Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) Read online

  With only a few brief bars of introduction from the chosen flautist who had stepped forward, she launched into a medley of well-loved songs by the English favorite Thomas Arne.

  Her rapturous voice enchanted the whole room as she opened her performance with a Shakespeare song from The Tempest, “Where the Bee Sucks, There Suck I.”

  Aye, and very well, at that, Jason thought wickedly, then he shoved the lecherous memory away with another stab of guilt.

  The music carried Bianca on nimbly into the second tune in her Arne medley, the infamous cuckoo song from Love’s Labour’s Lost, “When Daisies Pied,” a warning to all husbands about springtime adultery from their amorous wives.

  Jason had heard her sing both before, for God knew this was one art he had explored thoroughly. Indeed, it was the diva’s many pointed repetitions of “Come hither, come hither!” in the lyrics of the next song, “Under the Greenwood Tree,” that he had once heeded all too well.

  When the striking blonde finally noticed him there, sitting off to the side and slumping down in his seat to try to make himself smaller, a gleam came into her playful, sparkly eyes.

  Uh-oh. Heart pounding, he prayed Felicity didn’t notice that they were acquainted, but when, next, she performed “O Ravishing Delight,” he couldn’t help thinking it sounded remarkably like some of the noises she had made in his bed.

  Unfortunately, considering the unceremonious manner in which he had ended their brief but torrid affair, Bianca must have been inspired to dedicate her next song to him. She turned around and murmured something to the orchestra, and they all flipped a few pages in their Arne songbook.

  She spun about to face the audience again with a wicked smile stretching from ear to ear.

  Oh, please, don’t.

  Inwardly cringing, Jason refused to betray any outward sign of chagrin, but he held her frank stare as the soprano drifted toward him, took a deep breath, and then had at him, bursting into lively song: “Monster, away!”

  Knowing male laughter rumbled through the rooms.

  Jason didn’t flinch, merely arched a brow and looked askance at the other men, his lips pursed as he ruefully took his comeuppance. Still, he sincerely doubted he was the only chap in the room who had enjoyed her favors.

  At one point, she leaned down and sang the words blithely in his face, just to make sure everybody got the point.

  Every creature,

  Fierce by nature,

  Harmless is

  Compared to thee!

  Even Rivenwood chuckled beside him. “What did you do to her, man?”

  “What didn’t I do to her,” Jason muttered, folding his arms across his chest, though he kept his chin high.

  She sang on, having her fun with him with an air from the Arne opera Artaxerxes.

  Paths explore

  Where lions roar,

  And devouring tigers lie!

  Monster, away!

  “You enjoyed it,” he chided politely for his pride’s sake over her singing, which only made people laugh more.

  Mrs. Brown wasn’t laughing, however. And though Felicity would hardly be surprised to learn of this dalliance, he still couldn’t bring himself to look over at her while his ex-lover publicly serenaded him on what a beast he was.

  Literally.

  But having given him his deserved punishment, Bianca came back over, laughing, bent down, and kissed him on the cheek, letting bygones be bygones.

  “Miss me?” she whispered.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. She smiled, straightened up, and, while turning away, winked at Rivenwood—rich as he was. Always on the lookout for a new keeper, her sort.

  Then she flounced away to resume the program as planned. As she returned to her spot, the sustained cheering and applause from the female segment of the audience, rewarding her for taunting him, was quite loud.

  Jason finally scraped up his courage to glance over at Felicity. She shook her head at him with a chuckle, looking at once amused and rather irked, but far from shocked.

  He sent her a shrug.

  To conclude Bianca’s performance at the Pelletiers’ famous annual musicale, she quieted things down with one of Arne’s most charming, melodic confections on the subject of love, “O Come, O Come, My Dearest.”

  O come, o come, my dearest,

  And hither bring

  Thy lips adorn’d

  With all the blooming spring…

  Sitting very still, Jason pondered the lyrics just enough to wonder what an innocent love of the sort the song described would be like. Something sweet and clean rather than something deliberately dirty.

