The Duke’s Hidden Desire

by Blackwood, Gemma

  A slightly shrill voice interrupted Miss Somerville the moment she turned him down. “I myself am simply dying for a glass of champagne and a little…intimate conversation!”

  Beaumont turned reluctantly to greet the owner of the voice, whom he recognised immediately as Miss Susan Clayton. Not content with being the heiress to a particularly large fortune, Miss Clayton had set her heart on bagging a title along with a worthy marriage. She seemed to think that the title of duchess would suit her most particularly.

  “Mi scusi, signora,” said Beaumont hastily, flashing the red silk lining of his cloak as he bowed. He left her to be comforted by the level-headed girl in the peacock mask.

  Beaumont had a keen sense for when he was being pursued. He pushed his way quickly through the crowds of guests, ducking behind one group and dodging between the next, until the girls who had rumbled him were left far behind. Once he had turned a corner into an unoccupied corridor of Scarcliffe Hall, he tugged at the red gondolier’s scarf he wore in place of a cravat and let out a sigh of relief.

  It had been fun while it lasted. Robert could not fault him for trying. News would soon spread that the Duke of Beaumont had been spotted at the masked ball, and its status would be elevated in the eyes of all the ton.

  But Beaumont’s enjoyment of the evening was over.

  As a whispering couple entered the corridor behind him, Beaumont decided to give them a little privacy. He made off upstairs in the direction of his suite of rooms. Robert had invited his closest friends to Scarcliffe Hall for the start of the hunting season, and the group of four gentlemen intended to make a bachelor’s paradise of the rambling old mansion for the rest of the summer – as soon as the elderly marquess could be persuaded to leave them in peace.

  Naturally, as a duke, Beaumont outranked Lord Lilistone, but he had no desire to pull rank in a man’s own home. The four gentlemen – the Earl of Scarcliffe, his brother, Lord Jonathan Hartley, the Baron Northmere and Beaumont himself – had happily obliged the old man’s desire for a ball. It was a dreadful shame that the marquess himself was not well enough to attend it!

  The health of his host occupied Beaumont’s thoughts so effectively that he had actually entered his private sitting room without any notion that it was already occupied. A rustle of clothing as the interloper turned to face him brought his attention to her immediately – and there it lingered.

  At first, he was simply surprised by her choice of attire. While most of the woman at the ball had decked themselves out lavishly in silks, feathers and coloured turbans, she had chosen to dress as…

  Beaumont wrinkled his nose, trying to decide whether her plain brown gown signified flower girl or milkmaid. If he did not already know all the servants, he would have taken her for one of the lower classes. He had never seen such a poorly thought-out costume!

  But his eyes quickly abandoned her peculiar dress for the fine-boned face above it. This party-goer had removed her mask, and Beaumont had rarely been gladder of anything. She had high cheekbones, a narrow, straight nose, a proud mouth in an attractive shade of coral, and a face overall that was a little too thin to be fashionable, but which happened to appeal directly to Beaumont’s tastes. Her eyes, a charming, clear hazel, were wide with shock. It was obvious that she had no legitimate reason for being in his chambers.

  “Well, well,” said Beaumont, too enchanted by his unintended guest to be stern. “It seems we have an intruder.”

  3

  The man standing before Anna was wearing a Venetian mask striped in red and black, tied behind his ears with a ribbon. The only clues she could gather as to his identity were that he was tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired, and, presumably, a guest of the marquess.

  A guest who had just discovered her snooping through his chambers.

  Her only option was to escape as quickly as possible. “Do excuse me, sir,” she said, dropping a quick curtsey. “I was just –”

  “You were just taking the opportunity of a private tour through Scarcliffe Hall,” said the masked man, the corner of his mouth twisting upwards. Anna could not help but notice that he had a particularly elegant jawline. It was all that she could see of his face, but it would have drawn the eye under any circumstances.

  She gave herself a little shake. The last thing any respectable, betrothed woman ought to be doing was admiring the face of a strange man. Particularly when he had caught her misbehaving.

