The Black Duke's Prize

by Suzanne Enoch

  5

  "Nick, good morning," Clarey greeted Sommesby as he entered the Hamptons' library sharply at ten.

  The baron crossed the room to shake his hand and motioned him to one of the overstuffed chairs that sat before the fire. Clarey shut the door behind them, a precaution Nicholas noted with some interest.

  ''Tea? Or perhaps brandy?"

  Nicholas seated himself. "It's a bit early for brandy, even for me," he muttered. "Tea will be fine."

  Neville poured it, leaning over to hand Nicholas's to him. For a long moment he stared at the fire. "I need to ask you a favor," he said finally.

  "I'm listening." He hadn't heard that Clarey was in financial difficulties, but the Hamptons were good friends to his mother, and if they needed funds he would do what he could.

  "There is a piece of property several days north of here that I believe is going to come onto the market very soon, and very quietly. I cannot be involved with it myself, nor will I name the present owner to you, but I would like you to purchase it, however shady the deal appears to be. I want the deed, and assurances from the current . . . occupant that it is the property, the manor, and everything in it, including the crop and the contents of the stables, that you are purchasing. And I want the occupant off the property as soon as possible."

  The request wasn't remotely what Nicholas had expected, and he gave a low whistle. "You don't ask much, do you?"

  Neville nodded. "And one more thing. I want no one to know of this. Besides you, only Alice and I know of this conversation. And Nick, no other questions asked." He took a breath. "Will you help me?"

  Greatly intrigued, the duke leaned forward. "I do have one question."

  "Yes?"

  "What's the name of the property?"

  "Crestley Hall."

  It appeared that the Season wouldn't be as dull as he had originally thought. "All right." He sat back again and took a sip of tea.

  Neville slapped the arm of his chair. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome." Nicholas set the cup and saucer aside. "I'd best be on my way, then. It seems my man and I have a great deal of work to do."

  "There is one more thing." Neville grimaced. "You may not like this. Of course all of your expenses shall be repaid, but depending on a separate set of circumstances, it may not be for two years."

  The conditions were odd, but no more than was the rest of the deal. He shook his head. "You needn't worry, Neville. I could purchase all the homes along Rotten Row and still have enough to buy a lady's heart."

  Clarey laughed. ''There's not enough money in all the world for that."

  "I wonder." He leaned forward. "I am curious about one thing. Why me?"

  The baron cleared his throat. "I believed I could trust you, and that you would have the means, and . . . " He trailed off.

  "And the necessary lack of scruples?" Nicholas supplied, more intrigued than annoyed. Crestley Hall was sounding more interesting every moment.

  Neville had the good manners to look embarrassed. "Something like that."

  A soft knock came at the door, and it swung open. "Lord Neville?"

  Both men rose at the sound of the female voice. Katherine Ralston stood in the doorway, looking very fetching in a mauve riding outfit cut in the military style. On her head, tilted forward at a jaunty angle, perched a hat of the same color. She looked startled as she saw the duke, but quickly recovered herself.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had company," she said to her godfather. "Lady Alison asked me to tell you that a crate just arrived from Paris. She said you would want to know."

  Neville grinned and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, yes. I tracked down a case of some of the finest French wine I've yet encountered, and finally last month convinced the man to sell it to me. This must be it. Thank you, m'dear," He headed for the door, then looked back. "Will you excuse me for a moment?"

  Nicholas grinned. "You and your wines. Of course. Miss Ralston and I will endeavor to entertain ourselves." He glanced over in time to see her blush.

  Clarey hurried from the room, distracted enough that he voluntarily left his goddaughter alone in the company of the Black Duke. From the warmth in the baron's voice when he spoke to her, Miss Ralston was more than merely tolerated at Hampton House, Nicholas noted with some interest. She continued to stand there looking nervous, and he decided that it served her right.

  "I was surprised to see you here," she said finally.

  "You left early last night," he responded, leaning against the edge of the end table and crossing his arms.

