His Duchess Read online

  The man’s harangue grew harsher. “Why are you out so late? Do you know what time it is? You—”

  “Approximately a quarter past two.”

  At her interruption, his jaw slackened, leaving his mouth hanging open in astonishment. The lapse was momentary as he firmed his jaw and continued his tirade. “Have you any idea how dangerous it is to be abroad so late? There are all manner of scoundrels and footpads running about.” He glanced down. “You are walking your dog?”

  His deep voice might be a marvel for the ears but the condescension coating his tongue ruined the effect.

  “Meow,” Arthur chimed in.

  “That’s a cat?”

  Victoria had been looking down at Arthur and now her gaze rose up, way up, to the stranger’s face. He looked puzzled and suspicious all at the same time. But oh my, what a spectacular face. His hat concealed the color of his hair and the meager ethereal glow of light from the gas lamp prevented her from discerning the color of his eyes, but the set of his features were worthy of notice nonetheless. Definitely worthy of sketching. His jaw, which had been much in motion ever since his approach, was clearly defined, his nose aristocratically straight and, despite his grim expression, his lips looked warm and sensual.

  She had been silent for too long, allowing Arthur to fill the void. “Well, he’s either a cat or I have very cleverly trained my dog to meow.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed as her sarcasm assaulted him. “Which further begs the unnatural question, what on earth are you doing out here alone, walking your cat, of all things?”

  Handsome face or not, Victoria didn’t like his imperious tone, as if he had any right to question her, a perfect stranger. She’d had enough of strange men approaching her this evening, thank you very much. However, she did not wish to argue with an undoubtedly inebriated man in the middle of Grosvenor Square.

  She counted to five before she spoke, drawing in a deep breath, then gesturing behind her. “As you can see, if you look, I am accompanied by a footman. If you weren’t dressed like a gentleman and if you were trying to physically accost me, I am confident Timothy would have already interceded on my behalf.” Victoria turned and nodded smartly behind her. “Wave to the impertinent gentleman, Timothy!”

  The Brownes’ footman raised a hand.

  Very well, if she was truly trying not to incite an argument this probably wasn’t the way to go about it. But truth be told, Victoria wasn’t used to having her actions questioned, at least not by any man. Louisa might order her about endlessly, but generally the rest of the population of the earth, or at least greater London, ignored her as if she didn’t exist.

  Risking a look up at his face, she was disheartened to see he had set his jaw again and whatever color his eyes usually were, they were now very, very dark. She intended to count to ten this time, but as he opened his mouth to speak, she intuitively decided it might be wisest to speak first. Lord knows what kind of proposition she might receive this time.

  “Arthur and I always take a walk in the evening. If he doesn’t have his daily constitutional, he’s wont to howl for the better part of the night, upsetting the rest of the household. If I have no engagement then we usually walk about midnight, but since my presence was required at the Wallingfords’ rout this evening, we are later than usual.”

  Victoria wasn’t sure why she explained herself to this brazen stranger, but she did feel a trifle sorry for her earlier acerbic tone. Relief filled her as his features relaxed slightly. He certainly had a formidable appearance when he was irked but she definitely preferred the more natural set of his face.

  Oh, for heaven’s sake, what was she thinking? Surely he thought her as jingle-brained as Louisa tried to make her out to be.

  “His name is Arthur?” The stranger lowered himself to his haunches and proceeded to pet her cat. Within seconds a loud purr could be heard.

  “Oh, yes, it is,” she confirmed, confounded by the man’s suddenly amiable mood. “He seems to have forgiven you for mistaking him for a canine.”

  “Yes, a little chin scratching and all is forgotten. I pray you will forgive me as well for my rude behavior?” He continued to stroke Arthur and the movement of his long fingers captivated Victoria.

  “I’m sure a chin-scratching would be delightful, but it isn’t necessary to obtain my forgiveness.”

  Drat. That certainly made her sound vacant in the upper storey.

