Janice Preston – Daring To Love The Duke's Heir (страница 11)

For the first time he wondered if she had seen him, too, and had purposely swooned to force him to catch her. He cast a look over his shoulder. Eyes like midnight-blue velvet followed his progress from the room. No. He did not believe her swoon was faked—she hadn’t even glanced his way as she stumbled blindly through the group that surrounded him and, if he was absolutely honest with himself, there had been half-a-dozen fellows closer to her than him, any one of whom could have caught her when she swooned.

Except... His jaw clenched as he reviewed his actions. He might not have consciously recognised her but, by the time she collapsed, his feet had already moved him to her side, putting him in the perfect position to catch her.

He paused outside the room, still thinking. His head began to throb. Good grief...he rubbed his temples. He hadn’t even known she existed three days ago, but she’d been on his mind ever since and now here he was—the instant he saw her again—playing the hero like an eager young pup in the throes of first love. He scowled as he scanned the landing. All his life he had avoided any behaviour that might give rise to gossip or speculation. He had always been far too conscious of his position as his father’s heir and the expectations he placed on himself.

He beckoned to the same footman he had spoken to before.

‘Please find Mrs Mount and ask her to attend Miss Lovejoy in the parlour at her earliest convenience.’

He was damned if he’d take the message himself—the more distance he kept between himself and the Lovejoys the better.

The sooner I make good my promise and speak to Alex about her dratted brother, the better.

His enquiry as to Alex’s whereabouts had elicited not only the information that his younger brother had taken a set of rooms at Albany, St James’s, but also that he often frequented the Sans Pareil Theatre, on the Strand, in the company of a group of young noblemen, the new Earl of Wendover among them. He felt a twinge of envy at Alex’s ability to make friends so easily—a trait that had somehow always eluded Dominic.

He returned to the salon. He had no particular urge to rejoin his earlier companions, but he must—he could not allow the other guests’ last sight of him to be of him carrying a swooning female from the room. He made polite conversation for twenty minutes or so and, once he was confident enough people had noted his return, he took his leave.

Too restless to go home and prompted by the events of the evening, he headed for Sans Pareil in search of Alex, determined to discharge his promise to Liberty as soon as he possibly could. From the floor of the theatre he scanned the boxes, finally spotting his father’s close friend, Lord Stanton and his wife, Felicity, Dominic’s second cousin. He ran up the stairs and slid into a vacant seat behind them.

‘Mind if I join you?’

Felicity’s head whipped round and a huge smile lit her face. ‘Dominic! Of course. We’re delighted to see you. But you have missed the play, you know. There is only the farce left.’ Her eyes twinkled. She knew very well that most people preferred the farce to the serious drama, which was why the theatres always showed the farce last in the programme.

‘I’m not here to watch either—I’m looking for Alex. Have you seen him?’

Stanton leant forward, searching the pit below. He pointed. ‘There he is,’ he said, ‘with Wolfe and Wendover.’

Felicity also leant forward. ‘Wendover? Is that the new Earl? Oh, yes. I see—the man with the golden hair? I’ve never seen him before, although I have, of course, heard the gossip.’ She settled back into her seat. ‘Such a dreadful thing to happen—the previous Lord Wendover and his entire family perishing in that fire.’ She shuddered. ‘It’s frightening.’

Stanton took her hand. ‘Try not to think about it, Felicity Joy. You mustn’t upset yourself.’ Then he twisted in his seat to face Dominic and lowered his voice. ‘The entire house was gutted, I hear. It is beyond repair. Wendover will have to rebuild.’

Was that why Liberty was so anxious about money? The knowledge that the family seat would need to be completely rebuilt?

‘Have you heard how the fire started?’

‘The bed hangings in the main bedchamber caught fire. Wendover and his lady were in bed. They didn’t stand a chance—the house went up like a rocket, with all those dry old timbers to feed the flames.’

