by Stacy Reid
And that awareness made her angry and disappointed. Pippa owned another had never occupied her mind and dreams in such a manner. A blush heated her entire body, and she glanced around to see if anyone stared at her oddly. She worried for naught, no one was interested in the daughter of a disgraced lord standing on the sidelines watching everyone else dance.
Somehow, she had to prevent a repeat of the last few nights’ dream. She’d dreamed of one of the erotic images in the duke’s book. The one where the lady had been wantonly splayed on a chaise and the man’s face buried between her legs. But in Pippa’s dream, it had been her and the duke! Hours later Pippa was still mortified the man had invaded her slumber in such a manner, and not once but thrice. Clearly, she had her father’s lascivious and improper blood, and those who had whispered ‘blood will tell,’ had not been too far off the mark.
Her mother, appearing quite radiant tonight in a red gown with a crossover bodice boasting gold stripes cut on the bias, slid up to her. Pippa was grateful for the distraction. The flush in her mother’s cheek and the twinkle in her gray eyes were decidedly odd. Pippa stiffened when her mother cast a tender glance at Lord Janson, a widower who had only recently come out of mourning. Was he the reason her mother seemed so…happy? A smile touched the man’s lips, and to Pippa’s shock he winked…winked at her mother before turning away and heading out into the gardens.
Good heavens! What was happening? “Mamma?”
Her mother glanced at her, a silly smile painting her lips. “Yes, dear?”
“You’re more energetic than usual today.”
Her mother smiled wryly. “I have reason to be.”
What did that mean? “Why was Viscount Janson…winking at you?”
Her mamma inhaled sharply, her cheeks blooming a delightful pink. “I’m sure I have no notion of what you speak.” She snapped open her fan and started fanning herself.
Pippa had no idea what to say. But there was something there, those tender glances were not her imagination, and she’d developed a keen eye for these sorts of things. Worry curled through her. Mamma had been much devastated by her husband’s betrayal, and she’d always seemed so vulnerable to Pippa. Now, this viscount showed an evident interest, and his intentions could not be honorable. Not when all of society knew that mamma was still married, and a divorce was impossible to secure. What if he wanted her to be his mistress? The very idea of her mother driven so low was heart-breaking. A fresh surge of anger and hurt at her father’s action surged through her almost felling Pippa to her knees. “Mamma, please be careful,” she beseeched softly.
The baroness stared at her for several moments before squeezing her hand. “Graham is very kind and understanding. Not every man is a bounder and deserving of your mistrust.”
Oh dear, Graham? Pippa winced. How could mamma open her heart so easily after the man she had loved for over eighteen years betrayed her love and trust so horribly? “Mamma, please, promise me you shall be careful.”
“The Duke of Carlyle, the Marchioness of Andrews, and the Countess of Blagrove,” the butler announced.
Her heart lurched, and like many in the room, her attention turned to the entrance of the grand ballroom as the duke was announced with his sisters. Nervousness coursed through Pippa. Since she’d invaded his privacy, she had dreaded meeting the duke socially. Would he recognize that she was the same as his thief?
“My, how handsome he is,” her mother said appreciatively.
The duke was quite handsome indeed, dressed in dark trousers and jacket, snow white undershirt, a light blue waistcoat, and an immaculately tied cravat. Typical cut and style of clothing most fashionable gentlemen wore, but they fitted the duke’s frame with uncommon grace.
Pippa glanced about searching for her friend and almost cried when she spied a stricken Miranda staring at the duke. She closed her eyes before hurrying through the open terrace doors to the gardens. No doubt she would stay there until it was time to depart. Pippa would offer to leave with her now. “Mamma, I see Miranda in the gardens. I will check on her.”
The fan in her mother’s hand fluttered wildly. “I believe he is coming toward us!”
“Who?” Pippa glanced around and almost expired. It was the duke…and he was indeed heading directly to her with the hostess. Her heart became a roar in her ears, and her skin crawled as the people’s regard settled on her. He approached with their hostess, and Pippa was grateful for the sudden warmth of her mother who pressed closer to her.
