not, have a mistress?’

Farnsworth spluttered.

Kester stopped dead in his tracks.
‘What?’

Grabbing his sister by the wrist, he dragged her down the last few steps and into a small parlour off the front hall, to the evident surprise of the footman on duty.

Slamming the door behind them, he turned on her. ‘What the hell do you take me for, Louisa? A complete—’ He broke off as the door opened to admit Farnsworth. ‘—brute?’ he continued as Farnsworth closed the door.

‘Are you going to kill her, or just beat her?’ asked Farnsworth equably.

Beyond flinging him an irritated glance, Kester ignored that. ‘Are you aware,’ he demanded, glaring at his impossible sister, who had strolled across to peruse the bookshelves, ‘that if it hadn’t been for Linette agreeing to marry me, we would have lost practically everything due to Papa’s damned folly?
Everything.’

‘Slightly more aware than Mama, I should think,’ said Louisa, over her shoulder. She pulled out a book. ‘May I borrow this?’

‘Yes, curse you!’ Kester dragged in a breath, reaching for control. Damn it! He could scarcely think for wanting his wife, worrying that she might be regretting their marriage—how the hell could he possibly want a mistress? ‘And you believe I wouldn’t at least give her my loyalty?’ He wanted to give her far more than mere loyalty.

‘Of course not,’ said Louisa. ‘But Mama planted the seed. Or rather Soph did, and then Mama dropped a load of manure on it and watered it in. You might want to do some weeding.’

Farnsworth looked pained. ‘Such a crude way of putting it, Louisa. May I presume to offer a word of advice, Severn?’

‘What?’ said Kester.

‘Don’t let this take hold. Even if she doesn’t believe it now, every time a woman so much as looks at you, particularly Anne Davison—’

‘Curse it, Farnsworth! I haven’t seen La Davison for months!’ He’d broken off the connection when he’d decided to court the marquise’s unknown granddaughter.

‘—she’s going to worry. Even if you don’t love her.’

‘What the hell would you know about it?’ snarled Kester.

‘Make sure she knows that your loyalty at least is given,’ said Farnsworth. ‘And make sure our world knows that too. Otherwise, they will tear her to pieces.’ His mouth thinned. ‘Just as Princess Caroline will be torn to pieces if Prinny doesn’t conduct himself as a gentleman.’

He went upstairs slowly, thinking. Understandable that the prince resented the situation. He hadn’t been happy about being forced to marry either. But that was not his wife’s fault. Nor was it the princess’s fault. Only a cur, or a spoiled princeling, would take that resentment out on his bride, or permit his family to make her life hell.

Besides, he
liked
his bride. More than liked, if he were to be honest with himself. Only something had gone wrong, and he would have to put it right.

He found his wife in her bedchamber, still dressed, but she had discarded the turban and stripped off her gloves. With her hair hanging down in long soft curls, she looked terribly young and vulnerable. He swallowed. That dratted amethyst was still riding in pride of place. He’d look like an idiot if he challenged a jewel and shot it for being precisely where
he
wanted to be.

‘Oh. My lord. I was about to ring for my maid.’

‘Don’t.’ He thought about that. ‘Please,’ he added. ‘Why don’t you come through to my sitting room? There’s a brandy decanter there and a couple of glasses. If you don’t need one after that evening, I do.’

One thing they weren’t going to need was her maid. He took off his own gloves, stuffed them in the pocket of his coat and held out his hand. ‘Come.’

Slowly she laid her small hand in his much larger one. He drew her up, resisting the urge to kiss her. For now. Instead he led her to his rooms.

‘This,’ he said, turning to face her in the middle of the sitting room, ‘has got to stop.’

She paled. ‘What? I don’t understand, my lord duke.’

He groaned. ‘No. You don’t. I mean this formal idiocy we’ve taken refuge in. It has to stop. I’m damned if I’ll spend the rest of my life being my lord duked by the woman I—’ he cleared his throat ‘—share my bed with!’

She opened her mouth.

‘And don’t call me Severn either. Not when I’m about to—’ He broke off and cleared his throat again. ‘Not when we are private together. It’s Kester.’

‘Kester.’ His name had never sounded so sweet.

‘Yes.’ He reached out to take her hand. ‘Yes, Linette—’

Her hand stiffened in his. ‘That’s not my name.’

He blinked. He might be a duke, but he
could
read, and he’d seen her name written several times, heard her grandmother speak it too. ‘What?’ He drew her over to a sofa and sat down, taking her with him. How the hell had he got her name wrong?

‘It’s
Lin
net, not Lin
ette
.’

The small hand tried to pull away, but he held tight. ‘Why the devil didn’t you tell me, then?’ he asked. How the hell had he been married for a month and not even known his wife’s name?

She blushed. ‘Grandmère always said that Linnet was not a proper name, that Papa was ignorant and Maman must have meant for me to be called Linette.’

‘And did she?’

‘No. When Papa came to her room after—’ she blushed even deeper ‘—after I was born, there was a linnet singing outside. They called me after the bird. Of course Grandmère didn’t like that either—that her only grandchild should be called after a common, drab little bird.’

‘I like linnets,’ he said, caressing her palm.

Her hand trembled. ‘Grandmère said it was not proper for a duchess to be called after a bird either.’

He was beginning to think that Grandmère had said entirely too much. ‘She probably also said that I was not fit to ride in a carriage with the French king,’ he pointed out. His wife’s grimace confirmed his guess, but he left that. He was beginning to get a glimmer as to what might have gone wrong between them.

