Improper Duke: Scandalous Encounters

by Kristabel Reed

  Poor Lavinia. It was a wonder she ever got a word in edgewise with Rowenna as a mother. But Camilla dutifully nodded and made a mental note, even if she did continue to watch Axton turn to face her once again.

  “And while I will accept a slightly older man,” Rowenna continued, “most definitely don’t dig up a wizened old skeleton of a man.”

  Camilla wouldn’t put the poor girl—whom she’d yet to meet—with anyone at this point. Not with a mother such as Rowenna. It went against her better judgement.

  “I want grandchildren, you know.” Good Lord, the woman never took a breath, did she? “And Lavinia has particular taste.” Rowenna sighed dramatically. “Find one like the Marquess of Montagu. Oh, yes, just like him please.”

  Camilla did not roll her eyes. She absolutely did not. But she did unclench her jaw and loosen her fingers from round her reticule.

  “Look at how the marquess looks at Miss Lizette. I require the same for my Lavinia.”

  “Mrs. Everett,” Camilla said and took another deep breath before continuing. “Your list has quite an extensive array of preferences. I’m afraid I would only disappoint you and Miss Lavinia.”

  Lavinia was either going to run off with the first man who paid her a lick of attention or never marry because of her mother.

  “The match between the Marquess of Montagu and Miss Lizette was simply fate,” Camilla said and offered a small, self-deprecating smile. “I simply facilitated the introduction. I did not mold the marquess out of clay and champagne.”

  Camilla stood and offered a courteous curtsey and slight smile. “I’m afraid I cannot accept this commission. You’d be best served by another of my trade.”

  “No!” Rowenna screeched.

  Camilla’s eyes widened. She’d never actually heard a woman screech before. Odd, considering her trade, but Rowenna’s screech could be classified as nothing but. Camilla didn’t look around, but she felt all eyes on them. Lucky for Rowenna, the music prevented much of the sound from trailing.

  Not the gossip, however, and Camilla felt a stab of pity for poor Lavinia.

  “You’re the finest matchmaker there is in London.” Rowenna took her hand and pleaded. “In England, I dare say. You cannot reject my dear Lavinia. What would her prospects be once word of your rejection made the rounds? You must!”

  The last word was once more unnecessarily high pitched. Frankly, it was painful to hear. Camilla gently disentangled her hand from Rowenna’s clutch.

  “No, no, this is a tragedy, a disaster, if you don’t attend to my Lavinia.”

  “It is not so dire, Mrs. Everett,” Camilla soothed but took a half step back. “Lavinia will be just fine, I’m certain of it.”

  “Please, Mrs. Primsby,” Rowenna said but thankfully didn’t try to take her hand again. “I beg of you. Do not forsake us!”

  “I shall give it further consideration,” Camilla promised and only half lied. “But again, you may be served better by another.” She took another step away. One more step closer to the freedom even a packed ballroom offered.

  “Do excuse me, Mrs. Everett,” she continued and once more tried to shake off Rowenna’s claw-like fingers from her arm. “I have—”

  “I have your word you’ll reconsider?” Rowenna all but begged.

  Suddenly Rowenna straightened. Camilla didn’t need to turn around to know the Duke of Axton stood behind her. Never had she been so aware of a man, or of anyone.

  “Pardon, Mrs. Everett,” he said in that low voice that did things to her inside she didn’t wish to acknowledge. “I do believe Mrs. Primsby promised me the next dance.”

  He extended his arm and smiled with that slight upturn of his lips. “Shall we?”

  Oh yes! But Camilla merely nodded and took his arm.

  Thankfully, a new dance was about to begin, and they took their positions. As they followed the steps—separate, come together, separate again—she tried to find the words necessary to thank him.

  Thank him without sounding as if she wished to continued their conversation from earlier.

  “Thank you,” she said, keeping it simple.

  On the next pass he nodded. “I noticed you were pinned,” he said, and they separated again.

  “For nearly the last hour,” he added, as if they hadn’t been separated.

