Tristan glowered at the solemn affair. “Did you imbibe several bottles of wine with your meal? The only invigorating debate going on in this drawing room is whether or not to try a millefruit biscuit or the rather bland cake that brown-haired fellow to our right is crumbling into a pile of sweet rubbish on his plate.” He leaned in closer, ignoring the fact that his friend was fighting not to laugh. “And have you noticed that not a single person is actually carrying a book? For a literary gathering, one might expect to encounter at least one tome, do you not agree?”
“Oh, Blackbern, thus far, your observations have provided the most entertainment at an otherwise dull affair. However, my friend, our mutual pursuits have led us down somewhat unusual paths and sacrifices must be made.”
Tristan scowled. “What the devil are you talking about?”
Norgrave’s tolerant expression as he searched the drawing room blanked as a sudden stillness overtook him. Something or someone had caught his attention. “Ah, the true reason why we are here, since it is pointless to attempt to broaden your literary tastes.”
“Leave my literary tastes alone. They do not need to be improved upon, thank you very much. I like books as well as anyone else. While I may have little interest in pontificating on the symbolism of Chaucer, it does not mean I—” He realized Norgrave was not listening. “You were about to tell me the reason why I am not outdoors, enjoying this good weather.”
“Lady Imogene,” his friend said succinctly, causing a subtle tension to steal into Tristan’s limbs. “The difference between you and me is that I am focused when presented with a particular task. It gives me the advantage, and while I do regret ruining your afternoon, I feel compelled to tell you that this will be your downfall. I will win our wager.”
Tristan’s gaze moved from female guest to female guest until he found the lady he was seeking. Of course, she was wearing white this afternoon, unknowingly looking like the virginal sacrifice that Norgrave had set her up to be. She was in a deep conversation with a pretty blonde. The other woman was monopolizing the conversation. Lady Imogene nodded, and her attention shifted to the window. One could see a glimpse of the sun-drenched gardens. The lady stifled a yawn with her gloved hand.
Tristan was not the only person present who found their afternoon amusement less than stimulating. He grinned when she yawned again.
“Who is the lady with her?” he asked, not particularly caring if his friend knew her name.
It was Imogene who intrigued him.
“Lady Charlotte Winter, I believe,” Norgrave said, priding himself on knowing the names of every eligible lady within the radius of London. “You have been introduced to her twice.”
Tristan did not bother to respond to the dry comment from his companion. He recognized the lady’s name, and had spoken to her sire on several occasions, but the conversations had involved politics and trade. The daughter had not been mentioned.
“I had forgotten her name.”
“Lady Charlotte is an amiable creature. Fair in face, but no great beauty. Knowledgeable, and her father’s connections could be a useful asset to an ambitious gentleman.” Norgrave’s eyes narrowed as he coldly dissected the lady’s positive and negative qualities. “Virtuous and eager to please, which are beneficial if one hopes to take a wife, though she has an annoying habit of talking too much.”
“I assume you have experienced this personally?” Tristan asked, amused by the annoyance in his friend’s voice.
“Yes, unfortunately.” The marquess frowned. “Like most females, Lady Charlotte is quite smitten with me.”
Tristan shook his head at the man’s arrogance. “You think all females are in love with you.”
“It is because all of them are,” he said in a suspiciously bland tone. “Where are you going?”
He paused and glanced at Norgrave. “To reacquaint myself with Lady Imogene.”
“You never precisely explained the circumstances which brought you and the lady together,” Norgrave said, joining his friend as they headed in the lady’s direction. “It is unlike you to keep an amusing tale to yourself.”
“There is little point. There is no story to tell,” he lied. “Besides, since we are competing to win the lady’s favor, I am hardly inclined to divulge my secrets.”
The marquess’s lips curled into a smile. “As your best and closest friend, I can attest that I am acquainted with your numerous flaws and sins. We have no secrets between us, Blackbern.”
