Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. This is a work of pure fiction. All characters and events depicted in this story are entirely fictitious. Any similarity to actual events or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Just for fun, I've taken an original work and turned it into something which will hopefully satisfy the Rumbelle love in all of us.

Summary: In Regency London, Robert Gold, Duke of Sheffield has a dilemma … marry or else. Unfortunately, the only little beauty he wants is completely unsuitable, fiery American empath Belle Whitmore. Can he overcome her objections and claim her for his own? Or will the forces working against them keep them apart forever?

A/N: This is the first thing I'd written in 20 years … before I discovered fan fiction. I just decided to adapt it with an ouat twist. Thank you to AquaJasmine23 for beta-ing for me and convincing me to post this. And thank you to Emilie Brown for the delicious cover art. Love you, my girls! xoxox

Eclairs & Chocolate Kisses

By:

CharlotteAshmore

I

London 1815

"I still say it's a bloody waste of my time." Dark eyes, so dark brown they were nearly black, scanned the crowded ballroom for anything which might somehow pique his interest.

Jefferson's own eyes, behind his mask, twinkled with merriment at his friend's disgust. The only reason he'd agreed to accompany Robert was for a good laugh at his misery. And it wasn't because he enjoyed his closest friend's predicament, no. It was because he had to see for himself that Robert didn't succumb to his mother's machinations. Bachelorhood was, after all, no fun by one's self.

Robert tossed down the scotch in his glass and frowned. "I mean, look at them, Jeff. Like a pack of wolves, they are. All pushing their daughters at any man with a title," he snorted in disgust.

He was right, of course. There was nothing worse than a mother with daughters on the hunt for a husband. Said mothers would, of course, back eligible suitors into a corner to laud their daughter's attributes. Which was why Robert Edward James Gold, fourth Duke of Sheffield, was standing far away from the dance floor, amusingly enough, obscured by a large potted fern. He was one of the wealthiest men in England and therefore the most desirable catch for any of the ladies present at Lady Morrison's masked ball.

"What did you expect, Robbie? Every season they're trotted out and presented and every season, you thumb your nose at them. Dear Abby is just concerned for you, dear boy. She wants you to have an heir. She wants you to find happiness."

"She wants a grandchild, Jefferson, and you know it."

Jefferson grinned. "Well, she's not going to get it with you hiding behind the potted plants all night. How about repairing to the card room where I can relieve you of a couple hundred pounds? Have a few drinks and completely ignore your mother's edict."

Robert's eyes narrowed behind his black mask at his friend's reminder of his mother's decree. It didn't help that the dowager duchess was the only person he could say he loved, and he just didn't have it in him to tell her no. He'd never let himself get close to anyone. London was too jaded. There was always someone wanting something and willing to do anything to get it.

Jefferson Madden, seventh Earl of Rochefort, was the only real friend he had. They'd roomed together at Eton as boys and found a common thread which bound them together. Both of them had attained their titles at a young age due to the deaths of their fathers. All that responsibility was rather overwhelming at the tender age of thirteen. Robert was serious about his duties and schooling, but Jefferson couldn't have cared less. Robert had made top marks at Eton while Jefferson had nearly been booted out more than once, one of the reasons Robert didn't take offense at Jefferson's ribbing.

But the dowager's edict was weighing heavily on his mind this evening. Three weeks ago, at the very start of the season, she'd called him on the carpet and demanded - no, more like commanded - that he marry by the end of the season or else. He shuddered at the thought of what his domineering mother meant by that "or else".

"We should've gone to the card room when we first arrived instead of ending up here. Now we're trapped behind the ferns because you just had to see what little lovelies are available this season. Bloody waste of time." Robert tugged at his cravat, which seemed to tighten with each passing moment. Not with panic, but with anger at finding himself in such a godawful situation. "I need a drink."

"Shit!"