  “I felt it my duty to rescue you,” he finished on yet another pass.

  “Quite observant, Your Grace,” she said as they came together again.

  She saw his smile, lightning quick, as they danced away from each other again. He watched her from across the line, his gaze never wavering and his lips tilted in a permanent knowing smile.

  “I am quite flattered to warrant such attention from a duke,” she said with a sly grin as they circled each other once more.

  “I’d be pleased if that were true,” he told her.

  She tried not to laugh, but he made her want to do so with distressing frequency. One did not laugh with a duke when one was a lowly matchmaker.

  As they circled each other again, she looked up at him, her eyes purposefully half closed. She didn’t miss the way his eyes darkened and the interest there shot up her spine, making her shiver.

  “Is Miss Lavinia the next to receive your insight?”

  “No,” she admitted.

  They moved away from each other again, and she waited until they had one final spin before saying, “And Mrs. Everett was quite distraught I refused the commission.”

  She curtseyed from across the line and watched him even as she bowed her head. She found it hard not to; it was almost impossible to look away. That tingle of awareness hadn’t left her and when he offered his arm once again, Camilla took it without thinking.

  Axton guided her along the edge of the dancers, keeping some distance but not too much as he maneuvered her to a more private area. Her heart sped up, but she ignored its pounding. She had no idea what he wanted—for all she knew, he truly did wish to hire her to match him with someone.

  Or he might wish to talk further about Hawkhurst.

  But never had she enjoyed a conversation more than the brief one they shared hours ago.

  “You’ve devastated Mrs. Everett, have you not?” he said more than asked. He slowed his pace, and they strolled around the room. Camilla didn’t pull back. “If that woman does not feel as if she’s getting the best, she feels as if she’s being cheated.”

  Surprised, Camilla looked up at him and blinked incredulously. “Another very astute observation, Your Grace.”

  The man truly did see what so many others missed. Not that there was much to miss with Rowenna Everett—the woman told all and sundry her every thought.

  “It does not take much to read Mrs. Everett,” he said dryly, eerily echoing her thoughts. “In fact there is no reading required—she tells you everything.”

  He eased them around a corner, closer to the refreshments and the open doors. The cold air beckoned her, but they didn’t seek its refreshing coolness. Instead, they stood off to the side and turned toward the crowd to watch its ebb and flow.

  “There are quite a number in this room who hide nothing. However, there are others who show very little.”

  “Do you count yourself among those, Your Grace?” she wondered and accepted a glass of punch.

  His eyebrow raised, but he remained very still. “At times,” he allowed. “Who else is like that in this room, Mrs. Primsby?”

  He challenged her, and she liked that. Turning to stand beside him, she looked out and saw the same view he did.

  “A simple question,” she said slowly, her gaze running over the masses. “For one, Lord Hawkhurst.”

  “Too easy,” he said and shook his head. That same smile teased the corners of his lips. “Who else?”

  “Lady Lindor for another,” she said and sipped her punch. It was weak and warm now, too warm to quench her thirst. She set the nearly full cup down.

  Axton nodded and waited patiently and quietly, and so very still. That continued
stillness intrigued her the most. She knew so few people who didn’t twitch or move, who didn’t have a nervous tell of some sort.

  “There’s a mystery about Lady Lindor most do not know.” She met his gaze and said softly, “I do…but I will not share. The lady hides it very well.”

  “It’s very interesting to watch this theater,” he all but whispered. “It plays out night after night, in various homes and townhomes and estates.”

  She nodded and said softly, “I know, I make a very handsome living from it.”

  Axton stepped closer and lowered his voice even further. Camilla suddenly felt as if they were the only two people in the entirety of the ball. Even as a woman jostled her way to the punch and a man’s over-exuberant laugh sounded behind her, Camilla couldn’t look away.

  “Have you not thought of making a match for yourself? There are—”

  “To take a match myself means ending my work,” she said quickly. “And I enjoy it too much for that.”

  She purposefully stepped away, putting a small distance between them; she needed the space and the chance to breathe again. But her heart continued to pound and her blood raced, and no matter how she ignored both, she couldn’t ignore Axton.

