A Duke Under Her Spell: A Historical Regency Romance Novel

by Linfield, Emma

“Do you gents possibly think that it is the men who approach her that are the problem and not her?” Aaron inquired. “Can you really blame the lady for having standards?”

  The three lords gaped at him in shocked silence before Camdyn broke it, “Are you her champion, Oberton?”

  “Not in the slightest but our families are acquainted,” Aaron replied.

  “Then it should be you,” Norwood declared.

  Aaron coughed slightly, “Beg your pardon?”

  “You,” Norwood smirked evilly. “If anyone can get her to heel it would be you.”

  Aaron wondered how on earth he had gotten to this point. Yes, he had come to get on Lady Eleanor’s good side, but this approach was far from the one he had planned.

  His green eyes shifted from one man to the other, “Are you gents mad?”

  “Remember when I said I’d give a hundred pounds to the man that reins her it?” Norwood added. “Good sir, I would give you a thousand pounds to do it.”

  Aaron scoffed, “I do not want your money.”

  “Then consider it a gentleman’s wager,” Camdyn said. “And Norwood, I will throw in my hat for five-hundred pounds if Oberton can not only rein her in but make her fall in love with him.”

  “I’m in for another thousand,” a third voice added but this time Aaron went stiff. It was the voice of Duke Wyndrake, a patronizing peer with a sickening attitude and beetle-black eyes who was the resident thorn in Aaron’s side since he had inherited his dukedom.

  “In fact, I raise my hand to five-thousand,” the Duke’s dark eyes were lit with maliciousness. “Prove us right or wrong, Oberton.”

  “I do not accept,” Aaron’s words were firm. “And if this what you gentlemen do, wager and treat ladies like cattle to be haggled over, I can see why Lady Eleanor despises you lot.”

  “So, it’s only Lady Eleanor now,” Wyndrake grinned. “It seems to me that you have more than an acquaintance, rather a history.”

  “Which is none of your business,” Aaron said tightly. “Excuse me. I need some fresh air.”

  Striding out from the room to the nearest balcony, Aaron reined in his temper. Despite how Lady Eleanor was, no one had the right to malign her. It galled him to discover that this level of malice was what men who felt inferior to a lady resorted to.

  No wonder Lady Eleanor hates us…hell, I am tempted to hate us too.

  “Oh,” a voice said. “My apologies, I do not want to intrude.”

  Turning, Aaron’s eyes landed on the same person he had been contemplating for the last five minutes and wondered if fate had decided to punish him that night. Lady Eleanor Stanley stood there in the half-light and he gave her a disarming smile.

  “No, no you aren’t. I am pressed to ask how can one interrupt a man and his glass of champagne?”

  “I meant your woolgathering, Your Grace,” Lady Eleanor said aloofly. “I personally hate it when my train of thought is broken so I will leave you be.”

  “No…wait a moment.” Aaron placed the delicate glass on the smooth balustrade and propped an elbow behind the flute. Peering at her under a half-mast gaze, Aaron could see that Harold was right, her freckles had gone and her once roundish, childish face had matured and slimmed.

  “You’ve grown,” he commented.

  Her shoulders went back, and her stance stiffened just as her voice did, “So have you.”

  Aaron blinked slowly and then laughed, “Drop your spear and shield Lady Valkyrie, I am not here to fight.”

  “And neither am I,” she inclined her head. “So I will leave.”

  Aaron waited until she had turned and had stepped away before he spoke, “One would think you hate me.”

  Lady Eleanor spun and her wide eyes showed her surprise, “Why would I hate you?”

  Aaron pinned her with his eyes, “What other conclusions could I have come to? I met you twice and the look in your eyes both times told me you were not fond of me.”

  Eleanor snorted delicately and Aaron found her wrinkled nose absurdly cute, “What other resort did I have after being insulted to my face, not once but twice? Your look nor your words at either time were complimentary. I was first a tomboy and then I was a spoiled tomboy.”

  Aaron frowned, “And at the last, you called me a pedantic misogynist. Is it that we have misjudged each other all these years?”