“True,” Tristan conceded, though it rankled him. Norgrave had an uncanny knack for uncovering information if he stirred himself to make the effort. “Still, it will not stop me from winning our wager.”
Satisfied he had the final word, he headed in the direction of the captivating young lady who had unwittingly created friction between him and the marquess.
* * *
“I would also suggest writing down in your journal the names of the gentlemen you meet indicating those who have made a favorable impression,” Lady Charlotte said, fully engrossed in a subject near and dear to her heart. “It would not hurt to note attributes and your opinion on each one.”
“You have put an impressive amount of effort into this task,” Imogene said, not offering the lady a feigned compliment. “How do you use this information? Do you submit it to your father?”
Lady Charlotte giggled in a manner that made her sound like a bird. “Good heavens, no. The details are for my own use, though I have been generous with my knowledge. There have been a few occasions when I have spared a lady the heartbreak of placing her high hopes on the wrong gentleman.”
It was no wonder her mother and father thought she was too lighthearted about her marriage prospects. She studied one of the male guests whom she deduced to be close to their age. “Can you tell me something about this gentleman?”
Her new friend quirked her lips as she studied the gentleman with the medium-blond hair. “He is one-and-twenty years of age. Second son of an earl. Educated. Enjoys his wine and horse racing. His flatulence is humorous. Is a subtle dinner companion, but has a bad habit of spitting and making an awful clicking noise when he picks his teeth.”
Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Imogene covered her mouth to conceal her laughter. “Good grief, you learned all of those details in one conversation?”
“Not exactly. I deduced this through years of observation,” Lady Charlotte said blithely. “The gentleman is my older brother.”
Imogene’s shoulders shook as she struggled to compose herself. “I consider myself forewarned. Shall I pick another gentleman?” she asked, warming up to their new game until she noticed the approach of a familiar dark-haired gentleman and his blond-haired companion. “It appears we have two willing volunteers.”
She did not believe it was possible, but her friend’s smile grew wider and she unconsciously began to play with one of the curls near her right ear as she recognized the two gentlemen.
“Your Grace and Lord Norgrave,” Lady Charlotte said, visibly struggling to contain her excitement at their presence. She curtsied and Imogene swiftly followed suit. “I was unaware that you two gentlemen would be taking part in Lady Yaxley’s gathering.”
The blond-haired gentleman attired in a light brown frock coat and breeches who her friend addressed as Lord Norgrave offered them a disarming smile. “It was an impulsive decision on our part.” His gaze shifted to Imogene, and something akin to anticipation warmed his light blue eyes, making the contrast startling. “Nevertheless the best experiences are usually the ones unplanned.”
Imogene smiled in agreement. “I have often found it to be so, my lord.” She could feel the Duke of Blackbern’s gaze on her, and the embarrassment of the previous evening smothered her like a humid summer breeze. It would have been rude to ignore him, so she deliberately turned to address him. “Do you not agree, Your Grace?”
He surprised everyone, especially Imogene, when he grasped her hand and brushed the top of her hand with a kiss. “I have ne
ver squandered the opportunities that tumble into my lap, my lady.”
If he meant to fluster her then he would part company from her disappointed. However, there was little she could do about her blush, and it had not gone unnoticed by Lady Charlotte and Lord Norgrave.
“So you and Blackbern are acquainted?” Norgrave asked, making it seem as if she and His Grace were keeping secrets.
“No,” Imogene replied at the same moment the duke replied, “Yes.”
She glared at him. Only she, her mother, and the Duke of Blackbern knew about the humiliating encounter. While the amusing little tale might entertain his friends, it would not place her in a flattering light.
Lady Charlotte glanced from Imogene to the duke. “So which is it?”
Unhappy with the direction of their conversation, she had a desire to accuse the gentleman of lying. “We were not formally introduced,” Imogene said, hoping the explanation would satisfy her new friend. She looked for her mother, but she was nowhere to be seen.
’Tis a fine time for her to abandon me.
