Unmasking the Duke (Rogue Hearts Series Book 5)

by Donna Hatch

  “You’re thinking very hard, Bennett.”

  His Christian name spoken in her voice sent a ripple of awareness over him. “I am.”

  “About?”

  “I’m not ready to tell you just yet.”

  After dessert was served and consumed, without the appearance of a single strawberry, the guests left the table.

  He escorted her, sorely reluctant to release her. “I suppose it would be terribly improper of me to ask you to dance a third time.”

  With her lips deliciously curved, she nodded. “I am the goddess of love, not the goddess of scandal.”

  “Very well. I’ll resist.”

  As they headed toward the ballroom, some wild compulsion seized him, scattering all reason. He ducked into a nearby room, pulling her with him. She looked up at him with that mysterious smile and went unresisting with him.

  She glanced around, her eyes lighting up. “The library.”

  “We’re not here to read.” He closed the door. The stillness of the room, with the noise of the guests muted on the other side of the door, fueled his impulses. He turned to her and placed his hand over hers where it rested on his arm. “I’m about to ask you a very mad, very improper question.”

  “Oh?”

  “What is your Christian name?”

  Again came that mysterious smile. “No names. Not until it’s time to take off our masks.”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Very well. Then I’ll continue to call you Aphrodite. And I must apologize because I’m about to do something very rash with a lady whose name I don’t know.”

  She went still.

  He slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders and drew her toward him. He tried to move slowly, to give her time to protest or resist, but he honestly didn’t know if he could stop himself even if she asked him to. With one hand moving from her shoulder to her back, and the other touching that sweet curve of her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her.

  Her intake of breath broke the silence. For a heartbeat, he feared she’d deny him, reject him, until her mouth softened, grew pliant. Her lips’ silky texture astonished him, and the contact sent a concussion through his body like a cannon blast. Clearly, it had been far too long since he’d properly kissed a woman. While most of his body heated to a level of incineration, something deep in his heart sighed as if finally reaching a long-sought refuge. A choked groan escaped him.

  He kissed her over and over, each time adding to an inner well he didn’t know had dried. Though she kissed sweetly and with some natural skill, following his lead the way she had on the dance floor, she clearly had little experience kissing. Her innocence could not be ignored. This was a lady whose pristine virtue he had trod upon, and she’d be ruined if they were caught.

  Reason cut through his primal hunger, and he forced himself to end the kiss. He held her soft body against him, trying to rein in his galloping heart. After pressing his lips to her brow, he pulled back and looked at her face.

  Her mouth, moist and overly full from their kiss, curved at the corners, and her eyes remained closed. Then, like the strike of flint against steel that sparks flame, everything about her changed. She opened her eyes and stared at him as if he’d just insulted her.

  And he had. He’d dishonored her, taken unfair advantage. And he wasn’t truly sorry. Except for her expression.

  He touched her cheeks softly, briefly, before holding his hands out to his sides in supplication. “Please. Please don’t look at me like that. I swear to you, my intentions are honorable.” He swept off his hat and mask.

  She blinked, her brows drawing together as if she couldn’t believe her eyes. Her gaze drifted up to that blond patch of hair that marked generations of dukes in his family. “You . . . you told me your name was Bennett. But you’re . . .” She seemed to have trouble breathing. “You’re the Duke of Suttenberg.”

  She knew him? Perhaps she only knew of him. “I am Suttenberg. And I meant no disrespect. Please, will you—”

  Before he got out another word, her hand blurred and a sharp pain exploded on his cheek. Stunned, he stared.

  Her mouth spread into a scornful frown. “I am not a trollop, and I will not dally with you. Your Grace!” She threw his title at him like a curse, turned, and fled the room.

  That was the first time in his life that anyone had ever dared slap the Duke of Suttenberg. And it hurt more than he ever imagined, in more places than his cheek.

