The Black Duke's Prize

by Suzanne Enoch

  "Clarey," the man said with a nod at Lord Neville, then turned his close-set brown eyes on the duchess. "Your Grace," he drawled, his tone insulting.

  "Go away, little man," she replied, and Alison sucked in her breath.

  The tension around them abruptly escalated, and others were beginning to look their way. "Please forgive my forwardness, Baroness," the man said to Alison, ignoring the duchess, "but I simply had to know who this lovely creature was." With that he reached out to take Katherine's hand and brushed it with his lips.

  Alison glanced over at the duchess, who shrugged, her lips tight. "Mr. DuPres, my goddaughter, Katherine Ralston. Kate, Mr. Francis DuPres."

  "Miss Ralston, I am delighted to meet you."

  "Thank you," Kate replied, trying to tug her hand free without being obvious about it.

  "Now will you go away?" the duchess hissed.

  "Not until our charming Miss Ralston agrees to grant me this dance," DuPres replied, looking at Katherine expectantly.

  Kate didn't know what to do. What little she had seen of this man she didn't like, and she had no wish to insult Julia Varon, but neither did she want to be in the middle of the shouting match that she sensed might erupt if DuPres and the Dowager Duchess remained in close proximity. Abruptly the empty dance card was pulled out of her hand.

  "Sorry, DuPres," an unfamiliar male voice said from behind her, ''this dance is mine."

  Katherine turned quickly to see a tall, raven-haired man scrutinizing her dance card. He glanced over at her speculatively with dark-gray eyes that held green highlights, much like Julia Varon's. He was broad-shouldered and lean and was dressed all in black, from his top boots to his exquisitely tailored jacket, with only a foamy white cravat and shirt to contrast the starkness. The effect was strikingly handsome, as was the man who affected it.

  "Yes, 'fraid so, DuPres, my name's first." The stranger looked down to further examine the card, again giving her a quick, unreadable glance. "In fact, I don't see your name here at all."

  "I have requested a dance," DuPres spat out, and reached for the card.

  The stranger returned it smoothly to Kate. "So sorry, then. Her card's full, and you're not on it." Before she could say a word, he took her hand and led her onto the dance floor as the orchestra struck up a waltz.

  Whoever her rescuer was, he was a graceful dancer. It took a moment for what had happened to sink in, it had all occurred so quickly. One moment she was trying to find a way to avoid dancing with Francis DuPres, and the next she was waltzing with a complete stranger.

  ''Thank you," she said after a moment.

  The eyes that had been gazing across the floor shifted back to her. "For what?"

  "I had no desire to dance with him." She glanced over to where DuPres stood glaring at them. There was an empty space around him, as though no one wanted to be associated with him.

  "I didn't do it for you," he responded rudely, looking away again, his expression bored. "I did it to save my mother from embarrassment."

  He was Julia Varon's son, then, as she had suspected. "Which was why I didn't want to dance with Mr. DuPres myself," she noted, for the moment ignoring his lack of manners.

  The unusual eyes returned to her. "What is your name?" he drawled.

  "Katherine Ralston," she replied. "And yours?" She had been hearing more than enough rumors since her arrival in London to be fairly certain of his identity, but he should at least have had the courtesy to introduce himself.

  "Nicholas Varon," he answered promptly. "What is your relationship to Neville and Alison Hampton?"

  "They are my godparents," she replied, trying to keep from staring at him. This was the Black Duke of Sommesby she was dancing with, who had knocked out someone, probably Francis DuPres, at White's, and who had nearly started a duel in someone's ballroom over his mistress. Her maid had mentioned other things, which at the moment she was too rattled to recall.

  "And how do you know Francis DuPres?" he pursued, either not noticing or ignoring her discomfiture.

  "I only met him five minutes ago," she answered, the aloof, direct questions and the light, skillful touch of his hand on the small of her back beginning to annoy her despite her trepidation. "What is your relationship to Mr. DuPresT'

  "None of your business," he said flatly, looking away again. .

  That wasn't very polite, and neither was the way he kept looking about the room, barely paying attention to her or to the dance. "It was quite insightful of me to include your name at the top of my dance card, don't you think?" she asked, her Irish temper beginning to flare.

