Daring To Love The Duke's Heir

Chapter Two

Dominic bit back the sudden urge to laugh. Liberty Lovejoy? What parent would saddle their daughter with such a name? They had no choice over surname, to be sure—he was well aware Lovejoy was the family name of the Earls of Wendover—but what was wrong with naming their daughter Jane or Mary? Liberty Lovejoy—she sounded like some kind of actress. Or worse.

Still...he controlled his amusement and bowed. ‘And to what do we owe the pleasure of your visit, Miss Lovejoy?’

He found himself scrutinised by a pair of intelligent, almond-shaped eyes. They were extraordinary and he found himself being drawn into their depths. They were the dark blue of the summer sky at midnight, with golden flecks in the irises and fringed with thick golden-brown lashes. Tawny brows drew together in a frown and her lips, soft pink and lush, compressed. He waited for her reply, controlling his visceral reaction to Miss Liberty Lovejoy. He was well practised in that art—his position as heir to a wealthy dukedom as well as his honour as a gentleman meant he simply did not indulge in idle flirtations.

‘Your brother is tempting my brother into entirely inappropriate and wild behaviour and I came here to dem—beg your father to stop your brother from leading Gideon astray.’

Her velvety eyes glowed with fervour and he didn’t doubt her genuine concern. His heart sank at the news that Alex might be falling back into his old, wild ways. He had already heard tales circulating about the newly ennobled Lord Wendover and his readiness to sample every entertainment available to a young, wealthy man about town, but Alex’s name hadn’t arisen in connection with them. The last he had heard, Alex was living at Foxbourne Manor in Berkshire and making a success of his horse breeding and training establishment—gaining a reputation for providing high-quality riding and carriage horses.

‘Please be seated, Miss Lovejoy.’ Dominic indicated a chair by the fireplace.

With a swish of her skirts, she settled on the sofa. Mentally, he shrugged. He would allow her that small victory. He studied his visitor as he strolled across to sit by her side—his scrutiny, his pace and his choice of seat specifically intended to ruffle her feathers. A man had to have some fun, after all.

Her gown looked new, but was outmoded by a few years, with its high neck and ruff of triple lace, and he couldn’t help but notice how beautifully it clung to her curves. His pulse kicked, but Dominic controlled his surge of desire for this voluptuous woman. He prided himself on his self-control. In every area of his life. He sat, half-facing her, noting the crease of a frown between her tawny eyebrows and the tension in the lines around her mouth.

‘I trust you have no objection to my sitting next to you?’

He allowed one corner of his mouth to quirk up and was rewarded by Liberty’s subtle but unmistakable shift along the sofa, increasing the distance between them. The faint scent of roses drifted into his awareness—the scent of his late mother, remembered from his childhood—and all thought of teasing Miss Liberty Lovejoy vanished, swamped by a swirl of memories.

His mother had been on his mind more and more lately—ever since he had decided that this was the Season he would choose a wife. It was time to marry. Time to produce an heir. Time to fulfil the vow he had made all those years ago after his mother had died. He straightened, rolling his shoulders back. The sooner he addressed Miss Lovejoy’s concerns, the sooner he could get on with compiling a list of candidates suitable for his bride.

‘Tell me why you believe Alexander to be in any way responsible for your own brother’s behaviour,’ he said. ‘Is he not his own man?’

She drew in a sharp breath but, before she could reply, William appeared in the open doorway.

‘Miss Hope Lovejoy, milord,’ he said.

Dominic stood. A young lady bearing a familial resemblance to Liberty Lovejoy entered the room, her cheeks blooming a becoming shade of pink. Out of habit, Dominic registered her appearance with one sweeping glance. Pretty. Golden-haired. Delicate features. Taller than her sister, with a trim figure, enhanced by the latest fashions. He couldn’t resist glancing once again at Liberty and making comparisons. No. He wasn’t mistaken. It would appear Liberty was a woman prepared to make personal sacrifices to ensure her younger sibling enjoyed every advantage. Was it that same trait that had driven her to come here and confront his father? That took some courage. His opinion of Liberty Lovejoy rose. Just a notch.

