Duke of Decadence

by Rand, Violetta

  “Perhaps to a man with power and influence such as yourself. But to a woman…”

  “Who risked everything to see her friend cared for?”

  She swallowed nervously at those words. How did he know? Had she told him? No. He’d overheard her and Willa’s conversation in the drawing room. Dear God. No one was meant to know, not even her father. “Is eavesdropping a trait all dukes share?”

  “No. I find it a repugnant trait in anyone. However, not wishing to impose on your private conversation with your friend, I waited nearby for the opportunity to make my presence known.”

  “And overheard everything.” She turned away, staring at the sumptuous fountain, the two figures nearly naked and embracing. It made her body heat up, imagining herself in such a compromising position with the duke.

  “Lady Julia,” he called.

  “Yes?” She did not look at him.

  “Your secret is safe with me. I give my word.”

  His sincerity made her gaze at him again. Perhaps there was more than met the eye when dealing with this duke. But it would take much more to change her overall opinion of him, much more. But that did not mean she could not enjoy his company, or his pleasant voice and heavenly scent. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and breathed deeply. Yes, she could smell his scent mixed with the fragrance of the flowers.

  “I admire your generous spirit,” he added. “The loyalty of friends, the need for them, demands the best of anyone.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “Especially when you are an only child without a mother.”

  His full lips formed a thin line, and she could see the sympathy in his eyes.

  She moved to the bench next to the fountain and sat down, her legs suddenly heavy and weak. Though she had grieved endlessly for her mother, the pain of her loss stayed close to the surface. At any time, she found herself feeling weepy if someone said something to remind her of the loneliness she carried with her.

  “May I join you, Lady Julia?”

  He respected her enough to ask for the privilege to sit beside her. Most men of her acquaintance would have invited themselves, not considering her feelings. How could she deny him? Or was this charming, kind side of the duke a way for him to trick her into trusting him? How could she ever be sure?

  “Yes,” she finally said, seeking the warmth his nearness provided.

  Their legs brushed lightly as he positioned himself beside her, his thighs spread, his wide shoulders set with confidence, his gaze heavy upon her, seeking answers to his unasked questions. “I miss my father and mother often. Nothing will ever ease that pain, for the loss is too great. Take comfort in having your father, Lady Julia. From what I know of him, he’s an honorable man, well respected.”

  Yes. She did take comfort in having a father that loved her as best he could. What important man with many demands upon his person could take the time to truly understand a daughter? If she had been born his son, their relationship would have been different. “I love my father, Your Grace—but a mother is a daughter’s dearest parent.”

  “Yes,” he said, patting her hand. “Give it more time, you won’t be in mourning forever, I promise.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Would he say anything to seduce her? Apparently, for the duke found himself revealing pieces of himself he had always kept locked away in his heart—even from his sisters. He and Julia shared so much in common, broken hearts, children of dukes, and fierce loyalty to friends, but they still could not be more unlike one another. She was like a tower sitting alone in a field, admired for its distant beauty, but forgotten if not in direct line of sight. And he—the nightingale—the sought-after songbird that either earned the praise of the peerage or the revulsion of the ton for his loose morals.

  All eyes stayed on him when he entered a room. A fact he sometimes regretted. With Julia, though she was beautiful, she had worked diligently to be forgotten, absent from the marriage mart, and most certainly missing from society as a whole, until now.

  He had overheard women whispering about her tonight—her golden loveliness—her father’s admired reputation—but mostly about the poor girl whose heart had been irrevocably broken by her mother’s death. Pity was Lady Julia’s shadow. And it overwhelmed her desirable traits, making many unsure how to approach her. That, and her friendship with Lady Willa, a woman in trade—though few would openly admit it.

  They were both victims of circumstances, both innocent of any wrongdoing. Alonzo stared admiringly at her, the flickering light from the torches all about them giving her an otherworldly countenance, perhaps that of a fairy or a brutal Valkyrie. It all depended on the face Lady Julia decided to show. When she smiled, the world sat at her feet, but if she frowned or appeared to be in deep contemplation, the world became a grimmer place.

  “What was it like traveling the Continent? Performing for kings and queens?” She gazed at him, her expression neutral.

  “Truthfully?”

  “I would have it no other way, Your Grace.”

  “Invigorating.”

  “A brisk walk could accomplish the same.”

  “Yes.” He chuckled. “But this sort of rejuvenation goes beyond the physical, Lady Julia. I daresay it touches the soul.”

  She nodded, her curiosity unhidden now. “You thrive off the attention, then. Seek it if it’s not thrust upon you?”

  He sighed, for anything he said in answer would surely be held against him. “I sing first for myself. My father could not contain my voice when I was a boy. And my mother, God bless her, fought him every day to let me express myself, to pursue what she swore was a gift from God.”

  “I cannot disagree with her—it should be shared.”

  “I am glad you feel that way.”

  “But not exploited,” she was quick to add.

  “Indeed? And how do you feel I have taken advantage of my talent?”

  She coughed primly, staring up at him with unblinking eyes. Honesty seeped from her every pore, that much he knew of her, as did beauty in its purest form. “The scandal sheets do not lie, do they?”

