Cinderella and the Duke

by Janice Preston

  ‘There is no need.’ Her words tumbled out, her eyes haunted. ‘My mother’s family disowned her—until she married Lord Lydney—but still they have never even acknowledged my existence. No one will beat upon your door demanding you make an honest woman of me. No one but you and I know what happened. And as far as I am concerned, no one else will ever know.’

  Her words should have been as welcome as rain upon a desert, but they were not. And for the first time, Leo wondered if he was mistaken. She sounded so sincere. If she was the scheming hussy he accused her of being, would she not leap at his offer of marriage? The fire of anger that had driven him thus far began to fade.

  He needed time to think—time alone to work through this whirlwind of events and to understand this confusion of emotions.

  ‘There is every need.’ He held her gaze. ‘We will be married, Rosalind. You can be certain of that.’

  * * *

  The man was insufferable. Did he never listen to what was said to him? Rosalind snatched her arm from Leo’s unresisting grasp and drew herself up to her full height.

  ‘You are too accustomed to having your own way.’ Arrogant swine! ‘Duke or not, you cannot force me to marry you. And you cannot one minute accuse me of plotting to entrap you and then in the next expect me to meekly accept the prospect of marriage to a man careless enough of my feelings to disappear without a word after...after...’

  To her horror, his face began to blur. ‘I must go to Nell,’ she blurted out. ‘She will wonder where I am.’ And she stalked past him to the door.

  This time he made no attempt to stop her. Outside the retiring room she paused to dash away the tears that dared to spill, wetting her cheeks. Tears of anger and frustration, she told herself furiously as she rounded the corner on to the wide landing at the head of the imposing marble staircase, where she cannoned straight into a wide, muscled chest.

  ‘Whoa, there.’

  Two strong hands clasped her shoulders, steadying her. She found herself looking up into the green eyes of Lord Vernon Beauchamp.

  ‘Why, Mrs Pryce. Good evening.’ A frown drew his brows together. ‘I was not aware you were coming up to town.’

  Her stomach clenched. She had forgotten the other three men from Halsdon Manor. What a tangle. It would only take one slip from one of them for it to become known Nell had fled her guardian’s protection. People wouldn’t care about the reason. They would simply condemn.

  ‘It is Miss Allen.’

  ‘Miss Allen?’ Vernon’s lips pursed in a soundless whistle. ‘Pray, forgive my bluntness, but you are here tonight because...?’

  Rosalind lifted her chin. ‘I am here to chaperon my stepsister, Lady Helena Caldicot. I... That is... My lord... There is a very good reason why I gave a false name but... I can explain... I will explain... Just...’

  She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. The door to the ladies’ retiring room remained closed. It could only be a matter of time, though, before Leo—

  ‘Just not at this moment in time, am I correct?’

  She smiled shakily. ‘Thank you. Yes. And, in the meantime, I beg of you...please forget you ever knew me as anything other than Miss Allen.’

  Somehow, she realised, she must also speak to Mr Stanton and Mr Lascelles, and persuade them to keep her secret. Cold dread prickled her spine at the thought of asking the latter for any favour.

  Vernon took half a step backwards and executed an elegant bow. ‘Your wish is my command, ma’am.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Now, have you by chance seen—ah.’ His gaze settled on something over Rosalind’s shoulder and, this time, the tingles racing down her spine were not of dread, but of awareness. She had no need to look to know Leo had appeared behind her. Vernon’s raised brows and the dawning comprehension on his face confirmed it.

  ‘There you are, Leo.’

  Rosalind bridled at his blatant amusement. Now he believes we have been meeting clandestinely...which, of course, we have, but not in the way he clearly thinks...and—

  ‘Here I am,’ Leo drawled. ‘Miss Allen and I have been discussing our future.’

  Vernon’s brows shot up again, and if she hadn’t been incandescent with rage at Leo’s arrogance, Rosalind might have laughed at the sight.

  ‘There is no “our future”.’ She forced the words through gritted teeth.

