An Unsuitable Duchess

Why couldn’t he find a woman among the ton like the American woman who had captivated him last night? Staring sightlessly at his plate, Julian gave a slight start when Hart’s butler cleared his throat.

‘Is there anything else you require, Your Grace?’

‘Actually, Billings, would you see if His Lordship has any lemon curd?’

The butler exited the room as a sleepy Hart wandered in, wearing a black brocade dressing gown. A lock of hair covered his heavy-lidded blue eyes. Hart’s gaze followed his butler as Billings re-entered the room and placed a Wedgwood bowl before Julian.

‘So this is what my breakfast room looks like,’ Hart said through a yawn. ‘I was told you were here, however, I didn’t believe it.’ He dropped into his chair and stared in horror at his friend’s toast. ‘What has happened to the butter?’

‘It’s lemon curd.’ Julian took a bite of toast and closed his eyes, savouring the flavour.

‘I’ve never seen you eat lemon curd before. I did not even know I had lemon curd—and why the bloody hell are you putting it on your toast?’

‘I have no idea.’ Julian took another bite and wiped his lips with his napkin. ‘I woke with the oddest desire for lemons.’

Hart accepted a cup of coffee from Billings and reclined in his chair. ‘So what has brought you to my door at this ungodly hour of the morning?’

‘It’s past ten—hardly ungodly.’

Hart stilled, his cup halfway to his lips. ‘In all the years you have known me, and with all you know about me, do you really think I rise anywhere near this hour?’

‘Point taken. Your coffee is quite good. I do not believe I’ve tasted it before.’

‘That’s because you knew enough not to come here for breakfast. Now, enjoy this pot. I do not expect you to bother me for breakfast again any time soon.’

Julian continued to eat his toast. Lemon curd on toast was exceptional. He licked his lips, wondering why he hadn’t thought of eating it before.

‘What does bring you here?’

Perhaps if he talked about it with his friend he might release some of his frustration. Leaning back in his chair, Julian took a final sip from his cup. Billings was at his side in an instant, refilling it. Hart eyed his butler and the man retired from the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

‘She wants an heir.’

‘Who?’

‘My mother.’

‘That’s no secret. She has made it quite clear that you have been remiss in fulfilling your duty. Is that why you are here at this hour? You have run away from your mother?’

Julian flung a piece of toast at Hart.

‘I say, that was quite undignified of you.’ His friend picked the toast from his chest and bit into it. ‘This is quite good.’ He licked his fingers. ‘Has she selected another simpering chit for you?’

‘Yes, but this time she has spoken to the family, indicating that I have an interest. She has gone too far.’

‘And who is this paragon of the ton she has so carefully chosen to bear the next Duke?’

‘Lady Mary Morley.’

As if he was trying to recall her name, Hart momentarily shifted his gaze. ‘Could be worse. She has the most delicious-looking breasts I’ve seen. They’re so full and tempting. Here—pass the lemon curd over.’ He picked up the bowl from Julian’s hand, dipped his spoon in and licked it clean. ‘See...now you’ve done it. I will not be able to look at Lady Mary’s delectable breasts without recalling this taste.’

‘Would you please focus?’

‘I am!’ Hart took another scoop of lemon curd.

‘On my problem, dolt!’

‘I would if I saw one! You’ve told me you need to marry again. She is a better choice than any of the other chits your mother has favoured. She’s a prime article, appears biddable, and those breasts—’

‘Can we please not focus on Lady Mary’s breasts?’ Julian bit out through clenched teeth.

‘Maybe you can stop focusing on Lady Mary’s breasts. I, on the other hand...’

The pounding in Julian’s forehead was back. The fact that he could not recall any conversation with Lady Mary was not promising, and the thought of educating a girl as young as seventeen about marital relations made his stomach roll.

‘I did not come here to listen to you tell me what an excellent choice Lady Mary would be. Believe me, I am well versed in her virtues.’ He ripped off pieces from a slice of dry toast, trying to hold on to his composure. ‘I’ve danced with her before, but I cannot recall any of our conversations. And I do not believe I’ve ever seen her smile. I mean a genuine smile, not a false one. Have you ever seen her smile?’

‘Can’t recall...probably not. Most of them don’t.’ Hart took a sip of coffee and studied him. ‘I was not aware that smiling was a requirement of yours.’

‘I am simply stating that a woman should be able to smile if she wishes.’

‘I suppose...’ Hart said hesitantly. ‘I don’t understand why you’re so angry. Do whatever you wish. You could run through Almack’s naked, drink brandy for breakfast, wear puce—it would not matter. No one ever questions you. Actually, the brandy sounds like a splendid idea. Do you think I have any in this room? I honestly don’t know the last time I was in here.’

Hart scanned the room for a decanter of amber liquid and turned back to Julian. ‘If the chit is not to your liking, do not pursue her. But I am curious. Why do you continue to say you need to fulfil your duty and find a bride when it appears you do everything in your power to discount all the choices? You do realise the sooner you choose someone, the sooner your mother will stop casting you in a dudgeon.’

He scooped some lemon curd onto a slice of apple and popped it into his mouth.

Why did Hart have to be so insightful? Julian knew he needed to marry soon. As it was, he was thirteen years older than most of these girls—fourteen, in Lady Mary’s case. In a few more years he might be bedding someone young enough to be his daughter.

Julian rubbed his chest. He wished he had more time.

Lady Mary was as good a choice as any for his duchess. Lineage was important, and the Morley family could trace their blood back to the Tudor courts. So why did Julian feel sick each time he thought of marrying her?

Suddenly clever blue eyes and a warm smile filled his thoughts. If only Lady Mary was like the American he wouldn’t think twice about marrying her.

Shaking his head, he resumed slathering his toast with lemon curd.

Chapter Three (#ulink_857d5428-20a7-5251-b1db-80c953d28b7b)

Later that evening Drury Lane buzzed with a multitude of voices as a large crowd awaited the evening’s performance. Katrina found the theatre impressive in size, with three rows of boxes above orchestra level and two additional rows of open seating above. Chandeliers were suspended from each box, illuminating the theatre and making it easy to see its occupants.

Scanning the colourful attendants, Katrina found her gaze was drawn to a box close to the stage in the row above her own. She adjusted her opera glasses to get a better view.

‘I thought English gentlemen were more discreet in their intrigues. Lord Phelps appears rather bold,’ she whispered to Sarah as they sat together in the Forresters’ box.

They both watched as a tall blonde woman turned adoringly to the portly older gentleman as he slid her mantle from her shoulders. Katrina’s eyebrows rose as the cut of the woman’s dress was revealed. The last time she’d seen a dress cut that low, she’d been in Paris.

‘Perhaps that woman is his daughter,’ Sarah said, clearly not believing her own suggestion.