“Miss Cavanaugh, His Grace, the Duke of Carlyle has asked for an introduction, and I am delighted to oblige,” said Lady Rutherford the hostess of tonight’s ball with curiosity alive in her brown eyes.
Struggling for equanimity, she ignored the thrill of excitement and the agony of nerves going through her veins. She dipped into an elegant curtsey quite aware of the shocked stares and the whispers already cresting through the ballroom. For once Pippa asked the same question as the throng, why had the duke approached her? Surely, he did not know? It was impossible. That night she had been in full disguise, and their first meeting had also been in a darkened library.
“Miss Cavanaugh, I’m delighted.” He bowed charmingly before turning to her mother who tried to mask her astonishment and hope. “Lady Cavanaugh, how charming to make your acquaintance.”
Her mother curtsied and returned a greeting. Mild pleasantries were exchanged with the hostess and mamma. Though the duke did not look in Pippa’s direction, she could sense all his awareness was for her. She was unsure how to feel about his assessment. Am I nervous or excited? That question might remain unanswered of the night, she was only sure that the strange feelings flipping around in her stomach were because of his presence.
He turned to her, his eyes alight with warm humor. “Miss Cavanaugh, I do hope you will honor me with a dance this evening.”
Lady Rutherford froze, then twittered, “Your grace! I’m sure Miss Cavanaugh would be pleased to know this is your first dance of the season!”
The countess’s staged whisper had several ladies snapping open their fans. The buzz of their murmurs and speculation crawled over Pippa’s skin like ants.
She stared at him helplessly. “It would be my first dance of the season too,” she murmured.
Lady Rutherford sent her a horrid stare as if Pippa should not have admitted no one had cared to stand up with her, even once. And perhaps she should have been more mindful with her tongue. Making a desperate recovery, she said, “All my dances are available.”
Her mother inhaled sharply, and she blushed. Drat. It was as if all her lessons on proper interaction with a gentleman had flown through the open terraced windows.
“If I could take them all, I believe I would, Miss Cavanaugh.”
His lips curved and an answering smile was irresistibly drawn from her.
The orchestra started a waltz, and he held out his hand. “If you would honor me now, I would be most pleased.”
She threw a glance at her mother who merely stared with such wide eyes, and pitiful hope, Pippa almost burst into tears. She dipped into a curtsy, placed her gloved hand on his arms, and allowed him to escort her onto the ball floor.
The bows of the orchestra leaped to life, and the exquisite music of the waltz filled the room. He swept her into his arms with innate grace and elegance, and Pippa followed seamlessly. “I’ve never danced the waltz before,” she murmured, feeling wonderfully awed.
Surprised flared in his eyes. “I would not have been able to tell. You move beautifully, Miss Cavanaugh.”
A sweet, mystifying ache trembled low in her belly. “Thank you, Your Grace. My fa…father taught me.” And the memories of her fifteen-year-old self, giggling and having great fun in her father’s arms as he taught her the steps almost overwhelmed her.
Swallowing back the mess of emotions stirring in her heart, she smiled. “Thank you for asking me. I…I’m not asked to dance often.” Or at all.
And the duke’s attention tonight would go a
far way in restoring her unfairly tarnished reputation and honor. A lump grew in her throat until she could barely swallow. She could see the happiness of her mother as she stared at them from the sidelines. A duke danced with her daughter. One who was well loved and respected. Pippa would not need many stamps of approval after that.
Surely, he knew he did her a great kindness.
“I did nothing but asked a lovely lady to dance with me.”
His eyes glowed with wicked tenderness and distressing familiarity. A lump grew in her throat, and she looked beyond his shoulder, unable to stare in his face. He knows it was me. The awareness filled her, yet foolishly she was not afraid. “What you must think of me!”