  “And what if your husband allows you to continue?” he asked.

  “I’m unused to anyone allowing me anything,” she said tartly. “By most women’s lives, I’m in an enviable position. I found a way to have a respectable occupation. And retain all the freedom that comes with it. You have no idea how sweet that is for a woman.”

  She ended the conversation abruptly. She’d no wish to become too intimate with Axton. Not yet. Not until she knew what he was after. Camilla took another step back and offered a very slight curtsey.

  “Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Chapter Three

  CAMILLA WATCHED THE ton parade through Hyde Park as they did every afternoon. A cold gust of wind jostled hats and skirts with its harsh and unforgiving pace. But the sun was out and when the wind settled, it suddenly became quite tolerable to be outside.

  The parade never stopped at Hyde Park. Unless, of course, it was a terrible winter’s day. Even then, the majority of the ton still came out to see and be seen.

  As her carriage moved along at the required sedate pace, she turned to Margaret, her protégée. The young blonde sat dutifully by Camilla’s side, her hands firmly wrapped in a warm muff. Margaret wasn’t yet used to pretending to ignore the weather. However, she was learning.

  They’d stopped at Denberry’s Chocolatier before journeying to Hyde Park, and each had a pot of hot chocolate to ward against the December weather. Camilla had helped Denberry’s middle child find quite the good match and always received excellent service from the grateful family.

  Camilla returned her attention to the parade. Lady Agatha Ackerman wore a new hat, and it looked as if Lord Lambert rode in a new carriage. The cold day reddened his cheeks and jowls, but he ignored it as a true member of the ton would.

  “Quite a new number of bachelors in attendance this afternoon,” Margaret noted. “Lord Cablesby is here as well,” she added in surprise. “I did not expect that.”

  “Cablesby,” Camilla whispered, “like the others, wish to have a first look at the young daughters to be presented this season.” She straightened and nodded. “Miss Richardson is here as well, and in her best, I see.” Camilla snorted lightly. “As she should be.”

  Margaret giggled but quickly silenced herself and resumed the stance of one who belonged here in the park.

  “I’ve made a list of several prospects for Lord Hawkhurst,” Margaret said as she continued to eye the group.

  Camilla took the list Margaret offered and quickly looked at it. She nodded approvingly. “Well done,” she murmured.

  There were several she wouldn’t have thought of herself, but from what she knew of Hawkhurst, they might work exceedingly well.

  “I thought to add Mrs. Blackwood to the list,” Margaret said. “I think their temperaments complement each other.”

  “No, no.” Camilla shook her head. “She’s not right for Hawkhurst. Mrs. Blackwood is a wallflower, shy and quiet. Lord Hawkhurst, while he might be quiet, is far from in need of a wallflower.”

  She looked up at Margaret but saw a carriage from the corner of her eye. It moved at a brisk pace, far too quick for the Row. She didn’t squint to see who sat atop it, but knew. The way he sat, the tilt of his head.

  The Duke of Axton.

  Camilla resolutely ignored the flutter of nerves dancing in her belly and offered a cool smile. Axton’s carriage, driven by his driver, not him, pulled to a stop perfectly parallel with her own. Impressive.

  And she certainly did not wish to be impressed by the duke. Not at all.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Primsby.” Axton nodded cordially. But his blue eyes sparkled with humor, and his smile was anything but cool and polite. No, it held a hint of darkness, of promise. Of wickedness, even.

  Camilla shivered in response, and warmth settled low in her belly. Taken aback at her unexpected response to the man, she hurried to compose herself. She should not want to see his smile for herself and definitely not feel the heat of arousal slide through her.

  “Have you a moment?” Axton continued.

  “Of course, Your Grace,” she agreed.

  Camilla shifted to move to the opposite side of the carriage when Axton moved. In a blink, he all but leaped from his carriage to hers. He offered another wide smile to Margaret, who looked dazed at the action, and held out his hand to her.

