What a Devilish Duke Desires

by Vicky Dreiling

  Her green eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose, but I am not falling for your ruse.”

  “Rats,” he said.

  He was too clever. “Why do you not choose a girl from amongst your own class?”

  “You intrigued me from the moment we met.”

  She scoffed. “I fear you are in for disappointment, but I will discuss it with my grandmother,” she said. “If I’m not here by three sharp, you will know she counseled against it.”

  He closed the slight distance between them.

  She squared her shoulders and lifted her chin.

  Her plump lips tempted him. She was breathing a bit fast. But if he rushed his fences, she would likely bolt. For now, he would tease and charm her. “Be honest,” he said. “You’re not planning to meet me, are you?”

  “Why do you persist?” she asked.

  Because you intrigue me in a way no other woman has ever done. “Why did you dodge my question?”

  “You just evaded my question,” she said.

  He chuckled. “I asked first, but the reason is because there is mystery surrounding you.”

  She spread her arms in a graceful manner. “I am who I appear to be. There is nothing to be gained by meeting here again.”

  He knew differently. “You also happen to be very pretty.”

  She scoffed. “I wager you say that to any passably attractive girl you meet. Sorry, Sir Galahad, I’m not falling for that old trick.”

  “I’ll see you here on Sunday at three sharp,” he said.

  “If my grandmother approves.”

  “What is your name?” he asked.

  “I’ll tell you on Sunday, provided my grandmother agrees.”

  When she turned her back and marched off, he smiled. She would show on Sunday, because she wanted to prove she wasn’t intimidated.

  Chapter Four

  She strode off, muttering under her breath. Frivolous man. The part that irritated her was that he’d managed to charm her. She wagered he had a pocketful of compliments that he used to entice unwary women. He probably hooked a new female every day with his winning smile and witty repartee.

  She’d let him lure her with his orange trick. Worst of all, she’d been so impressed she’d kept the peeled rose. Lucy released a disgusted sigh. She’d thought she was insusceptible to flirtation, and she had tried to resist, but he’d managed to beguile her. It aggrieved her that she’d let him.

  Why should she even care? She meant to put him out of her thoughts permanently. That proved more difficult than she’d expected. She kept remembering his witticisms and the way her palm had tingled when he’d set the orange peel rose in her hand.

  Once again, she attempted to shove thoughts of him out of her head as she bought a mutton pie from Mrs. Hoffman, her favorite pie seller. As she walked home, she knew Sir Galahad had purposely goaded her so she would turn up at the park on Sunday.

  Oh, she really must forget him, but she couldn’t. He’d expressed curiosity about her, but he wasn’t the only one. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d purposely omitted details about his business and his interest in her. That alone should check her. Evelyn and Mary had told her more than a few cautionary tales about men bent on seduction. She couldn’t afford to get involved with a man she knew nothing about.

  Yet, he’d been the one to suggest she bring a chaperone to the park. A man bent on seduction would hardly suggest such a thing. If she were honest with herself, she would admit she’d liked him…more than a little. But even if Grandmama approved of meeting him, Lucy intended to keep her feet firmly on the ground.

  When she arrived home, she kissed her grandmother’s cheek and set the pie on the table. “How was your day?”

  Grandmama smiled. “Well, I finished knitting a woolen scarf for you.”

  She gasped. “Oh, it is beautiful. The white wool is so soft.” Lucy pressed it to her cheek. “Thank you so much. You are talented, Grandmama.”

  “I hope it turned out well and that it will keep you warm when you must walk to your dancing lessons.”

  “I’m sure it will.” She wished there was some miracle that could restore Grandmama’s sight, but there was no use in wishing for the impossible.

  Grandmama sniffed. “I smell oranges.”

  “I ate one at the park.” She took the orange peel rose out of her apron. It was only part of the truth, but she would tell her grandmother the rest after supper.

  “Did the juice drip on you?”

  “No.” Why was she hesitating to tell Grandmama? Because she knew her grandmother would not approve of her speaking to a strange man.

  “Lucy, I know something is in the wind. I can always hear it in your voice.”

