Daring a Duke

by Claudia Dain

  “She doesn’t want him, Louisa. She’s made that perfectly clear. This is all a challenge for her, and she dislikes you enough to be determined to win it.”

  “And you think I didn’t do that on purpose?” Louisa said with a lopsided grin. “As to the rest, it’s up to Edenham to arouse some feeling in her. He should be capable of it, don’t you think? He’s had three wives. Certainly he must know what he’s about by now.”

  “And he is very handsome,” Amelia added. “I always maintained that he was the prettiest duke, if one likes the tall, dark, and dashing type.”

  As they had both married blue-eyed blonds, they were being entirely loyal to their husbands by remarking as such. Of course anyone with eyes could see that Edenham was exceptionally handsome, but that didn’t mean they didn’t find their own husbands even more so. So they would maintain if the issue ever came under question.

  “You don’t think she’s heard the rumors of him and is afraid of him, do you?” Louisa asked.

  “You really should scold Blakes for dragging you off and not having his way with you. That would be the only reasonable excuse for missing the most sensually heated exchange I’ve heard this week,” Amelia said, leaning in closer to Louisa, who bent her head down to hear every word. Lady Lanreath had moved a step closer as well, and had an ear turned to catch what she could of the conversation. Amelia ignored her. Louisa had forgotten all about her.

  “Not only does Jane know the rumors of Edenham regarding his, um, prowess, but Edenham told her himself!”

  “No! What did he say?”

  “Something about the rigors of his bed.”

  “And what did she say?”

  “I have no idea. Cranleigh dragged me off before Jane had a chance to answer.”

  “Men,” Louisa snapped. “You’d think a man would know better than to drag his wife off without the benefit of a good reason. Don’t they understand the dashed hopes?

  The ennui that ensues? The next time Blakes drags me out of a room, he’d better have his hand up my skirts within the next minute or I shall . . .”

  “You shall what?” Amelia asked. “Do say you have something wonderful in mind for I shall do the same thing myself. Married less than a month and we’re reduced to talking in quiet corners. I can tell you that, before we were married, Cranleigh didn’t waste time in talking if he got me to himself.”

  “Staid and respectable, the both of them,” Louisa murmured, shaking her head. “I think we must do something daring and unrespectable, just to keep things lively. This being married, it does require almost as much effort as getting married. I had no idea, had you?”

  “No, but I can’t say I mind,” Amelia said, smiling like a cat. “But do you know that the last three times have been in our own bed? At night? I can’t think what’s got into Cranleigh; he’s become nearly conventional. What shall we do to them? How to spur them to action?”

  “I’m ashamed to confess it, but I’m not certain. Perhaps we should ask Jane. She seems a lively, daring sort, with unbridled American ideas. She did go right after Edenham, which did take a good deal of courage.”

  “Why, Louisa, I believe you truly do like her.”

  “Of course I do, Amelia,” Louisa sputtered. “Why else would I put so much effort and thought into managing her into the proper marriage? She’s not going to find herself married all on her own, not to a duke. We both know how skittish they are.”

  “Louisa, don’t turn around just now,” Amelia said, her blue eyes going quite wide as she stared at something over Louisa’s right shoulder, “but the Duke of Edenham isn’t behaving at all skittishly at the moment.”

  Well, with prompting like that, what was Louisa to do?

  Not look?

  George Prestwick, stung by indecision, had done nothing but look, and look again. Raithby and Penrith, who, now that the whole thing had been shucked onto his shoulders, were still arguing about what Sophia Dalby could or could not do if she had a mind to. The problem as George saw it was that while Sophia Dalby might be able to do whatever she wanted, the same could be said of the Duke of Edenham. Colluding together, what could stop them? Two Americans? Hardly. The son of a newly made viscount, which is all he was, after all, would accomplish even less.

  No matter how he cut it apart, he couldn’t see that anything could actually be done about it. The more he watched Miss Elliot interact with Edenham, the more he thought that she might be able to manage everything herself. She did look a plucky little thing, undaunted by the company she found herself in, unimpressed by Edenham, unhampered by the rules of deference. In some ways, she reminded him of Penelope, and look how well Penelope had done.