  Once again the eyes met hers, and this time she thought she saw a brief look of appreciation touch them. It was gone before she could be certain. "Indeed it was. Quite impressive."

  "Yes," she agreed. "I only hope the rest of my choices are as impressive."

  "Miss Ralston, I really don't care who you find to fill the remainder of your dance card," he said, apparently tiring completely of his role as rescuer. "I told you my reasons for bringing you out here."

  "Of course, Your Grace," she answered, with admirable calm, she thought. "But, you see, while your problem has been solved, mine remains. I still do not wish to dance with Mr. DuPres, and you have informed him that I will be partnered for the entire evening. You have made one of us into a liar."

  "Good God," he muttered under his breath. Apparently she had his attention now. "Don't you wish to speak about the weather or the latest Paris fashion or some such thing?"

  "No."

  The music ended, and she turned away from him to join in the general applause as he rather abruptly released her. Lady Alison beckoned to her from the far side of the room, and she started over. She had taken no more than a step or two when her hand was taken and tucked around a strong, black-clothed forearm.

  "One does not leave one's dance partner if one wishes to avoid a scandal, Miss Ralston," Varon murmured, taking the lead as they headed off the floor.

  "I wasn't aware that my doings concerned you," she responded hotly, a little surprised that he would care whether she caused a scandal or not.

  Lady Alison wore an expression of slight uneasiness as they approached, but she smiled readily enough at the duke. "They are about to serve supper," she explained. "Nick, thank you for your assistance."

  Varon glanced down at Kate, then back at the baroness. "It was my pleasure," he said smoothly, making Katherine wish to stomp on his foot.

  Lord Neville joined them, and Kate found herself, to her annoyed chagrin, being escorted into the dining hall by the Black Duke. The seats had been assigned beforehand by the hostess, and Sommesby brought her to her chair and helped her into it, then leaned over her shoulder.

  "Give me your card," he murmured.

  She half turned to look at him. "What?"

  "A good turn deserves a good turn. Give me your dance card, Miss Ralston." He touched her elbow under the level of the table, and after a hesitation she slipped the card into his hand.

  During supper most of the other women at the table took at least a moment to glance in her direction, and she could almost see the speculation and curiosity, not all of it friendly. Belatedly she wondered what kind of favor the Duke of Sommesby had done for her. He sat close to the head of the table, and was receiving far more attention than she. She wanted no scandal attached to her, for she was only there to bide her time until she could return to Crestley.

  Halfway through the meal she turned from conversing with Squire John Delgood of Berkshire and glanced over to see the Black Duke's eyes on her. She blushed and quickly looked away. Whatever had possessed her to bait him, she certainly now regretted the action. As she composed herself over supper, she had time to remember a great deal more of Emmie's stories concerning the Black Duke. There were rumors that he had killed or wounded several men in duels, and because of an argument, he had purposely gambled the Viscount of Worton out of his entire estate and had then turned around and handed the deed to the nearest footman, which
had caused a second scandal. And now he had been her first dance partner at her first ball after her return to London.

  Supper ended, and the guests drifted either upstairs to the gaming tables or back into the ballroom. She looked about, but didn't see the duke or her dance card anywhere. Likely he had gone to gamble and taken it with him. She began to curse him under her breath. Then, sensing someone behind her, she turned to see him standing there, looking down at her.

  "A pleasure again, Miss Ralston," he said, and bent to kiss her hand. As he released it, her card was slipped expertly back into her palm. He then took Lady Alison's hand as well, granting her a slight smile, and headed out toward the stairs.

  Katherine turned the card over in her hand. It was filled with names. Her godmother looked over at it as well and gave a surprised smile.

  "He's partnered you with some of the most respected, and interesting, members of the ton. However did you convince him to assist you?"

  Katherine shrugged, her eyes on the last name on the card. The bold lettering read only "N. Varon."