He bowed to Hope and directed his most charming smile at her, fully aware it would further vex the still-smouldering Liberty. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Lovejoy.’

Hope would prove popular with the gentlemen of the ton, he had no doubt. And she was fully aware of the effect of her beauty upon members of the opposite sex, he realised, as she rewarded him with a coquettish smile and a swift, appraising glance through her long lashes. A poorly stifled hmmph from Liberty reached Dominic’s ears, stirring another urge to laugh which he manfully resisted.

‘I am Avon. Please be seated.’ He gestured to the place on the sofa he had recently vacated. ‘Your sister and I were about to discuss the reason for this visit. Ah, Betty, Thomas, thank you.’ A maid had come in with a dish of macaroons, followed by another footman carrying a tray bearing a bottle of Madeira and three glasses. ‘Please be good enough to pour the wine, Thomas. Betty—will you sit by the window once you have served our visitors? You may remain until our visitors leave. Thank you.’

Liberty glowered at him, clearly irritated by the implication that her motives for this visit might differ from her stated reason. But, from a young age, Dominic had known his duty was to choose a suitable, well-brought-up lady as his future Duchess and it was now second nature to avoid any risk of getting trapped into an unsuitable alliance through carelessness.

Hope had now settled next to Liberty on the sofa and so Dominic moved to stand by the fireplace while he waited for the wine to be served.

‘So. To continue with the reason for your visit, Miss Lovejoy—you lay the blame for your brother’s wayward behaviour at the door of my brother?’

She raised her gaze from the contemplation of her glass. ‘Yes.’ She bit delicately into a macaroon.

Dominic frowned at her brusque reply.

‘Why?’ Two could play at that game.

The pink tip of her tongue as it rescued stray crumbs from her lips did strange things to Dominic’s pulse rate. Irritated, he willed his body under control. Simple lust—not difficult for a man like him to resist. Yet he could not tear his gaze from her mouth as she chewed in a leisurely fashion, her fine tawny brows drawn together in a frown of concentration.

‘Gideon has never been on the town before,’ she said eventually. ‘He is a...a...greenhead, I think is the word. He is being led astray by your brother, who appears intent on introducing him to every vice known to man.’

I sincerely hope not. Reading the earnestness of Liberty’s expression, Dominic doubted she had the first idea of the full extent of the vices available in London to eager young bucks with money to burn. But he trusted Alex not to return to his past reckless behaviour. Didn’t he? He made a mental note to check up on his brother’s activities. If he felt Alex was in danger of sliding back into his old, wild ways, he would nip that in the bud before their father and stepmother came up to town.

‘I am sure Alex is simply helping your brother to find his feet in town,’ he said. ‘I fail to understand why you feel he needs your protection. What would he say if he knew you had come here to speak to my father?’

Liberty’s cheeks bloomed red. ‘He would object, of course.’

She was honest, at least. His opinion lifted another degree.

‘Then you will do well to allow him to determine his own path. No man would take kindly to his sister trying to control him. I presume you are older than him?’

‘We are twins but, yes, I am the elder.’

‘Twins? No wonder he objects to your interference. Heed my advice, Miss Lovejoy, and allow your brother to be his own man.’

Her lips parted as she inhaled. Her breasts rose, drawing Dominic’s gaze like a lodestone. His pulse quickened and his cravat suddenly felt too tight. The room too warm. He swallowed down his reaction even as he acknowledged that Liberty Lovejoy’s natural, curvaceous femininity was more attractive to him than any of the painstakingly elegant ladies of the ton. He could never act upon such attraction, however—as the sister of an earl and a lady, she was off limits other than for marriage. And she was definitely not marriageable material. Not for him.

He had sworn at his mother’s death, when he was eight years old, that he would do his duty and make her proud of him.

Never forget, Avon—you will be the Duke one day. You must never bring your heritage into disrepute. Make me proud, my Son.

He’d spent his life striving to fulfil her expectations. He had never felt good enough for her while she was alive—other than that one hint of affection he had glimpsed from her, on the day she died—but now, this Season, he would finally prove to her that he was worthy. Besides, it was what was expected of a man in his position, and he owed his father that much, too. His bride must be perfect in every way: bloodlines, upbringing, behaviour.