  And so he watched, and pondered, disgusted with himself for his indecision while being unable to force himself off the mark. It did help that the Americans were watching Jane as well, clearly keeping a sharp eye on her. What more was there to do?

  Tell them about Sophia, Edenham, and the wagers that seemed to spring from the very ground Sophia walked upon, of course.

  George sighed. There was no help for it. He simply must get involved. And he’d been so certain that when Pen got herself married to her heir apparent that all this sort of thing would stop. It was women; they never knew when to stop. They didn’t know how, clearly. Well then, it was just as clearly up to men to stop them. For their own good, naturally, not that they’d ever see it that way.

  It was such a burden at times, being a man.

  George excused himself from Raithby and Penrith, who stopped arguing and watched him make his way to where he’d last seen the Elliot brothers. It was a circuitous route he was forced to take as the blue reception room was simply clogged with people, very many of them whispering about Jane Elliot and the likely topic of her conversation with Edenham. That didn’t bode well, did it? George was too far from where he’d last seen them to know what was happening now, and since he was having a bit of a time finding the Elliots among the throng, was not in any position to work himself closer to look.

  Squeezing around behind Lord Dutton, who certainly smelled as if he were completely foxed, George finally spotted the Elliots near the door, Joel Elliot bowing and removing himself from their number as he watched. Well, that had been for nothing. Who was Jedidiah Elliot conversing with but Sophia Dalby and Lady Richard? What could he possibly say in front of those two particular witnesses?

  But, truthfully, wasn’t it simply his duty as a man to say something? That’s what this was ultimately about, wasn’t it? An exercise in doing the right thing. Because one should. Because one was expected to perform up to certain standards, male standards. Woman in distress and all that.

  It was not beyond possible that the women, both Sophia and Katherine, would see it the same way, perhaps think him a dear lad, a latter-day Galahad, and not an interfering, naïve fool. It was possible.

  That slim possibility sustaining him the final few feet, George entered their circle as pleasantly as he knew how. If there was one talent George had, it was in being pleasant.

  “Mr. Prestwick, have you been introduced to Lady Richard?” Sophia asked, turning in ruthless precision away from the Marquis of Ruan, who did not look at all surprised by the action. He’d wandered into a worse coil than he’d first thought, that much was obvious. Damnation, but it was a trial being noble.

  “I have not,” he said, bowing to her.

  Lady Richard was exquisitely beautiful. Delicately framed, her features classically refined with light hazel eyes and rich brown hair shot with gold and amber lights.

  She looked in many ways like her brother, the Duke of Edenham, though he was more sturdily formed. Lady Richard, as stunningly formed as she was, did not outshine Lady Dalby with her black hair and eyes and creamy skin.

  Where Lady Richard caught the eye with beauty, Sophia Dalby caught the cock with pulsating sensuality. What’s more, Lady Richard did not seem to want to have caught the eye, while Sophia most assuredly wanted to c
atch a man by the cock.

  It was impossible not to like Sophia for that alone.

  George had never met a woman who so effortlessly, so charmingly, and so thoroughly enjoyed seducing a man, even if all she ever did to him was speak his name. ’Twas small wonder the woman was a legend.

  “The brother of the bride,” Lady Richard said. “How happy your family must be.”

  “We are,” he said. “Not only for Penelope but because of Penelope. She will tolerate nothing less than our supreme happiness at her marital victory. I half expect cannons to be fired at midnight. If anyone can arrange it, it would be Penelope.”

  Captain Elliot frowned in apparent confusion. “Marital victory? Cannon blast? Is marriage so martial here?”

  “When a woman snares a duke, it is almost entirely martial, Captain,” Sophia said. “Dukes are rare things, and the woman who can snare one upon the altar must be cunning and very accomplished. Not just any girl can manage it. Penelope is that rare one who did.”

  “My cousin does not act like a man ensnared,” Jedidiah said, casting a quick glance at Lady Richard. Quick, but clearly interested. Things grew more complicated by the second.