  4

  The Duke of Sommesby spent only a short time up-stairs, for the games were woefully tame, and the company even more so. Aside from that, by filling her dance card he had in a manner put himself in the role of Miss Ralston's host, and he wished to see how she was enjoying her evening. He entered the ballroom again and lounged against the back wall to watch.

  At that moment she was engaged in a country dance with the Viscount of Sheresford. Thomas appeared to be pleased, for he smiled as he spoke. She laughed in response, and Nicholas noted again that despite her rather haphazard manners she was quite attractive. The silver ribbons in her long black hair glowed in the candlelight, and the simple blue gown showed off her slim figure admirably.

  "Nick?"

  Neville Hampton approached from the chairs lining one side of the room, and Nicholas pushed himself upright away from the wall. "Neville," he said, shaking the older "man's hand and wondering if he was about to be warned away from the baron's goddaughter. Clarey had little to worry about, however, for schoolroom misses held little interest for Nicholas.

  Instead Neville mimed a punch. "Congratulations on the flusher you handed Francis DuPres. Anyone knows anything about you, they know you're no cheat." Nicholas inclined his head but said nothing, preferring to forget the entire incident and Francis DuPres. Clarey seemed to realize this, for he nodded and stepped closer. "Will you call on me tomorrow morning? There is something I wish to discuss with you."

  Nicholas nodded, somewhat surprised that the baron would seek his counsel. "I'll be there, Neville."

  A country dance was followed by a quadrille; he was not particularly fond of either. He watched as Captain Reg Hillary was introduced to Miss Ralston and led her out onto the floor. With a curse that had the women closest to him looking at him warily, he realized that his heroic efforts to keep Miss Ralston from being the object of scandal would fail if the Black Duke claimed her for the first and last dance of the evening and partnered no one else in between. With a put-upon sigh at what he was having to go through, all because she had called him on his actions―the ungrateful chit―he sought out his mother. The duchess was seated again beside the Marchioness of Belning, the two of them no doubt deep in conversation about how to trap him into matrimony.

  "Mama, dance with me," he said, holding out his hand. With a surprised look she rose and allowed herself to be led out onto the floor. "A quadrille, Nicky?" she murmured.

  He ignored her comment, and instead spent most of the time watching Miss Ralston and Reg. Once again she was smiling, and he noted that he was not the only one looking her way. After the quadrille ended he escorted his mother back to her seat. The orchestra struck up a waltz, and he spied Azalea, no, Althaea Hillary cowering on the far side of the marchioness. Sighing again, he stopped before her. "May I have this dance, Miss Hillary?"

  She blanched, but the marchioness smiled at him and elbowed her daughter in the side. With a murmured word that he assumed to be an affirmative, the girl rose. When an opening presented itself he swept her out onto the floor.

  "Are you having a pleasant evening, Miss Hillary?" he asked after a moment, eyeing the top of her auburn hair, as her eyes were apparently occupied with staring at his boots.

  She lifted her head, nearly knocking him in the chin, and stammered something that he again assumed to be an affirmative. There was nothing wrong with Althaea Hillary physically; on the contrary, she was quite attractive, with long, curling lashes and soft brown doe's eyes that young men inclined toward such things wrote poetry about. If only she had had the power of speech, and something to say if she could speak .he might have found her tolerably pleasant. He couldn't help but note the vast difference between Althaea Hillary and the outspoken Miss Ralston, though he couldn't say which of the two he found more taxing.

  "How are you enjoying the Season so far?" he ventured, curious to see how she would react to a question to which she couldn't answer yes or no.

  "Qut 'II, nk you," came out of her mouth in an almost voiceless whisper, and Nicholas shut his eyes for just a moment.

  "Beg pardon?" he said, leaning closer.

  "Quite well, thank you," she managed to articulate, glancing up at his face.

  Feeling as though he had accomplished something of a miracle, he smiled down at her. And immediately regretted it. Althaea's face went white, and she stumbled and sank against his chest, her eyes rolling back in her head.

  "Good God," he muttered, looking about somewhat frantically and trying to keep her from sliding to the ground. No assistance appeared, and with a curse he bent and scooped her up in his arms to carry her off the dance floor.

  "What have you done to my Althaea?" her mother asked, gasping as she hurried toward them, several other mamas in tow.