  ‘Rosalind...’ There was a wealth of warning in Leo’s voice, which she chose to ignore. He could not dictate her life.

  ‘If you will kindly excuse me, gentlemen, I must take up my duties as chaperon.’

  ‘Perhaps...’ Vernon pivoted smoothly on his heel and captured Rosalind’s hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm ‘...you will allow me to escort you downstairs, Miss Allen? I fear my brother does not take kindly to having his wishes thwarted.’

  ‘Vernon.’

  Leo’s voice was a growl and Rosalind sneaked a look at him as Vernon led her resolutely to the head of the staircase. Leo’s forbidding expression sent her nerves into a tizzy and she tightened her fingers on Vernon’s sleeve. He looked down at her and grinned.

  ‘Don’t let him intimidate you,’ he whispered.

  ‘But...you just said...’

  ‘That, my dear Miss Allen, was said purely to aggravate him.’ They began their descent. ‘He is accustomed to having his own way, but he is no ogre. As I’m sure you will discover in time.’

  Rosalind snatched her hand from his arm. ‘I have no wish to discover anything more than I already know about the Duke. I am here to chaperon Helena and I am not...not...’

  In her agitation, Rosalind had halted on the stairs. Vernon stopped, too, and gently retrieved her hand to place it back on his sleeve.

  ‘I know,’ he said, soothingly. ‘And I understand. He is an arrogant tyrant and you want nothing to do with him. I wonder...might it interest you to know that Leo took a trip into Buckinghamshire today?’

  ‘B-Buckinghamshire?’

  ‘And he was not a happy man when he returned.’

  ‘I s-see.’ That meant nothing, though. He could have gone anywhere.

  ‘In fact, according to my sister, Leo has been nigh on impossible to live with since he came back from Halsdon Manor and I doubt that’s entirely due to Alexander’s latest caper.’

  ‘Oh.’ A tiny ember of hope glowed into life at Vernon’s words.

  Alexander. Alex. That was the name Lascelles mentioned.

  ‘Alexander is the Duke’s son?’

  ‘Yes, his second son and as different from Avon as he could possibly be.’

  ‘Is he here tonight? I have met Lord Avon, but not Lord Alexander.’

  Vernon barked a laugh. ‘He is not, despite orders to attend. I’ve tried to hunt him down but without success, I fear.’

  Rosalind found herself torn between questioning him further and the stubborn refusal to reveal any further interest in the subject. Curiosity won.

  ‘Mr Lascelles mentioned that the Duke was called back to London unexpectedly because of Lord Alexander. I do hope it was nothing too serious.’

  Vernon’s jaw cocked to one side and, above, his green eyes twinkled. ‘No. It was nothing too serious. Or at least, nothing Leo could not remedy, once he tracked him down.’

  Rosalind lifted her brows in query and he cupped her elbow and steered her away from the other guests before continuing, ‘Silly chump went into hiding after a...shall we say, a difference of opinion with Leo’s secretary over a matter of finances. It is all resolved now, however.’

  The dance had finished and, after declining Vernon’s offer to partner her for the next, Rosalind wandered over to sit with the older married ladies, presuming that even Leo would be unlikely to accost her in their presence. She had much to think about and the remainder of the evening passed in a blur o
f confusion and surreptitious observation of Leo as he played host.

  * * *

  It was not until she and Nell were ready to leave—awaiting their pelisses and hats in the entrance hall with several other guests—that he approached her.

  ‘Miss Allen, may I beg a moment of your time before you leave?’

  Conscious of heads turning in their direction, Rosalind could not refuse. Leo gestured towards an area where they could not be overheard and Rosalind, with as much grace as she could muster, walked ahead of him.

  As soon as they were out of earshot of guests and servants alike, Leo said, ‘We need to talk. I shall call upon you at Lady Glenlochrie’s house at noon tomorrow.’

  ‘We have nothing more to say.’ Her unthinking rebuttal prompted a firming of those sensual lips. Her gaze fixed on them...remembering...stirring a cauldron of longing, excitement and fear deep within.

  ‘Rosalind...’