  She should have known she could not—and probably should not—conceal things from her grandmother. “I met a gentleman at the park today.”

  Her grandmother’s long pause seemed to go on for ages. “I see. Have you met him before?”

  Heaven above, she could not make herself tell her grandmother she’d threatened him with a knife. “His puppy ran over to me today. We struck up a conversation. I know I shouldn’t have spoken to a stranger, but it just happened. He conducted himself as a gentleman.”

  “How marvelous,” Grandmama said, clasping her hands. “What a lucky happenstance. You must invite him to call.”

  “Grandmama,” she said, shocked at her grandmother’s response.

  “What is his name?” Grandmama asked.

  Oh dear. She’d better concoct a story quickly. “Obviously there was no one he could apply to for an introduction to me,” Lucy said. “I jested that his name must be Sir Galahad.” She was stretching the truth, but what else could she do?

  “Oh, that will be a lovely story to share with your children,” Grandmama said.

  Lucy burst out laughing. “Grandmama, I do not even know his name, and you already have wedding bells and babies ringing in your ears.”

  “Did you make plans to meet him again?”

  Lucy was tempted to take the easy way out and pretend Sir Galahad had not requested that she bring a chaperone to meet him at the park. But her temper ignited as she recalled his words. I never took you for a coward. How dare he judge her? She was no coward. After her father’s death, she’d hired men to pack every possession they owned into a wagon and traveled from Wiltshire to London on her own with very little money. What would a wealthy gentleman know about bravery? Precious little, she’d wager.

  “Lucy, what are you thinking?”

  “At the moment, I’m thinking you are entirely too wily.” She sighed. “Very well, I know you will hound me until I tell you. He wanted to meet at the park on Sunday and suggested I bring along a chaperone. I said I would have to consult you. Of course, we won’t go.”

  “We most certainly will,” Grandmama said. “How very gentlemanly of him to suggest you must be chaperoned. I should very much like to meet your young man.”

  “He is not my young man,” she said. She decided to change the subject. “I’ll pump water into the kettle for our tea.”

  After supper, Lucy settled on the sofa with Grandmama and opened Pride and Prejudice. “I’m going to miss the story after I return it to the circulating library tomorrow.”

  “Ah, but a good book will stay with you always,” Grandmama said, pulling the woolen blanket she’d knitted over them both for extra warmth. “Now read the last chapter to me.”

  When Lucy reached the end of the last page, she sighed.

  “Oh, what a wonderful love story,” Grandmama said. “So full of trials and troubles. Those are the best ones.”

  Lucy laughed. “In real life it would not be much fun, but Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth certainly kept me on edge. Well, I didn’t like Darcy at first, especially when he slighted Lizzy.”

  “Ah, but he secretly admired her,” Grandmama said. “In the end, he proved himself a wonderful hero.”

  Lucy ran her finger down the page. She didn’t want to close the book yet, because she
wanted to hold on to the lovely ending. “I wish I could read a book like this one every single night.”

  Grandmama smiled. “Ah, stories entertain us, but we must also live our real lives.”

  “Tell me the story of how you met Grandpapa.”

  “I’ve told you that story many times.”

  “I never tire of hearing it,” Lucy said.

  “Very well,” she said. “My mother sent me to the henhouse to gather eggs. I was afraid of the chickens. I didn’t want them to peck me. It was a silly fear, but nonetheless I was terrified when I tried to get the eggs.”

  Lucy grinned. “Go on.”

  “Well, I managed to grab some eggs and put them in my apron, but I heard footsteps and nearly landed on a chicken’s foot. I stepped sideways, crushed an egg, and slipped. Your Grandpapa literally caught me.”

  “I love that story,” Lucy said. “I miss Grandpapa.”

  “So do I, dear, but we have wonderful memories of him, and we have each other, but you’ve grown quiet again. I suspect you’re indecisive about going to the park on Sunday.”

  Lucy sighed. “I don’t think we should meet Sir Galahad.”

  “Why not?” Grandmama said. “He suggested you bring a chaperone. Clearly his intentions are proper and good.”