  He rose to his full height and towered over her. Victoria refused to look up at him, but then thought she heard a soft chuckle. Surely not.

  “Meow.”

  Thank God for Arthur. What could be more ridiculous than mooning over a stranger in Grosvenor Square at half past two in the morning?

  “We should be heading home. I do thank you for your concern.” She really wasn’t so thankful for his interference, but it was time to put a polite face on and make her escape.

  “Where do you live?” He wasn’t finished interfering.

  “Somerset Street.” She braced herself for what she instinctively knew would come next.

  “You have no concern for your safety, do you? That’s almost half a mile from here.” The stern lines returned to his face and once again irritation rose within Victoria.

  “We enjoy the exercise. I assure you; I am quite safe. If it will ease your mind I will have Timothy follow at a closer distance, but I truly must be going.”

  She turned back the way she had come and gave a tug on Arthur’s lead, eager to return to her peaceful walk. Eager to be away from yet another exasperating man.

  Within seconds he was by her side, matching his stride to hers. “I live on the east side of the square. I’ll accompany you that far and then I’ll entrust your safety to your footman. It would be wise to have him follow more closely,” he advised, as if she had not just proposed the same idea.

  Her brain froze, as did her feet. If he lived in Grosvenor Square, then he had to be someone very important. Oh no.

  “Who are you?” She realized her rudeness and fumbled for civility. “I mean, I beg your pardon...”

  “I am Taviston.” He gave a quick bow.

  Taviston, Taviston. While the name sounded vaguely familiar, she didn’t usually travel in grand circles, so it told her nothing except that he obviously held a title. Victoria tried to mask the mortification sweeping over her. He was a peer. And yet he had accosted her and been rude to begin with. Her annoyance began to return full force and the mortification died a quick death.

  “And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?” he inquired.

  She weighed her options. She could run and he would never know who she was. She could lie and give him a false name. Or she could throw caution to the wind and tell the truth.

  She shrugged her shoulders, sank into a deep curtsy worthy of the king and said, “You have the pleasure of Miss Victoria Forster.” Turning, she continued walking east.

  CHARLES DANFORTH, SEVENTH Duke of Taviston, once again took up walking beside the foolish woman. Her behavior astounded. Even worse, he couldn’t begin to explain his own. Whatever had possessed him to waylay her in the first place? He had scolded her, a stranger, as if she were a wayward child.

  Victoria Forster. He’d never heard the name before, nor did he ever recall seeing her. Though truthfully, she wasn’t all that memorable. Light brown wisps of hair had escaped a tightly wound bun, but in the gloomy darkness the indeterminate color of her eyes added nothing to her plain-looking face. She was, however, the smallest female he had seen in a long time. The top of her head fell far short of his shoulder. A heavy cloak disguised her figure but because she lacked a bonnet, he noticed her petite facial features. In fact, it was a wonder she could even hear out of ears so small.

  Good God, he was contemplating her ears. He glanced beside him, caught sight of said ear and quickly looked ahead. They had been walking in silence, with the ridiculous cat out in front and Timothy the footman behind, fast approaching his home. The oddest desire to walk her all t
he way to her home crept up on him, but he knew without deliberating the idea overlong that it wouldn’t set well with the independent young lady. Besides, he had wasted enough time being foolish.

  Ignoring the pleasing waft of lavender that rose from the small woman beside him, he said, “This is it.” He halted in front of the steps leading to his door and she did the same. “It has been a most unusual evening, Miss Forster. I do hope you arrive home safely.” He leaned down and gave the silky, dark-furred cat one last stroke. “Good night, sir.”

  Without another glance he climbed the steps.

  Chapter Three

  Well. She had been summarily dismissed. Someone, presumably the butler or perhaps a footman, opened the door from the inside. Lord Taviston, surely London’s most high-handed peer, sailed through the opening and disappeared from her sight.

  “Meow.”