  His deep voice and the wealth of resolve she detected in that one word sent a wave of pleasurable anticipation rippling right through her, the resultant shiver prickling her skin. She swallowed and tore her gaze from his mouth to focus on the dark sapphire pin that nestled within the perfect folds of his neckcloth.

  ‘I shall call upon you and we will talk. I expect you to be there to receive me. Twelve noon.’

  He had moved closer, crowding her. His body shielded her from the eyes of the people at the front door and she shivered as he trailed one finger down the bare skin of her arm, to the scalloped edge of her evening glove. The musky scent of his cologne, with its remembered undernotes of orange and cinnamon, pervaded her senses, catapulting her back in time to that afternoon in the shepherd’s hut. A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed past the pain.

  ‘I cannot,’ she breathed. ‘I cannot.’

  ‘Then you must tell me why.’

  His voice was a comforting rumble. His caressing finger continued to stroke her arm discreetly, making its hairs stand on end. She heard his breathing quicken.

  ‘You must make me understand what there is to fear, Rosalind.’

  Longing intertwined with doubts deep in the pit of her stomach as his eyes searched hers.

  ‘You are only pressing me because you cannot abide being gainsaid,’ she whispered. ‘You do not...you cannot...wish to marry me. And I cannot marry a man who—’ She choked back her words and averted her face.

  ‘A man who...?’

  Rosalind shook her head.

  ‘I shall persuade you. Tomorrow. There is nothing to fear. And you are not to worry about my cousin or Lord Stanton. I shall make sure they are aware of your real name. They will not spread gossip.’

  ‘Lord Stanton?’

  ‘Ah, yes...he is an earl, I’m afraid.’ Another thing he had omitted to tell her. ‘Until tomorrow then. At noon.’

  He turned from her and the spell was broken. They rejoined the others, Rosalind resolutely ignoring Nell’s questioning look as her thoughts whirled.

  In the carriage, as soon as the door had been shut by the Duke’s footman and before it was in motion, Nell said, ‘What did the Duke say to you, Ros?’

  ‘He merely wished to explain why he introduced himself as Mr Boyton in Buckinghamshire.’

  Nell settled back against the squabs. ‘Is that all? Olivia told me he often travels as Mr Boyton. He is Viscount Boyton, you know. It is one of his minor titles. She said ladies are always in pursuit of him because he is a duke, so sometimes he likes to be anonymous.’

  Another one of the barriers Rosalind had erected against Leo crumbled. She now knew why he had given her a false name, why he had left so suddenly and also—and it was this that fanned that little glow of hope until it burned with a small but steady flame—that he had gone back to Buckinghamshire.

  But it did not change the fact he was a duke and she an utter nobody.

  Nell suddenly sat upright with a gasp, jerking Rosalind from her thoughts.

  ‘He must have known you by the wrong name, too, Ros. Oh, what fun. I cannot wait to tell Olivia.’

  ‘Nell! You must not mention it to Olivia. We must take care not to fuel even the slightest gossip about our time at Stoney End. The fewer people who know I removed you from your guardian, the better.’

  ‘You did not take me, Ros. We agreed we must leave. We had no choice.’

  Rosalind sighed. ‘We may know that, Nell, but there will be those who will delight in making mischief for us, such as my Hillyer relations. They will not hesitate to distance themselves from Freddie and me, and what better way to achieve that than by denouncing our actions and, thus, our characters? Your character and reputation will be tarnished by association and that will not help in your search for a husband.’

  ‘Olivia will stand by me. She will not listen to such tittle-tattle.’

  It was true. A little of the burden eased from Rosalind’s shoulders. Association with the Duke of Cheriton and his family would do much to protect Nell against spiteful gossip and rumours. For the first time that evening, Rosalind found herself grateful for Leo’s position in society...but only because it might secure her beloved sister’s future.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The following morning Leo sat down at his desk early in the hope that dealing with the mountain of correspondence that had piled up since he dismissed Capper, his secretary, would distract him from Rosalind and their forthcoming interview.

  Interview? Conversation!