"What?" Robert peered around the very edge of the fern and closed his eyes, praying for the floor to open and swallow him. "Bugger! She must've seen you." And really, how could anyone miss the garish plum frock coat and emerald brocade waistcoat his friend was wearing. He made it his mission in life to be as audacious as possible to keep himself from being suitable husband material.

Jefferson bowed deeply to Lady Regina Morrison and graced her with an angelic smile. "My dear, Lady Regina, how lovely you are this evening," he gushed with a charming smile and dropped a kiss to her gloved hand.

"Hmm," she murmured doubtfully. "Never mind that. Why are the two most eligible bachelors in England hiding behind the ferns at my ball? Too cowardly to face the dragons?"

Robert, in turn, bowed to his hostess and smirked. Lady Regina fluttered her fan to cool herself. That crooked grin had been known to make more than one innocent girl swoon over the years, and lord help them if he gave them a genuine smile.

"Dragons is an apt term, for certain."

"Just wanted to check out this season's crop of lovelies undisturbed by mamas on the hunt. You understand," Jefferson said in his smoothest voice so as to distract her from Robert. She'd been trying for years to find a way into the duke's bed, but had yet to succeed. Not because of any certain desire for him, but more what his wealth and power could gain her.

"Of course, you did, my dear Rochefort." She placed her hand on Jefferson's arm and leaned in close. "I think I have a spot on my dance card reserved for you."

Robert raised a single dark eyebrow in amusement. Jefferson wouldn't be able to talk himself out of dancing with their hostess, even though he would rather eat live eels first. Lady Regina danced more on her partner's feet than on the dance floor, which was the only reason her dance card wasn't full. A shame, that, considering her beauty. Left with no choice, Jefferson led his hostess onto the crowded dance floor and abandoned Robert to his own devices.

With Jefferson's absence, Robert perused the ballroom full of marriage-minded fluff. Some of them looked to be just out of the schoolroom. Bloody hell! And there was his mother, seated on a divan near the edge of the dance floor, her eyes shooting daggers at him across the distance. Might as well have that drink on the way, he thought as he snatched a glass of amber liquid off a serving tray.

He dropped a kiss to the dowager's cheek and sat beside her. "Good evening, Mother, enjoying the festivities?"

"You know the only reason I am here tonight is to make sure you are taking me seriously and trying to find a bride," she sniffed imperiously. "And what were you doing? Hiding. Behind the ferns. And you look awful this evening. You need to cut your hair. It's falling over your eyes," she scolded in a meaningful hiss as she tugged at a lock of his collar-length brown hair. "The least you could do is tie it back …"

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and frowned. On and on. He knew she loved him, her only son and heir, but he wondered sometimes if she was only happy when she was harping on him about his appearance, his marital status or about life in general.

"Mother, must you …" Robert's voice trailed off. He'd seen … her.

*.*.*

"I really don't like this, August. I really didn't know there were this many wastrels in all of England, much less London itself," the petite brunette mused aloud as she scanned the ballroom with ill-concealed disdain behind the mask she wore.

"Don't fret, luv." August Whitmore said smiled down at his sister. "It's not like you have to marry any of them. Just keep your eyes open and your ear to the ground and we might just make a pile of money."

"Right. Keep deluding yourself, brother."

She felt a shiver travel the length of her spine as the unmistakable feeling of being watched settled over her, raising the fine hairs on her nape. August felt her stiffen where his hand rested on her back and he glanced down at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

Belle could feel them, those eyes, like a caress, eyes full of heat and promise, but she refused to turn around to see if she could distinguish to whom they belonged. No, she and August were here for one purpose - to rid England's aristocracy of as much money as possible and finally have a chance to go home to America.

She hated London with a flaming passion which would never be quenched. There wasn't a genuine person in the entire city … not even her dear aunt, Lady Regina. She was just as bad as the rest of them. Belle and August were tolerated in society because of her, but they would never be accepted. Not her poor niece and nephew from America.

Belle took her brother's arm and steered him in the direction of the card room. "Nothing's wrong," she assured him.

"You're lying," he accused, having the privilege of knowing her better than anyone, she being his twin and all.