  “If you will just step aside, sir, I’ll be on my way,” she said, pleading with her eyes for him to let her go.

  No such luck.

  “Not before you tell me what you were doing in here, I think,” said the masked man. Anna thrust her hands behind her back to hide the fact that her fingers were twisting together in embarrassment.

  “I was only trying to get a look at the party.”

  The man glanced at the window. “This room overlooks the topiary garden.”

  “Yes. That’s why I was about to leave.” He was still standing between her and the door. Anna swallowed her pride. “Please?”

  To her dismay, he gave the door a sharp push and closed it. “What sort of man would I be to pass up such an opportunity?” he asked.

  “I fail to take your meaning, sir.” Although Anna was terribly afraid that she had, in fact, read his meaning exactly.

  To her horror, the man swept forward, red-lined cloak billowing behind him, and took her face in his hands. “Tell the truth, my pretty one. You have come to this room to seduce the Duke of Beaumont.”

  Anna forced her hands between their two bodies and pushed him away as hard as she could. “I have certainly not!”

  The masked man laughed. It was not a cruel laugh. Anna thought, to her surprise, that she detected a note of self-mockery in it. “You have no need to fear. I am Beaumont. And I must say, I am not displeased to find such a beautiful woman waiting for me… Even if she is dressed as a dreary milkmaid.”

  Anna folded her arms across her chest, as much to cover up her inexpensive dress as anything else. When she was embarrassed, her cheeks had a tendency to flame as red as her hair, and she had never regretted it more than she did now. “You have now insulted my clothing as much as my honour. Will it please you to let me go? Or do you intend to toy with me any longer?”

  The man stared at her with the astonished pride of a man not used to being told no.

  “I imagine you expected me to fall at your feet the moment I thought you were a duke,” she continued. “As though a real duke would ever behave so abominably!”

  “On the contrary,” the man objected, “dukes have been known to take all manner of unseemly liberties.” To her surprise, he made her a florid bow. “If I have offended, I apologise for it most sincerely. But you must admit that your behaviour does not speak of virtue. What did you intend by waiting, alone, in a gentleman’s chamber?”

  “I had no idea whose chamber it was,” said Anna. “I only wanted to get a glimpse of the ball. And now, my deepest wish is for you to let me go with what remains of my dignity.”

  The man held up a finger. “I have a proposal for you. Since we are at a party, we ought to indulge ourselves in a little game. If you win, you may depart, and I will not tell a soul that you were caught here.”

  Anna did not entirely like the sound of that. “And if I lose?”

  The man smiled. It was no more than a subtle quirk of his lips, but it filled Anna with a rush of exhilaration that might have been due to excitement – or impending danger. “Then you must pay a forfeit.”

  She did not know whether to run or let him have his way.

  “Do you agree?”

  “I suppose.” Anna cleared her throat. “You ought to know that I am engaged.”

  “You imagine I intend something…wicked?”

  “I do not know you. I cannot guess what you intend.”

  “I would suggest that your betrothal is all the more reason for you to keep your reputation intact, Miss Milkmaid.” He gestured towards the chaise longue
. “Play my game. I give you my word that you will not regret it.”

  Anna sat. The masked man’s voice had a thrum of absolute power to it that made him difficult to disobey.

  She realised, with a sudden shock, that she had never spent this long alone with a gentleman before. Even with Gilbert, she had always been chaperoned. She should have felt terrified, trapped. She should have been longing to flee.

  But perhaps she was condemned to wickedness herself, for she only felt curiosity and… though she hardly dared admit it… a little excitement. If she could manage to win this game and persuade the gentleman to keep the encounter a secret, where was the harm?

  The gondolier took his seat at the other end of the chaise longue, leaving a gap of barely an arm’s breadth between them, and stretched out his tall black boots as though he owned the place. “My game is this. Since you do not believe I am the Duke of Beaumont, I will give you one guess as to my real identity. If you guess correctly, you may leave at once. If you fail…”

  “Yes, I know,” said Anna. “The forfeit. It is no use trying to scare me.” She got up and moved away from him, towards the window. It seemed the safer option.