  “You tell me,” Eleanor’s words were stiff. “Do you still dislike women?”

  “Do you still scorn men of your rank, like me?” Aaron replied crossly.

  Her thin sculpted eyebrow rose, “It is not only you, Your Grace, so get off your high horse.”

  “But clearly I am one of them,” Aaron shot back.

  “Yes, you are one.” Lady Eleanor snapped. “It is men and women who have money and power but no heart or soul. I have realized that most of our class are hypocrites, appearing perfect but are heartless in reality.”

  “And you believe yourself to be the paragon of virtue,” Aaron replied. “You come from money, Lady Eleanor, whatever curse you think we share applies to you too.”

  “That’s where you are wrong,” she advanced on him with her eyes glittering like foxfire. “I am nothing like you or my Father.”

  Aaron was deeply disturbed by her words and took a chance to reach out and lay a hand on her arm. “Lady Eleanor…are you trying to tell me that your father is harming you—”

  “No!” she said as forcefully as she could while trying to be quiet. “No…nothing like that, and don’t go assuming anything of the sort.”

  “But you think all men are like him,” Aaron concluded as the distressed look in her eyes bothered him. “That all men have something to hide and that we are all hypocrites?”

  Lady Eleanor softly pulled away, and her eyes were guarded, “Aren’t you?”

  “Lady Eleanor!” the aghast whisper of a lady came from the doorway, came from the doorway. “My lady, this isn’t proper!”

  “I know Miss Malcolm. I know. I was just about to leave,” she said while not moving her enigmatic glance from Aaron, but then she dipped out a graceful curtsy. “Goodbye, Your Grace.”

  Aaron watched her walk away, only to be corralled into the shelter of her chaperone’s gaze. He stood there on the chilly terrace, feeling disturbed for two striking reasons: the beautiful arches of Lady Eleanor’s cheekbones and the glimmer of the pearls in her hair, while she curtsied, had entranced him; and, secondly, what was wrong in the Stanley house? Was Duke Brisdane cold and distant to his daughter?

  More importantly, though, he realized that he, and everyone else, had been wrong was about Lady Eleanor. It was not that she didn’t like men, she just did not know them. And moreover, on account of the precedent her father had set, it did not seem as if she was aiming to know any of them.

  “Well then,” Aaron realized while shooting back the rest of his drink. “I guess the only remedy is to show her.”

  * * *

  The whispered sermon on acts of propriety that Miss Malcolm was giving her went in one ear and out the other. The heiress to the Brisdane dukedom was more concerned with the disconcerting meeting she had just had with the Duke of Oberton.

  “Do you understand, my lady?”

  She had no idea what Miss Malcolm had lectured her about, but she pretended she did and waved her acquiescence, “Yes, yes, I do.”

  Taking a seat near the dancefloor, Eleanor reflected on what had transpired between her and the Duke. He had certainly grown, that was obvious. His green eyes seemed calmer, more…attuned and decidedly wiser, but what shook her was his voice. It was deep and resonant with the quality of deep water, calm and steady but with a powerful undercurrent.

  Oxford has certainly matured him.

  “Lady Eleanor?”

  “Yes, Miss Malcolm.”

  “The first dance is about to start and—”

  “My card is empty,” Eleanor surmised.

  “It is not but…I cannot explain,” her chaperone said while handing over the card and Elean
or opened the leaf. Instantly, her eyebrows shot up to her hairline. Though her card was signed with Lord Lancaster’s name first, nestled into the middle was another card, with the name Aaron Barvolt, Duke of Oberton written on every line.

  Her first impulse was to get cross, surely this was a jest, but looking up she saw him not too far away with another flute of champagne in his hand. He was talking to some gentlemen. While her eyes held his, she plucked out the insert and held it between two gloved fingers so he could see it, his lips curled and then he lifted his glass to her.

  “Lady Eleanor?” Miss Malcolm fretted.

  “It is nothing, Miss Malcolm,” Eleanor said while secreting the lone leaf into her reticule and handing the card back to her chaperone. “Please, think nothing of it.”

  Eleanor’s focus was now solidly on the Duke of Oberton. What did he mean by sending her a card with only his name on it? What was he trying to prove?

