Any Duchess Will Do (Spindle Cove #4)

He wanted nothing more than to be near her when it did.

Pauline found Vauxhall rather overwhelming. And that was before they even entered the place.

When they disembarked on the far side of the river, her stomach took several moments to cease bobbing. They ascended a long flight of stairs, leading up the riverbank to a grand entrance gate. The higher they climbed, the louder the music grew.

Cor, she thought. She didn’t say it aloud, not tonight. But it was the constant thought in her mind as they made their way through the gate and into the gardens proper.

Cor, cor, cor, cor, cor.

She didn’t know nature could be tamed to this degree. The greens were perfectly flat. The shrubs were pruned in squat shapes. The trees were planted in straight lines.

Stately colonnades ran in various directions, marking covered pathways. At the end of each aisle vast paintings were hung. From this distance she couldn’t quite make them out. She glimpsed a white orchestra pavilion in the form of a giant seashell, with carvings and embellishments all over it.

Suddenly, she realized her mouth had been hanging agape for the past few minutes. And the duke had noticed.

He gave her an amused look.

“It’s growing dark,” she said. “Should we head toward the pavilion?”

“Not yet,” he said, catching her arm. He guided her off the main walk, into a darkening grove of trees away from the colonnades.

“What is it?”

“Something is about to happen, and I want you to see it. I want to be with you when you see it.”

She popped up on her toes, craning her neck to look in all directions. “What is it we’re waiting to see?”

“It’s starting,” he said, turning her head. “Look.”

Pauline looked. She caught sight of a glowing orb. One single ball of light, hanging in the distance.

She blinked, and there were two of them.

And then ten.

And then . . . thousands.

A warm glow spread through the gardens like a wave of light, touching here a red lamp, there a blue or green. Breathless with delight, she tilted her head back. The trees above them were strung with lamps on every branch. The glow traveled from one to the other, and before long the entire grove was illuminated. The effect was similar to standing beneath a stained-glass church window at the sunniest part of the day. Except this was night, and all the colors had a luminous richness. The lamps were like a thousand jewels, hanging from every tree and carved stone archway.

Pauline couldn’t even come up with words. She laughed and clapped a hand to her cheek. “How do they do it?” she asked. “How do they light them all at once?”

“There’s a system of fuses,” he explained. “They only need to light a few, and the spark travels to all the lamps.”

“It’s magical,” she said.

“Yes,” he said, softly. “I think it is, rather.”

She turned to the duke, giddy with the beauty of it. He wasn’t looking around at the thousands of lit globes hanging from the trees.

He was watching her.

A shiver passed over her bare shoulders. She crossed her arms to warm herself.

“Let me,” he said, placing his gloved hands on her upper arms, then rubbing up and down.

The supple leather slid over her bare skin, warm and buttery. It was a lovely gesture, but it wasn’t doing a dratted thing to cure her of gooseflesh.

His gaze caressed her mouth. “Perhaps coming here was a mistake.”

“No,” she insisted, hoping her words weren’t drowned by the mad thumping of her heart. “No, I promise I can do this.”

“Halford!” The voice carried to them through the glen. She turned to spy Lord Delacre waving at them from the colonnade. “Come along, then. We’ve a booth over this way.”

“That’s my cue,” she said, giving Griff a wink. “Time for me to earn my thousand pounds. Prepare for disaster.”

They made their way to the colonnade and found the booth Del had reserved. Pauline slipped away to mingle with the group. Griff watched her laugh and joke, sip champagne and devour slice after slice of wafer-thin ham.

For his part, Griff stood to the side, nipping brandy from his pocket flask and finally coming to grips with a painful truth. He needed to find some new friends.

Martin had his Drury Lane songstress in tow, and Delacre had taken up with that widow again. A few well-dressed prostitutes hovered at the edges of the group, hoping for their glasses to be filled before they wandered away. Without even making an effort, Pauline was the most refined woman in the booth. If she made any ill-informed remarks about the Corn Laws, no one would care.