Fit for a Duke: Dangerous Dukes

by Wendy Soliman

  ‘There’s no help for it,’ she told her bed’s canopy. ‘Being an innocent is all well and good, but Ezra has piqued my interest so he has a duty to further my education.’

  She smiled as she fell asleep, astonished by her daring. Even so, there was such a thing as priorities. Ezra would be no good to her if he wasn’t alive, and it followed that she would have to help ensure that he remained so, regardless of his thoughts on the subject. All of her senses suggested that something would happen at the luncheon tomorrow and Clio had learned to trust her instincts.

  ‘Tomorrow I shall be guarding him, whether he likes it or not,’ she told her disinterested canopy. ‘I now have a vested interest in keeping him safe.’

  Mark Salford waited for the household to settle before making his way along the corridor to Isobel’s chamber. An assignation that he would normally have anticipated with single-minded impatience had not been in the forefront of his mind for the entire evening, which came as something of a shock to him. Isobel was his raison d'être. Since first making her acquaintance, he had known she was the person he had been waiting for to make his life complete. His soulmate, lover and best friend.

  She was a modern female, wild and liberated, which meant that they were a match made in heaven, and when they were apart Mark longed for her with every fibre of his being. Which is why he pretended not to mind her determination to attract the duke. One could not cage a free spirit. Mark could be patient when the occasion called for it. He would wait for Isobel to accept failure, at which point he would be there to pick up the pieces and salve her wounded pride. He could not ask her to become his wife as things stood, but as soon as Clio came to her senses he would be a man of substantial means. A man to be reckoned with.

  A man who could grant Isobel her heart’s desire.

  Isobel’s temporary infatuation with the duke was doomed to failure; that much Mark had always known. He understood the duke’s fastidious character and was well aware that he would never entertain the prospect of a union with another man’s widow.

  Mark threw back his head and growled, thinking Wickham a blind fool, and wondering why he wasn’t more relieved that he represented no form of competition for Isobel’s affections. Perhaps because the blasted man looked down on Mark and had pretended to disapprove of his behaviour during the upheaval of war. The prospect of meeting one’s maker caused all men to grab what they wanted while they still could.

  All men other than the duke, who appeared to have a heart of stone.

  Wickham’s outrageous accusation of rape that threatened the reputation of the entire regiment still rankled. The woman might have been unwilling initially but she was simply being a tease, as women almost always were, and a little firm persuasion was all it had taken. Mark had never had to resort to rape in his entire life, even if it was a common enough occurrence during respites between battles. There was absolutely no need for Wickham to have made such a song and dance about something so meaningless.

  How was Mark supposed to have known that the lady he had favoured with his attentions was a relative of someone important in the town, or that she would cry crocodile tears in an effort to pretend that she had not been a willing participant? There was such a thing as camaraderie between officers and gentlemen, and regardless of his baseless suspicions, or what the hysterical female had claimed after an event she was happy to participate in, Wickham should have taken his side.

  The two men had remained sworn enemies ever since.

  And now, tonight, Mark’s nemesis had deliberately singled Clio out for no other reason than to spite Mark, he was absolutely sure of it. Mark’s anger still burned at the manner in which Wickham had held her scandalously close as he danced with her, thereby giving Lady Fletcher’s guests a tantalising subject about which to gossip and speculate. Clio was too young to know any better, so Mark didn’t blame her for following Wickham’s lead. He had wanted to talk to her about it, felt it his duty to warn her of the dangers of a predatory man of the duke’s ilk, but the opportunity had not arisen.

  When he did manage to get her alone, Clio had the temerity to look down her pert little nose at him, making it clear that she would accept no advice from him before he even broached the subject. Mark had been in danger of self-combusting with anger. When his charm offensive missed its mark, he had been reduced to bringing her father’s name into things, convinced that it would sway her thinking. She had always been dutiful; keen to impress her cold father even though he was no longer around to be impressed, and would comply with his wishes.

  Eventually.

  Except on this occasion, it hadn’t worked. The duke had turned her head and Mark would have the devil of a job getting her to change her mind. Perhaps a little more of the firm persuasion he had employed in Spain would become necessary at the luncheon party tomorrow. Such occasions always allowed leeway for private discourse since the chaperones tended to overeat and then fall asleep.

  Mark smiled to himself, aroused by the prospect of putting the presumptuous little jade firmly in her place. Once she had his ring on her finger she would regret the day that she had dallied with his affections or his name was not Mark Salford.

  ‘There you are. I began to wonder.’ Mark dragged his attention back to the here and now as he entered Isobel’s room and found her draped on a chaise, ready to receive him, dressed in a diaphanous nightgown that left little to the imagination and fired Mark’s raging lust. ‘I have been waiting an age.’

  ‘I had to be sure that everyone was abed before joining you, my love. I am supposed to be pining for Clio’s attentions, if you recall.’ And, the devil take it, he actually was! But he knew he had said the wrong thing the moment she pouted.

  ‘The hussy danced with the duke in such a flamboyant manner. Really, I do not know what her connections can be thinking of to allow her to flaunt herself so outrageously.’