"Am not," she argued petulantly.

"You forget who you're talking to, sister dear. You forget so easily that I share your gift," he drawled lazily.

"And now is not the time nor place for this discussion," she warned. "Go. Find yourself a game. I won't be far. And yes, I'll be listening."

*.*.*

"Mother, please cease your prattling and tell me who she is."

"Who?" The dowager immediately began scanning the ballroom to see who had finally piqued her son's interest.

"The siren in the lavender gown." Lust instantly seized him, and he shifted uncomfortably upon the divan. In three weeks, he'd seen no woman as lovely as she. Her hair was such a vibrant chestnut, piled atop her head, which looked to be on fire as the auburn highlights were illuminated by the flickering candlelight. He could only see her face in profile, her stubborn little nose, her fine cheekbones, but it was her neck which intrigued him. He wanted so badly to run his tongue along the curve of her delicate throat and see for himself if she would moan with pleasure. Robert shook his head to clear it.

"Oh, her," the dowager scoffed airily. "She's not a suitable match for you, Robbie."

Robert cast his mother a disbelieving glance. "I didn't ask you if she was a suitable match, Mother," he growled. "I asked who she was."

"That just so happens to be Lady Regina's niece, Belle Whitmore, along with her twin brother August." Abigail Gold lowered her voice. "They're from America. It was quite the scandal. Their parents, Regina's brother and that trollop he married, were said to have died in a very suspicious carriage accident. Upon further inspection, it was discovered their carriage wheel had been tampered with. Suspicion fell upon the son. Their only recourse was to hie away to England to escape a mob which was after him. Like I said," she murmured, taking a sip of her champagne, "quite the scandal. They were fortunate Regina looked beyond the rumor mill and took them in. Although one must wonder at her motivations because that woman does nothing unless it somehow benefits her. Avaricious little tart."

Robert ignored her comment about Regina, the dowager never having seen eye to eye with her, as a slow smile began to form on his lips. "She's fascinating," he breathed, tossing back the contents of his glass.

Abigail groaned inwardly, for she could see the signs. "Robbie, no! She is not a suitable prospect for you. You need someone of good breeding and refinement to be the next Duchess of Sheffield."

Robert kissed his mother's cheek and flashed her a brilliant smile. "Who said anything about marriage?"

*.*.*

Jefferson led Lady Regina to the edge of the dance floor, trying his best not to grimace at the pain in his aching feet. "Always a pleasure, milady," he said drolly. He caught Robert out of the corner of his eye and made his way through the crowd to intercept his friend on his way to the card room.

"Where are you going in such a hurry, Robbie?" he asked, falling into step behind him.

"Card room."

"Yes, dear boy, that's obvious. But why the rush?"

"Belle," Robert said simply and stepped around him, a wolfish grin curving his thin lips.

Jefferson frowned at the brushoff and turned on his heel to follow, only to be brought up short to avoid crashing into Robert's back. He inhaled sharply. Being a good three inches taller than his friend, there was no doubt he was seeing the object of Robert's desire. "Wow! I take it that's her and not just some kind of secret code or whatnot."

"Don't even think about it, Jeff. This one's mine," the duke bit out possessively, chancing a glance at his friend's widening eyes and slack jaw.

"She's bloody well glorious. Who is she?"

"Lady Regina's niece." Robert's eyes moved over Belle's face, trying to determine the color of her eyes. Damn Regina for making this a masked ball. He wanted - no, needed - to see her face unobscured, and that wasn't all he wanted to see. He wanted her in his bed.

"Uh oh. I know that look, Robbie," Jefferson grinned. "She won't have you."

Robert glanced sharply at his friend. "What makes you say that?"

"She's the one everyone's been gossiping about. My sources tell me she's not marriage-minded, hates London and thinks the gentry are a load of wastrels." Jefferson snorted, turning his attention to the occupants of the room. "Fancy a game?"

Robert shot him an annoyed look. "Find us one where I have her in sight. Something's not right about her."

