Cinderella and the Duke

by Janice Preston

  He barely noticed the lady with her back to him, standing a little behind Lady Helena, until Olivia introduced her and she began to turn.

  His senses came alive, his nerve ends tingling at the instinctive recognition of her slender neck, with the feathery brown curls that caressed the nape, the sensitive spot below her ear, where he had delighted in kissing her, the curve of her cheek. His unguarded heart leapt with joy, but all too soon it plummeted again as he took in her expression.

  There was no hint of surprise in those wonderful golden-brown eyes when they met his. Her smile did not waver and there was an air of challenge about her. Those lurking suspicions reared up once more: she had not disappeared after all. She was here and, seemingly, perfectly aware of his identity.

  Then Olivia’s precise words registered. Allen. Not Pryce. Miss Allen, what was more. Not a widow. Never a widow. And she was Lady Helena’s sister. And here, then, was the proof that Rockbeare had conspired with her. If he had not, what reason could there be for him to conceal the connection between the Lydney children, whom he had begged Leo to protect, and the so-called Mrs Pryce and her brother?

  So many lies.

  Since Margaret’s death thirteen years before, Leo had adroitly avoided all such traps only to fall straight into one baited with a thirty-year-old country spinster.

  What a bloody fool!

  But there was guilt as well as fury. She had been a virgin and she was a gentlewoman. He had, in effect, ruined her, albeit unknowingly. As a gentleman, he should do the honourable thing and marry her, but every fibre of his being rebelled at surrendering to such a low trick. Besides, he had his family’s position and his children to consider. He could not marry just anyone. He knew nothing about Rosalind Allen other than that she was a liar.

  Years of experience in navigating the treacherous undercurrents of society came to his aid. He donned his ducal mantle and bowed as Rosalind dipped into a curtsy.

  As she arose, she said, ‘Good evening, Your Grace. I trust I find you well?’

  Leo captured her gaze, as he sifted this new information. Miss Allen. Not Caldicot. So she was not Lydney’s daughter. Perhaps she and Lady Helena shared the same mother? But, no. Had Rosalind not told him her mother had died when she was nine years old?

  But how could he believe a single word she had told him?

  ‘Mrs... I beg your pardon, Miss Allen.’ He allowed his gaze to slide with calculated insolence over her silk-clad body to her green satin shoes and then drift up again, to her face. ‘I am relieved to see you in such fine fettle following our previous encounter. The exercise clearly agreed with you.’

  Her eyes flashed and she inhaled deeply, which had the effect of thrusting her chest out, the creamy expanse of her décolletage all too tempting, despite his utter rage. His fingers itched to slip inside that low neckline and explore.

  ‘Papa! What a joke. I did not know you were acquainted with Miss Allen.’

  Olivia’s guileless comment jerked Leo back to a sense of their surroundings and he swallowed his bile. The accusations he longed to fling at this scheming hussy must wait until they were private. And that, he vowed, would be before the evening was out. Miss Allen would be left in no doubt as to what he thought of her lies and deceit.

  ‘We met once or twice whilst I was in Buckinghamshire. Miss Allen and her brother are neighbours of Cousin Anthony.’ A devil inside prompted him to add, ‘We shared a most enjoyable ride the afternoon before I came home.’

  Rosalind’s heightened colour suggested she was all too aware of the double entendre that passed both Olivia and Helen by. Silently, he applauded her acting skills. Not by a flicker did her expression alter from one of polite interest.

  ‘Indeed we did.’ Her voice was smooth as molten honey. ‘Although the ride was neither so vigorous nor so satisfying as I might have liked. I fear your father views members of the fairer sex as delicate beings unable to withstand the rigours of hearty exercise, Lady Olivia.’

  Every muscle in Leo’s body hardened. Before he could slap down her boldness, however, Olivia gurgled with laughter.

  ‘I am delighted to hear you say it, Miss Allen. Papa and Aunt Cecily are constantly telling me I may not do what my brothers have done since they were schoolboys. They are allowed such freedom compared to me. It is so unfair.’