  He scrubbed an impatient hand through his hair. Interview, indeed. What was he thinking? That he would set out a list of requirements for his Duchess and tick them off one by one?

  An unsettled night, passed in the company of several glasses of brandy, had left him tired, crabby and feeling uncomfortably vulnerable.

  Can I trust her? Am I about to make a huge mistake I will live to regret?

  He shoved his chair back and paced over to gaze unseeingly from the window, bracing his arms against either side of the frame.

  What was the alternative? Let her go? The very idea of losing her again shook him to the foundations of his soul. How had he moved from bitter blame—believing the very worst of her and her motives—to this...this neediness? It went against every rule by which he had led his life since Margaret’s death. But that sleepless night had resulted in one huge, shocking insight: he was in love with Rosalind Allen. He was willing to risk, once again, trusting a woman. He would no longer allow Margaret and her lies and infidelity to sour his chance of happiness with another woman. Another wife.

  In the first few seconds after Rosalind had turned to greet him last evening, a calming peace had flooded through him. And then his defences had rolled into place, that voice of doubt in his head reawakening all his old suspicions. His honour drove him to offer marriage and it was only her stubborn refusal to accept the inevitable that had convinced him to re-examine his distrust and begin...hesitantly, fearfully...to believe he might be mistaken.

  He pushed away from the window with a derisive snort. Fearfully, indeed. It was fortunate nobody other than he could read his thoughts. The idea of anyone getting a sniff of such weakness sent a judder down his spine. He crossed his study to his desk and stared down at his correspondence. Damn Capper. If only he had not refused Alex the monies to pay off his gaming debts, Alex would not have gone into hiding, driving a frantic Cecily to beg Leo to come back to London. Leo would not have left Rosalind without a word and he would still have a secretary.

  Perhaps he should put Alex to work on this lot... Leo straightened, a solution suddenly presenting itself to him.

  Freddie! Perfect!

  It would solve Leo’s immediate problem and, hopefully, demonstrate to Rosalind that his intentions—contrary to his threat of a marriage in name only—were honourable and that he would take care of her family.

 
He glanced at the clock on the mantelshelf. Eight o’clock. Still four hours to wait and too early to call upon Lascelles or Stanton. He strode to the door and sent a message to the mews to saddle Conqueror and have him brought round. A ride in the park at this quiet hour was exactly what was called for.

  Even the weather had brightened. From the grey drizzle of the past week, this day had dawned clear, with barely a cloud to mar the pristine blue of the sky. The sun still hung low, but the temperature was definitely on the rise. Spring, with all its promise, was in the air. Leo trotted Conqueror along Upper Grosvenor Street to the Grosvenor Gate and through it into Hyde Park. He turned the horse’s head to the south and allowed him to break into a canter.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, Leo reined Conqueror to a halt at the sight of a rough-haired, fawn-coloured hound lolloping across the grass near to the Serpentine. There surely could not be another dog that size in London. He stood in his stirrups and scanned the park—almost empty at this time in the morning apart from a few grooms exercising their masters’ horses. There: emerging from the far side of a clump of bushes, was Rosalind, clad in an ankle-length amber pelisse and matching bonnet, a maid by her side. Leo grinned, picturing her disgust when told she must not venture out unaccompanied. In London society a lady did not walk alone, particularly in a public park.

  Hector bounded up to Leo, who curbed Conqueror’s first impulse to gallop away. Once he had his horse under control again, he looked up to see Rosalind now headed in his direction. Hector, seeing this, whirled in a circle, then galloped back to Rosalind, tail waving like a flag. Leo dismounted, pulled Conqueror’s reins over his head and walked to meet her. Rosalind hesitated, then spoke to the maid, who dropped behind her, out of earshot.

  Perhaps Rosalind, too, had calmed down over night? Had the shock of meeting again driven her, too, to say things she did not mean? Or was this meeting destined to be as fractious as that of yesterday evening? A flash of insight suggested that instead of dictating their future—as was his natural inclination—perhaps he might behave more as Leo Boyton rather than the Duke of Cheriton.