  “Ladies of your stature should not have access…”

  She rolled her eyes, the most unladylike thing she had done this evening. “Yes, I know. You disapprove of women reading for personal enrichment. It should only be done to improve upon the things society deems appropriate to prepare her for domestic duties, like entertaining a husband and his friends, managing a household, and raising children.”

  “There is no shame in fulfilling those duties, is there, Lady Julia?”

  She cast an appraising look about them, taking in every detail of their surroundings. “Think about how much labor went into preparing these gardens, maintaining them. I see these gardens as a work of art—no less valuable than masterpieces by Michelangelo. Yet, what credit will the gardeners receive?”

  He shifted on the bench, dismissing his immediate response, for it would offend her greatly. Her feminine sensibilities, though common enough, were pronounced with Lady Julia, for she desperately believed in helping those less fortunate, to the point of sacrificing herself. That stemmed from her intelligence and compassion, traits he readily admired in her. Things that stirred more than his manhood—they challenged his mind.

  “I am humbled by your ability to see the gardener on the same level as a legendary artist. And for truth’s sake, the only one who will ever praise the gardener is his master, by giving him coin to support himself and his family.”

  She nodded in acceptance, but he recognized her discontentment with his words.

  “The world is an unfair place, Lady Julia. You could spend a lifetime trying to change things, and rightfully should, but do not be too disappointed when you find out it will take generations for these changes you so desire to take root, if ever.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I am hopeful that a man in your position at least understands, feels empathy for the poor souls who suffer every day.”

  “Of course I do.”

&
nbsp; She turned her body toward him then, perhaps one of the many barriers between them torn away. “There is hope, Your Grace.”

  “Yes,” he half whispered, caressing her cheek with two fingers, tempting her patience, or perhaps, testing her willingness to have him.

  She did not rebuff him, but instead, leaned into him, relishing his touch, if only for a fleeting moment, for her eyes fluttered shut and she released what could only be pent up air in relief. “I have never…”

  She stopped herself from speaking further, and Alonzo found himself hungry for her words, for her anything.

  “Yes?” he prodded. “What were you going to say?”

  She inched away from him, breaking their intimacy, gazing wildly about as if to make sure no one had witnessed their closeness.

  “I am sorry, Your Grace,” she said. “For faltering.”

  “Faltering?”

  “I am not impenetrable.”

  The image of that lonely tower rushed back to his mind, but was quickly replaced by a much more carnal one—for Alonzo could penetrate this perfect woman in so many ways…

  “What are you saying, Julia?”

  “Lady Julia.”

  “Julia.”

  “Your Grace, please.”

  “Anything,” he teased. “You need only ask.”

  “If anyone heard you call me Julia…”

  He scooted closer, able to feel the heat radiating off her slim body. “They would be forever envious of our acquaintance.”

  She shook her head, unable to keep from smiling.

  “There are other things I’d rather call you,” he said hoarsely, his throat tight with lust.

  Her eyes grew wide. “Like bluestocking?”

  He gave her a sweeping glance, from her head to her feet, his eyes stopping on her delicate hands knotted in her lap. “Like breathtaking.” He nuzzled close to her ear, breathing in her scent, wildflowers, lavender to be exact.

  She shivered against him, but it was a warm evening. “Breathtaking Julia,” he whispered, then nipped her tiny earlobe. Her body reacted to his touch, to his breath, to his nearness, to everything he did to her. Could his mere thoughts command her body, too?

  “Lady Julia, are you out here?” Willa’s voice could not be mistaken for another.

  Alonzo quickly set himself away from her, climbing to his feet, staying at a respectable distance.

  “Over here, Willa,” Julia called back to her friend. “The duke and I were admiring the fountain.” She looked to him for support.

  But he cast a quick glance at the erotic fountain, the man and woman in their state of undress, and covered his face. “If she sees the fountain…”

  Julia recognized her mistake and looked utterly crushed. She stared at the fountain, too.

  With a sigh, just as Willa neared the ring of trees, he shrugged out of his coat and threw it over the fountain, caring little if his jacket got wet or not. If it spared Julia any amount of humiliation, it would be worth it.

  “There you are.” Willa arrived with a smile and held out her hands to her friend. “Mother is only a few yards behind me. Supper will be served shortly.”

  Julia nodded and took her friend’s hand, then gazed at him. “Thank you for the walk, Your Grace. Will you be joining us for supper?”

  “Yes,” he said casually. “After I have had my fill of the evening air.”

  Once the women were out of sight, the duke threw himself down on the bench, overwrought by painful desire, his member as hard as the fantasy-like figures embracing each other on the fountain. At least the lucky bastard in the fountain, he thought as he ripped his coat from over the statue, had his hands full of female flesh.

  What are you doing?

  Perhaps the better question would be what was he not willing to do to win Lady Julia?

  She had captured his undivided attention. Inspired him to take a critical look at himself. Forced him to act civilly when all he wanted to do was resort to his unbridled ways, fornicating with the most attractive, available women—ones that did not make him question himself or feel any regret for his past.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was difficult for Alonzo to act self-assured, especially after his frustrating yet endearing encounter with Lady Julia in the gardens, when she was ignoring him in favor of the gentleman sitting to her left. The duke had strategically been seated to her right, giving him a supposed advantage to monopolize her time and attention. But how could their hostess, the Duke of Stanhope’s sister, have mistakenly seated another eligible bachelor next to her? It rankled that he did not know the man—and that he was American.

