A Duke Of Her Own-[Rogues and Roses 01]

by Lorraine Heath

  Refused to look past it, because she feared if she did not hold his past against him, she might decide that he was very worthy indeed. Not for the Rose sisters. But for her. And that was most frightening of all. To suddenly find herself wanting him.

  Louisa returned home to find Jenny sitting in the solarium, still in her nightclothes, her feet curled beneath her, the sun coming in through the windows making her hair appear to have been laced with strips of red.

  “Are you ill?” Louisa asked.

  Jenny glanced over her shoulder, her hand clasping her wrapper close to her throat. She smiled softly. “No.”

  Louisa sat in a bright yellow-and-orange chair. Everything in this house was so garishly bright. She found it all rather hideous. She supposed good taste was something that could not be purchased. “Is everything all right then?”

  “Just thinking about the parade of men who will come through the parlor this afternoon. Father took us on a tour of a factory once, and when I’m sitting in the parlor with gentlemen arriving, I feel rather like a cog on the assembly line watching as the unfinished product passes by.”

  And here Louisa would have given almost anything to have gentlemen passing through her parlor.

  “If you’re weary of gentlemen callers, I could let it be known that this isn’t your day at home.”

  Jenny twisted around in the chair until her back was pressed against one arm and her legs were draped over the other. “I’m not weary of the gentlemen. I’m weary of the parlor. Father is taking mother to Brighton for a few days of sun and sea air. I was thinking while they’re away, we should have an afternoon tea party.”

  “We can arrange that easily enough,” Louisa said warily, suspecting there was a bit more to this tea than Jenny had revealed because she had a mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m certain if we sent out the invitations this afternoon, posthaste, that ladies would be available.”

  Jenny sat up. “It’s not the ladies I’m interested in. It’s the gentlemen.”

  “Afternoon tea is usually reserved for the ladies.”

  “We shall have a ‘gentlemen’s tea with sport.’ A bit of lawn tennis, croquet, flirtation while the sun shines. A string quartet to provide music. Perhaps a little dancing across the grass. It should be fun. We shall keep it small, intimate. Invite a duke or two, a marquess, and a couple of earls.”

  “Your mother doesn’t favor earls.”

  Jenny winked at her. “Mother shan’t be here.”

  Two days later, Louisa couldn’t deny that the afternoon tea party appeared to be a resounding success. Even Kate was lively and animated, apparently enjoying herself as much as Jenny. Louisa had been quite surprised when Kate had embraced the idea with enthusiasm. Now Kate and Jenny were taking a turn on the tennis lawn, facing Falconridge and the Duke of Stonehaven.

  Louisa sat on an iron bench beneath a tree, sketch pad in hand so she wasn’t too obtrusive, periodically counting heads to ensure no one was getting into idle mischief, although truthfully the only two she truly needed to worry over were Jenny and Kate. Five young ladies and fifteen gentlemen, including her brother, were in attendance, and Louisa was feeling quite ancient. Most of the ladies had only recently had their coming out—hence the reason they were still unmarried and available for flirtation. Some had the silliest of laughs, and the conversations she’d overheard held no substance.

  Had she been that…young…when she was younger?

  A shadow crossed over her face, and she looked over to see that Hawkhurst had approached, quietly, across the lawn. He tilted his head slightly toward the bench. “Do you mind?”

  “No, of course not.” She flattened her skirt against her hip to give him a bit more room.

  “Why aren’t you playing?” he asked.

  “Because I’m the chaperone,” she answered tartly. “I fail to understand why you seem unable to comprehend that fact and continually question my actions.”

  “I simply wonder at the difficulty of watching others play while you must, for all intents and purposes, work.”

  “I’m quite content, thank you.”

  “I admire your determination not to be bothered by the unfairness of your situation.”

  “My situation was brought on by my choice. There is nothing unfair when your path is dictated by your choices, and as I explained during our time in the park, it is quite liberating to be able to do as I please.”

