Touching his hat’s brim, he acknowledged acquaintances he encountered along the route, earning him several wide-eyed, stupefied expressions.
London was unaccustomed to the Duke of Dandridge sporting a Cheshire’s broad smile or tipping his hat in a cordial manner. The spring in his step and the idiotic grin carved on his face took even him by surprise.
Jemmah had done this.
In a twinkling, his childhood friend, now turned into a gloriously lovely woman, had unlocked his dormant heart. Had him casting off his melancholic shroud and regarding the world with a newfound, optimistic view.
Seeing her again last night...
Everything had become as clear to him as newly-polished crystal.
Jemmah was what he desired. She always had been.
That was why he’d been so drawn to Annabel. Blonde and blue-eyed, she’d resembled Jemmah, even boasting a similar temperament.
His spirit, his intuition, whatever part of him that acknowledged Jemmah had been branded upon his soul, had tried to tell him that very thing.
Only he’d been stupidly deaf and blind to the promptings—hadn’t recognized them, hadn’t even known what he craved until she’d drowsily smiled up at him, the full radiance of her smile tilting his world topsy-turvy.
Then as if the narrow crack in the doorway he’d been peering through with one eye suddenly sprang wide open, he could see everything, down to each perfect, minute detail.
And yes, by God, he savored the implausibility, relished the paradox, laughed out loud at the glorious coincidence that drove him to slip into the very room she slept within.
“You’re looking especially chipper today, Dandridge,” drawled a familiar bored voice. “Did you enjoy the ball after all?”
Pennington, blast his bunions.
Jules met Pennington’s and Sutcliffe’s amused gazes.
“I’m surprised to see either of you about. Thought you were off to the gaming hells after leaving Lady Lockhart’s last night.”
“We did.” Sutcliffe cocked his head, regarding Jules for a lengthy moment. “Pennington, did my eyes deceive me or was Dandridge smiling? You know that queer thing where his mouth twitches upward occasionally?”
He veered Pennington a falsely-confused glance. “The phenomenon occurs so rarely, I cannot be sure.”
“No, Sutcliffe, I saw it too. Thought I might be still feeling the effects of our late night.” Pennington made a pretense of examining Jules’s face with his quizzing glass.
“You’re both utter twiddlepoops.”
Jules stepped around them and continued on his way. He wasn’t ready to explain his happiness, nor was he prepared to endure their sarcasm and mockery. Not when it came to his feelings regarding Jemmah.
“Twiddlepoops? Twiddlepoops?” Sutcliffe repeated, affronted. “Damn. Dandridge, are you getting soft? Dandies, fops, and moon-eyed bucks are twiddlepoops.” He thumped his chest. “Pennington and I are knaves, scoundrels, jackanapes, blackguards, rakehells, reprobates. But never anything as tepid and asinine as a twiddlepoop.”
“I should say not,” Pennington agreed with a sharp jerk of his head. “I’m truly offended.”
Sutcliffe fell in step beside Jules, his expression contemplative.
Pennington came alongside Jules as well, and eyes narrowed, rubbed his chin. “Does this have anything to do with the chit you kissed at Lady Lockhart’s last night?”
Jules stalled mid-stride.
“You saw?”
How, in bloody hell?
“Old chap, the draperies were wide open.” Pennington slapped Jules on the shoulder. “Not to worry. Sutcliffe and I were having a smoke. No one else ventured to the house’s rear. Only we witnessed the pathetic peck you gave the pretty thing before she tore from the room. You really need to work on that, old boy. I was almost embarrassed for you.”
Ah, so they’d only seen the last kiss.
“Who is she?” This from Sutcliffe, wearing a sly grin.
“None of your business.”
Jules resumed his walk and lengthened his stride.
He couldn’t compromise Jemmah.
“Devil it,” Pennington said as he replaced his quizzing glass. “He’s protecting her. Must be serious then. I didn’t recognize the gel. Did you?”
He leaned around Jules to poke Sutcliffe’s shoulder.
Sutcliffe shook his dark head. “No. But she did look familiar. We could ask Lady Lockhart, I suppose.”
“Oh, for God’s sake. She’s someone I knew a long time ago. Someone I shall do anything to protect from gossip and speculation.”
Hands on his hips, Jules glared back and forth, prepared to wipe the smirks off their faces.
Instead, both regarded him with calm, keen interest, but not a hint of ridicule.
Pennington grinned, his one green eye and one blue eye twinkling with suppressed mirth. “Are we to wish you happy?”
Jules sighed and shook his head. “Not yet. But I intend to change that as soon as possible. And you,” he jabbed a finger at each of them in turn, “are to keep my confidence in this matter. I’ll have your words, gentlemen.”
“Of course,” they murmured in unison, a trifle too quickly and subdued for Jules’s comfort.
Sutcliffe nodded at an acquaintance, and after he’d passed, extended his hand. “We leave you here, but please accept my heartiest best wishes that you are successful. Just be careful, my friend. Such behavior is totally out of character for you, and that’s why I’m inclined to believe you actually love Miss Dament.”
Thundering hippopotamus’s hooves.
How the hell had they learned Jemmah’s name?
“Damn it, Sutcliffe. We agreed not to reveal we knew who she was.” Pennington scowled darkly. “You never could keep a secret.”
“True, but look at him.” Pennington gestured toward Jules. “I cannot bring myself to taunt someone so obviously smitten. Can you? ’Twould be cruel, and we do profess to being his closest chums.”
“I’m standing right here, and can hear every word.” They wouldn’t talk. That Jules knew beyond a doubt. “You’re sure no one else saw her with me?”
“You can rest easy on that account, Dandridge,” Pennington said.
“Well, keep your ears open, just in case. I must be off. I’ll be late for tea at Lady Lockhart’s.” With a wave, Jules continued on his way, ignoring their chorus of guffaws.
Damn them.
They knew he didn’t attend tea.
Not until Jemmah turned up in his life again.
He truly wasn’t given to rash, impulsive behavior.
Quite the opposite, in fact.
Which was one of the reasons he knew, beyond whimsy or doubt, Jemmah must be his.
Oh, his mother and uncles would pitch conniption fits equal to the Regent’s, but in the end, they’d concede.
What choice had they?
He was the Duke of Dandridge.
He controlled the purse strings.
His word was law, and it was far past time they acknowledged his position rather than treating him like a feckless, incompetent booby in need of their constant guidance.
His gratified chuckle earned him a curious glance from a pair of plump matrons dressed in the finest stare of fashion.
How wonderfully free and unencumbered he felt.