Dominic suppressed his own shudder. Fire...it was a terrifying prospect, and an ever-present danger with candles and lanterns supplying light and with open fires where an unwary soul might find their clothes catching alight and going up in flames. There were new innovations, with gas lighting now more common in London streets, but there was widespread distrust at the idea of employing the new technology in private homes.

Felicity looked at them, frowning. ‘What are you two whispering about?’ She narrowed her eyes at Stanton and shook her head. ‘You should know better than to try to hide unpalatable truths from me, Richard.’

Her husband laughed. ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said, with a wink at Dominic. ‘But this is not hiding. It is protecting. You know the tragedy that occurred, but you do not need to know the details, my sweet.’

Felicity pouted, then smiled. ‘You are right. As you so often are, my darling husband.’

A laugh rumbled in Richard’s chest. ‘If you believe that last remark, Dom, my boy, you do not know women. Or, more particularly, wives. We men might hold the titles, property and wealth, but, in a marriage, it is the wife who holds the power.’ He captured Felicity’s hands and kissed first one palm, then the other. ‘My heart. Your hands.’

His smile confirmed his happiness at being in such thrall to Felicity and Dominic was happy for them. He was very fond of Felicity—they had worked together closely for years, supporting and funding Westfield, a school and asylum for orphans and destitute children—and he remembered only too well the traumas of the early months of Richard and Felicity’s arranged marriage. Would he be so fortunate in his marriage of convenience? He mentally ran through his shortlist and doubts erupted. Not one of them, from his observations, had Felicity’s kind heart and sincerity. He shifted uneasily in his seat and tried to quash those doubts.

I’m not looking for love. Nor for a comfortable wife. I want a lady suited to the position of a marchioness; someone with the perfect qualities to be a duchess in the future and capable of raising a son who will one day be a duke. Someone of whom my mother would approve and a daughter-in-law to make my father proud.

That had always been his destiny. From a young age, his mother had drummed into him his responsibility as his father’s heir and his duty to marry a lady worthy of the future position as the Duchess of Cheriton. It was the price one paid when one was firstborn.

His situation was entirely different to that of the Stantons.

He dragged his thoughts away from his future marriage to concentrate on the reason he had come to the theatre. If he could set Miss Lovejoy’s mind at rest about her brother, then hopefully he could move on with his plan without distraction.

Liberty’s brother was easy to pick out in the auditorium below, with his hair the same shade as Hope’s—a golden-blond colour, two shades lighter and much brighter than Liberty’s dark honey hue. Dominic watched him. He was behaving much as every other young buck in the pit—whistling and calling at the hapless performers and, during those times the onstage drama failed to hold his attention, boldly ogling the theatre boxes and any halfway pretty occupants. So far, no different to how most young men behaved when they were out with other young men and without the civilising influence of ladies to curtail their antics.

Alex, Dominic was interested to see, was more subdued—indeed, he looked almost bored, gazing in a desultory fashion at the surrounding boxes. He gave every impression of wishing he was anywhere but where he was. Whatever jinks the three young men were up to, Alex was not the ringleader.

Dominic leaned forward. ‘What do you know of Wendover, Stan?’

‘Not a great deal,’ Stanton replied. ‘A gentleman’s son, but his mother was some sort of merchant’s daughter. He attended Eton, but left Oxford early after his father died. He has three sisters and I’ve heard it was a financial struggle for them after their father’s death. He’s a lucky man, inheriting so unexpectedly. Why do you ask?’

‘He and Alex were pally at Eton and I’ve been told that Alex is encouraging Wendover in some wild behaviour. I’m worried Alex will slip back into his old ways.’

‘How old is Alex now?’

‘Five and twenty. Old enough to know better.’

Alex had always been a difficult youth, but Dominic, and the rest of the family, had believed the worst of his wildness was in the past.

‘I didn’t even know Alex was in town,’ said Stanton. ‘I heard Wendover’s new-found fortune has gone to his head and, looking at them now, I should say he is the instigator, not Alex or Wolfe. It is Wendover’s first time on the town—he’s bound to kick out. I shouldn’t worry too much, Dominic.’