  “Except now, if you pleased, you could not play tennis.”

  “Then it is rather fortunate I do not wish to play tennis.”

  He chuckled, low, a sound that seemed to dance along her skin.

  “I’m not certain I’ve ever known a woman who accepts the limits of her life as easily. I wonder if Jenny will be as accepting should Stonehaven ask for her hand.”

  She refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. She did not want to see those dark, enigmatic eyes. It was difficult enough simply having his masculine scent competing with that of the flowers. “I suppose he, too, is a man who knows naught of passion.”

  “On the contrary, he may be a bit too familiar with it.”

  She swung her head around. “I’m not going to play a game of trying to decipher your cryptic statements. Either be clear or be gone.”

  Smiling warmly, he twisted slightly, placing his elbow on the back of the bench so that his fingers were dangerously close to touching her bared neck. He leaned near, and whispered, “He suffers from the French disease.”

  Staring at him, she shook her head. “I’m not familiar with that illness.”

  He touched his finger to the back of her neck, where no cloth covered her skin. She wanted to move away, should move away, but she was certain he’d touched her only in an effort to unsettle her. She refused to be unsettled.

  “If a gentleman is not particular about the beds he visits, he can find himself suffering from some nasty symptoms that are rather unattractive,” he said.

  “Are you perhaps referring to syphilis?”

  “Sadly, I am indeed.”

  “Dare I presume you are familiar with the symptoms because you have suffered through them?”

  “No, I’m quite particular about the beds I visit.”

  The undercurrent of experience and desire vibrated through his voice. She did not want to contemplate the beds he might have visited.

  “You have leveled quite an unflattering accusation against him.”

  While she had pinned most of her hair up, she’d left tendrils curling along her neck. He tugged on several, absently wrapping the strands around his finger.

  “I’m simply pointing out that it would be unfortunate should she marry him.”

  “Out of the goodness of your heart, I suppose you wish me to warn her?”

  “It is your duty as her chaperone is it not?”

  “And I suppose you will tell me that the Earl of Langley is also diseased.”

  He shook his head. “No, but his mother…quite in her dotage. He needs someone who can watch her, feed her, bathe her, make her final months upon this earth less miserable.”

  “Hah! I saw his mother not more than two weeks ago, and she was fit as a fiddle.”

  “It is a deceptive illness.”

  “I know she is not ill, and I suspect Stonehaven isn’t either.”

  “But he could be.”

  “But you don’t know that he is.”

  “I would not presume to ask. And the earl’s mother…you must admit, she is up in years. At any moment she could require constant care.”

  The ease with which lies rolled off his tongue was irritating to say the least. Impatiently, she reached back and slapped his wrist. “Release your hold on me, sir.”

  Surprise flitted across his face, and she wasn’t certain if it was because she’d slapped him or because he hadn’t realized that he was toying with her hair.

  “Lady Louisa! Hawkhurst!” Jenny neared, breathless, her cheeks pink. “I believe you two are the only ones yet to play. Come, you
must have a turn at lawn tennis.”

  Louisa shook her head. “I’m not one of your guests; I’m your chaperone.”

  “Nonsense. This is an informal, private party. The rules are as we choose them to be. Are you up to the challenge, Your Grace?”

  Hawkhurst came to his feet, a dare in his eyes as he looked at Louisa. “I believe I am.”

  Jenny reached down and tugged on Louisa’s hand. “Come on, then. For the sake of women everywhere, you must give him a sound beating. The gentlemen have yet to win a single game.”

  “I’m really not certain—”

  Jenny bent down until they were eye level. “Why not? You’re too young not to have any fun at all. And Mother isn’t here to spoil things. Please?”

  She wasn’t certain why Jenny was so insistent, but where was the harm in it? From the court she could keep an eye on everyone.

  “Oh, very well,” she finally said, with little enthusiasm.

  “Splendid!”

