Unmasking the Duke (Rogue Hearts Series Book 5)

by Donna Hatch

  Smiling, the duchess nodded. “She’s right, you know. You should spend more time actually seeking a wife. Of course, that might prove difficult for a man of your station and reputation.”

  Suttenberg cringed. He’d only tried to step into his father’s shoes, but instead he seemed to have created a reputation that even he would never be able to uphold. If people really knew him, knew the passions that heated his blood and were the source of a fierce temper, they wouldn’t believe this so-called image.

  Still, perhaps his mother and grandmother were right; he should actively seek a wife instead of relying on chance meetings at balls and dinner parties. But finding a lady strong enough to take on the responsibilities and social pressures of a duchess, not to mention someone whose family, background, and accomplishments fit his family’s definition of “suitable,” created a herculean task. It would be truly refreshing to find someone genuine, someone who might truly love him, hidden flaws and all.

  He cast a sideways glance at his sister-in-law. His brother had been fortunate indeed to have found a lady whom he loved. But love shouldn’t figure into Suttenberg’s needs for a wife. The pressures of maintaining the image of superior accomplishments, which taxed him heavily, now expanded to the area of family and progeny, which raised the stakes. Sometimes the weight threatened to crush him.

  “I invited Mr. Gregory to join us at your hunting lodge,” his mother said. “I hope that meets with your approval.”

  Suttenberg nodded. “Of course. Gregory is always welcome, you know that.”

  His brother, Phillip, strode in. “Is tea ready? I’m starved.” He kissed Meredith and rubbed the fuzz on his youngest son’s head.

  As if on cue, the head housekeeper entered with the tea service, followed by a maid carrying a second tray of scones, Devonshire cream, lemon curd, fruit, and cheese. The nurse took the baby from Meredith and carried him away so the young mother could more fully enjoy her tea.

  “Is your costume for tonight’s ball ready, Meredith?” the duchess asked.

  “It is.” Meredith’s eyes glowed. “I’m going as Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.”

  “Should I be worried you’ll plot an uprising with my sons against me?” Phillip teased.

  She cocked her head to one side mischievously. “Only if you become a tyrannical king.”

  They exchanged loving glances that seemed too intimate for tea. Or maybe Suttenberg’s desire for such simple joy as theirs tainted his judgment. He looked away.

  Very well. He’d seek a wife. It might help stave off the brief moments of loneliness that had reared up lately. It would also have the additional advantage of getting his grandmother to stop harping on him to marry and produce an heir. While his family discussed the ball and their costumes, Suttenberg mulled over his newly realized goal.

  How does one go about such an important task? Asking for his family’s help was out of the question; they’d introduce him to a blinding array of ladies with practiced smiles designed to snare a peer. Chance meetings at balls and parties had only cemented his fears that most women were calculating and insincere. He couldn’t exactly place an advertisement in the paper the way he’d found his secretary. His parents’ marriage had been arranged. Phillip met Meredith by capsizing her boat outside Vauxhall Gardens—not, obviously, something Suttenberg would do intentionally.

  Hmm. This wife-hunting business presented a problem. Cole Amesbury, the Earl of Tarrington, had a famously happy marriage. Perhaps he would be a helpful resource. All Suttenberg had to do was find a way of asking for his help while not appearing to do so. Giving advice to others came easier than asking.

  If only he could find a lady with a kind heart and a healthy dose of wit, plus all the other requirements for a duchess, of course. It would be just too easy to find such a lady tonight while wearing a mask. His thoughts stuttered to a halt. Tonight presented a unique situation. No one would know he was the Duke of Suttenberg. He could be his true self. And maybe, just maybe, he could find a lady who would see him as a man, rather than the Duke of Suttenberg, and treat him accordingly.

  But if she saw the real him, would the flaws he so carefully hid from others deny him such a pure love?

  Chapter Three

  In a mirror in the great hall, Hannah examined her Grecian-style white gown trimmed in gold—a lovely costume, but surely wouldn’t save her from disaster.