  “Really, Arthur, you need to develop better taste in friends. He certainly won’t do.”

  Victoria continued on a few more feet, but Arthur continued to meow and pull on his lead. She glanced back at Taviston’s door and noted it was closed.

  “Very well, you may come off your lead. But stay with me and behave yourself.”

  Arthur gave no reply to this but sat down and waited patiently while she unhooked the lead. She had just started walking again when she heard the unmistakable groan of a door opening. Victoria gasped and lunged for Arthur, but he was already away, streaking towards the open door of the Taviston home. A footman stuck his head out the door and peered in the opposite direction. Victoria flattened herself against the cool limestone, hoping the shadows provided adequate cover. Timothy followed her lead. The Taviston footman swiveled his head and glanced their way briefly but his gaze didn’t linger. As the fellow ducked back inside, Arthur shot into the house. The servant, unaware of the invader, shut the door quietly and Victoria heard the lock slide home. She stared in horror at Timothy, who lagged too far behind to even attempt to catch Arthur.

  “What should we do, miss?” he asked in a whisper.

  Victoria stared up at the door but knew there was no hope for it. Arthur could be anywhere in that expansive house by now. He had never met a door he didn’t want to go through.

  Resignedly she said, “I will come back for him in the morning. I hope the wretch is happy.” Did she mean Arthur or Taviston? “Let’s go home, Timothy.”

  A SCANT FOUR HOURS later, at half past seven in the morning, Victoria trudged up Duke Street, heading once again for Grosvenor Square. Not accustomed to rising quite so early after such a late night, she lumbered along.

  The better part of her time in bed had been spent thinking of a certain bothersome man, rather than sleeping, which only made him even more irritating. Then, just thirty minutes ago her thoughts had shifted to Arthur. What if someone discovered him and put him out? He could be wandering aimlessly around London right now.

  She could not lose Arthur, the one bright spot in her life. After dressing quickly, she had used five precious minutes to search out Louisa’s copy of Debrett’s Peerage. Panic set her heart racing when she discovered that Taviston was a dukedom—an old and distinguished one.

  Arthur needed rescuing. Mischievous devil that he was, the tomcat wouldn’t hesitate to wreck chaos wherever he went. The last thing Victoria, a penniless orphan of very little consequence, needed was to attract the negative attention of a powerful duke. Such an indignity would not help land her a husband.

  Carrying a large, covered basket with Arthur’s lead inside, she ascended the steps of Taviston House and quietly knocked on the door, hoping not to have to use the gleaming brass doorknocker.

  A stately-looking man with a rim of white hair circling his head opened the door. He asked suspiciously, “How may I help you?”

  “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you. I am Miss Victoria Forster of Somerset Street and last night I lost my cat, Arthur. Well, I didn’t lose him; he managed to disappear inside this house.” Her words tumbled one after the other. “You see, the door opened, and he loves open doors and so he bolted inside before I could stop him. I didn’t want to disturb the household last night, but I hoped perhaps someone had found him this morning?”

  She tried not to appear desperate, though she certainly was. Almost any butler in London would think her daft and turn her away as quickly as possible.

  “Are you certain your cat is in this house?” The duke’s butler looked much as his employer had last evening, puzzled and yet suspicious.

  “Yes. It most definitely was this house he ran into.”

  His mouth thinned as if he were ready to refuse her, but then his fluffy white eyebrows rose like snow-covered peaks over his widened blue eyes. He glanced over her person once and then with a sigh stepped back and opened the door wider. Victoria hid her surprise and darted inside. The first part of her mission was successful.

  She resisted the urge to look around at the sumptuous surroundings and instead gave her most pleasant smile to the butler. “I do beg your pardon...?”

  With a quick bow he said, “Halston, miss.”

  “Truly, Mr. Halston, I am sorry to bother you. I was walking Arthur last night and someone opened your front door, and he ran right inside. I was mortified but decided it would be much better to return this morning to inquire after him. I’m certain he hasn’t caused any trouble; he’s only curious.”