  "I had a headache," she countered.

  He looked her carefully up and down, noting that she blushed again. "You seem to have recovered."

  "Yes, thank you." She turned, and he thought she was going to flee. Instead she became absorbed in studying the titles of the books on the nearest shelf.

  "You like Shakespeare?" he asked, stepping closer. She was smaller than he remembered. Perhaps it was her temper that had made her seem taller.

  "I beg your pardon?" she asked over her shoulder.

  "Shakespeare," he repeated, reaching over her shoulder for a volume. As he had expected, she started.

  "Yes," she mumbled. "I do, very much," she continued after a moment, and stepped around him.

  "My mother has a fabulous collection of early quartos," he continued, putting the book back and turning to keep her in sight. "I'm certain she would be delighted to show them off to you."

  ''Thank you for telling me." She turned to look at him. "And thank you for your assistance last night. I very much enjoyed meeting all of my partners."

  "You're welcome," he answered, and leaned against the bookshelf. "Would it have been so terrible for you to have danced again with me?" he murmured, wondering what pretty lie her excuse would be.

  She looked him in the eye. "I didn't want a scandal."

  ''The devil, you say!" he retorted. "Do you think I would have danced with all of those weak-kneed, simpering chits, if not to avoid a scandal?" She continued to glare at him, though he had no idea why. "I told you, you did me a good turn. I don't ruin people who do me favors, intentional or not."

  "How gracious of you," she responded ungraciously. "I shan't mistake your chivalrous motivations next time."

  He straightened. "Who's to say you'll have the chance?"

  She put a hand to her forehead as though in distress, uncomfortably reminding him of Althaea Hillary. Her words, though, were anything but those of a demure young miss. "Oh, please, don't say you'll never waltz with me again. I couldn't survive the deprivation!"

  Truly irritated now, he took a step forward. She must have seen something in his face, for her hand lowered and she stepped backward. "Waltzing again with me should be the least of your worries, Miss Ralston," he said with a growl. "I think there are other social graces you have more need to perfect."

  "What? How dare you, of all people, lecture me on proper behavior?" she hissed, her eyes flashing.

  She had a point, but he was angry enough that he didn't care. "It's obvious that someone needs to," he returned, taking another step closer and noting her fast breathing and the flush on her cheeks. Apparently she wasn't quite as composed as she wanted him to believe.

  She backed away again. "You, sir," she spat out, "are a great beast."

  "I've been called worse," he murmured, tempted to take the pretty chit over his knee.

  "And with good reason, I'm certain," she retorted, and ducked sideways to put the couch between them. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have a far more pleasant diversion to prepare for."

  Not finished venting his anger, and at any rate unwilling to let her have the last word, Nicholas pursued her to the doorway and blocked her exit with his body. "And what might that be?"

  She stopped in front of him and put her hands on her hips. "Not that it's any of your concern, but I am going picnicking with some of the parties you were so kind as to provide me introduction to last evening."

  "You're―" he be
gan, and then changed his mind. It appeared that she wasn't aware of the identities of all the guests invited to the al fresco luncheon.

  "Yes," she went on scathingly, "and they apparently have found no fault with my manners."

  "You little hoyden," he snapped. "You won't be picnicking with anyone after I ask them to beg off." Nicholas turned and headed through the doorway.

  She gasped. "You wouldn't."

  It wasn't her words that stopped him, but her tone of voice. He turned to see that she was shaking, her face white. Something abruptly made him wonder how long she had been alone before her arrival at Hampton House. Perhaps he wasn't the only one whose list of acquaintances was far longer than that of friends. "No," he said slowly, "I wouldn't." He cleared his throat. "Good day, Miss Ralston."

  With that he was out the door. He collected his hat and greatcoat and left without a word to Neville, wondering, of all things, how anyone's eyes could be so blue.

