Good Dukes Wear Black (20 page)

And he was determined, now, it seemed, to marry her.

Her mother's reminder at breakfast, however, that she had no choice in the matter had stoked Ophelia's defiant streak. Given a choice between Trent and Goring, she would choose Trent of course. And she liked Trent well enough when it came down to it. It had nothing to do with the man, and everything to do with the circumstance. Willing participant though she had been.

Looking down at the rose she was embroidering, she realized she'd just stitched using the wrong color entirely. Perhaps close work was not the best choice of an occupation this morning, she thought ruefully as she removed the stitch.

She was threading her needle with the correct shade when a brisk knock on the drawing room door made her jump and poke herself with the needle.

“Come in,” she called, ignoring the stinging of her thumb.

As she stood and shook out her favorite deep blue morning gown, which made her feel both attractive and confident, she turned to the doorway.

And froze.

Instead of the Duke of Trent, Lord Goring crossed the room, his hands extended as if to reach for hers.

“My dear Miss Dauntry,” he said, his face a mask of desolation. “I couldn't sleep a wink last night for thinking of your awful predicament.”

Taking her hands before she could offer them, he squeezed. Hard.

“I … that is to say, thank you, my lord,” she said, trying and failing to extricate herself from his surprisingly strong grip. “But I don't think such concern is warranted. And I wouldn't call it a predicament.”

“My dear,” he said, shaking his head at her, “you are far too innocent to realize the repercussions of what happened last night. But I can assure you that reputations have been decimated for far, far less. It is truly a dreadful situation. One that can be resolved if only you will say yes to my proposal.”

Was this not the same man who all but ran from the room last night as soon as things got the least bit contentious?

“I assure you, there is no need for you to intervene, Lord Goring,” she said with more charity for his offer than she felt. “I have an understanding with the Duke of Trent, and I am expecting him this morning.”

But if she'd been hoping for Goring to take the hint and leave, she was sorely mistaken.

“Let there be no mention of that brute's name in my presence, Miss Dauntry,” Goring cried dramatically, actually clasping his hands to his breast. “I fear I am unable to answer for the consequences if you do. I find it quite unthinkable that you can consider marrying him after what he did to you.”

Stopping herself just short of rolling her eyes, Ophelia said, “Not that it's any of your affair, sir, but I am quite happy to marry the duke.”
Instead of you
, she added mentally.

“After he left you soiled, like a handkerchief discarded in the gutter?” Goring said with a shudder. “No, it's not to be borne. Fortunately for you, your mother has convinced me, against my natural instinct to shy away from ugliness, to offer you my hand in marriage.”

“I'm not sure what my mother told you, Lord Goring,” Ophelia said, moving away as Goring moved closer, “but I have no need of your sacrifice. In fact, I'd be quite happy for you to leave me now. Please go.”

But for such a thin man, Goring was surprisingly strong, and when he pulled Ophelia to him, his grip was unbreakable. “Your missishness does you proud, my dear,” he said as he attempted to kiss her.

At that moment a brisk knock sounded on the drawing room door. Instead of leaping away, Goring only held harder.

“Help me,” Ophelia cried, without knowing who interrupted, but desperate for escape. “Please.”

“You have exactly one minute to let go of her, Goring,” Trent said. “Before I ask you to name your seconds.”

Perhaps Goring wasn't the fool Ophelia thought him, because he dropped his hands at once.

That didn't stop him from arguing, however. “It is laughable to me that you should be the one to threaten a duel, your grace, when it is I who am protecting Miss Dauntry's honor.”

Ophelia saw one of Trent's brows rise at Goring's hyperbole, even as he moved to stand beside her, slipping an arm around her waist as she stood rubbing her upper arms where Goring had gripped her.

“Goring,” Trent said in a deceptively languid drawl, “I don't know what sort of arrangement you've made with Mrs. Dauntry, but you may be assured that I have an agreement with Mr. Dauntry that negates yours. So, get out. Now.”