  “But of course he doesn’t,” Sophia said on a trill of laughter. “That is due entirely to the hunter’s art. Iveston knows he’s caught, but he likes it. Indeed, his only demand is that he not be set free. Is there any better footing on which a marriage may begin?”

  “No, there wouldn’t be,” Jedidiah said, glancing again at Lady Richard. “To be caught in love would be the ultimate freedom,” he added in a husky undertone.

  Lady Richard cast a glance up to Jedidiah’s face, and then quickly turned her eyes to the floor. Sophia caught George’s eye, smiling devilishly. Lord Ruan, oddly, said nothing. George was not overly familiar with Lord Ruan, but he had thought of him as a more talkative fellow than he was proving now.

  “You are not married, are you, Captain Elliot?” George asked.

  “No, not yet,” Jedidiah answered.

  “And Miss Elliot,” George continued, determined to fulfill his purpose as quickly and as delicately as he could before escaping to the far corners of the room, “clearly not married, but not spoken for?”

  Jedidiah scowled a bit, his blue eyes turning a bit gray.

  “No, most definitely not. Why?”

  The look in Jedidiah’s eyes . . . the phrase cannon blast came instantly to mind.

  Sophia laughed lightly before George could think of a thing to say, pleasant or otherwise. “Why, darling, is this gallantry I see?” she said. “I hardly know what to think.

  Can you, can you truly be attempting to protect lovely Miss Elliot? But how charming. I knew I liked you, Mr. Prestwick. Your family is so deliciously unusual. I am so happy that we have become so well acquainted.”

  George hadn’t been aware that Sophia was well acquainted with his family, but that didn’t seem pertinent at the moment. Jedidiah’s foggy blue eyes were as cold as the North Sea, staring at him unblinkingly.

  “Protect Jane from what?” Jedidiah asked George, ignoring Sophia completely.

  Sophia did not behave like a woman who was being ignored. Indeed, when did she ever?

  “From whom, Captain,” she said lightly, her dark eyes sparkling happily. “From the Duke of Edenham, I should think, though that can hardly surprise you. He’s been utterly captivated by her since the moment he saw her, which is not at all shocking. I’m quite certain you understand completely, don’t you, Captain Elliot?”

  Sophia looked at Jedidiah nearly tauntingly. George ground his back teeth together, giving himself an instant headache.

  Sophia continued, her tone excessively playful, “A single look and all is lost? Or is that all is found? I’m never sure. Perhaps you should ask Edenham. I’m certain he must know. He’s such an experienced man at love, three wives and all that. Looking for a fourth, you know,” she said, lowering her voice. “I have it on good authority, from Edenham himself. By the look of it, he’s making stellar progress, wouldn’t you say, Captain Elliot?”

  Ten

  Edenham felt fury rise up in his blood to crash against his skull .

  Nothing to cause a ripple of alarm?

  Perhaps he should move?

  This young woman of no title and no position looked him up and down like a stallion she was considering, and then rejected him as being not fit to put out to stud? She didn’t even have the illogical, though understandable, reason of fear. He was feared. He was not ridiculed.

  She stood facing him, this Miss Jane Elliot of New York, her chin lifted and her silvery hazel eyes alight with the dual fires of arrogance and dismissal. What in hell did she have to be arrogant about? As to being dismissive, no one dismissed a duke of England. Was she such a lack-wit that she didn’t know that? She should never have come here if she didn’t understand the guiding principles of a nation.

  He was a duke, by damn, and she’d treat him as such.

  “Is that it?” she said, tilting her head and continuing to stare at him. She didn’t even have the wherewithal to blush.

  “You’ve nothing to say? I did think it was a good shot, but I’d no idea that a single broadside could sink a duke so thoroughly. Rather pampered, are you? Cosseted?” She shook her head in apparent disappointment. “I’ll admit, I did think you would be. One hears so many things about dukes, very few of them flattering. Actually, I can’t think of a single flattering remark. Have you heard any? To your face, I mean? Does anyone think well of dukes, your grace?