Grandmère. Here Be Dragons. Had the marquise also said something about how a lady should conduct herself in bed?

He knew Madame had very definite ideas on what befitted an aristocrat. It had not occurred to him that her influence over her granddaughter was quite so strong. Although if she had convinced him that his bride was a young lady of delicate sensibilities who would be disgusted by passionate lovemaking… Damn it to hell! He’d been a fool. Combined with his mother’s attitude…dragons indeed.

‘Do you remember that house party in Kent?’ he asked. He’d found Linette—
no, Linnet
—alone in a parlour. Always before they had been strictly chaperoned, and here she was, alone. All shy, welcoming smiles, she had not repulsed him when he’d taken her in his arms. If he’d kissed her then…

She blushed again. ‘I thought you were going to kiss me,’ she said.

‘I was,’ he said. ‘Completely senseless. But your grandmother came in.’ He’d wanted to kick the prickly marquise into the middle of next week. ‘Would you have minded?’

Her blush deepened. ‘I wanted you to kiss me.’ A pause. ‘That was why I was there.’

Shock hit him. ‘You were waiting for me?’

‘Yes.’ Still scarlet, she hung her head. ‘But I didn’t mean to trap you!’

He touched her chin, lifted it. ‘Bold minx. I had no idea you planned it. And I certainly never thought you were trying to trap me. Not your style at all.’ He frowned. ‘But the next time I saw you…’ He sighed. Her grandmother. The old lady had summoned him, castigated him roundly for endangering her granddaughter’s reputation. Shamed that he’d been essentially caught dallying with an innocent at all, let alone the girl he was rapidly falling in love with, he’d offered marriage on the spot.

If the marquise had shamed him, a reasonably experienced twenty-nine-year-old…

‘I barely escaped your grandmother with my skin,’ he said. ‘What did she say to you?’

‘That my…my behaviour was so vulgar, I would lucky if you could be prevailed upon to marry me. That even my fortune—’

He put his hand over her mouth. ‘Stop.’ Beneath his fingers the tender lips quivered, igniting him. ‘I was not
prevailed upon
,’ he said. ‘I wanted to marry you. You. Linnet Farley. Yes, I had to marry money, but believe me, the knowledge that I would also have
you
—’ He dragged in a breath. ‘I could have waited. Compounded with the creditors. I did
not
have to marry the first heiress I saw if I didn’t like her.’

‘You didn’t?’ Something tightened in his chest at the note in her voice.

‘No. But I didn’t see just any heiress.’ His hand cupped her chin again. ‘I saw you. And I didn’t want to wait. Now…’ He lifted her chin, his other arm sliding around her, drawing her close, close enough that her fragrance slid through him, winding about his senses. ‘We’re going to turn the clock back.’ He undid his cravat in a few careless jerks, tossing it God knew where.

‘What?’ Her breathless voice skimmed his nerves. She was going to be even more breathless before he had finished.

‘I’ve found you. All alone in a private parlour,’ he murmured. Her eyes widened as he shrugged out of his coat. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

Her lips parted.

‘That’s exactly right,’ he said, taking her into his arms and kissing her.

He had kissed her before. Of course he had, and she had liked it. But it had not been like this, all heat and demand. Always before he had been gentle. Careful. Restrained. This was different. Now he was hungry, all fierce possession, taking her mouth with tender ruthlessness, surging within to stroke his tongue against hers. And she felt it; clear to the place between her legs where he would come into her, she felt it as fiery delight, and moaned, stroking her tongue back against his. His arms tightened.

Briefly he released her mouth. ‘Yes.’ His husky voice slid over her senses. ‘Let me pleasure you. Show you.’ And he took her mouth again.

He could do whatever he liked to her, as long as he didn’t stop touching her. Kissing her. Consuming her.

He didn’t. One hand closed over her breast and even through gown, chemise and stays his touch seared her. And where the upper curve of her breast was exposed, his touch lingered, tracing the delicate skin.

He released her mouth, only to murmur her name, and feather kisses over her throat, pausing to lick hotly at the scrambling pulse, then finding the upper curve of her breast.

‘Damned amethyst,’ he muttered, pushing it out of the way. ‘I’ve been thinking all evening about challenging it to pistols at twenty paces.’

‘You have?’ It was a shaky gasp. Amazing that she could think, let alone speak.

‘God, yes. Jealous as sin.’ His hand slid over her waist, lower, lower, until he could slip it under her skirts and skim it up her leg, past her stocking and garter.

‘Say my name,’ he whispered, against her breast.

The insistent knock at the door took some time to really penetrate. It probably only did so because Kester raised his head from her breast and stopped stroking her thigh.

‘Hell and the devil!’ he muttered. ‘Damned servants—you’d think they’d know that when a duke is closeted with his duchess at this hour, then he’s not at home to anyone but her!’

Releasing her, he strode, unbuttoned waistcoat and all, to the door, opened it a crack and demanded, ‘What the devil are you about, Blythe?’

The butler’s murmur was unintelligible, but rather than dismissing him, Kester groaned. ‘Very well. I’d better see him. Tell him I’ll be down in a moment.’

He shut the door and turned back to her. ‘It’s poor Malmesbury. Probably wants to know how I got on with Prinny.’ His gaze lingered. ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can get rid of him. Why don’t you get into bed?’

Linnet gazed dazedly at the door as it closed behind him.
Get into bed?
Whose bed? He’d brought her to his own rooms though, and ravished her half out of her senses. Surely that meant… She drew a deep breath. Yes. She hurried from the room back to her own apartments.