  Flowing fabric draped around her in soft folds and caressed her skin. A gold, multi-chained necklace lay heavily against her collarbones, the perfect finishing touch. The front of her hair, swept up into an elaborate braid piled on top of her head and woven with gold threads, appeared ready to topple, and the long curls down her back would probably go limp before the evening’s end. And worse, she’d no doubt trip or step on her partner’s toes, despite hours with her dance master. With her stomach so twisted up in nerves, she surely wouldn’t manage to utter an intelligent sentence. Oh, why did she let Alicia talk her into this ball?

  She pushed back her fears. Tonight she was Aphrodite, the confident, provocative goddess of love—above reproach. She touched the mask concealing the upper half of her face, drew a bracing breath, and entered the ballroom. Though secretly Alicia had thrown this ball in Hannah’s honor as a birthday celebration, they’d chosen to make tonight a masquerade, so masks would stay on all night, unless guests chose to remove them for dinner. Hannah would leave hers firmly in place. Normally, Hannah would help Alicia and Cole greet their guests, but that would give away her identity, so she arrived in the ballroom like an invitee.

  Fighting the urge to hang back, she stood with head high near the dance floor to watch the guests mingle. A man wearing the blue and silver tabard of a French Musketeer, complete with a plumed hat, stepped into her line of sight. His commanding bearing and the air of confidence enshrouded his lean form so completely that he might have been the prince Regent. In Hannah’s limited experience with society, only Cole and the Duke of Suttenberg bore such wordless self-possession. All lords probably had such a stance. He stood perfectly still, his masked face turned toward the dance floor. Hannah followed his line of sight. Cole and Alicia, dressed as beautifully as a duke and duchess from the Elizabethan Era, complete with white wigs, took the floor as head couple. Other dancers lined up behind them. The Musketeer in front of Hannah appeared to search the crowd as if seeking someone. Perhaps the lady of his choice had revealed to him her costume and he desired to begin the evening with her.

  The Musketeer’s gaze made a wide circuit, turning her direction, and Hannah quickly looked away lest he catch her staring at him. She made a point of admiring the painting sweeping across the ceiling as if she’d never seen it. She was a goddess—confident and in control. She straightened her posture.

  “My lady,” the Musketeer said in a soft, husky voice.

  She turned to him slowly, queenly, with all the confidence and poise of Aphrodite. “Sir?”

  He extended a hand. “Would you do me the honor of standing up with me for the first dance?”

  She inclined her head and placed her gloved hand in his. He led her to the line of dancers. Emboldened by her mask and the celestial attributes her costume lent her, she looked him in the face. Tall, lean, dark-haired, and with full lips, he arrested her gaze. Little else of his features were visible enough to reveal his identity to her, thanks to his costume, gold mask, and wide-brimmed hat. He returned her stare, but for once such focus did not leave her flustered and tongue-tied.

  Cole and Alicia stood at the head of the line. The music began, an old-fashioned minuet. For a second, Hannah faltered. Did she remember the steps? Lessons with her dance master seemed long ago, and they hadn’t spent much time on dances from a bygone era.

  As she curtsied, her mind raced. What came next? Her partner took her hand and led her without hesitation, his touch firm and sure. As she moved with him, following his lead and bowing again, her panic faded. She could do this. Down the line a lady’s steps faltered. Hannah’s heart went out to
her. None of the dancers gave any indication they noticed the lady’s misstep. Perhaps they all concentrated so hard on remembering such an outdated dance that no one noticed.

  As the stately dance continued, her partner radiated supreme equanimity. There. He almost missed a step, but only the briefest tightening of his mouth betrayed the crack in his aplomb.

  As he led her around in a little circle, she murmured, “I can’t remember the last time I performed a minuet.”

  “It has been a while for me, as well,” he admitted softly.

  The sequence took them apart, and Hannah danced with the lady diagonal from her before the steps took her back to her partner. Next, she curtsied to the gentleman across from her and danced with him, counting the beat silently. As she returned to her partner, he again took her hand, leading her through the next portion, careful to keep the rapier at his side from getting in the way. She wondered if it were a real weapon or merely decorative.