"What do you mean by that?" the earl asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

"Think of her as a wolf among the sheep. She's much more than she seems, and I intend to find out every one of her secrets."

*.*.*

Belle's breath caught in her throat. The eyes were back, burning her with a passion so strong it nearly crushed her. August called it a gift; she thought of it as more of a curse. It was nearly suffocating to feel others' emotions. She had enough problems dealing with her own, but to feel someone's deepest feelings as though they were your own was overwhelming. And she could definitely feel his and knew without a doubt he wanted her. It wasn't the first time she'd felt it over the years, but somehow this time was different. She was afraid to look, to find out who those feelings belonged to. The lavender mask covering most of her face seemed to help, to bolster her courage, and she raised her eyes to where he was sitting, playing whist.

And now she wished she hadn't. Her eyes met his and she nearly crumpled to the floor. She'd never seen such heat in a man's eyes, eyes which were so deep a brown they were almost black, eyes which could suck her soul right out and drown her with the heat of his desire. His hair was light brown and fell over his brow and she wanted to brush it away with her fingertips. But his mouth - she couldn't stop staring at his mouth. His smile, so seductive, was mesmerizing. She could almost feel those sensual lips on hers and she moaned inwardly, cursing the mask covering his face. She wanted to see all of him.

Belle gripped the back of her brother's chair and fought for composure. What was wrong with her? This man was clearly English, and she wanted nothing to do with the English swine aside from lightening their pockets. This was entirely too dangerous for her and knew she had to get away. Because it wasn't just his passion and desire she'd felt, but her own.

"August," she whispered in her brother's ear, "I'm going to take a stroll on the terrace. I'm in desperate need of air."

"But -"

But Belle had already slipped out the French doors behind him. To hell with what she was supposed to be doing, she thought irritably. She couldn't concentrate … hell, she couldn't breathe with that man in the same room. Walking to the balustrade, she took a deep breath, hoping the cool night air would go a long way in helping to calm her. And then she felt him, again … closer … and her heart stopped.

*.*.*

Robert stepped to Belle's side and inhaled deeply. She was intoxicating. Just standing next to her was nearly unbearable so badly did he want to touch her. What was wrong with him, for her to have such an effect on him?

"Miss Whitmore," he said smoothly, his voice a velvet caress. "I don't think we've been formally introduced."

"Exactly, so if you will excuse me," she managed to get out without choking on her tongue. Panic was welling inside her, and she hated that feeling more than any other. She wasn't used to succumbing to her emotions, always having to be in control, but this man was sapping it away from her. She turned on her heel to escape back into the card room, but was brought up short as his hand captured hers.

"No, I don't believe so." Robert's voice, his eyes, and that floof of hair over his brow were a lethal combination on her senses, rooting her to the spot, preventing her escape. She was frozen in her attraction for this man and she didn't even know his name.

"I-"

"Yes, you are Lady Regina's niece from America. The lovely Miss Belle Whitmore," he interjected, the pad of his thumb brushing over the back of her hand in a most distracting caress.

"Yes, I am." Belle tried to draw her hand from his, but Robert held on tight. "And who, sir, are you?"

Robert bowed low over her hand and instead of dropping a kiss on her knuckles, quickly turned her hand and placed his lips to her palm. Fire coursed through her veins from the heat of that simple kiss and she gasped.

"I am Robert Gold, but my friend's call me Robbie."

Robbie indeed. I am not calling him Robbie, no matter how tempting … Ack! I'm losing it. I'm losing my control because of some English devil come to bewitch me! She took a deep breath and fought for control.

Belle smiled sweetly. "It's so nice to meet another member of the peerage with whom I have no desire to converse," she retorted in an acerbic tone, her smile vanishing just as quickly as it appeared. "Good night, Mister Gold." She snatched her hand from his grip and turned on her heel, swiftly returning to the card room and her brother's protective side, his soft laughter following her through the door.