  …Heal me with kisses,

  Or else I die…

  The Pelletiers’ house fairly shook with applause when she finished. Then came the true test of his nerves…

  It was not going to be an easy thing to face Felicity after that, but he was determined to brazen it out.

  He rose from his chair, still feeling like a fool, and went over to Felicity before she was swarmed by all her new admirers.

  “Well, that was lovely,” she declared as he approached, still dreading her disapproval. He could barely hear her over the din of the crowd. “They are all so talented! Thank you for securing me an invitation.”

  “Absolutely,” he blurted out, startled by her lack of reproach. “Er, where’s Mrs. Brown?” he asked, feeling slightly disoriented.

  “She went to say goodbye to a couple of her friends.”

  He tried to hide his disappointment at the news that they were leaving. “You’re not staying for the supper?”

  “Alas, Mrs. Brown has had enough. And I think it’s probably best that I withdraw now, since I’m still in mourning.”

  “Maybe I shall go home, too,” he said with a sigh.

  “Early night for you, I’d imagine.”

  “I’ve had enough humiliation for one night, thanks,” he said dryly.

  “Humiliation? On the contrary, Your Grace. I think every man here is jealous of your conquest.” She paused a beat. “I could do with some air. Will you walk me out to wait for our carriage?”

  “Gladly. Ladies first.” He gestured to her to walk ahead of him, and they both ignored the curious glances as they left together, going down the grand staircase to the ground floor.

  He glanced uncertainly at her as they stepped out in front of the house, where some other guests had taken refuge in the damp night, having a stretch, or getting some air. A few men were lighting up cheroots, while several women tugged their paisley shawls around their shoulders.

  The wind had died down but the streets were wet, reflecting the gleam of the lanterns and streetlamps lining Moonlight Square. Across the street, raindrops dripped from the leaves of the trees in the garden square.

  Felicity sent a servant running to tell her driver to bring her carriage round, then she turned to him. They exchanged a smile and waited.

  Jason tried not to stare at her overmuch. “You caused quite a sensation here tonight, you know,” he told her in a low tone.

  She smiled idly. “It doesn’t signify. It’s not me they want; it’s Lady Kirby’s fortune.”

  “It’s both,” he warned, though in her brother’s absence, he had already made up his mind to monitor possible suitors for whatever designs they might have on her.

  She shook her head. “I doubt it. I’ve been here all the time and they never even noticed me.” She paused, clutching the handle of her reticule with both hands. “Do you know any of those gentlemen?”

  “Some.”

  “Hmm.” She nodded and gazed off down the street, then eyed him shrewdly. “You’ll have to warn me which ones to avoid.”

  “You’d trust my judgment?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  He floundered, the polite smile fading from his lips. “What must you think of me,” he ventured.

  “Ah, you mean the little serenade?”

  He sent her a penitent nod and dropped his gaze.

  She smile
d almost tenderly and shrugged the matter off, much to his amazement. “She may think you a beast, Jason. No doubt you gave her cause. But you’ve never been that way with me, have you?”

  He nodded his thanks at that much-needed acknowledgment, but being Felicity, put on this earth to torture him, of course, she couldn’t leave it at that.

  A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she flicked a speculative glance over him and added, “Would it were not so.”

  He nearly fell over, then averted his eyes, his heart pounding. He risked another wary look her way once his sardonic mask was firmly in place again, arching a brow as he tried to read her, but damned if he knew how else to respond.

  Felicity laughed, blushed, and quickly changed the subject, as though remembering belatedly how things had gone the last time she had tried to flirt with him.

  That was eight years ago, however, when she had been a budding little nymph instead of the ripened beauty now standing before him.

  His lust rose fiercely in him again without warning, but Felicity had dropped her gaze, fleeing back to being demure after that quick flash of letting her desire show.

  “Speaking as a friend, merely out of concern for you, of course, I don’t approve of your womanizing ways,” she admitted hesitantly. “But you are a grown man. It’s your life, and the lady is old enough to know what she’s doing.”