  He turned his head toward her. “I am trying to identify your costume. Are you a goddess?”

  “I am.”

  “Which one?”

  Uncharacteristically pert, thanks to her costume, no doubt, she tilted her head. “I believe I’ll let you guess.”

  One corner of his mouth lifted. “A Greek or Roman goddess?”

  “Greek.”

  He left her to the lady across from him, stepping in perfect time. When the steps brought him back to her side, they bowed and exchanged only the briefest glances before it was her turn to dance with the gentleman across from her. Clearly an older man, wearing the black-and-white domino of the previous century, he led her with ease through that portion of the sequence, no doubt comfortable with a minuet popular in his youth.

  The ladies in their group of four began their promenade. One of them muttered, “Oh dear, oh dear,” and waited to get her cues from the others. Hannah tried to give clues as to what came next to help the lady, and her features relaxed as she fell into step.

  The minuet came to a close. They completed the final steps and bowed. As Hannah straightened, she lifted her gaze to her partner, who stared directly at her.

  “I have narrowed down who you are,” he stated.

  “You have?” Alarmed that he might already have determined her name, she barely controlled the rising fear that threatened to strip away all her false confidence.

  “You aren’t Athena or Artemis because you have nothing of a warrior about you.”

  Relief left her almost weak in the knees. She scolded herself. He was, of course, speaking of her costume’s identity. “No, not Athena nor Artemis.”

  “And you don’t have anything earthy about you, so you aren’t Rhea or Demeter. You are beautiful and regal, so unless you are one of the lesser goddesses, I believe you are Ernos, the goddess of dawn, or Aphrodite, goddess of love and beauty, or evenHera, goddess of them all.”

  She studied him more closely, intrigued by his perceptiveness. “Which do you believe I am?”

  As the dancers dispersed, he offered a hand again to lead her off the dance floor. “If I were to place a wager, it would be on Aphrodite.”

  “What if I remove my mask to reveal I’m not beautiful?”

  He lowered his voice to a volume as to only be heard by her. “Of what I can see of you at this moment, you are beautiful. Your skin, what I can see of it, is flawless, and your lips are shaped like a rose bud. Yes, you are outwardly beautiful. I have no doubt.”

  Hannah’s mouth fell open slightly. She’d never in her life been paid such a lovely compliment. It took putting on a mask to earn such a rare gift. Yet surely only a practiced flirt would say such a thing.

  He added, “You are also inwardly beautiful—kind to your fellow dancers, you dance with uncommon grace, and comport yourself like a queen.”

  If ever she were to swoon over pretty words, this would be the right moment. Alicia was right; there were many practiced flirts in society. Hannah had best not fall for their flatteries. She inclined her head. “You are kind to say so, but I suspect you are a smooth-tongued rogue who goes about charming women everywhere.”

  “I assure you, madam, I spoke with perfect sincerity.”

  She might never learn the truth. The mystery of his identity and the meaning of his words sent a thrill racing down her spine. “Then I thank you. And I offer a compliment of my own: you dance beautifully. I am grateful to you for your skillful guidance.”

  “I am happy to be of service. May I bring you a drink? Lemonade?”

  A gentleman dressed as a pirate, complete with a cutlass at his hip, appeared next to her. “Stand up with me, my lady, I beg you.”

  Hannah paused. That voice seemed familiar. Could it be Mr. Hill? Surely he hadn’t discovered her so quickly.

  The pirate grinned and swaggered. “Dance with me, or I might be forced to carry you off to my pirate ship.”

  The voice seemed like his, but she couldn’t believe he’d say such a thing nor even grin at her thusly . . . unless the mask tapped into another side of him, as well. Still, it was only a dance. Surely no harm would come from that.

  She carefully lowered her voice to alto tones to protect her identity. “Very well, sir pirate. But as we are a great deal inland, I doubt your ship is accessible this eve.”

  “I’m very resourceful.”