  “You don’t mind, do you?” Axton asked rhetorically.

  Margaret shook her head and awkwardly moved into Axton’s carriage before Camilla thought of a decent enough retort. The carriage moved off the instant Margaret settled herself.

  Satisfied, Axton turned to her. He seemed unrepentant and uncaring of the scandal he’d just caused. Camilla composed herself, at a loss and not used to being so. She did not like this odd feeling of floating along in a swift moving current of Axton’s making.

  She subtly cleared her throat, stubbornly ignored the way his smile and the directness of his gaze affected her, and waited patiently.

  “You’ve just set the entire ton to talking,” Camilla said with a coy smile. She couldn’t help it.

  Axton’s grin turned smug and wicked. “Should make for an interesting afternoon.” He leaned closer. Camilla welcomed his closeness even as she told herself it was a mistake to want it. His breath brushed along her skin as he asked conspiratorially, “What do you think their theories are?”

  “You’re with a known matchmaker, Your Grace,” Camilla said in the same conspiratorial tone. “I’m certain they’re all about to dash home to ready their daughters for an introduction. By the time I return home, I’m also certain there will be dozens of missives waiting for me.”

  Her eyes widen at the realization. She almost glared at Axton and the amount of work he inadvertently dumped in her lap.

  Axton laughed, a loud, booming, and very genuine sound that surely echoed across Hyde Park. It warmed something in Camilla she didn’t know existed. She ignored that, too.

  “Why they all assume I’m here for anyone else save you is amusing.”

  His face, scandalously close to hers, moved just slightly closer. Camilla’s breath caught at that closeness, at the intense look in his eyes.

  She long ago schooled her reactions. Taught herself not to show anyone her true feelings. Axton, with a handful of sentences, managed to break through everything she ever built and send it all crashing down.

  Just as abruptly as he moved closer, Axton shifted away the slightest bit. He grinned again, once more easy and genuine, as if the last minutes hadn’t happened. As if his closeness hadn’t made her blood heat and her heart race.

  She eyed him carefully and wondered if moving to the far corner of the carriage would give him more fodder or stop him cold. But she stayed where she was and tilted her head quizzically.

  �
��Of course.” She nodded. “You wish to discuss Lord Hawkhurst.”

  “Have you settled on anyone for him?” Axton asked, neither confirming nor denying her assumption.

  “Not as yet,” Camilla admitted.

  “How difficult can it be?” Axton asked, though his eyes focused on her. “A pretty young thing that will turn his head.”

  “It’s not so simple,” Camilla said in that same cool voice. She had to work for it now, work at keeping her voice professional despite discussing her work. “Particularly with Lord Hawkhurst.”

  Axton jerked his chin to a carriage several ahead. “What of Miss Darlington?”

  Affronted, Camilla jerked back. “That woman barely takes a breath in a day for as much as she talks.” She shook her head adamantly. “She’d drive your friend to travel far, far away.”

  He looked, considering between her and Miss Darlington. “I suppose,” he agreed, a hint of curiosity in his tone, “he does need someone with your special touch.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” Camilla said with all the passion and confidence she held in her talents. “It takes a keen eye to accomplish this delicate matter. I’m surprised you’d be so clumsy at choosing a match for Lord Hawkhurst.”

  His smile spread slow and knowing over his face. That dimple Camilla tried not to acknowledge deepened. “I wished to see what you’d say,” he confided.

  That laughter was back. Not at her, he certainly didn’t laugh at her, but the humor, the fun. When did she last have fun for the sake of doing so? Camilla enjoyed herself—made a point to do so—but Axton seemed to take full enjoyment out of everything.

  “In earnest,” Camilla asked, truly curious, “whom would you choose amongst this gathering here at the park?”

  His eyes took on a determined glint, accepting her challenge. Axton looked around the carriages and footpath. She watched his gaze linger on several women, taking her request seriously.

  Camilla didn’t follow his gaze but rather watched him. He utterly immersed himself in his quest, and she found that so attractive. It pulled her, catching her in his web without her quite knowing how.