  Leo’s tension wound a notch tighter as Rosalind responded to Olivia’s words with a sympathetic smile.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, ‘are expected to exhibit restrained and elegant behaviour at all times, Olivia. Remind me again, Miss Allen, what precisely is the familial relationship between you and Lady Helena? Lydney, I collect, was not your sire?’

  ‘We are sisters, Your Grace.’ Helena’s voice quaked as she spoke up on Rosalind’s behalf. ‘Rosalind raised my brother and me after our mother died.’

  Rosalind placed her hand on Helena’s arm. ‘It is all right, Helena. There is no need to leap to my defence. I am not ashamed.’ Her eyes met Leo’s, defiance in their depths. ‘My mother married Lord Lydney after she was widowed and his lordship raised Freddie and me after my mother died. He then married Helena’s mother, so Your Grace’s inference that we are not related by blood is correct.’

  ‘Your father’s name was Allen? I do not recall the family.’

  ‘My father was a soldier and his father was a silversmith. Your Grace will appreciate that the family did not move in your circles.’

  He had said it to hurt her, to humiliate her. She had responded with dignity and pride and he, a peer of the realm, had emerged from that exchange as less than a gentleman.

  ‘I see.’ He needed to put some distance between them before he lost control of the anger roiling his insides. ‘Excuse me, ladies, I must greet our other guests before the dancing commences.’

  He bowed and strolled away, pretending an indifference entirely at odds with the turmoil raging in his gut. He joined the nearest group of guests and responded to their greetings by rote even as his thoughts revolved ceaselessly around his one overriding goal.

  How can I get her alone?

  He was no nearer a solution when the pianist signalled the start of the dancing by playing a few chords. He thrust down every thought of her as, proudly, he claimed Olivia’s hand in the first dance. As other couples formed the set behind them, he allowed his gaze to roam the room. Rosalind stood aside with Cecily and the other chaperons. And then Dominic was before her, bowing, and she smilingly accepted his hand and Leo watched his son lead Rosalind into the set. Leo tore his attention from her and concentrated on the intricate steps of the dance, carefully guiding Olivia when her natural exuberance threatened to overflow and she was in danger of colliding with the neighbouring dancers.

  After that first dance, he waited. His patience was finally rewarded when, after three dances—during which she smiled and talked as though she had not a care in the world—Leo noticed her speak to Cecily and then slip from the room. He followed. She climbed the stairs, a figure of elegance and poise, sheathed in green silk that accentuated the roundness of her bottom as she raised her skirts clear of her feet. His heart yearned for her, but he concentrated on her lies and his simmering fury.

  She disappeared from sight, in the direction of the chamber designated as the ladies’ retiring room. A quick glance around ascertained no one other than servants in sight. Taking the opportunity, Leo ran up the stairs two at a time and strode along the landing.

  Allowing no time for second thoughts, he thrust open the door and walked in.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the far side of the room Rosalind sat before a mirror. Mary—the maid tasked with assisting the female guests with their toilette—stood behind Rosalind, fussing with her hair. Unnecessarily, in Leo’s opinion. Her hair looked perfect as it was.

  Rosalind’s gaze snapped up as the door clicked shut behind him. Her
eyes widened and her jaw dropped as she met his gaze in the mirror. Mary glanced around and an audible gasp escaped her. She spun round to face him and dropped into a curtsy.

  Rosalind frowned. ‘You cannot come in here. This room is for the ladies.’

  He advanced into the room. ‘You think to tell me where I may or may not go in my own house? You can go for your supper, Mary,’ he added, without breaking eye contact with Rosalind, ‘and not one word of this, mind, if you want to keep your job.’

  ‘No! Do not go.’ Rosalind caught the maid’s hand. ‘Please—’

  Mary snatched her hand from Rosalind’s grasp and mumbled, ‘Yes, Your Grace.’

  She skirted around Leo and scurried from the room.

