She wondered if his arms would be as strong as they looked, his chest as hard and muscular as it appeared. Which of the womanly feelings that he had awakened inside her would she experience if she was wrapped in his capable arms, held firmly against that broad chest with his lips pressed so lightly upon hers? Would it be the tingling sensation that skipped along her breasts, the warm tightening low in her abdomen that reached all the way down to the core of her womanhood, or would it only be that elusive, magical, and breathless stirring that made her legs go weak and her body tremble?
“What did it matter?” she whispered to herself.
She would never know and shouldn’t even want to know. She was not a part of his social world now and never would be again. Maybe, if her life had been different, if she had been a debutante rather than a chaperone there might have been a chance for her to try to win the duke’s favor and receive that kiss she desired.
Even then, capturing the heart of such a magnificent duke would have probably only been a dream.
A thrilling dream.
My Dear Readers:
I’ve heard it’s never a good thing when a young rake’s wicked ways come back to haunt him. But let’s ask the Duke of Griffin, one of the notorious Rakes of St. James, shall we? With the Season less than a week away it appears all of London Society is in a twitter. While the duke is still trying to live down the ill-fated wager he made years ago, rumors have started swirling around Town that the chickens have finally come home to roost for the embattled duke. And it just may be his twin sisters, Lady Sara and Lady Vera, who bear the brunt of his past misdeeds.
MISS HONORA TRUTH’S WEEKLY SCANDAL SHEET
Chapter 9
Do be patient in all things. There’s a reason “patience” is called a virtue.
MISSMAMIEFORTESCUE’SDO’SANDDON’TSFORCHAPERONES, GOVERNESSES, TUTORS,ANDNURSES
Esmeralda didn’t mind sitting as long as she had something else to occupy her while she was doing it. Which unfortunately she didn’t. No needlework to stitch, no book to read, no foolscap or quill and ink for writing. Just waiting.
And more waiting.
By the hands on the fancy brass clock sitting on an elaborately carved and perfectly decorated side table she knew she’d been at the duke’s house for more than an hour now. It shouldn’t surprise her that he had left her sitting tight. He was a duke after all and she just a lowly worker. However, the master of the house’s tardiness was about to get the best of her usually good disposition.
She, Josephine, Napoleon, and a large overstuffed trunk had been picked up by a handsomely dressed driver wearing a dark red coat trimmed with black braid and shiny brass buttons running up the front panel and cuffs of his sleeves. The carriage was a sleek, black-lacquered barouche with the Duke of Griffin’s seal painted in red on the sides of the doors. Josephine had never ridden in anything as ornate as the coach, and she kept saying she felt as if she were a princess. Esmeralda hated to admit it to herself, but she felt a wee bit like a princess too, despite the fact she thought the lavish conveyance much too grand a ride for a mere chaperone, a girl, and a dog.
Sparks, the tall, portly butler with thinning gray hair and a stern expression on his flat, round face, had met them at the door and had immediately taken charge of the luggage, Josephine, and Napoleon. He’d shown Esmeralda to the drawing room and told her to wait there for the duke, who would be joining her shortly.
That’s where she still sat. Twiddling her thumbs, crossing one foot over the other and back again, rearranging her reticule, pressing the wrinkles out of her gloves, and anything else she could think to do to keep from getting up and snooping around the beautifully appointed room. There were grand paintings on the walls, exquisite figurines on the tables, and large Asian-inspired urns and sculptures of Greek gods and goddesses placed around the room.
Apparently the duke’s idea of “shortly” was longer than hers. Or perhaps the butler never got around to alerting the master of the house that she’d arrived. Whatever the reason for his delay, it didn’t really matter—waiting was a tedious position to be in.
It didn’t help her impatience that she was eager to talk to His Grace. Just yesterday she’d read in Miss Honora Truth’s latest gossip sheet that Lady Sara and Lady Vera may be set upon by some unscrupulous men in an effort to get even with the duke for an astonishing prank he and his friends pulled off many Seasons ago. She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d known that danger was lurking when he’d asked her to step into his aunt’s slippers and chaperone the twins.
If he had, why hadn’t he mentioned it? And was there more she needed to know before the first ball?
Esmeralda touched the lace that covered her hair. She’d already checked it twice since removing her bonnet when she arrived. It seemed to be in place. Checking it gave her something to do.
A fleck of white lint on the skirt of her new dress caught her attention and she quickly brushed it away. While the fabric and cut of the dark gray, lightweight wool wasn’t of the finest quality available, it was more than acceptable for Esmeralda’s position as a chaperone. The pale gray cuffs and satin band at the high waist gave the dress a bit of fashion flare without stepping over the line and into extravagance. She ran her gloved hand up and down her sleeve a couple of times. She’d forgotten how lovely it felt to wear fine clothing. That was another reason to be grateful the duke, no matter how arrogant, had walked into Miss Fortescue’s employment agency rather than another’s.
She’d studied all the notes Lady Evelyn had sent to her, and felt she’d have no difficulty following her instructions—once she could put faces to all the names. There were five young bachelors that Lady Evelyn was especially interested in for the twins and there were several that she didn’t want them to consider or to spend time with at all. Two of the latter were the duke’s friends, the Duke of Hawksthorn and the Duke of Rathburne and part of the trio called the “Rakes of St. James.” That made Esmeralda smile. She couldn’t help but wonder if the duke knew that his aunt wanted the twins to avoid those two gentlemen at all parties.
Just when she thought she couldn’t bear to sit for one more second and would have to get up and stretch her back and legs, she heard a noise coming from the front of the house. She looked expectantly toward the doorway. Someone was humming. She couldn’t make out the whispered words but it was clearly a feminine voice and not the duke or his butler. A floorboard creaked and then another.
Esmeralda kept her gaze glued to the entranceway. Moments later, a tall willowy young lady with shiny brown hair and a pleasing face walked into the room. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Esmeralda.
“Oh,” the young lady said. “I didn’t know anyone was in here.” Her fan-shaped brows drew closer together for a second and then arched up in wonderment.
There was no mistaking that she was one of the duke’s sisters. Not only were her eyes the same sparkling shade of blue as her brother’s, but she carried herself with the same commanding presence as the duke. She wore a simple morning dress that was far from simple. It was exquisite. The fabric was superb quality. The detail of the stitching along the sash at her waist and the band at the sleeves was sewn by someone with a steady hand and a sharp eye.
Esmeralda rose. “I’m sorry I startled you.”
“No, you didn’t,” she said, though it was obviously not the case. “Who are you?”
“I’m Miss Esmeralda Swift,” she said calmly, though for some reason she had a death grip on the drawstrings of her reticule as she curtsied. She hadn’t expected to be nervous, but suddenly she was.