  “You don’t understand. His clothing and manners proclaim him a wealthy man, something he did not deny. From what little he told me, he is a well-off businessman.”

  “You would condemn him for being successful?” Grandmama said in an astounded tone.

  “No, but we cannot be true friends. The strict social distinctions prevent it.”

  “Well, if he were an aristocrat, I would agree with you,” Grandmama said. “Their society is a closed one, meant for those who have titles, great properties, and ancient bloodlines. “But I see no barrier to an acquaintance.”

  Her father had not owned land and had never been considered a gentleman. Even if he had been a gentleman, he would not have deserved the term, but she would not voice the words for fear of oversetting her grandmother. Grandmama knew the truth. Her father had taken to drinking strong spirits after Lucy’s mother had died. All he’d cared about was his own woes and his daily bottle.

  “I suspect he realizes you are no ordinary working girl,” Grandmama continued. “He must have noticed your manner of speaking and your demeanor.”

  Lucy sighed. “I think he is a frivolous flirt.”

  Grandmama smiled. “Ah, now I begin to understand.”

  “Understand what?” Lucy said.

  “He obviously likes you, does he not?”

  “I think he is the sort of man who likes to trifle with ladies. Why else would he bother with a girl like me?”

  “Well, I may not be able to see, but I know you’re a pretty young woman. I imagine that was the initial reason for his interest.”

  “He wanted some diversion. That is all.”

  “How do you know?”

  Lucy released a loud sigh. “He is exceptionally handsome, and he probably never wants for feminine admiration.”

  Grandmama laughed. “Describe him to me.”

  “He’s very tall and appears to be quite fit. His blue eyes are his most distinctive feature. Well, that and his smile.”

  “Ah, he has a nice smile,” Grandmama said.

  “Yes, he grins a lot as if he knows a good joke,” Lucy said. “I think he’s a flippant sort of fellow, to be honest. No doubt the ladies probably flirt with him.”

  “But not you?” Grandmama said with a smile.

  “I’m sure he could entice the birds off trees if he wished.”

  “Ah, so he is a charmer, like your grandfather, God rest his soul. I tried to resist him, but in the end he won me over.”

  “Well, I can safely say this gentleman will never woo or win me.”

  “Do not be too hasty,” Grandmama said in a teasing voice. “I think you should pretend that you are not interested.”

  “No pretense is needed because I’m not interested in him at all.”

  Grandmama laughed. “I think you admire him more than you wish to admit.”

  “I do not,” she said. “He’s too persistent…and…too handsome.”

  Grandmama chortled. “Oh, so now you prefer plain gentlemen?”

  “I prefer no man,” Lucy said, laughing. “He may have a fair countenance, but I’m convinced he is the most flirtatious man I’ve ever met.”

  “So you prefer a gentleman who is very serious and sober,” Grandmama said.

  “Aargh,” Lucy said, throwing up her hands. “I surrender.”

  “Excellent,” Grandmama said. “That will make my matchmaking efforts easier.”

  “You would not dare,” Lucy said. “Swear to me you will not try your hand at matchmaking.”

  Grandmama laughed. “On one condition.”

  “Dare I ask what condition?”

  “You will allow yourself to enjoy your gentleman’s company on Sunday.”

  “I will try, but I cannot promise.”

  “That is all I ask,” Grandmama said.

  Lucy snorted. “I know you too well to believe that is all you will ask.”

  “Tell me the truth,” Grandmama said. “Do you disapprove of him?”

  “I cannot approve or disapprove because I don’t know him. Why am I even worrying about this? No doubt he will forget all about meeting us.”

  “I have the opposite opinion,” Grandmama said, “but there is only one way to find out. “Let us meet him at the park on Sunday. I will take his measure and give you my honest opinion. Besides, I would dearly love to visit the park now that the weather is warmer.”

  Grandmama’s wistful tone tugged at Lucy’s heart. It had been a fortnight since she’d taken her grandmother on an outing. “If the weather is fine, we will take advantage of the sunshine at the park.”