  Or are the people you surround yourself with simply too beholden to you to utter a solitary contrary word?”

  Words escaped him. She was . . . impossible. Horrible.

  He’d fallen in love with a face, a body, not a mind, not a heart. She was as cold as January, as unfeeling as a knife.

  “I suppose that’s it, then,” she continued in a surprisingly cheerful voice. “You’ve got over it now? No more calf-eyed looks? No more mute adoration while the world tumbles on all around you?”

  What?

  Had she meant to put him off? It made at least some sense. Why else would a lovely young woman, presumably well brought up, speak to him in such a manner, and for no earthly cause?

  “I can’t think how my brothers endured it for as long as they did,” she said, smoothing the front of her white muslin skirt. “It should not have lasted much longer, their tolerance, I can assure you. You should count yourself fortunate, your grace.”

  So she had been trying to protect him from her rather ordinary brothers? That was rather kind, misguided, but kind of her. He could feel his heart, and other parts, warming again.

  “I do wish Louisa had seen it, though. I should have liked that very much,” she said a bit wistfully.

  “Seen what, Miss Elliot?” he asked softly, his outrage evaporating like a mist.

  Jane looked at him a bit sheepishly, her eyes shining in what he thought was embarrassment, her perfect smile sliding crookedly over her charming face. “I trust you have a sense of humor?”

  “A well-developed one,” he answered.

  She looked at him a bit skeptically, but continued, “It’s only that Louisa wasn’t at all convinced that you . . .” She paused, looked at the floor between his feet, took an audible breath, and said in a rush, “I might be from New York, but that doesn’t mean that I, and it certainly doesn’t mean that I won’t, or couldn’t, but naturally that’s what she implied, and so what could I do? I had to prove myself, didn’t I? And you seemed quite willing. And certainly there’s no harm in it. And that’s an end to it. It was all for nothing anyway. She wasn’t there to see it. But it doesn’t matter to me and I trust, your sense of humor intact, it doesn’t matter to you. There now. It’s all perfectly fine, isn’t it? Nothing to be alarmed about. Nothing to tell my brothers, most certainly. I trust we can agree on that.”

  The strange thing was, he understood her. The gist of it, anyway.
>
  “Some sort of wager, was there?” he said. “Instigated by Lady Louisa, involving me, and you felt honor bound to defend yourself and . . . your nation?”

  “Precisely,” she said, staring him boldly in the eye, not a bit ashamed or remorseful or any other fool female emotion that women loved to roll about in to the exhaustion of any man nearby. “Though of course no money was involved.

  Hardly that. I only wanted to show her, but she wasn’t here to be shown anyway, which I think must have been part of her plan.”

  “She had a plan, did she?” he asked, smiling. He couldn’t remember when he’d felt so lighthearted.

  “As I don’t think she’s very bright, it can’t have been much of a plan”—Jane leaned toward him to whisper—

  “but I do think she had something in mind. Something dreadful to catch me up in, the poor American relation, the unsophisticated rustic.” She shrugged elaborately and suddenly he could see her as the rough-and-tumble girl she must have been, running to keep pace with her older brothers. He fell in love with her a bit more just then.

  “And what was the wager, Jane?” he asked, taking a step nearer to her, drawn in, and not against his will. No, every part of his will screamed to be nearer, to take her and make her his. Socially, legally, physically his. “Were you to insult me? Something to prove yourself a brave American?

  Go insult the duke and we’ll think you worthy? And what was my reaction to be? How can I aid you in winning this wager you have with Lady Louisa?”

  Jane’s face, indeed her entire body, went stunningly still. Her luminous eyes looked up at him in shock. Yes, it was shock. What an absurd reaction. He had guessed it and he was willing to help her in her little skirmish with Louisa Blakesley. He looked around the room, eager to give her what she wanted.

  “She’s here, Jane. Here now. Louisa, Amelia, standing together. If we move just a bit to the right, they’ll be able to see whatever you are to do,” he said.

  God, she was beautiful. Like a statue come to life, all perfect curves and flawless hair, skin, eyes, teeth. Her smile made his blood race.