  It felt good to have the wooden racket biting into his fingers, good to have it erasing the memory of the silken texture of her hair touching his skin. He’d not even realized what he was doing. He’d been concentrating on weaving fanciful lies, and instead she’d somehow managed to weave a web of interest around him.

  She took her position as chaperone so incredibly seriously: her brow furrowed, her attention intense, and when she’d caught him in a lie…her triumphant smile…

  Dear God, but he’d never been so mesmerized. He should borrow the paste that Caroline used for her scrap album and use it to adhere himself to Jenny Rose. She was the one whose hair he should be twisting around his finger, the one from whom he should be eliciting smiles and laughter. The one who should have his attention and his stories.

  Louisa came with nothing, absolutely nothing, not a penny to her name. Not entirely true. She had all of five pounds, while he required thousands. Continuing to flirt with her, to give her any attention at all could spell disaster for them all.

  Now she hit the ball, and he watched as it soared over the net. He smashed it, returning it to her. She screeched and ducked.

  “Have a care!” Stonehaven called out. “You’re playing against a lady.”

  A lady who irritated him, pricked his anger, and of late had begun to stir his desire.

  “My apologies,” Hawk said. “I don’t seem to know my own strength.”

  “Are you certain that’s it?” Louisa called back.

  “Quite.” Why was it when she was near, he was continually distracted? “Let’s begin again, shall we, calling that last volley a practice?”

  She looked at him warily before moving back to serve. He either needed to pour his efforts into winning or settle for defeat—whichever would bring the game to a hasty end so he could turn his attention to Jenny.

  She was the one who should be intriguing him—not the damned chaperone!

  He had the most sensual mouth. Full lips, questing tongue. And when he released one of his deep-throated groans, Jenny quite simply wanted to gobble him up.

  His hands remained respectful, cradling her waist, inching up her ribs, stopping just below her breasts. But his mouth, his mouth was decidedly wicked, trailing along her throat, his teeth nipping at her buttons until he skillfully loosened one, then two, then three, giving his tongue the freedom to taste hidden flesh.

  She’d despaired of ever having a moment alone with him.

  “We should get back,” she muttered, but her words lacked conviction.

  “A moment more.”

  “You say that every time.”

  “Would you rather I willingly give you up?”

  “A time will come when you’ll have to. My mother is insisting that I marry a duke.”

  He tensed, stilled. She felt his fingers digging into her ribs.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  Immediately he loosened his hold and pressed his forehead to hers. “You take delight in tormenting me, in offering me glimpses of what I cannot keep.”

  She cradled his handsome face. “I torment us both.”

  Before he could respond, she slipped free of him and darted around the corner, quickly buttoning her bodice. She knew she was playing a dangerous game. If they were ever caught…it would be the ruin of them both.

  Chapter 11

  A week later, with the chandeliers glittering above him and the ballroom filled to overflowing, Hawk stood beside Falconridge, their backs pressed to the wall, watching, waiting, and in Hawk’s case, temper simmering.

  He did not like the way the man held her as they danced—as though they shared secrets, secrets to which he was not privy. Intimate secrets, as though the man had held her bare ankle in his hand, run his palm along her calf, pressed his mouth behind her knee.

  “Who the devil is Louisa dancing with?” he ground out.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Falconridge jerk his head around. He could feel the intensity of his friend’s gaze, but he couldn’t see it because he was unable to tear his attention away from the merry couple on the dance floor. Louisa wore a different gown from the one she’d worn to the opera or the one she’d worn to the first ball. Trust a woman to have a few coins and start expanding her wardrobe. Although he might find fault with the frivolous purchase, he could find no fault with the lavender gown. She looked positively ravishing.

  “The gentleman would be Jeremy Rose,” Falconridge said.

  “The heir to the Rose fortune,” Hawk said speculatively. Perhaps Louisa was much more cunning than he realized. Ensconce herself in the Rose household, use her coins to make herself appear exquisite, snare the heir who would no doubt inherit millions.

