The Most Dangerous Duke in London

by Madeline Hunter

  “Why not buy them now and store them until you can use them?”

  “Because the anticipation is part of the fun. There is the danger it will build to a fever, however, and when I finally remove these black ensembles, I will be so reckless in my spending on a new wardrobe that Theo will have to bail me out of debt.”

  “Oh, I doubt that.”

  She knew then that this man had learned about the size of her inheritance. Had Theo told him? Perhaps he had only heard gossip, but that would be enough.

  It entered her mind that his only reason to pursue her with that stupid proposal was her fortune. As if the Duke of Stratton needed that! Although, really, who knew if he did or did not? She had not investigated him the way he had obviously investigated her, although she intended to.

  Still, a man after her fortune. How predictable. How commonplace. How disappointing.

  Once they were in the park she asked her own questions, while she encouraged their stroll to leave the main path so they might not be seen together.

  “Would you truly not mind if the woman you proposed to had a lover before you? You keep implying as much.” She thought it a sophisticated and arch query and waited for him to avoid the meal once she set it squarely on a plate in front of him.

  “You are what, twenty-four years in age? Only a fool would require innocence of a woman of that maturity.”

  “What a liberal outlook you have.”

  “I like to think so. I am only being a bit strict with you because I cannot risk my heir being the son of another man. I am sure you understand.”

  She looked over at him, hoping to see that little smile or anything that indicated his continued references to his proposal were now a private joke. Regrettably, he appeared most serious. She decided that objecting would only dignify the ridiculous notion, so she ignored it.

  Since he had coerced her into spending this time with him, he could not object to some frank questions about his life and his family, especially if he really believed they would marry. Althea was charged with investigating this man, but every bit added to the pile would help.

  “Why did you leave?” she asked while they strolled through a little copse of budding trees.

  “It was time to come back.”

  “I did not mean why did you leave France. Why did you leave England?”

  His mood altered in a snap, as if the question opened a door to the dark humor she sensed in him. “My mother did not want to remain here after my father’s death, so I took her away and ensured she was settled in Paris.”

  “She wanted to go home, you mean. That is understandable.”

  “She had lived here for decades. This should have been her home, not a foreign land to escape. There were those who never welcomed her, however, or allowed her to make her place here.”

  “If she is happy in France now, that is what matters, isn’t it?”

  “I did not say she was happy. She did not want to return to France. She just did not want to remain here.”

  His sharp tone made her stop walking. “I am sorry if I misunderstood. I was careless in my response. Of course she could not be happy to leave her home of so many years.” She swallowed the question that begged to be asked. Why did she not want to remain here?

  They stood under one of the trees, in the tangle of linear shadows its branches made.

  “Do you really know so little about my life?” he asked. “Did you never hear the talk about my mother? You were out before she left. Before my father died.”

  She did not have to search her memory long to remember some of the talk she had heard. Her grandmother’s voice always dripped with disdain when she mentioned Stratton’s French duchess. Grandmother was one of the people who suspected the worst of everything and everyone French during the war.

  Others had sniffed when the Duchess of Stratton walked by at a ball, however. Clara had always assumed they envied her beauty and sought bad gossip out of spite. In truth she had not much cared what people said, however. The old war between her family and Stratton’s had left her unsympathetic to whatever slights were visited on his mother.

  “I will admit, now that you speak of it, that I do know something of what she endured,” she admitted. “If that drove her away, it was not fair.”

  To her surprise he took her hand and raised it to a kiss. “That alone did not do it. However, it is good of you to see how unfair it was.”

  That kiss on her hand, brief though it was, created a bridge of intimacy. She felt that kiss all the way up her arm and down her body. His gaze captured hers before he kissed her hand yet again, slowly.

  She did not pull her hand away. She did not avert her eyes, as she most definitely should. Instead she stared while that kiss and those dark eyes enlivened her whole body.

  He drew her closer, closer, until she either had to step toward him or fall. She did a bit of both, stumbling awkwardly, and found herself in his arms.

  He was going to kiss her. She was sure of it. That must not happen. Instead of pushing away, however, she could not move. His gaze paralyzed her and incited an unseemly excitement.

  His arms embraced her. He looked down. Dazed, she closed her eyes and waited.

  And waited.

  And waited.

  When nothing happened, she opened her eyes. Instantly the euphoria lifted, and she felt a fool. She tried to extricate herself from his embrace, but he did not allow it.

  “Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked.

  “Of course not. You are the last man I want kissing me, I assure you.” She refused to look at him and continued trying to pull away.

  “That is not true. Let us be honest with each other in this if nothing else.” His head dipped and his lips hovered over hers.

  Her breath caught. Heavens, but he was beautiful. And exciting. Even that darkness seduced. Thrills kept spiraling through her, begging to have excuses to become something more powerful.

  “Part of the fun is the anticipation,” he said quietly, imprisoning her with his gaze. “Although there is always the danger of it building to a fever.” His lips brushed hers, ever so faintly, but enough to create a starburst of sensation.