And Liberty Lovejoy fitted none of those requirements. Not one.

Unsettled and irritated by his visceral reaction to this woman Dominic lowered his gaze to where her hands were gripped together in her lap, her kid gloves stretched taut over her knuckles. He choked back his exasperation. It was not Liberty’s fault he found her so...enticing. Her distress at her brother’s behaviour was tangible and the urge to comfort her took him by surprise. He softened his tone.

‘What your brother is doing is not so very unusual, Miss Lovejoy. Most young men on the town for the first time behave somewhat recklessly. But they soon settle down and I am convinced your brother will, too.’

‘But I must stop him before he squanders his entire inheritance.’

‘Are his debts so very ruinous?’ He would have thought Wendover’s estates were wealthy enough, even after the disaster of last year’s harvest.

Liberty’s lips pursed.

‘I am certain you are right, my lord.’ Hope smiled at Dominic and fluttered her lashes. ‘As you might guess, my sister does have an unfortunate tendency to imagine the worst. We do not know the scale of his debts as Gideon, quite rightly—’ she cast a quelling look at her sister ‘—refuses to discuss—’

‘He is out until all hours and sometimes he does not come home at all.’

The words burst from Miss Lovejoy as she swept her hand through her hair, scattering hairpins and leaving bits of hair the hue of dark honey sticking out sideways from her scalp. Two locks unwound to drape unnoticed over her shoulder.

‘And when he does, he is so...so distant. So secretive.’ Her voice rang with despair. ‘We have always shared everything, but he will not confide in me...the tradesmen haven’t been paid...there is a stack of bills awaiting his attention, yet when I begged him to pay them, all he would say is that he must pay his gambling debts first as a matter of honour. He lost two hundred pounds at hazard last night. Two hundred!’

Her horror at such a loss was clear, but her words convinced Dominic that she was worrying over nothing. Her lack of understanding of the ways of the aristocracy was hardly surprising when she had not been raised in such circles.

‘That does not sound so very bad to me.’

‘Not so very bad? Two hundred pounds?’

He’d intended to reassure her. Instead she was looking at him as though he’d suddenly sprouted a second head.

‘Well, no. The Earldom of Wendover is a wealthy one with properties in Buckinghamshire and Suffolk, if I remember rightly. It can stand a few losses at the gaming tables. I am convinced you are worrying over nothing, Miss Lovejoy. You will see. Your brother will eventually settle down.’

‘But...the tradesmen. Gideon flatly refuses to pay them. He says they can wait. He never used to be so...so careless of other people, but whenever I remonstrate with him, all he will say is that is how everyone in society carries on.’

Dominic shrugged. ‘Many do.’

He did not do that himself. Neither did his father. But he could not deny that many gentlemen considered tradesmen to be at the bottom of the list of debtors to be paid.

‘It is your brother’s prerogative to pay the tradesmen who supply your household as and when he chooses, just as it is the tradesmen’s prerogative to cease supplying such late-paying customers if they choose. In my experience, most tradesmen elect to continue enjoying the patronage of their aristocratic clients for the prestige it brings them.’

‘That is appalling.’

He agreed. It was one of the many habits of the higher echelons of society that he disliked, but he would not admit as much to Miss Liberty Lovejoy as she sat on his father’s sofa passing judgement. She seemed determined to believe the worst of his world, including blaming his brother for her brother’s misbehaviour.

‘Can you not ask your brother to stop encouraging Gideon? Please, my lord.’

Dominic passed one hand around the back of his head, massaging the tight muscles at the top of his neck. ‘Even if I were inclined to speak to him on this, I can assure you Alex would likely do the exact opposite of what I asked of him.’

And, now he came to think of it, that was no doubt the exact reason Gideon was behaving as Miss Lovejoy had described.

‘Perhaps if you trusted your brother to make his own decisions instead of—how did you put it?—remonstrating with him, he would mend his ways that much sooner.’

Liberty surged to her feet.

‘So it is my fault, is it, Lord Avon?’

Dominic didn’t answer, distracted by her curvaceous figure as she paced the room, her skirts swishing. She really was magnificent.