  She hoped she would be forgiven for the lie. Arthur was nothing but trouble. But also quite cuddly and she needed him.

  Halston stood before her with his hands clasped behind his back. Amazingly, sympathy etched his face. “None of the staff have reported finding a cat. How do you propose we find him? I will assist you in any way I can, but please be aware the family are still abed.”

  Keeping her voice as low as possible, she replied, “I understand. That is why I arrived so early. I don’t wish to disturb them with this ridiculous matter at all. If it’s not too much trouble, could you ask the staff if they’ve seen Arthur?” As one of Halston’s bushy eyebrows rose, she clarified, “My cat.”

  “Yes, of course, miss. Might I show you to the morning room to wait?”

  “Oh, no thank you.” Above all, she needed to remain close to the door for a quick escape. She could not be seen by the duke or any of his family. If Louisa ever found out about this... “I’ll wait here.”

  Halston nodded and disappeared down the hallway.

  Victoria now took in her surroundings. The ceiling soared two stories high, an extravagance here in Town. The staircase to the first floor hugged the wall to the right and curved in front of her, leaving the corridors of that next floor open to her view. Beneath her feet, the entry’s marbled floor gave way to a rich meadow green carpet that climbed up the white staircase. Bright yellow and white flowers decorated the console table to her right. The wealth on display here was intimidating, to say the least.

  She had noted in her quick scan of Debrett’s that the duke had not yet married. She wasn’t surprised. He was handsome enough, but his manner left much to be desired. However, Halston had mentioned “the family,” so clearly someone else lived here with the duke.

  Victoria shifted her feet, impatient for Halston to return. Every minute she spent here could spell disaster.

  “Arthur, come, you silly beast,” she whispered in desperation. “Let us not wake the slumbering bear... er, duke.”

  A loud roar, which sounded suspiciously like an irate man, punctuated her plea.

  Blast it, Arthur.

  Chapter Four

  Taviston hadn’t opened his eyes yet, but he knew two things were wrong: it was far too early to be awake and he was having trouble breathing. His chest felt terribly heavy.

  Popping an eyelid up, he found two intense greenish-yellow eyes staring back at him, not three inches from his face.

  He leapt off the bed, flinging the creature to his left and roared, “What the devil!”

  The grey-furred animal landed on the far corner of the mattress, then jumpe
d to the floor. As it walked around the end of the bed, Taviston recognized it as a cat. What kind of household was Halston running that a stray cat ended up in his master’s bed?

  Grabbing his banyan, Taviston hastily donned it and threw open his bedchamber door.

  “Halston!”

  The cat brushed past his leg, strolled a few feet, and then was startled by something. It leapt straight in the air and then streaked down the corridor.

  Hell and damnation. He couldn’t let it get lost in the house. It needed to go. He took off after the blasted creature, attempting to secure his banyan as he went. The feline turned the corner and raced down the stairs to the first floor. Taviston followed, trying not to break his neck going down.

  Despite its girth, the cat was fast. It landed with a thud on the next floor and bolted pell-mell down the corridor. Taviston spared a breath to yell his butler’s name one more time and then sprinted after his quarry. The grey blur was heading down the next staircase toward the entry hall. He continued the chase, determined to capture the intruder.

  He flew down the last turn of the stairs in time to see the cat jump into the arms of one Victoria Forster. Of course. The damned feline belonged to her.

  What in God’s name were she and that ridiculous creature doing here? Had Halston lost complete control of the household?

  Taviston brought his hands to his hips, ready to demand answers from Miss Forster. Instantly a cool rush of air whispered past his nether regions. The lady’s eyes widened and an odd yelp escaped her lips.

  The cat meowed and startled her into action. She shoved the animal into the basket she carried and slammed the lid down on its head. Turning, she yanked open the front door, flung the words “I’m terribly sorry” back at Taviston, and escaped before he could muster a word.