Understanding lit Lady Charlotte’s eyes. “Then you have not been—Oh, where are my manners. Forgive me,” she said, placing her hand on Imogene’s arm in a friendly manner. “Lady Imogene Sunter, may I introduce you to Cason Brant, Marquess of Norgrave.”
“My lord,” she said, curtsying. “It is an honor.”
The marquess bowed. “The honor is all mine, my dear lady.”
Imogene reluctantly turned to his companion. He patiently waited for a formal introduction which was a blessing. She certainly did not wish to explain their first meeting to anyone.
Lady Charlotte was oblivious to undercurrents of tension. “And may I formally present Tristan Rooke, Duke of Blackbern.”
“Your Grace.” She curtsied, but a childish part of her wanted to stick her tongue out at him.
“Lady Imogene,” the duke drawled. “I trust your mother is in good health.”
“It is kind of you to inquire, Your Grace,” she said, before a mischievous thought occurred to her. “Perhaps you would prefer to express your compliments to the Duchess of Trevett. She insisted on joining me this afternoon.”
Blackbern’s eyes narrowed, knowing full well that her mother would not be pleased to see him at Lady Yaxley’s little gathering. “I look forward to improving upon my first impression.”
Imogene could not prevent herself from grinning. “It should not be difficult.”
Since her opinion of you is quite low.
The duke acknowledged her unspoken comment with a slight nod as though he had deduced her private thoughts. For Lady Charlotte’s and Lord Norgrave’s benefit, she added, “The duchess is very forgiving.”
Blackbern made a soft choking noise that he concealed behind his fist. “Pardon me. I will take your word for it, my lady.”
“Lady Imogene and Lady Charlotte, since Lady Yaxley has yet to begin, would you ladies be interested in stepping outdoors to enjoy the gardens?” Lord Norgrave asked, successfully distracting them. “The dust is irritating Blackbern’s lungs, and a little fresh air would benefit all of us.”
“So kind of you to think of my health,” muttered the duke.
Lord Norgrave gave him a guileless smile. “How could I not, when you are like a brother to me.”
Imogene was surprised when the marquess extended his arm to her. Lady Charlotte and the duke frowned at them.
“Will you do me the honor, Lady Imogene?”
Since walking with Lord Norgrave was the safer choice, she placed her hand on his bent arm. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”
“Lady Charlotte,” the Duke of Blackbern said behind her.
* * *
Norgrave resisted the urge to glance back and smirk at Blackbern as he and Lady Imogene took the lead strolling through Lady Yaxley’s back gardens. It was one of the benefits of friendship that extended into boyhood. A lifetime of experiences had given him insight on how his friend thought. He had become adept at anticipating the other man’s thoughts and reactions, and he was quite certain the duke was gnashing his teeth over the fact that he had not invited the ladies to join them in the gardens.
After witnessing Blackbern’s flirtation with Lady Imogene, he had mentally readjusted his own plans for the lady. Either he had underestimated his friend’s interest in their beautiful prize or the lady was more intriguing than he had credited.
He was determined to find out.
“Imogene is such a lovely name. Is it a family name?” Norgrave asked.
“I was named after a great-grandmother on my father’s side of the family,” she said, averting her gaze in what he assumed was shyness.
How refreshing.
With her face bathed in sunlight, the lady in question was without a doubt a tribute to her sex. Delicate, flawless features, full unpainted lips, and expressive eyes that revealed intelligence as well as discomfort since she was clearly unused to spending her afternoons with potential suitors. Norgrave privately wondered if she would manage to retain that air of innocence after he had bedded her.
Nothing fired his blood more than taking something that did not belong to him.
“Tell me about yourself,” Lady Imogene invited. Her curiosity about him was a loving stroke to his pride and cock.
“Hmm … what could I share that would not make me sound like a braggart?”
“Your family name is unfamiliar to me. Where did you spend your boyhood?” she asked.
“Northwest of London. It is a four-day journey,” he said, deliberately quickening his stride to add distance between him and Blackbern. “My turn. Is this your first visit to London?”