August caught Belle in his arms and steadied her as she burst through the door. "What's the matter with you," he whispered heatedly in her ear. "You're broadcasting your emotions all over the room. It's quite unsettling, that."

"Nothing, I -" Belle stopped, taking in the gaping stares of those at the whist table. She straightened her shoulders and fixed August with a blank stare. "I think I should like to retire now."

"But it's early, yet." He lowered his voice. "And we've work to do."

"Not now," she stated firmly and pushed away from her brother. As if she could concentrate on her task with that man in the house.

*.*.*

Robert was smiling when he returned to the card room. So, Miss Belle Whitmore from America, with her disdain for all things English, wasn't immune to his charm.

"What are you so happy about?" Jefferson asked as Robert resumed his seat at the table and picked up his freshly dealt hand.

Robert simply raised a brow as he perused his cards. "Nothing special." And Jefferson knew from years of experience that Robert would tell him everything when they were alone in his study with a full glass of his finest scotch, ready to plan his next move. He could understand the man's unwillingness to speak in mixed company, but he'd be willing to bet a hundred quid it had everything to do with one audacious little American.

*.*.*

At two in the morning, Jefferson was indeed sitting in Robert's study at Sheffield House on Thornton Avenue, plotting their next move. He refilled his glass and remained silent, waiting for Robert to begin.

"Who do we know in Regina's home who can get us the information I need? God knows you've dallied with every wench from here to Northumberland. You might even be able to get it from Regina herself," Robert mused.

Jefferson nearly choked on his scotch. "I'm not getting near Lady Regina with her big feet," he snorted. "Besides, you're the one she fancies."

"All I want to know is where Belle is going to be tonight," Robert retorted icily, refusing to respond to his friend's attempt to rile him.

"And tomorrow night? And the night after?" Jefferson queried, grinning knowingly.

Robert frowned and set his drink on the desk. "Yes. That way, I will be sure to attend the same parties. Why waste my time on attending a function she's not? She's the one I want and I'm not going to stop until I have her."

Robert pondered that for a moment. Why did he want her so badly? What was so damn special about her? Aside from the fact that she made his blood turn to fire in his veins, and made him ache with the need to possess her. Was that enough to make him want to commit himself to her in the unholy state of matrimony, something he'd sworn he'd never do?

"Robbie?"

"Sorry, lost in thought there for a moment." Robert picked up his drink and stared into the amber liquid.

"I think I might be able to pull this off for you. One of the footman, Jack, I believe, is involved with Mandy, Lady Regina's maid. He might be able to persuade her to get the information on your lady love," Jefferson told him, tossing back the remainder of his scotch. "But, Robbie -"

"What?"

"Are you sure this is what you want?" Jefferson placed both hands flat on the desk and stared thoughtfully at his friend. "You have never in your life just jumped head first into any situation. You've always been the one to weigh each and every action and reaction. You've always been the one who looks at every possible consequence before you decide to act. I'm the reckless one. I'm the one to say 'fuck it'. So, what the hell is going on?"

Robert didn't answer. Did he even have an answer? Jefferson was right. Robert had never made a bad decision in his life. What if he was about to make the first one? Did he care? He closed his eyes and brought up Belle's image in his mind, desire flooding his body at the thought of creamy alabaster skin and bright cerulean eyes. He imagined the dark halo of her hair spread out across his naked chest.

"Yes, Jefferson. Belle Whitmore is going to be the new Duchess of Sheffield and she doesn't even know it."

*.*.*

Belle was sitting at her dressing table brushing out her hair when August stormed through the door, his icy blue eyes flashing daggers at her and color high in his cheeks.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Belle? An entire night - wasted! Wasted, I say!" August thundered.

"Will you please lower your voice?" Belle hissed, never having appreciated her brother's tendency towards drama. "You're going to disturb the entire household. And I'm so bloody sorry I ruined your evening."

August stopped short. "God's beard! You're beginning to sound like them."