  ‘I am hungry, too.’ Rosalind stood, and took a hesitant step in his direction, followed by another. ‘Lady Cecily said supper is soon to be served. You can say whatever it is you wish to say to me then.’ She took another step, but Leo did not step aside and she halted her progress at a distance of several feet, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. ‘I will not stay in here with you, creating a scandal.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you invited me into your bed.’

  Leo narrowed the gap between them. He could see her steeling herself to stand her ground but, at the last minute, she stepped back. A dull ache invaded Leo’s jaw and he became aware he was clenching his teeth.

  ‘I did not invite you into my bed.’ Her voice was a breathless squeak.

  ‘I was speaking metaphorically.’

  He flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. When he met her gaze again, her expression had changed from apprehension to narrow-eyed suspicion. Drawing on years of practice in repressing the pretensions of others—ever eager to ingratiate themselves with him merely because he was a duke—Leo looked down his nose at her and lifted one brow, in full knowledge that he would appear both arrogant and unapproachable.

  Her eyes narrowed still further. ‘Why are you here?’

  She tilted her head, appraising him as one corner of her mouth quirked up. With a start of fury he realised she was challenging him, mocking him.

  ‘This is my house,’ he growled.

  ‘I am aware this is—’ she flicked her fingers ‘—your house.’

  Her voice dripped sarcasm, and Leo bristled. Who the devil did she think she was talking to?

  ‘What I meant was...why are you here, in this room?’ Her hands rotated as she opened her arms wide, as elegant as a ballerina. ‘Is it customary for dukes to accost their lady guests in such a manner? Why, you are no better than your cousin!’

  Leo felt his lips draw back in a snarl. He curled his fingers into his palms to prevent him from reaching out...from grabbing her...from shaking her...

  With a muttered curse, he strode across the room to stare from the window into the night, but all he could see was the room behind him, including Rosalind, reflected in the glass. She had a point. Why was he here? Why had he followed her? Why had it mattered so very much that he speak to her alone? The unpleasant thought hovered that he had been prompted by an urge to punish her.

  ‘You tricked me,’ he growled. ‘That is why I am here. To inform you that your scheme did not work.’

  ‘My scheme?’

  ‘Your scheme to trap me into marriage.’

  ‘Trap you?’ Her reflection moved out of sight and he turned as she paced the room, her countenance livid. ‘Why on earth would I want to trap you into marriage?’

  ‘Do not think you are the first to try it. A man in my position becomes accustomed to such importunities, but I have never before encountered any lady so desperate that she would gamble her actual virtue.’

  She halted in front of him, her eyes sparking fire as she spat her reply. ‘You really believe I would stoop so low as to...?’ Her chest expanded as she hauled in a deep breath. ‘You forget, Your Grace...you lied about your identity. To me, you were Leo Boyton—nothing more, nothing less. Besides—’ she frowned, shaking her head ‘—you make no sense. How could I trap you into marriage? What about the Duchess? You are in no position to speak to me of schemes—I was mortified to discover from your cousin that you are a married man.’

  ‘Married? Lascelles said that I was married?’ Leo’s head was spinning.

  ‘He told me of your son, your family.’

  ‘I am a widower, Miss Allen, as I am sure you are aware.’

  Rosalind’s face was the picture of bewilderment. ‘I didn’t know. I didn’t even know you were a duke!’

  A bitter laugh escaped him. ‘You really expect me to believe that? I watched you as Olivia introduced us. There wasn’t the slightest sign of surprise on your face: you planned the whole thing.’ In his mind’s eye he saw again that hurried whispered conversation between Rockbeare and Rosalind, the furtive glances in his direction. ‘As soon as Sir William told you my real identity, you couldn’t wait to try and trap me into marriage. That very afternoon, Miss Allen.’

  Rosalind’s jaw dropped before snapping shut again. Her lips tightened as she heaved in a breath, swelling her creamy, oh-so-enticing breasts—and how was it they could fire his blood even now, when he was so consumed with fury?

  ‘Why, you arrogant, contemptuous coxcomb! How dare you suggest I would plan such a thing? And what about your behaviour? You satisfied your lust and then slunk away without a word. No doubt a duke believes he may act as he pleases, without any regard for the feelings of those so far beneath him. I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man alive. I want nothing more to do with you.’