“I admit you are the most fascinating creature I’ve ever met, Miss Cavanaugh. I have yet to decide if that is good or bad. Meet me at midnight in the gardens. That is about two hours from now,” he murmured.
“Your Grace?” Pippa demanded wholly taken aback.
“I would like to continue our conversation and our game. It has been…haunting me.”
A jolt of apprehension went through her at the confirmation he knew it had indeed been her inside his townhouse. The dark heat in his gaze and feminine awareness warned Pippa it was her who had been tormenting his thoughts. Do you have wicked dreams of me too?
Cynical humor entered his eyes. “No denial, I am impressed, Miss Cavanaugh. I had prepared for a volley of tears, vapors, and machinations.”
“I would like to think I am a good deal more sensible than that.” Though her anxiety was cramping her gut. She could not determine what he would do with the information. Pippa thought it unlikely he would pursue the matter lawfully, but it felt wretched to be so uncertain of his intention. She could deny it since there had been no witness, but it would be her words against a powerful duke.
“I gather to adopt the person of Lady W one would have to be. Even my sister Selina reads your articles, finding them clever and resourceful without being malicious. Amelia is not too fond, however.”
Pippa stumbled but he held her securely in his arms, and only the keenest of observers would have noticed that slight mishap. It was impossible the duke would know that much. Fearful denial hovered on her lips. She had been careful of her secret identity. If society knew Pippa Cavanaugh, a lady already barely tolerated, was the source of their tattles, she and her mother would never be invited to another ball or drawing room. Everyone in society would cut them. “Your Grace, I—”
“There are far more interesting and scandalous people than me,” he said, “Did you know Viscount Charleigh dresses as a woman and sings for others at a special club in Soho square?”
She choked on air, so outrageous was his suggestion.
The glint in his eyes said he funned her. “I would not tell a tattle that has the potential to ruin a life.”
“How excessively diverting. A gossip columnist with integrity. I am in admiration,” he said with chilling sarcasm.
She flushed. He tugged her scandalously close and turned her in to a spin. “I do not appreciate even the hint of my name in a tattle sheet. Why have you targeted me, Miss Cavanaugh?”
“Are you so uncaring of your misdeeds you had not thought it possible? Or are they so vast it is difficult for you to keep abreast of them?” She threw the accusation at him with a quick, disgusted narrowing of her eyes.
Curiosity flashed in his gaze. “Ah…this is revenge is it?”
“Yes,” she snapped, thoroughly vexed with his cavalier attitude. “I shall occupy myself with the revelation of the true nature of your character until I am satisfied society is fully aware of it as well!”
“And what is the truth, Miss Cavanaugh?”
She ignored the cool warning in his tone, searching his expression for any hint of remorse or guilt. There was none, only a watching ruthlessness, characterizing the duke a man she needed to be careful with, a warning she did not heed. “That you are a libertine! A seducer of innocents, and that the Duke of Saints is a carefully cultivated persona that is no more factual that I am actually a widow called Lady W!”
Icy civility settled on his face. “And whom have I supposedly seduced?”
She glanced away recalling her vow. “I cannot say, but I am certain you are guilty!”
“Ah…and to think I’d believe you were different from the typical gossip monger.”
A quizzically raised eyebrow brought blood rushing to her cheeks.
“If you dare repeat such a falsehood, I will sue you for slander.”
The soft menace in his voice shocked her speechless. “This is not mere gossip. You hurt someone close to me, someone, who trusted you, someone who has taken me into her confidence of your dastardly nature!”
Only icy coldness peered down at her, and in his eyes, she saw ruination she’d not thought possible. This man would not allow serious scandal to touch his name without her facing the consequences of his power and connections. Intimidation pressed in on her, and she regretted she had ever wanted to kiss this deplorable blackguard.
“You will scarcely deny that you are acquainted with Lady Miranda Cheswick,” she whispered fiercely, assessing every nuance of his expression.
Chapter 9
The duke stared at Pippa, arrested, his expression one of mild shock. “And what has she accused me of?” he demanded softly.