"Stop it, Auggie. I am not." She paused and thought about what he'd said. Damn! "Well, maybe I am. You can't expect to live in a country and not pick up on certain things, speech being one of them." Anger began to burn in her chest. It was that damn Robert Gold. He'd been gone for hours. She knew this for a fact because she'd watched his carriage leave, yet still she couldn't stop thinking about him.

August sat down next to her on the bench before her dressing table and hugged her. "Come on, Belle, really. What's going on with you? This plan of ours is all we talked about on the voyage over from America. What's got you so out of sorts? And don't think you can fool me. I can feel you. Anger, confusion and … desire? Desire? Who the hell could incite that in you; the ice queen?"

"Enough, Auggie," she warned in a low tone.

"Oh, no you don't. I want to know. It's my job to protect you from these vile English dogs," he replied, his lip curling back in a sneer.

"Vile English dogs? Really? Isn't that a little overdramatic? And stop reading me. You know I don't like it. It's an invasion of my privacy. You don't like it when I read you." The brush caught onto a tangle and she winced. She was tired, emotionally drained and she didn't need to sit there and answer August's questions in the state she was in. She closed her eyes and immediately an image of darker than dark passion-filled eyes flooded her mind, making her gasp.

"See! There it is again. Who is he?" August roared, pointing his finger at her.

Belle knew the best thing to do was change the subject, quickly. "So, where are we going tomorrow night?"

"Lord and Lady Mansfield are hosting a ball. It's supposed to be the event of the season." August stopped abruptly and glared at his sister. "Nice try, luv. Who is he?"

"No one. He's no one; just a guest at the ball," she replied calmly, trying to be evasive and having no luck. Her brother was just too perceptive for her own good.

"Name," he demanded, glaring at her.

"Rank and battalion too?" she quipped icily.

"Don't be obtuse, dear girl. I just want to know his name," August said softly.

"Robert Gold." Heat flooded her cheeks, remembering how he had kissed her palm. She fisted her hand, banishing away the sensations which ghosted over her flesh at the memory.

"There it is again! You want this man … and don't bother trying to deny it either. It's coming off of you in waves, Belle."

"Keep your voice down, Auggie. Please," she pleaded. "Yes. I'm mildly attracted to him. Happy? I admitted it."

"Mildly? Mildly! I don't think so, dear girl. I know what desire is and I don't think I've ever felt like that about anyone before." August began pacing back and forth behind her. "But it's going to be fine. Tomorrow I'm going to find out everything I can about this Robert Gold and put a stop to this nonsense. Then maybe we can get back to work."

With that, he swept from the room, finally leaving her in peace. Belle extinguished the lamp and crawled into bed, staring at the ceiling, afraid to close her eyes. She knew sleep would be long in coming because if she closed her eyes, she would see his eyes, feel his lips on her palm and dream of what it would be like to have him.

There was no other solution to the problem with Gold; she had to avoid him at all costs. She couldn't let him distract her from her task. It was the only way she was going to be able to leave this wretched country. She was going to put him out of her mind and never see him again.

Oh, who am I kidding?

*.*.*

Robert and Jefferson dragged themselves downstairs at nine o'clock to have breakfast with the dowager duchess when what they really wanted was to go back to bed and sleep off the effects of too much drink from the night before. Robert felt like he hadn't slept at all, dreams of cerulean eyes, chestnut hair and lush pink lips keeping him up most of the night. He'd wakened in a state of need unlike any he'd ever suffered, and now he had to drag himself, bleary-eyed and all, downstairs to have breakfast with his mother. Oh, joy!

"Good morning, Jefferson," Abigail greeted them cheerfully as Jefferson strolled into the dining room and kissed her cheek.

"Good morning, Your Grace. Looking as lovely as I've ever seen you," he complimented the dowager, smiling through the pounding of his skull.

"That'll do, dear boy," she said sternly, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. He could tell she was pleased.

"Good morning, Mother," Robert mumbled and kissed her cheek, just as he did every morning, before moving off to the sideboard to pile a plate high with sausages and eggs.

The dowager frowned at them both. "You two look absolutely disgraceful."