  Chapter Five

  Hannah fled the library, still grappling with the horrible truth. Her charming Bennett was the arrogant Duke of Suttenberg. How could she have liked him? Trusted him? Usually, she was a better judge of character. Remaining silent and observing those around her normally revealed much about them. But no, she’d played the flirt, and now she must face the consequences.

  At least no one had happened upon them when they’d been alone. Kissing. She let out a groan as frustration and self-recrimination battered her senses.

  What had come over her? She’d behaved foolishly. With complete lack of sense. She might have been ruined. Might still be.

  With the back of her hand, she wiped her mouth. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t fully erase the sweet, exciting bliss that had consumed her when Bennett kissed her.

  Clearly, her reaction only stemmed from having fallen prey to a philanderer. Odd, the Duke of Suttenberg didn’t have that reputation. But a man who went about luring girls he’d just met into isolated rooms and kissing them had no concern for the reputations or hearts of his victims.

  She marched so quickly that she had to hold up her skirts to keep them out of her way, heading to the main staircase, intent upon locking herself in her room. A voice caught her attention.

  “Wait!”

  She glanced back. With his Musketeer hat and mask in place once again, Bennett—the Duke of Suttenberg—strode toward her.

  Going anywhere alone while he pursued her would invite another unwelcome encounter. She changed directions and practically ran to the ballroom, slipping in between guests and worming her way toward the center of the room. The candles burned low in the wall sconces and chandeliers, casting a flitting light over the room.

  Voices slurred with too much drink mingled with husky whispers and laughter. Couples stood close, ladies gossiped, girls who were newly out giggled, gentlemen rocked back on their heels and eyed ladies. Footmen carrying trays of glasses wound through the guests. With so many eyes upon him, the oh-so-falsely-proper duke wouldn’t accost her and create a public spectacle.

  As she stood shielded by the crowd, she took several breaths, each time regaining another scrap of her composure. Soon the night would be over. She could do this. She was Aphrodite, the confident goddess who cared little for mortals.

  After squaring her shoulders, she lifted her head and impassively eyed the crowd. Nearby, Mrs. Potter, dressed as a swan, fanned herself, flirting with a slender man wearing a domino, whom Hannah was pretty sure was a Buchanan twin. There. She’d make a game of discovering the identities of the guests. Of course, she didn’t know all the guests, having only come to stay with her sister a few times before she moved in with them this past summer. Still, she recognized several members of the local gentry. Each gave themselves away in little ways—body shape, posture, gestures, particular ticks or habits.

  The final dance was announced. Another waltz. She let out a strangled groan, shutting down memories of the way Bennett had led her—firm, yet gentle—in a dance that seemed invented for those few glorious moments she’d spent in his arms when she’d believed he was perfect, before he’d revealed his true character.

  Mr. Hill, the pirate, turned his head in her direction. He straightened, clearly spotting her. With a growl of annoyance, she moved away from him. She didn’t have the patience to deal with him right now.

  He pushed through to her. “Wait,” he said as he caught up to her. “Dance with me.” He stepped closer, too close. His breath reeked of liquor, and he swayed on his feet.


  Curtly, she replied. “No, thank you. I’m finished dancing for the evening.”

  He frowned but rallied. “It’s too warm in here. Shall we catch our breath outside on the terrace?”

  Why did men always think women wanted to be alone with them? If he thought she’d go anywhere with a man who was three sheets to the wind, he didn’t know her very well.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Then let’s find a place to sit. The sitting room behoind that door?” He pointed to a nearby door.

  “No, that would be unwise.”

  “Then—”

  She held up her hand. “Sir, I have no desire to wound your feelings, but I do not wish to go anywhere with you. Not ever.”

  He swayed first toward then away from her, as if he stood on the deck of a ship. “But I adore you. I desire you. I—”

  “Please, don’t. It’s best that we do not continue our association. Good evening, sir.” She bobbed a faint curtsy and started to leave, but he grabbed her upper arm.

  His mouth twisted. “Because I’m not the brother of an earl? Is that it? I’m too common?”

  Her face heated as anger simmered her blood. “Are you calling me a snob?”