‘If you would do me the courtesy of replying to my point?’

Her voice dripped sarcasm. Furious with himself for ogling her in such an ill-bred manner, Dominic blanked his expression and calmly met her glare. If looks could kill, or even maim, then he would be prostrate on the floor even now. The impulse to prod her further was irresistible. He raised one brow in deliberate provocation.

‘You may have noticed, my dear Miss Lovejoy, that calmness, elegance and poise are three of the qualities most desired in the young ladies of our world. There is a very good reason for that and I would advise you to nurture such traits in your own behaviour.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Only that too much vigour and...er...passion are not the done thing, you know.’

He smiled kindly at her as she continued to look daggers at him.

‘You, sir, are no gentleman.’

‘I am merely trying to give you a hint as to how to go on in society, Miss Lovejoy.’ He folded his arms across his chest, enjoying her chagrin. ‘And, might I add, sarcasm does not become you. Am I correct in assuming that you and your sister will be making your debuts this coming Season?’

Liberty turned to her sister. ‘Come, Hope. We are wasting our time expecting any assistance from His Lordship.’ She glared again at Dominic. ‘I shall write to your father, as you suggested, sir, in the hope that he possesses the conscience you so clearly lack.’

Hectic pink flushed Hope Lovejoy’s cheeks as she shot a furious look at her sister. She stood and smoothed out her skirts, then dipped a curtsy as she smiled apologetically.

‘Do please excuse us for invading your home, Lord Avon,’ she said. ‘Good afternoon.’

Dominic bowed. ‘No apology is necessary. Good afternoon, Miss Hope Lovejoy.’

He then glanced at Liberty and guilt thumped him hard in the chest at the despair that dulled those extraordinary eyes. He stifled a sigh.

‘I shall have a word with Alex and make sure he and Wendover are not getting in too deep, Miss Liberty Lovejoy—’ and her name still made him want to smile ‘—but other than that there is little I can do. Alex will not take kindly to any attempt by me to tell him how to behave.’

Gratitude suffused her features.

‘But I am still convinced you are worrying over nothing,’ he added.

‘I thank you nevertheless, my lord.’

Liberty’s face lit with a more-generous smile than his offer warranted and, before he could stop himself, he found himself responding. He blanked his expression again and crossed to the bell pull. Liberty Lovejoy provoked strange emotions in him—emotions he did not care to examine too closely—but he was reassured by the knowledge their paths would rarely cross. Wendover, as a peer—even a hellraising peer—would find acceptance everywhere, but his sisters, raised in obscurity and with a grandfather in trade, would likely only frequent the fringes of society.

William, thankfully, answered his summons promptly.

‘Please see the ladies out, William.’

He bowed again, avoiding eye contact with either of his visitors, then stood stock still after they had gone, staring unseeingly at the closed door, wondering how one voluptuous, sweet-smelling woman had stirred such unaccustomed feelings within him. He had always kept his emotions under strict control, as behoved his father’s heir. Alex and their younger sister, Olivia—before she had wed four years ago—had always been the lively, mischievous ones of the family, but Dominic had grown up with the weight of expectation on his shoulders. It was his duty to make his father proud, to uphold the family name and to always behave as befitted a future duke.

Also, strangely, he felt compelled to protect his father—a nonsensical-seeming notion when one considered how powerful Father was. But Dominic recalled his mother’s death all too clearly, and how Father had suffered from guilt. Dominic had seen and heard things no eight-year-old boy should ever see and hear and, by shouldering the responsibility of being the perfect son and the perfect heir, he had vowed to shield his father from further distress.

He shook his head, as though he might dislodge those memories and the thoughts they evoked, clicking his tongue in irritation. He swung round to face the room. Betty hovered not five feet from him, having been unable to get past him to the door as he stood there like a mindless idiot, blocking her exit.

He frowned and moved aside, motioning for the maid to leave, his promise to Miss Lovejoy—it had been a promise, had it not?—nipping at him. He would speak to Alex.

‘Betty?’

‘Yes, milord?’

‘Is Lord Alexander currently in residence?’