  It was a terrible tease. A provocative promise.

  He released her and stepped back. She stood there speechless, and utterly defeated, shocked at how he had used her own words against her to imply they shared some sympathy on sensual matters.

  “I must go.” She turned on her heel and marched toward the main path. With each step, her indignation grew.

  He walked alongside her, too contented by far.

  “I can’t believe you imposed on me like that,” she said in her best how-dare-you tone.

  “I imposed very little, especially given the circumstances. Indeed, had I made love to you up against one of the trees, I am not sure it would have been an imposition.”

  “If you think so, you have been in France too long.”

  She could not get to the carriage soon enough. She refused to look at him all the way to Gifford House. Once there, she barely suffered his insistence on handing her down. She steeled herself against the feel of his hand on hers, and the closeness of his body, and the way her whole being still wanted to react inappropriately.

  She could not resist one last scold. Not only to remind him of proper behavior, but herself too. “Please remember in the future how a gentleman treats a lady, sir.”

  “I know how to treat a lady. You, however, are also my future bride. That changes everything.”

  She hurried to her door full of furious indignation. Once inside, she learned that this discomforting day would only get worse.

  Theo, Emilia, and the dowager had come up from the country to join her.

  Chapter Five

  “Why are you so glum? You have not smiled since you entered the house.” Clara posed the question to her sister after seeking her out in her bedchamber that night.

  Dinner had proven a trial, with her grandmother issuing edicts regarding the days
ahead, and Emilia and Theo nodding like schoolchildren. The dowager dismissed out of hand Clara’s own objections to the demands the plans made on her time.

  Emilia threw herself on her bed. “Grandmother wants me to meet Stratton. Since he is here in town, we followed him.”

  “You have not yet been introduced?”

  “Theo keeps inviting him to visit, only to be put off.” She pouted. “It is embarrassing to be thrown at him like this when it appears he would prefer to avoid me. Since I would like to avoid him too, I wish they would stop this pursuit of him. I realize he is a duke, but I found him rather frightening in appearance when he was on that terrace. Nor do I think it is fair that I am being offered to him like this before I ever have a Season.”

  Clara sat next to her and embraced her with one arm. “That does seem unfair.” Emilia was lovely, and if given that Season, would have dozens of admirers hoping to win her hand. Clara had fond memories of her own first Season. She had not been looking for a husband, but she had loved all the planning and then all the social activities and balls. She had enjoyed the few stolen kisses that came her way too.

  “Now I am here in town and have to sit everything out while all my friends go to balls,” Emilia complained. “It is one thing to remain in mourning down in the country and miss out. It is another to all but hear all the fun through the windows while I sit in this house, wearing black.”

  “Perhaps we can convince Grandmother to allow you to attend a few smaller events. A garden party or two. And you can receive friends here. If you are allowed to meet with Stratton, why not other young men?”

  Emilia’s eyes lit with hope. “Do you think she will agree? Perhaps she will allow me to have a new dress or two made, not that I want more black dresses, but at least I will be going out to the shops then.”

  “I will try to convince her to permit something other than black for you at least. It has been past six months now. Other colors, simple and subdued to be sure, can be permitted for a girl, it seems to me.”

  Emilia threw her arms around Clara and kissed her cheek. “If you can obtain even that small reprieve, I will be so grateful.”

  “You write to your friends and let them know you are here and can both pay calls and receive. As for Stratton—you are not obligated to marry anyone if you do not want to. I hope you know that.”

  The joy left Emilia as quickly as it had emerged. “I have never been good at defying Grandmother. She frightens me even more than the duke does.”

  Of course she did. The dowager intimidated grown men. If not for Stratton’s resistance, Emilia would be affianced already.

  “Perhaps Stratton will never visit us here either,” Emilia said wistfully.

  Clara doubted that. Grandmother would not be put off now, no matter what stratagems the duke attempted. Unless he flatly refused to continue this peacemaking dance.

  It would be best for all of them if he decided to do that.

  * * *

  “Are you going to tell me where we are going?” Langford asked the question while he and Adam walked their horses along Bond Street. “When you urged me to join you, I assumed you would explain why and where by now.”

  Adam had crossed Langford’s path three blocks before. That had been no accident. Nor had been his neglect to mention their destination.

  “I promised it would be diverting, and it will be.”

  “I must insist you reveal all. I do not think we are visiting some shop or heading toward a typical afternoon diversion.”

  Adam turned off Bond Street. “I will confess why I waylaid you, but you must first promise not to abandon me.”

  “What are you up to, Stratton?”

  “I am calling on Marwood.”

  “No. That pup? Whatever for? I thought you were his sworn enemy, through inheritance.”

  “He thinks we should make amends and be friends. He has been insistent about it. He keeps inviting me to visit and followed me up to town to corner me. Yesterday he paid a call while I was out. So I wrote and finally agreed to return the honor.”

  Langford continued to pace his horse forward. At least he had not rejected this visit out of hand. “I suppose he is afraid you are going to challenge him over that ancestral slight. He has most likely been soiling his smallclothes since hearing you are back.”