  “No,” said the man, smiling again. “I see you are too brave for it. Well. I will give you three options to choose from. The first – naturally – His Grace the Duke of Beaumont.”

  “And what would a duke be doing upstairs, alone, while a ball went on beneath him?” asked Anna, unable to stop smiling herself. If that ridiculous notion were one of her guesses, that meant she had a fifty per cent chance of choosing correctly between the remaining two.

  “Don’t waste your guess before you have heard all your options,” said the man. “The second man I might be is the Baron Northmere. You must have heard that he is a guest here at Scarcliffe Hall. And the final option, the illustrious heir himself – the Earl of Scarcliffe.”

  Anna could not help laughing. “You are not the Earl of Scarcliffe,” she said. “I have known him since my childhood.”

  “A strange companion, for a milkmaid.”

  “Oh, we were not companions, as such. But my father…” Anna hesitated. As the local doctor, her father had been invited to dine at Scarcliffe Hall whenever the marquess’s family was in residence. But she did not want to reveal her identity to this strange man while her reputation was at risk. “Well, you must allow me to keep my own secrets, sir.”

  “Quite right, too.” The man tilted his head to one side. Even with half his face hidden, she could read the triumph in his eyes. “Your guess, then, is Northmere?”

  “Certainly not.” Anna could not conceal her own triumph. She was certain that she had seen what he was doing. “You intended to trick me, did you not? You cannot be any of the gentlemen you named.”

  “Really? And why not?”

  “They are noblemen, sir. Men of honour. They would never assume that a young woman alone in a strange house was there to – to seduce a gentleman. In fact, their behaviour would be a little more courteous and significantly less…”

  “Do go on,” said the man, in a low tone that might have been either irritated or amused.

  “Arrogant. Impudent. Conceited.” Anna lifted her chin proudly. “Men of breeding have no need to brag about it. I imagine that the one who came snooping through Scarcliffe Hall was, in fact, you – and you have assumed another man’s identity in order to escape censure.”

  The masked man laughed. An unabashed, uninhibited, hearty laugh. “You have a very high opinion of the earl and his friends!”

  “My father always raised me to think highly of the marquess’s family,” said Anna primly. “Well? Am I free?” When the man made no move, she felt a prickle of nervousness. “You must uphold our agreement.”

  “Oh, I intend to.” The masked man stood and moved towards her with a glimmer in his dark eyes. “You have guessed incorrectly, Miss Milkmaid. The forfeit is mine to name.”

  Anna willed herself to remain calm, even as her stomach fizzed with anxiety. “You have the burden of proof, sir.”

  His lips quirked. “By which you mean I should remove my mask?”

  “It is only fair.”

  “Fair, perhaps – but it was not one of the conditions of our game. You have failed to guess my identity, and I am not obliged to reveal it.” He leaned forwards, unwittingly giving Anna a hint of his warm, masculine scent. It was a cross between fresh-cut grass and a pine forest in a thunderstorm. “I claim my forfeit.”

  She would rather have died than admit how he affected her. “Name it.”

  He kissed her.

  Anna felt a rush of sensations all at once. The warmth of his lips on hers. The rough bristle of his chin. The hard barrier of the mask which hid his face. The force with which he kissed her, in counterpoint to the tender way his hand cupped her face.

  She had never been kissed before. Gilbert’s frantic pawings, in the moments when her chaperone’s head was turned, flashed briefly into her mind and were instantly drowned under the onslaught of the masked man’s expertise. He knew how to kiss, and kiss well. She knew nothing at all, but he did not seem to mind her inexperience. Rather, by the change in his breathing and the way he responded as she moved her lips uncertainly under his, he enjoyed it.

  They broke apart. Anna trembled.

  “I ought to slap you.”

  “It’s only a game,” he said, though his fingers had unconsciously lifted to touch his lips, as though he still felt the echo of her there.