  6

  By the time the Viscount of Sheresford arrived to escort her to Hyde Park, Kate had begun to calm down. What nerve Nicholas Varon had, to threaten never to dance with her again, for heaven's sake, even after she had thanked him for his help. She knew she had a temper herself, but no one had ever looked at her that way before, and it had frightened her a little.

  There was nothing frightening in the Viscount of Sheresford's gaze as she met him in the hall. "By heaven," he exclaimed, looking at her admiringly, "if you ain't slap up to the echo."

  It was exactly what she needed to put her in good humor again. She laughed and curtseyed. ''Thank you, milord."

  He hurried forward to pull her upright. "Thomas, please," he said.

  She smiled. ''Thank you, Thomas."

  By the time they reached Hyde Park they were a party of five, having been joined by Captain Reg Hillary, his younger sister Althaea, apparently recovered from her fainting spell, and Sir John Dremond's daughter, Louisa. Lord Neville had given Kate a spirited gray mare named Winter, and when Thomas suggested they head off the main drag to the more open area of the park, she readily agreed.

  "What are you looking for?" the viscount asked a few moments later, following her gaze toward a group of riders a hundred yards distant.

  She hadn't realized she was being so obvious. "I was just wondering if the Duke of Sommesby rode here." She wasn't precisely looking for him, except to be certain that he wasn't near, the blackguard.

  "Nick? He does, though he usually likes to come earlier, when it's less crowded. I thought I'd finally talked him into coming with us today, but his groom met me at my gate with a note begging off. Said that something had come up."

  Katherine flushed. That explained why their party wasn't an even number. She knew very well what the something had been, and wondered why he hadn't mentioned that he was to be a member of their group when they had argued. "I'm certain it was important."

  Thomas snorted. "With Nick there's no telling what it was."

  Althaea and the captain had brought hampers with them, and they settled for their picnic in the shade of an old oak. Katherine peeled a peach and laughed as Reg told a story about how. he and his six brothers and sisters had convinced three governesses in succession that their house was haunted.

  "A skill for strategy you put to good use against bonny Bonaparte," Thomas noted, raising his glass of Madeira.

  "At least someone in the family has courage," Althaea said ruefully, and her brother reached over and patted her hand.

  An argument about the stallion that Thomas had just purchased, at an apparently outrageous price, followed, and the two men rose to examine the bay.

  "Althaea, what in the world happened last night?" Louisa Dremond asked in a whisper when the three women were alone.

  "Oh, I was so embarrassed," the girl muttered, blushing.

  "Mama is convinced that the Black Duke is ready to settle, and that I'm the one who can bring him to his senses. I just don't want to marry anyone who's so . . . fierce. It would be simply awful if he were to offer for me."

  Kate agreed. To be married to such an odious, highhanded villain would be nearly as bad as handing Crestley Hall over to Uncle Simon. Thomas and the captain returned, and as they loaded the hampers Louisa took Katherine aside.

  "I don't know if you remember," the slim, merry blond said quietly, "but you and I came out in the same Season. I was sorry to hear about your father."

  "Thank you," Katherine replied, touched.

  "When you left London, my mama had been about to invite you and your mother over for tea. I would like to extend that invitation now to you and the baroness, if you would care to come."

  Impulsively Katherine took the girl's hand. ''Thank you again. I will speak to Lady Alison, but I'm certain she will be delighted."

  Katherine returned to Hampton House in high spirits, and informed Lady Alison of their invitation. "It's good to see color in your cheeks again," her godmother said with a smile. "You were such a sprite when you were younger, and I had begun to fear that your uncle had driven it out of you."

  . Kate tossed her head. "I wouldn't let him," she answered defiantly.

  Her godmother chuckled. "I'm so pleased you're making friends. I never thought I'd say it, but Nick was a godsend last night." She straightened. ''Which reminds me. Something arrived for you." She led the way into the drawing room.

  Kate thought that it would be some of her things from Crestley, but instead, in the middle of the table at the end of the low couch, between a Chinese jade dragon and a wooden African elephant carving, perched a tall vase full of white roses. In the center of the fragrant mass a single red rose stood out like a drop of blood. A card leaned against the narrow base of the fine crystal.