  Alonzo had no patience for the inelegant ways of Americans, their pompous superiority, self-righteousness, and pretend interest in everything British. Except for his interest in English women—that appeared to be genuine.

  He took a rather boorish drink of wine and intentionally set his glass down with more force than he should. Lady Amelia, seated across from him, raised her eyebrows in question.

  “Is the wine not to your liking, Your Grace?”

  Wishing he could pretend her question was drowned out by the noisy conversation around them, and the fact that a silver candelabra stood between them, if he hadn’t been looking in her direction, he might have gotten away with it.

  “No, Lady Amelia,” he assured her, “this vintage of wine is one of my favorites, it’s the choice of certain guests I question.”

  He should not have spoken so freely, but it was too late. For several other guests around him stopped to listen if he had other grievances to air in public. Unfortunately, his rude comment served no purpose, for Julia remained deeply engaged in conversation with her new friend.

  Lady Amelia raised her glass in salute to Alonzo, smiled coquettishly at him, then took a deep drink, her gaze never leaving him. Ah, yes, playing the innocent admirer. Always the choicest way to capture Alonzo’s unwavering attention. Widowed for more than two years now, this wasn’t the first time Amelia had paraded herself in front of him. Though she did so with a care for the rules of Society, it was no secret she was looking for a long-term arrangement with a nobleman such as him.

  Men like him were often regarded as never being sincere, but the widow only required pleasure, not protection or money, for her late husband had left her independently wealthy.

  “Will you sing for us tonight?” Lady Amelia asked, leaning forward, excitement in her eyes.

  “Sing?” He had not considered it.

  “Yes,” she said. “Anything would be appreciated.”

  Once again Alonzo drowned his concerns in the wine, gripping the glass tightly, looking up and down the long table and surveying the thirty-six guests that had been hand-chosen to attend this very private house party. Of course, Lady Julia, Lady Willa, and her mother were invited because Alonzo had made a special request to the Duke of Stanhope, but nobody else need know that.

  Just then, Julia turned in Alonzo’s direction, cast him a dreamy look, one of promise and challenge, and smiled. Did she know how captivating her dark eyes were—how enticing her neck appeared with her hair piled high on her head, revealing her pale flesh? He licked his lips and returned her pleasant expression, hoping she would understand his frustration without him having to say it outright.

  “Your Grace,” she said. “Did I hear correctly, you may sing tonight?”

  He did not wish to sing for anyone but her. To hum his favorite song between her luscious, milky breasts, or possibly between her delectable thighs. He could easily show her the supremacy of being a Verdi baritone—how his lower range allowed him to hold his notes longer—or hold other important things longer.

  Yet, the more he thought about it, something became undeniably clear—his talent served only as an impediment where Lady Julia was concerned. The trappings of prestige and wealth, the general ridiculousness of the ton, did nothing to captivate Julia. His notoriety, and yes, he would not deny it, had the opposite effect on her. Rather… he gazed across the eleg
antly set table to where Lady Amelia still watched him closely. If he wanted to claim a woman such as her, then he should sing tonight.

  “I think not,” he said softly to Julia. “I do not feel inspired to do so.”

  “No?” she asked. “Perhaps there are other things you’d like to do. Like meet Mr. Garland. He’s from Pennsylvania. Is that not exciting?”

  The stranger dropped his linen napkin on the table, then gazed at Alonzo. “You are the Duke of Pridegate?”

  Hearing an American ask such an uncivil question pained Alonzo but did not surprise him. “I am.”

  “You are well known in Philadelphia, sir,” Mr. Garland said.

  “Am I?”

  “Those who have been fortunate enough to attend one of your performances in France and Italy are not shy about praising you.”

  “Give my regards to your fellow Americans.”

  Alonzo wished for their conversation to end there.

  “Your Grace.” Julia leaned close to him, sending wicked sensations up his arm as her hand brushed against his on the table. “You seem out of sorts since our encounter in the gardens.”

  “Julia,” he breathed out. “We seem to have a mutual affinity for gardens.” The two most important encounters of their acquaintance had happened there.

  Thinking it impossible for her smile to be more enchanting, she proved him wrong again. This time the merriment in her expression reached her eyes. “Flowers have always been a favorite of mine.”

  “And what of fountains with scantily clad nymphs?”

  “That is an unfair question, Your Grace.”

  “Is it?” He was pleased to have won back her undivided attention. Caring little for what anyone would think, he reached under the table and captured her fingers. “I believe you owe me something for rescuing you earlier.”

  She did not withdraw her hand from his, but did let out a little gasp of surprise, which empowered him. He could not easily believe she was a silly debutante.

  For Lady Julia was not silly.

  She could play a pianoforte, speak French, likely paint, and do all the other things finished young ladies were expected to do. What she cared about was what interested him the most. Her accomplishments were found in her father’s library, not through a governess or tutor.