  The orchestra musicians were taking their seats and Miss Malcolm hurried over to her. “My lady, Lord Lancaster is your first dance.”

  For once, Eleanor was too mired in her own thoughts and did not resist when the lord, a handsome young man with deep grey eyes came to claim her for the dance. The ladies on the dancefloor were a medley of brilliant butterflies, a strong contrast to their darkly-clad gentlemen counterparts.

  “Thank you for dancing with me, Lady Eleanor.”

  She blinked, was the dance over already? Then she flushed seeing that there were only getting in line, “It is my pleasure, Lord Lancaster.”

  Two hours of dancing and polite conversation passed pleasantly enough but with every passing dance, she expected the Duke of Oberton to be her next. He wasn’t. Every time a dance ended, and she returned to her seat, she felt like the card he had signed was burning a hole through her reticule.

  Was the Duke just playing with her?

  The last dance was approaching and with it, she let the last strands of hope that Barvolt was next partner to flutter away. Her hand closed over the reticule and a soft sigh left her mouth.

  “My lady?”

  She forced a smile on her face. “Lord…um, forgive me, Greenville was it?”

  He nodded.

  “I am a bit fatigued,” Eleanor said. “Would you mind if we sat this dance out? I know it’s the last one and if you are set on dancing you are free to choose another partner if you’d like. I wouldn’t mind.”

  “No, no,” the lord’s hazel eyes were genial. “I am rather tired myself. Would you care for a refreshment, my lady?”

  “Yes, thank you,” she held out her hand and was graciously helped up. Crossing over to the refreshment table, Eleanor spotted Duke Oberton who was flashing a dazzling smile at some blonde-haired lady.

  Turning away, she shook off the soft pang of disappointment and followed her escort to the room. She took a seat and smiled bleakly when the lord poured her a glass of champagne.

  * * *

  For a man who was trained to act strategically, Aaron wondered if he had gone temporarily insane by giving Lady Eleanor’s chaperone the card with his name on every line. What had he been thinking?

  It was an act with no solid reason behind it and in the last two hours, he had failed to come up with one. Now though, as the last dance was about to begin, and he saw her go into the refreshment room with some lord, he was regretting his actions.

  Knowing their history, the lady must think him jeering and tasteless. Why had he sent the card? Why?

  “Your Grace?”

  The quizzical brown eyes of Lady Smith—or was it Smithson?— peered at him. “I am sorry, My Lady, my inattention is not your fault. Our conversation was lovely but please excuse me.”

  She looked put off but nodded. He bowed to her, and Aaron went to the refreshment room. As Lady Eleanor was turned toward him, she saw him first but did not acknowledge him.

  Curses.

  “Ahem,” Aaron cleared his throat. “Lord Greenville, I apologize for interrupting you so callously, but may you give me a moment with Lady Eleanor?”

  The lord’s eyes darted between Lady Eleanor and the Duke but then did the sensible thing, “Is it acceptable to you, my lady?”

  Eleanor's lips were pressed, “I will accept it, but only for a moment. Please do not be far, Lord Greenville. I do not expect this to take long.”

  “Very well, my lady,” he bowed and walked out while leveling a warning eye at the Duke. Aaron’s left eyebrow danced up in incredulity—did the man think that kitten glare was somehow intimidating?

  “Lady Eleanor, I believe I have left you with the wrong impression when I gave you the card.” Aaron approached her but stopped merely two feet in on account of her expressionless look.

  “No,” she replied coolly. “I know exactly what you meant. I know that I have made a name for myself among the ton. That I am snobbish and disdainful. When I dance it is only once and there are no callers the next morning. Clearly, you were mocking me.”

  Aaron frowned. “No, I was not.”

  She did not answer him instantly but then circled the table to get to the glass of punch. It did not escape Aaron that by doing so, she was also putting a barrier between them. She was distancing herself from him like she had been doing to everyone else the whole night.

  Her eyes were down and strangely, Aaron's eyes latched on her slender fingers which were delicately clasping her glass. Those were pianist's fingers.