  With a deep breath she picked up the envelope. Her name was written across the cream-colored parchment in a bold hand that she already had come to recognize. Her heart began to beat faster as she pulled out the card, though she couldn't say why that was so. The writing inside was equally familiar. All it said was "Apologies." It was signed, "Varon."

  When, at luncheon two days later, Louisa and her mother, Lady Mary, discovered that the closest Kate had ever been to the opera was a Christmas pageant at the All Souls Church back home in Staffordshire, they immediately invited her and Lady Alison to join them in their box that evening. More of Katherine's dresses had arrived, and with Emmie's help she donned a low-cut gold silk creation with short, puffy sleeves and full, looped skirts. Her maid pulled her hair up and curled the long ends to let them hang in black spirals down her back. Lady Alison knocked and came in as Emmie was finishing Katherine's tresses.

  ''This is too much, I think," Kate muttered, eyeing herself critically.

  "Nonsense," Lady Alison chided her, then smiled.

  "Though I doubt that any gentlemen present tonight will be watching The Marriage of Figaro." She chuckled. "More likely they'll be daydreaming of their own blissful nuptials."

  "Lady Alison!" Kate exclaimed, blushing, then laughed. "Oh, dear."

  The Dremonds' coach brought them to the opera house, and while the older women stopped in the lobby to greet friends, Louisa took Kate by the arm and led her up the' narrow stairs to the row of boxes on the left side of the stage. "The best part of going to the opera," Louisa said, pushing through a set of curtains, "is watching everyone watching everyone else."

  Kate chuckled. ''What about the music and the singing?"

  "Oh, posh on that."

  Abruptly Louisa stopped, tugging Kate back against the wall. A slim blond woman walked toward them along the narrow hallway behind the boxes. Her red gown was even more low-cut than Kate's, and a matching tall red plume waved above her hair. The woman passed by them without even glancing over, and headed for the stairs. Directly behind her sauntered the Duke of Sommesby, a dark vision in black and gray. He stopped as he saw her, then nodded.

  "Good evening, Miss Ralston," he intoned. "Miss Dremond."

  Louisa curtsied. "Your Grace."

  "You enjoy oper
a?" he queried, his eyes swiftly taking in Katherine from head to toe and back again.

  "I don't know," she answered, lifting her chin and refusing to blush at his scrutiny. "I've never been before."

  "Nicky," came a simpering voice from behind her, "come downstairs, darling."

  "In a moment, Eloise," he answered, flicking a glance at the woman, just the faintest touch of annoyance in his gray eyes. "You've made a good choice for your first opera, then," he continued, his gaze returning to Katherine. "Mozart seems able to provide something for every taste." He smiled.

  "I'll wait for you in the lobby, dear. Don't be long talking to these children."

  Annoyed at the insult, Katherine cleared her throat as the woman departed. "Apparently Mozart failed in her case," she muttered to Louisa, who giggled.

  The duke had moved past Louisa to follow the woman, and he stopped in mid-stride, his sharp look setting Katherine back a little. He leaned forward, blocking her from Louisa. "Miss LeMonde's interests need be no concern of yours, Miss Ralston," he returned.

  More annoyed now, Katherine glanced away to see that Miss LeMonde was no longer in sight. "Apparently your interests are no concern of hers," she replied, "as you seem to want to stay."

  The duke straightened. "Eloise's interests are whatever I wish them to be," he murmured, and turned on his heel I0 follow the woman.

  "How unfortunate for you," Kate replied in an equally soft voice, refusing to blush even though she could guess what he was implying.

  His back stiffened, but the duke ignored her comment otherwise and continued on his way. In a moment he was gone, through the curtains and down the steps. Kate turned to find Louisa staring at her.

  "Weren't you afraid of him?" her friend muttered, pulling her forward to their box.