“Oh.” Jeanne slid from the bed and had to hold the too-long nightdress up as she walked towards the wardrobe. Two gowns hung there. One white with tiny blue flowers, a broad blue ribbon sash, and lace trim. A day dress. She touched the fine, India muslin. The other was a rich blue velvet evening gown with a whisper thin overdress of darkest blue lace. The bodice bore elaborate embroidery and was encrusted with pearls and sparkling clear beads.
It must be a very costly garment. She stepped back and turned to Mrs. Alligood. “Where is my gown from last night?”
“His Grace left orders that it be sent to the dressmaker first thing this morning, so they could take the measurements from it for these garments.”
“This morning? What time is it now?”
“A quarter to four in the afternoon.”
Goodness, had she really slept that long?
“Did they send my dress back?”
“No, they did not, Miss Darling. Please, won’t you let me help you dress now? His Grace does not like to be kept waiting.”
* * * *
“I want to go home now.”
“Now, Miss Darling, I explained.” Mrs. Alligood spoke in tones as if to an impatient and very young child. “His Grace wants you to dress in the other gown and join him later for his evening meal.”
Apparently, it was unthinkable to Mrs. Alligood that anyone would disregard His Grace’s wishes.
“No, I want to leave now. Either call a carriage for me or I shall simply leave and find a hackney.” Jeanne had had her tea and the doctor had declared her fit, as if there had been any doubts. She’d had no time since last evening to let what had occurred with Mr. Ratherford settle in her mind. She needed time alone to think about what she would do next. One publisher had wanted her work; surely there would be others.
So what was she doing here playing at being a duke’s whore? Didn’t she want to prove Dr. Edmonton’s prediction wrong? She was meant for better things than simply being a man’s plaything.
“I shall go tell His Grace of your wishes.”
Startled out of her thoughts, Jeanne frowned and tilted her head. “Is His Grace here?”
Mrs. Alligood pursed her lips, then turned and left without answering.
Well, Jeanne ought to wait and at least tell him thank-you for the new day dress and good-bye. She sat in a wingchair and tapped her slipper-clad foot on the floor.
At the sound of the door opening, she looked up.
David entered and closed it. His cheek bore a reddish mark that had not been there the night before. Determination showed in every angle and sinew of his face. One could well imagine him wearing such an expression immediately before addressing the House of Lords on a weighty measure.
Her heart began to beat rapidly. From the intimidation and nothing else. She would not feel attraction for him. As he approached, she gripped the edge of the chair.
Was she supposed to jump to her feet and give him a curtsey? She wasn’t going to do that either.
“You can’t leave.” He stood and stared down at her. He was so tall. His body was so large, strong, elegantly in proportion…She remembered to close her mouth and pressed her lips together.
She would not feel attraction for him. She would not give in. She lifted her chin. “Thank you for the day dress.”
He smiled slightly. “You can’t leave until you let me feed you.”
“This sense of protectiveness on your part is entirely unnecessary.”
“Ah, Jeanne, you’re so very cool and brittle with me.”
“I simply want to go home. I have much thinking to do now, David.”
He put his hands on the arms of the chair and knelt. Her heart began to beat even faster and she became all the more aware of his large, broad-shouldered frame. By not arising, she had effectively allowed him to block her ability to exit at all.
She glanced at his large hands then gasped. “What happened to your hand? Your face?”
He followed her gaze to the knuckles on his right hand. Two of them bore slight bruises. “I had some business to clear up.”
A little shiver of horror shuddered through her. “Business?”
“With the man responsible for that cartoon.”
“You thrashed him? With your hands?” The sight of his knuckles made her chest ache. What if he’d been hurt? But she was more fascinated that a duke would fight someone with his own hands. Covertly, she flickered a glance over his powerful frame, his well-muscled arms. A little breathless sensation swirled over her. One couldn’t really call it a swoon.
She stared at his hands again.
He chuckled softly, the sinister sound at odds with his normal polished, superior manner. “I warned him not to involve you.”