“Ah, no,” she said, tightening her grip on his arm when she stumbled.
He sent her an apologetic look and slowed his pace.
“I have been to London numerous times with my family. However, this is the first season I have been permitted to enjoy the evening amusements.”
“So young. You make me feel like a doddering old man.”
“You cannot be that old,” she said with a laugh. “I cannot believe you are older than thirty.”
“Bless you, my lady, for not guessing a higher number. No, I am twenty-seven years old and many years have expired since the night of my first town ball.”
She grinned up at him. “You are holding up rather well for a gentleman of your age.”
“Why, thank you, Lady Imogene. I do my best, and there are benefits to considering an older, more experienced gentleman when you are entertaining suitors.”
The lack of a delicate blush coloring her cheeks reminded him that he was flirting with an innocent. She stepped away from him to examine a flower that had caught her fancy. Perhaps Lady Imogene was still more girl than woman, but her stay in London would be more educational than a room filled with tutors.
“We have only recently arrived, and I have no suitors,” she shyly admitted when he moved next to her.
“I must respectfully disagree, my lady. If you confess to having no one dancing attendance in your drawing room, then allow me to be your first,” Norgrave purred, amused that she would not appreciate his double entendre.
“You have set yourself an impossible task, old man,” Blackbern said, as he and Lady Charlotte joined them. He was angry with him, and if the ladies had not been present, Norgrave might have been obliged to dodge the duke’s fist. “If anyone is Lady Imogene’s first, it is I.”
Chapter Six
It was unlike Tristan to hold a grudge, but his temper had not faded in the hours since he and Norgrave had bid farewell to Lady Imogene at Lady Yaxley’s literary saloon. The two gentlemen had gone their separate ways, because he had not trusted that he could hold his tongue after watching his friend flirt with the lady.
Gullible chit, he thought uncharitably.
Lady Imogene had smiled and nodded, believing every word uttered by the marquess. There had been an occasion or two that she recalled he was present, but she had not offered him any enco
uragement. Who knew what the devil the blackguard was telling her. When Norgrave had picked a flower and tucked it in her hair, she had blushed prettily and laughed as he complimented her beauty.
By the time they had reentered the countess’s drawing room, Tristan had been in a rotten mood. He had not been the only one who was not amused by Norgrave’s antics. Lady Charlotte’s expression had grown withdrawn during their stroll through the gardens, and their conversation suffered for it. There had been pain in her gaze as she watched the other couple, and he could only pity the poor woman. If Norgrave ever married, his ambitions were loftier than an earl’s daughter.
A duke’s daughter would be more to his liking.
To prove he was not jealous of Norgrave, Tristan had agreed to meet his friend at the Green Goose to observe a bare-knuckled match in the courtyard. As he and Norgrave watched the two pugilists fight, the knot in his gut eased as if the punishing blows had been delivered by his own fists.
“How much did you wager on the match?” Norgrave shouted over the noise of the spectators.
“Twenty-five guineas on Ivie,” Tristan replied.
“You are too young to be that miserly. Or perhaps you do not have much faith in your man,” Norgrave teased. “I have wagered eighty guineas on Herring.”
“And you are too careless with your wealth. You risk much for a pugilist you do not know or care to know,” he replied, reminding himself that he was not the marquess’s steward or his father. If the man wanted to beggar himself then it was his choice. He could not resist adding, “And that is why you will lose our wager.”
Norgrave raised his eyebrows as if he was surprised Tristan had mentioned their wager for Lady Imogene’s virtue. “Lose? Did you not see how the lady chose me over you? She thoroughly enjoyed my company, and if we had been alone, I might have slipped her away so I could kiss her in private.”
Thinking of all of the women his friend had bedded in Tristan’s presence, he muttered, “When has an audience stopped you from taking what you wanted?”
“Careful, Blackbern,” the marquess chastised in a mocking tone. “One might think you were jealous.”
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