“I ought not to have said that. My wretched tongue!”
A cold, intimidating fire leaped into his eyes. “I ask you again, Miss Cavanaugh, what dastardly act am I meant to have done, to Lady Miranda, I presume?”
The disdainful slant of his lips inflamed Pippa’s ire. “Only what you have done, surely you should know it!”
“You have a remarkably false notion of my character.”
The waltz ended, and she was grateful, hardly knowing what to make of the man. The look of surprise in his eyes now seemed so genuine. But she knew her dear friend would not mistake the matter, would she? Pippa hated the doubt worming through her heart. She did trust Miranda, they were the best of friends. But why did the duke betray such surprise?
Only now, the eyes peering down at her were blank with icy civility. “You set out on a campaign of ruin without confirmation of this dastardly act. You are a silly, immature miss not worthy of my regard!”
Pippa flinched. She had felt suddenly breathless, and embarrassed, and perplexingly hurt.
The countess came up at that moment to tell Pippa that her mamma required her presence, preventing her from uttering the retort that rose to her lips. In silence, he escorted her toward her mother.
“This conversation is not over, Miss Cavanaugh. Nor is our game. I will see you at midnight.”
“I thought I was unworthy of your regard?” she snapped.
“It seems as if I am a damned fool, for I want nothing more than to meet you.”
That coldly biting acknowledgment infuriated him more. It occurred to her, despite his rank and position the duke was drawn to her. The notion did frightening things to her heart.
“You brought your chess board and pieces?” she asked, instead of denying the outrageousness of what he suggested and running far away as possible. She tried to reassure herself she was merely seeking ammunition for Miranda, but deep inside…Pippa was a mess of bewildering emotions.
He tapped his temple once. “We will play here.”
She was momentarily diverted. A mental chess game, moving each piece from sheer memory? How positively thrilling. She remembered the last move she had made and each placement of the board with sharp acuity. “I will not promise to be there.”
The duke spoke to her mother briefly before melting away into the crowd. Pippa was painfully aware of all the avid stares of confusion aimed her way because the duke had danced with no other. His sisters sent her several assessing glances from behind their fans, and she wanted to flee from it all. But she had never been a coward, and she would not start acting silly now. Lifting her chin, she made her way through the throng, searching for Mira
nda. Pippa was disappointed to learn her friend had pled a headache and departed while she and the duke danced.
It tore at her heart to know her friend could no longer enjoy a ball. She would not dare slip away to meet him in the gardens. Though, based on the kindness she’d gleaned from his character she might be able to convince him to do the honorable thing. It had been a few weeks since the dreadful incident, and some nights Miranda still cried herself to sleep. Pippa hated the wretched, hollow sounds that came from her friend’s room.
Almost an hour before midnight, Pippa found herself discreetly slipping through the doors of the music room some distance away from the main ballroom, which led to a section of the outside gardens. A few lanterns along the pathway and on overhead strings lit the way, but the area was empty. A chill breeze danced over her, making her shiver, but she did not mind it. As she stared out into the swells and shadows of the gardens her heartbeat escalated to an uncomfortable speed. I am being silly, I cannot take this risk.
With a sigh, she turned around and slammed into a hard form. Shock sent prickles all over her body.
“I see you were just as anxious as me to begin our game,” the duke said with some measure of amusement. “An hour early, Miss Cavanaugh?”
Her nostrils filled with the pleasant scents of tobacco, brandy, and the man himself. “I was about to return inside,” she said with a scowl he would unlikely see for they were obscured in shadows. “I was foolish to come out here.”
This felt too much like a romantic rendezvous.
There was no immediate response to this, but after a few moments, he said, “I wanted to dance with you again.”
“I wish you weren’t so provoking,” she said in a hushed whisper.
“I only speak the truth, Miss Cavanaugh.”
How coolly bemused he sounded. Then he said, “Rook takes e7 bishop.”