"Here we go," Robert groaned as he poured himself a cup of coffee, foregoing his usual tea in favor of something stronger.

Jefferson tried to raise a brow, but the pounding in his head prevented it. "I beg your pardon?"

"Absolutely disgraceful. Out until all hours of the morning, drowning yourselves with drink and God only knows what else," she scolded.

Jefferson waggled his eyebrows at the dowager, earning a scowl from her and turned to Robert. "By the by, Robbie. I took care of that matter we discussed last night. We should have the answer by noon or so."

Robert's head jerked up at the news, causing him to wince in pain at the sharp movement. "Jack said he'd do it?"

"He's on his way now," Jefferson assured him. He'd gotten up earlier than his norm to send for the man to be certain they had the information before Abigail decided on what function she'd be attending that evening … and browbeating the two of them into accompanying her.

Robert smiled for the first time that morning. "Excellent!"

Abigail's narrowed eyes moved from one to the other of her boys. She loved Jefferson just as much as Robert. He'd been the only boy at school with her son who hadn't been afraid to befriend the young duke. Jefferson had stuck by him throughout the years, more brothers than friends. She never understood why he'd never wanted to visit his own mother on holidays, preferring to spend them at Sheffield in Sussex. But she was thankful for Jefferson's presence in Robert's life. And she loved him for it.

"What are you two on about?" she asked suspiciously.

"Nothing to concern yourself, Mother." Robert shot Jefferson a warning look and sat back in his chair to drink his coffee. He knew Abigail hated him drinking coffee, but it was the only thing sure to help his head this morning.

Abigail's eyes narrowed more, if that was even possible, and Robert shifted in his seat. "This is about that girl from America, isn't it?"

"Can't slip anything by you, Abby," Jefferson quipped around a mouthful of bacon.

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose and waited for the vein in his mother's forehead to explode. And waited. He cracked an eye open and peered at her through his fingers. Nothing. Wait! She was clenching her teeth dangerously hard. Yep, time to go to the club. He shot Jefferson a panicked look and stood up.

"Stop. Right. There."

Well, just … shit! "I am not discussing this with you, Mother," Robert said calmly, resuming his seat.

Abigail's brows shot up into her hair. "You'd like to think so." She cast Jefferson a warning look which clearly read helping Robert in this endeavor would bring down her wrath upon his head.

"Uh, Robbie, I'll see you at the club," Jefferson mumbled and left the duke alone with his mother.

Traitor!

"If you persist in this folly, you will bring down a scandal upon our family the likes of which this town has never seen. She's an American. Did you forget we are not on the best terms with them right now?" Abigail was outwardly calm, and only because he knew her so well could he tell just how truly furious she was.

He opted for an equally calm tone. "No, Mother, I haven't forgotten."

"This girl is also embroiled in a scandal in her home state of Maine, involving the murder of her parents. Said parents left England because her father, Maurice, married someone completely unsuitable. And by unsuitable, I mean she was common, so far beneath his station his family and society would never accept their marriage. You cannot allow yourself to become involved with this girl." Abigail sat back and sipped her tea, ignoring the fact that Robert was so angry the muscle was ticking in his jaw.

Robert stood up and smiled tightly. "Mother, I love you, therefore I will take your words under advisement, but the ultimate decision is mine. The woman I choose to be my duchess will be pleasing to me, and me alone. Remember that."

"But why are you so set on this girl?" Abigail persisted. "What is so special about her?"

Robert leaned down and kissed his mother's cheek. "Because, Mother, her mere presence makes me feel something other than boredom and disdain. She simply makes me feel." And with that he left the house for his gentleman's club, leaving his mother, for the first time, at a loss for words.

A/N: Well, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Gold may seem a little OOC with canon, but it fits my story. Hope you don't mind too terribly. I would really love to know what you think. I will be posting a chapter of this story every weekend for those of you who would like to follow it. It's complete, so it should be finished with the posting in a month or so. Thanks so much for reading!