  That night

  Harry had been restless and knew the reason for it. Much as he liked his dog, Bandit wasn’t the companion he needed.

  While he still met his friends at the club periodically, it wasn’t the same. The days where the three of them drank brandy and smoked cheroots until the wee hours of the morning were over. Granted, he had a number of acquaintances at White’s. He decided to join Castelle and Fitzhugh for a brandy. The three sat smoking cheroots.

  “You’re looking rather glum,” Castelle said.

  Fitzhugh poured himself another brandy, splashing more than a little on the table. He squinted in the glass. “I think I should visit my mistress.”

  “Not a good idea. You’re three sheets to the wind, old boy,” Castelle said.

  Fitzhugh hiccupped. “Found her at Mrs. Fleur’s salon. Pretty piece.” He tried to stand and stumbled.

  “Bloody hell,” Harry said. “He’s completely foxed.”

  “I’ll make sure he gets to his rooms,” Castelle said.

  After they left, it occurred to Harry that he might set up a mistress. Erotic engravings and self-pleasure weren’t nearly as satisfying as bedding a woman. In the past, he’d never had the wherewithal to keep a mistress, but he would certainly enjoy regular bedsport—with the right woman. All he had to do was find a mistress who would suit him. Several gentlemen, including Fitzhugh, had mentioned Mrs. Fleur’s salon. Apparently, she was known for attracting the most elegant and beautiful women of the demimonde to her salon. He decided to call at Mrs. Fleur’s establishment in hopes of finding a beautiful, witty mistress who had a passionate nature.

  Half an hour later, he entered the ornate salon. Everywhere he looked he saw women perched on gentlemen’s laps. A footman topped up brandy glasses as he circulated the room. One woman with short curls plucked the strings of a harp while half a dozen men gazed at her rouged nipples showing through her diaphanous bodice. Any moment, Harry expected their tongues to fall out of their mouths.

  Mrs. Fleur rose to greet him with excessive enthusiasm. She had painted brows and wore gold serpent bracelets on her upper arms. When she smiled, her
face powder accentuated the lines bracketing her mouth. “Your Grace, I am delighted you called. London has not been the same during your long absence. I declare I pined for your presence.”

  A year ago, when he had pockets to let, Mrs. Fleur had not been so effusive in her welcome, and he’d struck out. Apparently his recently acquired wealth and title made him far more desirable. Well, his money at any rate.

  “I am so honored you have chosen to attend my humble salon this evening,” she said.

  The gilded chandelier, marble side tables, and Ionic columns hardly counted as humble, but he kept that opinion to himself. Evidently Mrs. Fleur’s salon was flourishing.

  The proprietress took his arm and strolled through the room. “Ah, here are my favorite girls. Your Grace, may I introduce you to Mrs. Roseberg and Mrs. Larkspur?”

  Harry bowed. “I’m pleased to meet you.” He’d forgotten Mrs. Fleur insisted that all of her girls use flowery names, a departure from the usual habit of using a former protector’s surname. He supposed it was for the best. His mother would be horrified if she ever learned a trollop was using “Mrs. Norcliffe” as a nom de guerre.

  Mrs. Fleur clasped her hands. “Mrs. Roseberg and Mrs. Larkspur will be happy to entertain you this evening. I hope they are pleasing to the eye?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. The two lightskirts had evidently dispensed with their shifts and petticoats. He needed no imagination to see every plump curve of breast, thigh, and buttock through their sheer gowns. His blood definitely heated.

  “I wish to ready a private room for you,” Mrs. Fleur said.

  “A private room would suite me.” He envisioned hours of sweaty bedsport, and he’d brought along a French letter for protection.

  “Only the best for Your Grace,” Mrs. Fleur said. “A footman will direct you shortly.”

  Having never been invited to use the private room before, Harry wondered exactly how much the entertainment would cost for the evening. Granted, he had deep pockets, but his objective was to find a mistress. He had no intention of setting up two of them. He figured after sampling both he could discreetly discuss terms with Mrs. Fleur. If he was satisfied, he would direct his attorney to draw up a contract.