  “You think you’re too good for me, you with your lovely dowry and noble connections, now that your sister has nabbed herself an earl. But you’re nothing but an upstart little social climber.”

  A third voice cut in. “Apologize to the lady this instant, cur.”

  Bennett stood next to her, his hand on the hilt of his rapier. But he wasn’t her Bennett; he was the rude Duke of Suttenberg. Annoyance that he’d once again intruded into her life fueled the growing realization that no man believed her capable of lifting a finger for herself and heated the simmer in her blood to a boil. Suttenberg was just as bad as Mr. Hill. She wanted to throw something at the both of them.

  Before she could speak, Mr. Hill snarled, “This conversation does not concern you, boy.”

  “It does concern me, so leave her be.” The duke’s voice, unclouded by drink, and his form, so tall and straight, formed a sharp contrast to the drunk man. Not that she wanted his interference.

  Mr. Hill’s gaze darted from the duke to Hannah, and he sneered. He turned as if to leave. Over his shoulder he cast one last barb, “That proud little doxy isn’t worth it.”

  With a quick backward step and a metallic scrape, the duke stood in en garde position with his rapier gleaming in his hand, the point touching the base of Mr. Hill’s neck.

  A few nearby guests let out gasps of horror and delight at the sensational development. Hannah stared in open-mouthed shock. He’d actually drawn a weapon at a ball. Unbelievable.

  “Apologize to the lady this instant, or I will not hesitate to draw your blood.” The duke’s voice, barely audible, cut through the din in the room.

  Mr. Hill seemed to snap. Perhaps the abundance of alcohol, or his stung pride, drove him to recklessness, but he pulled out his cutlass, albeit more slowly than his sober opponent, and crossed his curved sword against the rapier’s narrow blade. “I’ll teach you to interfere with me, boy!”

  Stunned, Hannah gasped, “No.”

  Mr. Hill lunged forward and swung his sword. The Duke of Suttenberg’s blade bent under the weight of the blow. With a quick flick of his wrist, he disarmed Mr. Hill. The cutlass clattered as it hit the floor. Mr. Hill staggered back, swaying drunkenly, and nearly fell.

  Cole appeared, his expression grim, and hauled Mr. Hill to his feet. Then, turning to the staring crowd, Cole smiled brightly. “Well done! Very entertaining! That’s the best end to a ball I’ve ever seen!” He applauded as if the brief fight had been planned to amuse the guests.

  Next to him, Alicia also clapped. “Bravo!”

  Hannah joined in, admiring her brother-in-law’s quick thinking. Apparently, the guests closest to the fight believed Cole’s ruse. Their faces relaxed, and they took up the applause. Mr. Hill looked around as if he were in a daze.

  While the assembly applauded the “show,” Cole shook Suttenberg’s hand. “That was a very realistic performance, Sir Musketeer. Thank you.”

  The duke put away his rapier and made a low, flourishing bow to the assembly. Cole patted Mr. Hill’s back and led him away, still congratulating him on his acting skills.

  Suttenberg turned to Hannah and opened his mouth, but she held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t.”

  Nothing he could say would excuse his behavior. First the kiss, then the spectacle he created. The duke had fooled society into believing he was the perfect Englishman, but he was a discreet womanizer with little sense of propriety.

  Turning away, Hannah touched her mask to assure herself it remained securely in place and pushed through the dispersing crowd. She’d had enough of tonight’s ball. How could he have humiliated her that way? True, Mr. Hill’s words had been nothing short of unforgivable, but they were only words. Suttenberg had actually drawn a weapon. If anyone knew what had really transpired, Hannah would be the source of gossip for months. Alicia’s grand plans to launch Hannah into London society next Season would be tainted by tonight’s altercation. With luck, tonight’s guests would remain ignorance of the truth.

  Hannah ducked into the servants’ stairway. Taking the main staircase would reveal to Suttenberg that she was a guest of Cole and Alicia’s. If she had her way, he’d never know who he’d shamed, first by kissing her, then by drawing a weapon over her.