  ‘I rather think that the duke instigated matters, sweetheart. I don’t suppose she knew any better.’ Mark sat on the edge of the bed, pulled her into his arms and kissed her firmly. It was an effective way to put an end to any discussion about Clio, in which he seemed determined to defend her, even though he agreed with Isobel’s views on the matter.

  ‘Yes, but why?’ she asked, the moment Mark broke the kiss. ‘Such a mousy little thing, and the duke doesn’t need her blunt. Why would he bother with her?’

  ‘A useful way of discouraging the other little madams, one supposes,’ Mark replied, effecting a casualness that he didn’t feel. ‘The duke would never marry the likes of her.’

  Mark wondered if he was attempting to convince himself as much as Isobel. Clio was far too young to become a duchess. He dismissed from his mind the fact that he and the duke were about the same age and he saw no reason why Clio should not be married to him. Indeed, he could think of many reasons why she should be, not all of which had to do with her wealth, which was perplexing. He loved the voluptuous woman he was holding in his arms, didn’t he? She would always be more than enough for him, which made his current mindset all that much harder to fathom.

  He had seen the way Wickham had looked at the chit and had been worried by the raw passion reflected in his eyes. The duke, it seemed, had noticed the same individuality in Clio as she neared maturity that Mark had been both surprised and delighted to discover upon making her reacquaintance. The last time he had seen her she had been fourteen and unremarkable, but now it was a very different story. Whatever it was about her that both he and Wickham admired wasn’t something one could put a name to, and would be impossible to explain to Isobel. Not that he had any intention of trying. The slightest signs of admiration on Mark’s part would send her into a jealous rage.

  ‘Liking the young and innocent does not equate to marriage and happy ever after, my love,’ he assured her, pushing her nightgown off her shoulders. ‘They wouldn’t have anything to talk about.’

  ‘Talking was not what he had in mind when he held her so scandalously close, for all to see.’ Isobel
spoke through gritted teeth. ‘Perhaps he knows that you want her and is singling her out just to annoy you.’

  Very likely. ‘It was a warning to the matchmakers not to interfere with his choice, I expect,’ Mark said. ‘He chose Clio because she has no male relatives here to protect her interests, and everyone knows that Lady Fletcher never sees any harm in anyone. How else did I wangle this invitation? You too, for that matter. You have not seen the lady for years and can hardly claim an intimate friendship, yet you didn’t even have to drop any hints.’

  Mark knew he had made a mistake in mentioning the passage of time when Isobel scowled at him.

  ‘I shall find an opportunity during the excursion tomorrow to remind Wickham what an experienced woman has to offer. I depend upon you to keep the tiresome Miss Benton occupied.’

  ‘I will do my humble best.’

  Mark set about making love to her but his heart was no longer in it. As his passion exploded, it wasn’t Isobel’s face that he saw beneath him, contorted with pleasure, but Clio’s. He wondered just how responsive she would be when the time finally came to surrender to him. With competition from Wickham, finding that answer had now become a matter of extreme expediency.

  Ezra returned to his room to be greeted by Merlin’s snores. The dog had curled up in the middle of Ezra’s bed and didn’t so much as twitch an ear when Ezra opened the door.

  ‘Lazy mutt,’ he said with affection, tugging one of the ears in question. ‘I could have been killed for all the attention you pay to your duties.’

  Merlin flapped his tail but kept his eyes firmly closed and Ezra laughed, envious of the dog’s simple existence. He threw off his clothes and slid naked between the sheets, pushing Merlin to one side with his foot. The dog gave an indignant snort followed by a long-suffering sigh and allowed Ezra just a little more space.

  ‘How am I supposed to stop her from interfering and likely getting herself killed for her trouble?’ Ezra asked Merlin, lacing his hands behind his head and staring up at the bed’s canopy. ‘She’s thirsting for adventure and doesn’t seem to understand the seriousness of the situation in her desire to protect me. If things were not so dire then I would be touched by her determination.’

  Merlin stood, turned in several tight circles and settled into a more comfortable position with a heavy thump.

  ‘It’s not as though she wants to make herself useful in order to impress me, incredulous though you doubtless find that idea.’ Merlin dreamed on, oblivious. ‘She doesn’t aspire to become my duchess, more’s the pity. She is far too young to assume such a role anyway. Why would I want to bring such a jewel into our fractured, loveless family, slowly stifling her spirit in the process? She deserves better. Much better. She certainly deserves to be presented and enjoy being feted before she settles down.’ Ezra frowned. ‘I don’t like the thought of fortune hunters flocking to her door and I wish there was someone more worldly than Lady Fletcher to protect her interests. But still, she can see Salford for what he is so perhaps she will not be blinded by the splendours of the ton in full swing, and with that thought I must force myself to be content.’

  Merlin rolled onto his back and continued to snore, still entirely oblivious to the disjointed musings of a duke.

  Ezra drifted into an uneasy sleep, interspersed with images of Clio’s flashing eyes and lively retorts. Recollections of the feel of her firm young lips beneath his caused him to groan. The possibility of her being killed in her stubborn determination to help him replaced desire with nightmares, from which he woke in a sweat of tangled sheets.