  He was silent, his head rather spinning with the intensity of whatever this was between them. Something far more delicate—and complicated—than what he was used to with women.

  Felicity lifted her head and passed a glance of cautious study over his face, and then a half-smile curved her lips. “You look shocked, Jason,” she murmured. “Did you expect me to have a fit of the vapors and faint over that little musical reminder of how many paramours you’ve had? Even after I caught you with those two unspeakable females the other morning?”

  He could barely speak. “I’m…not sure what I expected, actually.”

  “Come, I have known you all my life, don’t forget. I know your flaws. And your virtues,” she added with a decisive nod.

  He simply scoffed. “Virtues.”

  “Oh, they exist, beneath the roguery, I daresay,” she said in soft humor. “You’re kind and loyal and generous, and you have a measure of humility, where most in your position would exhibit only arrogance. But don’t worry. I shan’t tell anyone.” She patted him on the arm, while he stood there in tongue-tied confusion at her praise. “Your reputation as a rake of the first order is in no danger. Mrs. Brown, for her part, still thoroughly disapproves of you, if it helps to soothe your vanity.”

  “Humph. Yes. Good,” he said in wry distraction. “She’d better. I worked hard to earn my dreadful reputation.”

  “Oh, I know!” she said, laughing.

  Just then, a wheedling voice called to him from the darkness. “Your Grace? A-begging your pardon, it is I, Giovanelli.”

  Jason looked over in surprise as the Italian stepped into view, dressed as though he had just come from the opera, in a showy blue velvet coat and white breeches. But he humbly clutched his flattened bicorne hat in both hands.

  “Hmm. Good evening, Giovanelli,” Jason said, moving toward him. “Didn’t expect you to show your face here tonight.”

  The sardonic greeting made the poor fellow wince. “Si, but I only came to learn how Herr Schroeder’s nocturne was received and to offer Your Grace my apologies once again. The muse, she is a-so difficult. I so hope the evening was not ruined?”

  “Never fear, Herr Schroeder saved the day,” Jason drawled.

  Giovanelli clapped his hands together as in prayer. “Maria Santissima, I am so relieved to hear this! He showed me the sheet music. De nocturne, it is enchanting!”

  “We thought so, too,” Jason replied.

  “I am glad. But, still,” the Italian said, wincing, “I know how disappointed Your Grace must be in me. I am unworthy—”

  “Now, now, don’t start that again, my good man. You know I’ve no patience for groveling. I am sure you will dazzle the world in due time.”

  Giovanelli looked astonished at the leniency he was being given. Frankly, the Italian had Felicity to thank. For with Miss Carvel present, Naughty Netherford was always on his best behavior. It was just an old habit he’d formed long ago. To avoid her brother’s shooting him.

  Jason turned to her. “Miss Carvel, allow me to present the composer, Leandro Giovanelli. I’m sure you’ve heard his music. A minuet of his was all the rage last Season. He had all London dancing.”

  “How do you do,” she said with a smile.

  The Italian beamed in the presence of a beautiful lady. “Did you like-a de music tonight, signorina?”

  “It was wonderful.”

  “When-a my new string quartet is ready, I do hope you will come to hear. His Grace has been a-so very generous to me. He is a great man!”

  “Oh, I know,” she agreed rather too emphatically.

  Jason narrowed his eyes at her in mock indignation.

  “Si! De duke, he cares about de beauty.”

  “In some things more than others.” She nodded, clearly referring to his infamous appreciation for the female form. “Am I to understand that the duke is your patron, Mr. Giovanelli?”

  “Si, signorina! He has supported my humble efforts for de past two years.”

  “Is that right? And here I thought my brother’s expedition was your only current project,” she said, glancing over at him, looking impressed.

  It was Giovanelli who answered before Jason could speak. “Oh no, signorina! There is me with-a my music. And de painter, Omero Caradonna, and the great sculptor, too, Vitale Sanfratello.”

  “One must have Italians for the art,” Jason murmured sardonically to her alone.