Dominic did not live at Beauchamp House, preferring the privacy of his own town house when staying in London. He had travelled up to town yesterday from Cheriton Abbey and had merely called at Beauchamp House to warn the staff that his father’s butler, Grantham, would be arriving shortly to prepare the house for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess and to find out what day his sister, Olivia, and his brother-in-law, Hugo, were due to arrive in London.

‘No, milord.’

‘Ask downstairs if anyone knows where he is staying in London, will you please?’

Betty nodded and then scurried past him out of the room.

Chapter Three

That glimpse of kindness in Lord Avon just before they left almost changed Liberty’s impression of His Lordship. Almost, but not quite. That one final concession was simply not enough to wipe out the many black marks against him, and Liberty, crotchety and restless after that interview, was in no mood to forgive. She clambered into the carriage behind Hope and sat down before knocking on the roof with her umbrella as a signal to Bilk to drive on. As soon as the carriage was in motion, Hope swivelled on the bench to face Liberty.

‘I was never more embarrassed,’ she said. ‘Do you never stop to think of the consequences of your actions on me and Verity? Lord Avon is the most eligible bachelor in the ton and Mrs Mount had grand hopes that one of us might catch his eye. She told me the family estates in Devonshire are vast, but now you have ruined our chances because you will never listen to anybody. You always think you know best. Oh! To think! I might have been a duchess.’

‘A marchioness, Hope. Lord Avon’s father is very much alive and well. And do please stop dramatising everything. That man would never seriously consider either you or Verity as suitable...he was utterly contemptuous about us not being raised with the expectations of moving in high society.’

‘But we have our looks on our side. Why, Lord Redbridge called me an Incomparable the other day! And, oh, Liberty! Isn’t Lord Avon the most handsome, well-set figure of a man you have ever seen?’

‘Hmmph. A person might think that, if she cared for the Corinthian type, but he is also arrogant, haughty, conceited—’

Words failed her but, next to her, Hope unexpectedly giggled.

‘He has made you cross, hasn’t he, Liberty? Do you not realise all those words have the same meaning?’

Liberty pursed her lips. ‘Unfeeling. Rude. Superior—’

‘Superior means the same again,’ crowed Hope.

‘Well, we can’t all have a way with words like you, Hope.’

Now Hope was relieved of the necessity to earn a little money by teaching in the local school, she either had her head buried in a novel, or was madly scribbling poetry and plays, while Verity was rarely seen without a sketchbook in her hands.

They were happy to leave the practicalities of running the family to Liberty—a responsibility she had taken on after their parents died, having promised her dying mother that she would look after the family and keep them safe.

‘Well, it matters not what your opinion of His Lordship may be, Libby, for I am very certain he would not consider you as marriageable after the way you spoke to him.’

‘I said no more than the situation warranted.’ Liberty turned aside and stared pointedly through the window as she continued her diatribe against Lord Avon inside her head.

How dare he look down on us? Just because we weren’t raised in the lap of luxury it does not mean we are worth less as people.

She glanced down at her gown. Admittedly, it was not today’s fashion, but it had hardly been worn, and surely it was wasteful not to make use of the gowns made for her five years ago.

At least His Precious Lordship can’t fault Hope—her gown is the very latest fashion!

The carriage pulled up outside the Green Street town house they currently called home. Lord Avon might have tried to divert her by claiming the Wendover estates could stand such losses as two hundred pounds a night—even thinking of such a loss made Liberty feel quite faint—but Gideon’s inheritance did not even include a house in London and his country house needed complete rebuilding, which would cost a fortune, so she was right to worry about money. Someone had to. She’d wager Lord Avon had never had to worry about money, with a father who was a wealthy duke. They were clearly so vastly rich and so elevated on the social scale that ordinary people’s fears simply did not register with them.

Hope jumped from the carriage and scurried to the door, leaving Liberty to follow. As she shrugged out of her pelisse and handed it to Ethel, their housemaid, Hope’s tones of outrage floated down the stairs.

‘And, would you believe, she dragged me to the house of none other than the Duke of Cheriton to confront him about his son’s behaviour.’

Liberty sighed.

‘Thank you, Ethel. Has Miss Hope ordered a tea tray?’