  “What was it then?” her tone had gone from cool to icy indifference.

  His eyes clenched tightly, “I cannot tell you.”

  She sipped her drink, “Why, because it is not appropriate or are you afraid to admit I was right? That you were truly mocking me.”

  “I—” he grimaced.

  “I was right then,” Lady Eleanor said unemotionally before she scoffed. “Is that much damage to your ego when you’re proven w—”

  “I cannot tell you because I don’t know,” Aaron admitted harshly. “I don’t know why I gave you the card so I can’t explain it.”

  She stilled and slowly let down the glass. “You…don’t know? How could you not know?”

  “I just—” Aaron realized from the lowering of her eyes and the tightness of her jaw that she probably would not believe him even if by some miracle he managed to explain himself. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “It matters to me.”

  “Why is that every time we meet, we end up arguing?” Aaron snapped.

  “Because you are pompous and pedantic and you annoy me,” she said plainly.

  Aaron realized that there was no way to get to her and laughed at his foolish belief that he could have.

  “And you wouldn’t believe me if I summoned God himself to reveal why I did what I did and then ask him to be the judge if I told you the truth. I am sorry for wasting your time. Good evening, Lady Eleanor.”

  Spinning around, Aaron wasted no time in leaving and nodded curtly to Lord Greenville as he strode off. He met Lord Greyson and offered his thanks for the wonderful ball and studiously ignored the Duke of Wyndrake’s superior smirk.

  “Don’t be a stranger,” Lord Greyson shook his hand strongly. “Good night, Oberton.”

  “And you too.”

  He was collecting his coat when Wyndrake snidely said, “I assume you failed.”

  Aaron was severely tempted to spin around and plant a facer on the man but did not dare do so. The older duke was powerful and had much more time in the proverbial ring than he had. But there was only so much he could take and so much he would allow the older peer to get away with.

  “I could only fail if I had accepted,” Aaron replied with forced ease. “And I did not accept, so ergo, I have not failed.”

  His carriage came and Aaron nimbly entered, and knocked on the top. Sinking into his seat he pressed his hands into his stinging eyes, “That was an unmitigated disaster, she hates me and I cannot stand her. Why did I think I could mend our fences? She’d rather rip a stake out and stab through my heart. It’s
over…it’s all over.”

  Chapter 3

  A day and nine hours after the disastrous dance, Eleanor had finally allowed her curiosity to get the better of her and she had plucked the card from the bottom of the drawer that she had banished it to.

  Duke Oberton’s writing told her a lot, instead of immaculate cursive as she had expected, he wrote with a slashing hand. Every word was a sword, with long strokes and dagger-sharp endings. Her fingers flitted on the underside of the card and she felt the deep indents from the press of the pen.

  Why is he so impatient?

  The unexpected meet on the dark balcony had given her the impression that the Duke was a man of serenity with his tempered words and calm demeanor. This tangible proof of his impatience forced her to make a different perception on him. What was he really like? Was he careful and meticulous or was he impulsive and slapdash?

  “Because I don’t know…I don’t know why I gave you the card so I can’t explain it.”

  “His voice was agitated and his face tense…perhaps he is a hot-head,” Eleanor mused and flicked the card over. I am still convinced he did this to agitate me.

  Flicking the square back into the drawer, Eleanor closed the drawer with her hip while drawing a warm shawl around her. Her father was not going to be pleased when he returned, but what else could she have done?

  Meandering to her sitting room, she sat in her chaise and rang for her morning tea. A book, The System of Nature by noted atheist Paul-Henri Thiry, Baron d’Holbach, was cracked open and she began reading at her earmarked page. This was another subtle resistance against her father who had insisted on her not reading anything that gave her bad ideas on their faith.

  Her father did not understand that she read only material like this for the sake of knowing other peoples’ point of view. To her, being closed minded and just banking on one train of thought or the rules of one culture was a cardinal sin.

  There was a reason why other cultures and other schools of thought had emerged and she was not going to dismiss them all and willingly blind herself to one dogma. Besides that, her faith was well solidified inside her soul and no words from an atheist were going to chip away at it.