  “I would never duel over insults fifty years old.”

  He got a sharp glance from Langford for that. “So you are agreeable to accepting his olive branch? My, that is good of you.”

  Adam ignored his suspicious tone. “Well, I have heard he has a lovely sister.”

  “You must mean Lady Emilia. She was a beautiful child, that is true, but no one has seen her in close to a year. I expect she is passing on this Season due to the earl’s death. But, yes, it is anticipated that she has turned out more than well. Surely you do not intend to make amends to the point of courting her?”

  “I rather thought you might want to.”

  Langford stopped his horse. “If that was meant as a joke, I am not laughing.”

  Adam grinned. “I am. Stop being so worried. One would think it were possible to sneak the nuptial noose on you without your knowing it.”

  “There are a few mothers who are giving that their best effort.” He started his horse again. “Forgive me for lack of humor. I am feeling hounded. So we are calling on one of your family’s enemies, with the main goal of ogling his sister.”

  “That sums it up neatly.”

  Langford shrugged. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  Their ride took them to the door of Marwood’s town house on Portman Square. Adam waited until servants took their horses and they were at the door before speaking again.

  “Ah, I forgot to mention it. His grandmother was with him when he called yesterday. I expect we will see her too.”

  Langford closed his eyes. He looked like a man praying for salvation. “I have assiduously avoided that harpy for almost a decade, Stratton. I may kill you for this.”

  “You would not have wanted me to face her alone, would you?”

  “I would have sent you on your way and collected your remains after she was done with you. Hell, let us go in, and hope that she has fed on someone else already today.”

  * * *

  “My lady.”

  Clara’s maid Jocelyn whispered the address in a nervous tone.

  “What is it?” Clara responded ever so calmly, although she wanted to express great displeasure. She had told Jocelyn she was to be left alone. Clearly and strongly told her that. Yet here the maid was, interrupting.

  “A footman came to the door. He said your grandmother requires you in the library.”

  Clara set her head in her hands. She looked down at the surface of her writing desk. The printed pages of the journal, received from Althea yesterday, waited her proofing. They needed to be returned with corrections to the printer tomorrow.

  She had hoped to be done by yesterday afternoon. However, ever since her family had taken residence here, there had been one interruption after another. Those from Emilia she did not mind. Those when her grandmother demanded her attendance did.

  Not that Grandmamma required her for anything important. She merely wanted to talk and needed an audience. Clara had put some of that time to good use, at least. She had obtained agreement that Emilia should have a new dress or two and be allowed to pay calls.

  Yesterday morning, unfortunately, they had engaged in a row when she refused her grandmother’s edict that she join the dowager and Theo when they paid a call on Stratton in the afternoon. She had no trouble marshaling a list of reasons why she should not do that.

  She had a meeting with Althea planned, for one thing. She thought they would look ridiculous if the entire family paid that call, for another. Finally, she did not want to encourage the duke to think she was in any way in agreement with this peace mission, let alone in his peculiar plan for achieving harmony between their families.

  Not that she could explain any of t
hat to her grandmother, so she had simply been defiant. She wondered how Grandmamma would make her pay for that.

  “He conveyed that the countess was most stern on the matter, my lady. He said important guests have called, and she said you must come down.”

  “Important guests” could mean anyone whom Grandmamma deigned to receive.

  She looked down at her simple dress. “I will change into my black bombazine with the jet beads, Jocelyn, if they are so damned important.”

  Jocelyn flushed at the curse and scurried to the dressing room. Clara followed, regretting the lapse. She really had to stop doing that.

  Fifteen minutes later she entered the library and saw that the footman had not exaggerated. Even by Grandmamma’s high standards their guests were important.

  Stratton had returned yesterday’s call. Nor was he alone. Another duke, Langford, accompanied him. Stratton, Langford, and Theo stood upon her arrival. During greetings, Emilia caught her eye and gave a desperate look.

  “The dukes have been regaling us with descriptions of Lady Montclair’s ball last night,” her grandmother said, once they all sat again. “I daresay we are enjoying it more in the retelling than anyone did who was there.”

  “I should have liked to be there so I would know for sure,” Emilia murmured.

  Langford, a handsome man with brilliant blue eyes and dark curls that turned his cropped hair a little wild, regarded her with sympathy. “You did not miss too much, Lady Emilia. You will learn soon enough that balls are all much the same.”

  “My grandmother has agreed that even though our mourning has not ended, Emilia can be excused if she attends a few smaller events. Garden parties and such. That would be acceptable, don’t you agree?” Clara deliberately did not so much as glance at her grandmother, since she had not yet raised this idea with her.

  “I do not see why not. Let us know which she will attend, and Stratton and I will be sure to attend as well and speak with her there.”

  “How kind of you both.” If two dukes spoke with Emilia at a party, no one would talk much about whether a girl in mourning should have come. “We will be sure to let you know. Won’t we, Grandmamma?”