“I'm afraid I cannot do that, your grace,” Goring persisted. “Honor demands that I remain here. If only to prevent you from further damaging Miss Dauntry's reputation. In fact, I could not forgive myself if I were to flee now.”

“There is no danger of Miss Dauntry's reputation suffering a blemish,” Trent said coldly, “if you will only keep your mouth shut.”

“You forget that I was not the only one to witness your indiscretion, your grace,” Goring said with a nasty smile. “Mrs. Dauntry was also a witness. And she has assured me that my suit has been accepted. If Ophelia is reluctant, it is only because she fears angering you.”

“Do not put words in my mouth, sir,” Ophelia said, growing impatient with the man's persistence. “What has my mother promised you that you refuse to be dismissed? Money? A house? What?”

As Goring's face turned scarlet, she realized she had the right of it. It shouldn't have come as a surprise given how quick he'd been to make his escape previously. Even so, the knowledge did nothing to endear her mother to her.

“I … I can assure you, Miss Dauntry,” Goring said, his Adam's apple bobbing furiously, “that any agreement I have with your mother is strictly a business arrangement that does not concern you.”

By this time, Trent, it seemed, had had enough. Carefully he removed his arm from around Ophelia's waist, and walking easily up to the other man, he unceremoniously grabbed him by the cravat and all but carried him over to the door, opened it, and pushed the other man through it.

This done, Trent closed the door and locked it.

“I apologize for using such language in front of you, my dear Miss Dauntry,” he said with a shake of his head. “But, what an ass.”

Unable to stop herself, Ophelia giggled. “He is, isn't he?”

“However,” Trent said, his face turning serious, “I did not come here to discuss Lord Goring.” He began to prowl toward her, and Ophelia felt a small shiver run through her. “I came, as you likely suspected, to speak to your father, Miss Dauntry. And, thankfully, he has given his consent.”

Before she could respond to that, he continued, taking both her hands in his, the touch achingly gentle. “I know we spoke of it last night, but today I wish to make you a formal offer. Miss Dauntry, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I realize we have only truly known one another for a couple of days, but I believe during that time we have proved to be compatible. And there is no question that there is friendship between us.”

If she'd been hoping for a romantic proposal that would sweep her off her feet, Ophelia thought wryly, then she was doomed to disappointment. It was likely not something that the practical, rational ex-soldier turned duke had in him. But there was much to appreciate in his words, not least of which was his claim of friendship between them, which she knew was not something most couples in the
ton
could attest to.

Still, some imp of mischief prompted her to step even closer to him, and lifting her face to look up into his eyes, she whispered, “Do not forget, your grace, that we also have this.” And trembling with nerves at her own boldness, she brought her lips up to kiss his.

She would have pulled away, but Trent was no fool, and slipped his hand up to cup the back of her head and hold her in place even as he waited for her to continue the kiss. Recalling last night's embrace, she pulled back a little, then lightly scraping her teeth over his lower lip, she was rewarded when he opened for her. Fusing her open mouth over his, she tentatively stroked her tongue into his mouth and was soon losing herself in sensation as he kissed her back, met her stroke for stroke.

When he slid his hand up to close over her left breast, she moaned, and it must have awakened something in Trent, because he drew back with a groan, and put a little distance between them.

Both of them were breathing hard as he thrust a hand through his hair. “Zounds,” he said with a breathless laugh, “I think you proved your point there.”

“Then why did you stop?” she asked. “I wasn't very good at it, was I?” She'd known just how untutored she was at such things, but she'd hoped her eagerness would make up for it.

Something like tenderness shone in his eyes as he moved over to her once more. He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “You couldn't have been better,” he said with a sweet smile that made her stomach do a little flip. “But we are under your father's roof. And it would be disrespectful for us to do anything more than kiss here. Not to mention the fact that we aren't wed yet.” His eyes darkened as they held hers. “When I take you, it will be in the privacy of our own bedchamber. Where I can take my time, and there will be no chance of someone disturbing us.”

“Oh,” she whispered.

“Yes,” he whispered back, leaning in to kiss her once on the lips before drawing away. “Oh.”