  Slunk away? How dare she? He would not give her the satisfaction of explaining himself. Alex had needed him, but his son’s escapades were nobody else’s business.

  Rosalind spun from him and marched to the door.

  ‘Who was your mother?’

  She jerked to a halt. Rotated slowly to face him. ‘My mother? Why do you ask...?’ Her upper lip curled. ‘Oh, I understand. What you wish to know is—was she someone who mattered?’

  Leo had meant exactly that, but hearing it from her lips forced him to acknowledge his own arrogance. He shoved his fingers through his hair. He could not back down now. He had his pride.

  ‘Well?’ His voice rasped in his dry throat. ‘I must know who I have despoiled.’

  ‘Why must you?’ She glared at him, challenging...and then her shoulders slumped. ‘It cannot make any difference.’ Weariness laced her tone as all her fight appeared to trickle away. She stumbled to a nearby chair, sinking on to it as though her legs could no longer support her.

  ‘It makes a difference to me.’

  A frown carved a deep slash between her brows and her hopeless laugh huffed into the silence of the room.

  ‘And my assertion that this knowledge will make no difference is of no consequence?’ She bent her head. Heaved a heartfelt sigh. ‘Very well. I make no doubt you will discover the truth before long, even if I refuse to tell you. If any of my maternal relatives are in town, they will ensure my full parentage—and their disowning of Freddie and me—is made public knowledge. As I said, my father was a soldier, the son of a silversmith. My mother was the daughter of Lord Humphrey Hillyer. They eloped.’

  Hillyer?

  ‘You are related to the Duke of Bacton?’

  ‘He was my grandfather.’

  Thoughts tripped over one another as Leo tried to work out how he felt at this revelation. He raked his hand through his hair again. He might not be sure of his feelings, but he was damned certain of his responsibility.

  ‘Then your plan has succeeded.’

  Rosalind stared. ‘Plan? Did you not hear what I said? There was no plan.’

  ‘Then why did you give yourself to me?’

  Rosalind shot to her feet. ‘My judgement of your character was clearly shockingly amiss. I was
wrong about you being as bad as your cousin. You are worse. At least he was open about his intentions, whereas you...you intended exactly the same, but you achieved it through lies and deceit.’

  ‘You talk to me of lies and deceit, Miss Allen? You pretended to be a widow.’

  ‘To protect my sister. For no other purpose. I was Mrs Pryce before ever I met you.’

  ‘You could have told me the truth.’

  ‘And you could have told me the truth. But you did not.’

  ‘And if I had?’ Leo paced to the window and back again, to stand before her. ‘If I had told you I was a duke, do you really expect me to believe you would have told me your true identity?’

  She stilled, holding his gaze. ‘No. You are correct. I would not have told you, but I would never have given myself to you, had I known.’

  ‘You surely do not expect me to believe that?’

  She moved her head in a slow, deliberate, negative motion, a scornful smile on her lips, and Leo fumed at her sheer effrontery.

  ‘You really are insufferably arrogant,’ she said. ‘Not all people are dazzled by the brilliance of your position in society, Your Grace. Some of us set greater store by the character of a man than an accident of birth.’ She thrust her face closer to his. ‘I told you before and I tell you again: I want nothing more to do with you. Now, if you will excuse me, I am here to chaperon my sister and I should be with her.’

  ‘Not so fast.’ Leo grabbed her wrist. She tugged to free herself and he tightened his grip. ‘You cannot expect to impugn my character and not allow me the right of reply.’

  Rosalind stopped struggling and bowed her head. ‘Very well. Say what you have to say, but then, please, allow me to return to Nell.’

  ‘You are...were...a gently born virgin whom I have ruined. I am a man of honour and, therefore, we will be married—’

  She gasped and began once more to struggle. ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, have no fear, Miss Allen. It will be a marriage in name only, but we will be married. I suggest you accustom yourself to the notion. No matter who your father was, your mother was the granddaughter of a duke and my duty is clear—’