  “One of the heirs,” Falconridge said. “The Americans don’t hold to our tradition of primogeniture. From what I understand, the Rose fortune will be divided equally into thirds.”

  “The daughters may inherit the money, but not the businesses.”

  Falconridge shrugged. “I don’t know the particulars of how the estate will be settled, and I daresay we’re a bit premature in our speculation. James Rose seems in fine health. Have you settled on a sister?”

  “Jenny has reserved the next dance for me. I noticed Kate is not here this evening. I saw you spending some time with her during the afternoon party.”

  “Indeed. A most unfortunate encounter. Even if she were here this evening, she is the last one I would want to marry. She speaks of nothing except love. She wants poetry, flowers, and chocolates. She requires much too much work and effort.”

  “You believe you will find an heiress who doesn’t require excessive attention?”

  “I have devised a plan that I believe will result in my marrying an heiress without much effort on my part.”

  “Care to share this amazing plan of yours?”

  “Not really, no.”

  “Well, my plan is to woo Jenny for a bit more, then go to her father and ask for her hand.”

  “Then why the interest in the man with whom Lady Louisa is dancing?”

  “Merely keeping a watch over Ravensley’s sister since he isn’t in attendance this evening.”

  “Where is he, by the by?”

  “No doubt licking his wounds again. Apparently Mrs. Rose is not impressed with his title.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard. She is insisting that Jenny marry a duke, but I believe a clever man could convince her otherwise.”

  “And you believe you’re a clever man?”

  “I’m not going to give up as easily as Ravensley.”

  “You’re interested in Jenny?”

  “I’m interested in any woman who can fill my coffers.”

  Hawk wondered if Falconridge was a serious threat to his plan to acquire Jenny. The music drifted into silence. Hawk shoved himself away from the wall. “It is time for me to pour on the charm,” he said lightly.

  A strategist did not let the enemy know he had uncovered his weakness. Damnation, now he was thinking of his friends as enemies.

  “The
beauty of my plan is that no charm is needed,” Falconridge said.

  Hawk turned. “Then why are you here?”

  “Merely to observe and take pleasure in the fact that I will soon be beyond all this.”

  “And does your plan include moving Jenny beyond all this?”

  “I cannot say for certain, but it is possible.”

  “You are becoming a very irritating friend.”

  “I have become a desperate one.”

  Hawk shook his head. “I wish you luck with your endeavor, whatever it is.”

  Falconridge’s mouth turned up only slightly, his eyes seemed to dim, not to match the merriment of the ball. “Won’t need luck.”

  Whatever his plan was, Hawk truly hoped it turned out well for him, although he also hoped that it wouldn’t place his quest of Jenny in jeopardy. Why was Falconridge always so tight-lipped? Perhaps because he didn’t want to hear Hawk voice his suspicions of the success of any plan that required little effort.

  He thought of Louisa, who had stopped waiting for a gentleman to call and give her the life she deserved and instead had taken matters into her own hands. She had coins to spend, a smile that was more dazzling than the crystal chandeliers in the room, a laugh that wafted over to him, and the attention of a man reputed to be worth millions. She had set a fine example, an example Hawk intended to follow.

  He wanted to catch her eye, to receive some sort of acknowledgment of his approach, but she was busy talking with the younger Mr. Rose and a young woman whom Hawk did not recognize, introducing them perhaps. All three laughed as though they hadn’t a care in the world. Envy did not suit Hawk, but he certainly felt it sitting upon his shoulder.

  “Looking for me, Your Grace?”

  He snapped his head around at Jenny’s words, hoped the heat of embarrassment that suddenly warmed his face wasn’t visible. “Indeed, I have been looking forward to our dance.”

  He offered his arm and forced all his attention on the woman who placed her hand on it. “Your brother seems to be enjoying himself,” he heard himself say before he could prevent the words from tumbling out.