  Ezra took Merlin for a ramble in the grounds as the sun struggled to appear from behind dark and threatening clouds. He glanced skywards, wondering if the elements would prevent the al fresco luncheon from going ahead. Part of him hoped that it would. He would have a better chance of keeping Clio safe and preventing her from acting impetuously if they did not leave the estate. But then again, he reasoned, bending to throw a stick for Merlin, staying here in safety would not draw the killer out.

  If he were to leave the estate alone, it would give the assassin a perfect opportunity to do his worst. But not knowing when and where he intended to strike would give him an added advantage to the one which he already had, which was anonymity.

  Ezra’s meander took him close to the stables, where all was activity, as was to be expected at such an early hour. He nodded to Gibson, his groom and to Barnes, who cared for his mother’s team, as they worked in adjoining stalls.

  ‘Seems the luncheon is to go ahead, your grace,’ Gibson remarked in response to Ezra’s unasked question.

  ‘Is Lady Fletcher up this early and making decisions?’ Ezra asked, surprised. The ladies seldom appeared before noon.

  ‘No, your grace. She left the decision to her butler, who has taken the view that the elements would not dare to rain on his mistress’s entertainments.’

  Ezra laughed and strolled away, thinking that resolved his problem. Clio would attend the luncheon and so would he. The decision was out of his hands. He would take Godfrey and Gibson with him, and Merlin too, for what use the cur was, and ensure that they stayed alert in their protection of him.

  For his own part, Ezra had someone who was rapidly becoming a great deal more important to him to protect from her own folly, and despite the seriousness of the situation he found himself smiling as he returned to the house in search of breakfast. He was looking forward to the excursion enormously.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Clio woke early and thought at first that she must have dreamt the interlude with the duke the night before. It was too unreal to have any possible basis in fact. A half-dressed duke visiting a single female’s bedchamber? She shook her head. He would have to have a death wish, she thought, laughing at the power of her imagination. But as alertness gradually pushed aside the fog of sleep from her brain she remembered every word, every look, every nuance with enough clarity to convince herself that the incident had actually happened.

  ‘Quite extraordinary,’ she muttered, shaking her head, wondering how she was supposed to feel about it in the cold light of day. Daisy appeared before she had time to decide.

  ‘You’re awake early, miss.’ Daisy moved to the windows and pulled back the curtains. ‘Excited about today’s excursion, I dare say. There’s dark skies but the luncheon is to go ahead, so Mr Godfrey tells me.’

  ‘Well, I am sure that Mr Godfrey has got it right and the rain will have the good manners to hold off.’

  ‘It’s that busy below stairs, which is why I grabbed some hot water and came up right away, knowing that you’re an early riser as a general rule. Would you like breakfast immediately?’

  ‘I would, Daisy. You run and fetch it. I am perfectly capable of washing without your help.’

  Clio wandered towards the ewer, into which Daisy had decanted the precious hot water that appeared to be in such short supply, and washed her hands and face. Standing at the window as she dried herself off, she glanced down and noticed Ezra striding back towards the house with Merlin at his heels. He looked so authoritative from her vantage point, so tall and sophisticated, yet so unapproachable. So far above her in the general order of things that he was completely beyond her reach. Certainly not the type of man to visit a female’s bedroom without seduction on his mind.

  And yet he had behaved impeccably. Well almost, Clio conceded, recalling that kiss. Presumably he found her charms relatively easy to resist and really had only wanted to discuss Salford, against whom he bore a massive grudge.

  With such sobering thoughts percolating through her mind, Clio did justice to her breakfast when Daisy returned with a tray. She listened with half an ear as her maid pottered about the room, preparing Clio’s clothing for the day and chattering about the situation below stairs.

  ‘Everyone is talking about the duke dancing with you, miss. Only Mr Godfrey and me didn’t think there was anything odd about his choice.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a backhanded compliment, Daisy
,’ Clio said smiling, despite privately despairing because she had become the subject of such avid gossip, ‘but I thank you for it nonetheless.’ Clio suppressed a sigh, thinking it inevitable that the speculation would be just as rife below stairs as it would be in her aunt’s drawing room.

  ‘Her ladyship’s butler doesn’t allow anyone to gossip about their betters, but of course it happens anyway.’ She giggled. ‘One of the footmen is running a book, taking wagers on who will be the duke’s choice of a bride.’

  ‘That’s vulgar, but I suppose servants enjoy a wager just as much as their masters,’ Clio replied sighing. ‘But I would advise against placing your hard-earned money on me, Daisy. The duke feels safe with me since he senses that I am not on the prowl for a husband. He had to dance at least one dance or appear impolite, so…’ Clio spread her hands and allowed her words to trail off.

  ‘That’s not what Mr Godfrey says,’ Daisy replied, clearly not convinced.

  Clio wanted to pretend disinterest but couldn’t prevent her head from swinging sharply around so that she could observe her maid. ‘Whatever do you mean by that?’ she asked, trying for a tone of casual indifference.

  ‘He’s been in the duke’s service since long before he became the duke. He says that the ladies flocked to him in droves even when he was just Lord Ezra. Now the drove has turned into a stampede, and for that reason he’s careful never to single anyone out.’