  “Ah,” she said.

  “De house where His Grace lets us live and work is like a-being back at home in Firenze. Well, except for the presence of de grumpy Scottish person, Mr. Sloan. But Grumpy Scot is indeed a genius,” he conceded.

  She looked at Jason again in amusement. “What does Grumpy Scot do? Brew your whiskey for you?”

  “Now, now, Scots happen to be excellent inventors, if you hadn’t heard,” he informed her in a lofty tone. “Atticus Sloan builds all manner of odd contraptions. It wouldn’t surprise me if one of his inventions changes the world someday. Indeed, the house in Bloomsbury where I’ve put them up is quite a hive of nonstop, ingenious creation. I should take you there sometime,” Jason said. “It’s rather fascinating.”

  “Si!” Giovanelli seized upon this chance to redeem himself in his patron’s eyes. “Sir, if you bring de young lady, we should all be happy to give her a tour of our works! Grumpy may not speak to you too much, signorina. He is— How you say…?”

  “Eccentric,” Jason supplied, grateful for the opening. He looked at Felicity. “I was thinking of calling on these fellows tomorrow, as it happens. Having a look at everybody’s progress. Care to join me?”

  Her lovely face lit up. “Oh, could I?”

  “Of course.” He was almost abashed by her delight at his suggestion. “You and Mrs. Brown both.”

  “Signorina, you must come! You love it! Omero’s paintings, they are so beautiful, and Vitale’s marble goddess…she almost seems to breathe.”

  “How wonderful. If you’re sure I wouldn’t be intruding—”

  “Not at all,” Jason said at once.

  The Italian charmer had done well by thinking of the idea, and if the other resident geniuses didn’t like their visit, well, Jason paid for their existence. He bloody well ought to be welcome to call on them whenever he dashed well pleased.

  Within reason, of course.

  His respect for them was actually immense. He did not give a fig that they were lowborn. Leonardo da Vinci himself, after all, had been the illegitimate son of a housemaid.

  “Oh, I’m so excited!” Felicity clapped her hands daintily, beaming. “I’ve never been behind the scenes of an artist’s studio b
efore.”

  The appearance of Lord and Lady Pelletier in the doorway of the entrance, talking to some of their guests, made Giovanelli look over anxiously. “I should go before I am seen,” he said with an apologetic frown. “I have already embarrassed de dear lord and lady of this house enough for one night.”

  “Don’t worry. They’re not angry at you, far as I can tell,” Jason said, feeling generous now that he knew he would see Felicity again as soon as tomorrow.

  Still, the flamboyant Italian could barely drag himself away from the signorina. He clasped Felicity’s hand between his own and bent to place a flowery kiss to her knuckles. “It has been a-such a pleasure meeting you, bella signorina.”

  “Likewise, Mr. Giovanelli.”

  The composer bowed to Jason with a courtier’s flourish. “Buona sera, Your Grace. Until tomorrow.”

  “Good night,” Jason replied.

  Then the fellow whisked off with a flap of his cape and disappeared into the shadows.

  Standing side by side, Jason and Felicity exchanged a twinkling glance of amusement at his dramatic exit.

  “What a charming fellow.” The arch smile tugging at her lips made him want to throw her in her carriage—which was rolling down the street toward them now—flatten her on the squabs in there, and kiss her senseless.

  Unfortunately, her chaperone was on the way.

  “Until tomorrow, then,” Felicity whispered, discreetly capturing his hand by her side and giving it a squeeze while they were still alone.

  He curled his fingers around hers. Her hands were warm and soft, and he wanted them on his body. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Think you can talk Mrs. Brown into it?”

  “It’ll be easy,” she breathed in his ear. “All I have to say is that I’m going with or without her.”

  Jason shivered, wondering what would happen if that were possible, if she really could spend one day alone with him. She seemed to be asking herself the same question as she pulled back, gazing hungrily into his eyes.

  Intoxicating prospect. But there was only one way to accomplish that and still preserve her reputation.