  She seemed to be doing a lot of hoping that nothing about tonight would be linked to her. Fate was seldom that kind.

  Lifting her skirts, she practically ran up the back stairs toward the family wing, dashing past a startled maid who flattened herself against the wall and stared at the intruder in the servants’ domain.

  Safe in her room, Hannah rang for her maid and stripped off her costume jewelry. In the mirror, her flushed face stared back, surrounded by a halo of disheveled, limp curls. Outside her window, a clattering of carriages and hoofbeats kept up a steady rhythm as guests departed. Not that it mattered. Even if the ball weren’t over, Hannah would not have gone back out there for all the tea in China.

  Alicia burst in. “What happened?”

  Hannah bit her lip as hot tears blurred her vision. “It was so humiliating. I can’t believe it.”

  “Who were they? Was the Musketeer the Duke of Suttenberg.”

  Hannah nodded. Though tempted to keep it all secret, she’d never hidden anything from her sister. “The pirate was Mr. Hill. He’d had too much to drink and became a bit aggressive. He—” She swallowed and turned away, too embarrassed by what had occurred.

  “What did he do? Did he touch you?” Alicia’s voice rose in alarm.

  “No. But he called me a social climber and a . . . a doxy.”

  Alicia gasped. “That scoundrel. He will never be welcome in this house again. I vow I will publicly snub him.”

  “Please don’t. I don’t want anyone to know or even suspect their fight was real, nor that I was the center of it.”

  Calming, Alicia shook her head. “No, of course you don’t. What happened then?”

  “The duke pulled out his rapier and demanded Mr. Hill apologize. You know the rest.” She sank down onto the chair by her dressing table.

  “His Grace is the absolute model of gentlemanly behavior. That he defended you comes as no surprise. But I cannot account as to why he’d draw a weapon at a social gathering. It’s so unlike him.”

  “Yes, well, he isn’t the model gentleman you think he is.”

  Alicia let out a long breath and actually smiled. “It was noble of him to rise to your defense. Still, if it weren’t for Cole’s quick thinking, the situation could have gotten out of hand.”

  “I hope everyone really did believe it was staged.” Hannah hugged herself, still smarting over the duke’s forward behavior in the sitting room. Did he truly think because he was a duke that every girl would abandon her virtue for him?

  Alicia pulled off her white wig and smoothe
d her hair. “The guests were still bubbling over about the realistic display as they said good-bye, and even congratulating me on having such entertaining floor show. No one seemed to think the lady in the goddess costume had any part of the show.”

  “Good.” Too bad the sword fight wasn’t the only thing to have gone amiss.

  How could she have been so foolish as to have allowed a man she’d met only that evening to kiss her? He probably thought her fast. Maybe she was. That kiss had been the most supremely perfect moment of her entire life. She’d never experienced such lovely pleasure, nor such astonishing sense of belonging.

  At least she’d had the presence of mind to slap him. That should dispel any presumption that she could be coaxed into behaving like a hoyden again.

  “You’re still overset, dearest.” Alicia knelt in front of her and drew her into an embrace.

  Her sister’s comforting touch and the strong emotions she’d experienced all evening collided. A sob wrenched its way out of her.

  Alicia pulled away and looked at her. “Hannah, dear, what is it? Did something else happen?” She smoothed a stray strand back from Hannah’s face, her touch affectionate, motherly.

  The entire story came pouring out of Hannah—their banter, her bliss, her joy, the kiss, her heartbreak that the kiss meant so little to him, his attempt to use his rank to justify his taking advantage.

  Alicia listened without judgment. When Hannah finished talking, Alicia hugged her again. “Going with him alone into a room wasn’t the wisest course of action, but after what transpired between you two, I can’t say I blame you. And you’re right, a man like His Grace should have known better. Frankly, I’m shocked he’d treat a lady in such a way. Don’t worry any more about it, dearest. If you never want to see him again, I’ll make sure of it.”

  “I don’t.” For the moment, she was content to let her sister take care of her.