Just then, a rattling at the door startled them both.

“Ophelia!” Mrs. Dauntry shouted from the other side of the door. “Ophelia, open this door this instant.”

“Let me handle her,” Trent said with a staying hand on her arm, as she'd begun to move toward the door.

“But she's my mother,” Ophelia said in a low voice. “My responsibility.”

“I'm the one she's truly angry with, however,” Trent said simply. “Let me do this for you. I may not be able to slay actual dragons, but the least I can do is handle your mother.”

Perhaps she'd been wrong about him, Ophelia thought as he turned to walk over and unlock the door. That was perhaps the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for her.

*   *   *

After Trent had, as he'd said he would, handled Mrs. Dauntry, he left to petition the archbishop for a special license. Leaving Ophelia with an urgent need to escape the house and her mother's ire, though Trent assured her she had nothing to worry about.

She'd had many more years of experience with her mother than he had, however, so she decided to be safe rather than sorry.

Donning her bonnet and pelisse, she called for the carriage to be brought round and set off to call upon Leonora.

“My dear,” her friend said when Ophelia entered her pretty sitting room. “I wasn't expecting you this morning, was I? I fear this child has wreaked havoc on my memory. I don't know what's happening from one minute to the next some days.”

The two shared a quick hug and Ophelia took a seat on the chair beside the settee where Leonora sat with a book beside her.

“Not at all,” Ophelia said, smiling at her friend's complaint. She knew as well as anyone how pleased Leonora and Freddy had been when she discovered she was with child. Though it was not common knowledge, they'd had reason to believe that she might not be able to conceive. The fact that she had, and not very long after they were wed, was something that had made both the couple and their closest friends incredibly happy. “We had no plans. I simply had some news to share and, to be honest, thought it would be better if I didn't interact with Mama too much today.”

“Oh dear.” Leonora grimaced at Ophelia's words. “I had hoped things were getting better between the two of you. Is she still pressing you to wed the dreadful Lord Goring?”

“Not exactly,” Ophelia said sheepishly. “There's more.”

Quickly she told Leonora about the events of last evening and this morning. Punctuating the tale with gasps and groans where appropriate, her friend actually clapped her hands when Ophelia's tale was complete. “I suspected something when we learned you'd left early with the headache,” she said, bemused, “but I had little notion it was because you'd been caught kissing Trent! Was it wonderful? Of course it was, one has only to look at you to know it was. I am so happy for you! I had hoped there was something building between you, but I never suspected it had gone this far.”

Ophelia was a little bemused as Leonora pulled her into a hug. “I am so thoroughly pleased about this. You have no idea. Wait until I tell Freddy! And Hermione! We must send her a note and ask her to come round at once. We have to make plans for your wedding. You shall have five hundred at the wedding breakfast, at the very least.”

“Slow down, Nora,” Ophelia said with a laugh, feeling rather like a sailor caught in his first hurricane. “We can certainly ask Hermione to join us, but you must remember the circumstances. Something quiet and soon will be more appropriate. Trent has gone to ask the archbishop for a special license as we speak.”

“Oh.” Nora sank back down onto the settee. “Well, you cannot blame me for being pleased. It's such a surprise. And yet, so wonderful. I didn't even realize the two of you knew one another that well before you embarked on the search for Mrs. Grayson. Though of course you've spent enough time together since Freddy and I wed.”

“You're not far off the mark,” Ophelia admitted, feeling a blush rise in her cheeks at the thought of how well she'd come to know him. “I believe I've spoken to Trent more in the past two days than I have in the last several months. But it doesn't always take years to determine whether a man is decent. And we both know that he is honorable and can be amusing when the mood strikes him.”

“And he must be quite the romantic to have wooed and won you in such short order,” Leonora said with a laugh. “Freddy said once that it is easier to get a bill passed in the Lords than it is to make Trent do something he is disinclined to do. So you know that he must indeed want you very badly to go to the effort of stealing you from beneath that awful Lord Goring's nose.”