  "I have done nothing," he snapped, pushing past the mob and carrying the girl to a settee in the anteroom. He carefully set her down and stepped aside to escape back into the ballroom.

  Thomas Elder was standing there waiting for him. "Is Althaea all right?" he asked, glancing over Nicholas's shoulder.

  He nodded, walking over to the refreshment table for a glass of punch and eyeing the nearest gossips until they moved away. He would have preferred brandy, but there was none available downstairs. "She fainted."

  "Fainted?" Thomas asked incredulously. "In the middle of a waltz?"

  "Yes," Nicholas said indignantly, "she swooned. I smiled, and she swooned."

  Thomas snorted, "You're bamming me."

  The herd of mamas emerged from the anteroom to glare at him. ''God's blood," he grumbled, what remained of his good humor quickly evaporating. "Do they think I ravished her out on the dance floor?"

  "If anyone could, it would be you," Thomas answered.

  "No, don't scowl at me. Just let me thank you for blackmailing me into dancing with Kate. She's lovely."

  "Kate?" Nicholas asked, distracted by the sight of Althaea cautiously returning to one of the chairs in the ballroom.

  "Miss Ralston," Thomas reminded him, following his gaze. "I'll go see how Althaea is," the viscount offered, patting Nicholas on the shoulder.

  "Please do," Nicholas said feelingly. "I'm bloody well not going near her again."

  Despite the condition of Miss Hillary, none of the other ladies Nicholas asked to dance refused him and, fortunately, no one else suffered so much as an attack of the vapors. Even so, he was grateful when the music began for the evening's last waltz. Unless he missed his guess, the only thing Miss Ralston would be suffering from was a rather refreshing case of honesty and quick wits. He turned to find her, but she was not in sight. A further perusal also failed to reveal Clarey and the baroness. Cursing under his breath, he again found his mother.

  "Have you seen the Hamptons lately, Mama?" he asked coolly, trying to keep his jaw from clenching.

  "They left about half an hour ago, Nicky. Kate, I think she had a partner for every dance tonight. She was very tired."
>
  "Damned ungrateful chit," Nicholas muttered, and left the room. unaware of the surprised look on his mother's face as he turned his back.

  Katherine wasn't surprised when Lady Alison suggested they leave the ball early. It was true that she was tired, and that her head was beginning to throb with all of the introductions and subsequent invitations and plans, but she had a suspicion it was more than just her health that concerned her godmother. She had learned enough about the etiquette of the haut ton to know that dancing twice in one evening with the same man, particularly one with the reputation of the Duke of Sommesby, was enough to put a lady's reputation at risk.

  That was not to say she hadn't been tempted to stay. Her initial annoyance at his high-handedness had faded as each successive partner had appeared to be introduced. They had all been witty and charming, and for the first time in a long while she had begun to feel like the fair maiden of the tales she had enjoyed as a young girl. It had been a marvelous evening, and to her surprise she had the infamous Black Duke to thank for it.

  "I don't know what got into Nick tonight," Lady Alison commented on the tail of her thought. "I've never seen him go out of his way to be charming. Even when Althaea fainted he barely batted an eye."

  "Thought he didn't care for those schoolroom misses," Neville added, then smiled. "He almost seemed respectable. Another of his games, I imagine."

  When they arrived back at the town house Katherine stopped and impulsively stood on tiptoe to kiss Lady Alison, and then Lord Neville, on the cheek. ''Thank you," she said. "I had a wonderful time."

  "You're welcome, Kate. I'm rather enjoying the idea of bringing a daughter out into society." Lady Alison smiled and hugged her. ''Go up to bed, now, child."

  Katherine did as she was bid, and Emmie helped her change into her nightgown. Once the maid was gone she picked up her dance card again, gazing at the last name. It was wrong to have left without a word. She shrugged. With all the goings-on of the evening, Nicholas Varon undoubtedly would have forgotten her by the morrow. She threw the card into the wastebasket beside her dressing table and climbed into bed. Ten minutes later she rose again, retrieved it, and placed it in the top drawer of her dresser.