  She glanced back at the Musketeer. “Another time for the lemonade, sir?”

  “As you wish, my goddess.” He bowed grandly.

  The pirate took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He leaned in too closely. “You look beautiful.” The alcohol on his breath burned her eyes.

  She glanced in his direction, trying not to inhale too deeply, and inclined her head. “You’re kind to say so.”

  A quadrille began, and Hannah relaxed; not only did she know this dance well, but partners changed so frequently that there would be little time for conversation. Still, the pirate studied her carefully. She barely glanced at him. If she gave him little notice, he’d see she had no interest in getting better acquainted. The vigorous quadrilled proved an exhilarating diversion. She was breathless and light hearted by its end, until she returned to the pirate for the final turn.

  As the next dance in the set began, he leaned in. “Hannah?”

  She turned her head slowly. “Who?”

  “I know it’s you, Hannah.”

  Tempted to shrink from him, she raised her chin. “I hope this Hannah person is either your sister or your wife, sir, or she may not forgive you for using her Christian name.”

  He took a firm hold of her elbow. “I know it’s you. I told you that I would know you even in costume.”

  She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and made a point of refusing to speak to him or look at him. Through the course of the cotillion as she changed partners, she danced with the musketeer. “We meet again, Monsieur Musketeer.”

  “Are you enjoying your visit among us mere mortals, Aphrodite?” His smile teased, warm and almost intimate without being threatening.

  “Very much. I believe there are a few couples who may need my assistance falling in love, but others seem to be getting along famously without me.”

  He chuckled. “Have you chosen someone for me?”

  “I am not a matchmaker, sir. I merely watch over and help lovers who have already found each other.”

  “Ah, unfortunate. Couldn’t you make an exception for me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  The sequence took them apart and returned them to their partners. At the end, they bowed and she lost sight of him.

  The moment she returned to the pirate for the final bow, she said, “Thank you for the dance.” Head high, she strode away from him.

  To her relief, another gentlemen less interested in her identity asked her to dance the next set, and she lost sight of the pirate. As the evening wore on, her confidence increased. She hadn’t missed a step and conversed easily with everyone she met. Perhaps a mask was all she needed to find her poise. She smiled the whole time,
blissfully moving to the music and with other dancers. Who would have believed a secret identity would be so liberating? The pirate appeared across the room, but moved out of her line of sight.

  After a lively country dance, Hannah took a moment to catch her breath, and the Musketeer found her again.

  He smiled. “What must I do to win the favor of the goddess of love, that she might help me find a lady?”

  “You pose an interesting problem, Sir Musketeer.”

  He stepped nearer, a bit more closely than strictly proper. “Am I a problem because you are tempted to match me with yourself?”

  She smiled secretively. “Is that your wish?”

  “At this moment, I wish that more than anything.” The intensity of his eyes almost stripped away her carefully constructed ruse and touched the real woman inside.

  In an attempt to put up her shields lest he cast some kind of spell over her, she tossed her head and laughed. “A lofty goal—to be loved by a goddess.”

  “To be loved by a good woman is a lofty goal, as well.” He gently enfolded her hand in his. “What is your loftiest goal, Aphrodite?”

  For a moment, she could hardly speak. His words touched a place deep in her heart. “I wish more than anything to be loved by a good man.”

  “Dance the supper dance with me; you can determine if I meet your definition of a good man.” He smiled, his tone teasing as if still in the role of a swashbuckling Musketeer, but that intensity in his gaze suggested a deeper meaning. The warmth of his hand, even through their gloves, bathed her entire body.

  The pirate appeared. He gave the Musketeer a brief once over, pointedly looking at their hands. Holding hands was intimate, bordering on scandalous. She withdrew from the Musketeer’s touch. Even Aphrodite knew boundaries.

  In a clear dismissal of the Musketeer, the pirate turned to Hannah. “The supper dance is next. Stand up with me.” He grabbed her hand.

  The Musketeer stiffened but remained silent, waiting for her to speak. Which was nice, really, since so many men seemed to speak for her.