  “Not to me!” Anna scrubbed her own mouth with her gloved hand. Her lips were still tingling, and it made it difficult to be angry. “If you had any decency at all –”

  “Decency? You are a fine one to speak of decency. I am not promised to anyone. You are.” He lowered himself elegantly down to the chaise longue again and pinned her with those dark eyes. “Have you kissed your fiancé?”

  “It isn’t any of your business.”

  “No, you’re right,” he admitted, his eyes still tracing her body with such liberty that she could almost feel his hands running over her. “I am sorry I asked. Though I am not sorry I kissed you.”

  Anna was not sorry either. She made a point of always being honest with herself, and she knew, in her heart of hearts, that she could not regret a moment of such surpassing excitement and pleasure.

  What did that say about her? Perhaps she was the indecent one, after all. She had betrayed Gilbert in the worst way.

  And yet, nothing had ever passed between herself and Gilbert that even approximated the connection she had made with this man. Where Gilbert simpered, he commanded. Where Gilbert pleaded, he simply took. And it was like being struck by lightning. She could only freeze, mesmerised by the blazing light, and wait to see whether all her limbs remained once it was over.

  “I am not sorry, either,” she whispered.

  “Anna? Anna, where are you?”

  Anna had quite forgotten that her father was in the building at all. “I’m right here, Papa!” she called, before she could think. She heard his footsteps coming down the corridor and, realising what she had done, her eyes flared wide with shock.

  The masked man stood without a word, bowed swiftly, and hid himself in the adjoining room. The last Anna saw of him was the swirl of red silk underneath his cloak as it whipped behind the door.

  Her father came into the room. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I only wanted to get a look at the party,” she said, bowing her head. Her father hustled her out.

  “Really! It isn’t like you to be so silly. Let’s get you out of here before you’re seen.”

  Anna glanced back one last time as they went out into the candlelit corridor, but the man was nowhere to be seen. It was as if he had truly vanished. As if he had never been any more than a figment of her imagination.

  The warmth in her lips, though – that was a sensation she had never thought to imagine before. Anna raised a finger to them, half-consciously mirroring the way her stranger had touched hi
s mouth after she broke away from the kiss.

  The butler was waiting for them at the end of the corridor. “All’s well, I trust?” he asked.

  “I should like a word with Lord Scarcliffe before I go,” said Dr Hawkins. “I know he must be busy, but the advice I gave his father bears repeating.” What he did not say, but the butler perfectly understood nonetheless, was that the marquess was a difficult patient who was liable to refuse to follow the doctor’s instructions if left to his own devices.

  “He will be anxious to speak with you, too, I am sure,” said the butler, and showed them through into a little sitting room.

  Anna sat, absorbed in her own thoughts, as the Earl of Scarcliffe appeared, greeted her and her father with equal warmth, and discussed matters such as the replacement of red meat with chicken and the complete removal of red wine from Lord Lilistone’s diet.

  She did not notice, as the earl walked them downstairs, that she and her father were watched by a pair of keen, dark eyes beneath a red-striped Venetian mask.

  4

  Beaumont had recently lost a great deal of money to Robert Hartley, the Earl of Scarcliffe, at the billiards table, and with it had gone his taste for the game. He passed the evening after the ball watching, with some satisfaction, as Lord Jonathan Hartley thoroughly trounced his older brother in a fiercely-fought battle over the green baize.

  “You may be better with a pistol, Scarcliffe,” said the fourth of their little brotherhood, the Baron Northmere, “but Hart certainly has you when it comes to games.”

  Lord Jonathan cocked an eyebrow ironically. “What a frightful indictment of my insubstantial nature, Northmere.”

  “Leave the table be, chaps,” said Beaumont. “Let’s have a hand or two of whist.”

  He had to admit that it was rather satisfying to see the other men defer to his request. Beaumont took care that his status as duke did not compromise the bond he shared with the three men who had been his closest friends since Eton, but he could not help noticing the weight that his word now wielded.