What a Devilish Duke Desires

by Vicky Dreiling

  “Bellingham, you are as handsome as ever,” she said.

  He bowed over her hand. “How is married life?”

  “You know it was for convenience,” she said. A sly smile touched her lips. “I couldn’t wait for you.”

  There was something in her expression that made him suspect she wasn’t jesting. “You have security.” It was no small thing for a woman.

  “Security is dull,” she said.

  He examined the diamond-studded ruby ring on her finger. “You also gained a title and wealth.”

  “I made a bad bargain.”

  He released her hand and didn’t bother to mention the obvious. Marriage was forever—until death do them part.

  She lifted her frank gaze to him. “I’m doomed to unhappiness in marriage for a second time,” she said.

  It wasn’t the first time she’d revealed her fatalistic outlook on life. Perhaps it had started when her first husband had died in the war. Yet, she’d taken advantage of her freedom as a widow and had more than a few protectors. She’d likely spent every penny of her pensions and accepted Norris’s marriage proposal out of desperation.

  “I loathe Norris,” she said. “I try to pretend it’s you, but there is no comparison. I stare at the canopy and—”

  “No tales from the boudoir.” He remembered how she’d always worn her feelings on her sleeve like a naïve girl.

  She twirled a dark curl by her cheek. “I miss you.”

  It had been nothing more than a short-lived liaison. He’d made the terms clear, but when she’d said she loved him, he’d ended it immediately.

  She closed the distance between them and walked her gloved fingers down the front of his waistcoat. “Perhaps we could meet later tonight—for old time’s sake.”

  Bell caught her hand, lifted it for the requisite air kiss, and released her. “Norris would object.”

  “He doesn’t have to know.”

  “Your husband is staring daggers as we speak.”

  “I don’t care,” she said.

  “You will if you’re not careful,” he said. “Don’t do something you’ll regret.”

  “I regret letting you get away.”

  “There is nothing to regret.” He gave her a cynical smile. “I never stay.”

  “I’d almost forgotten what a heartless bastard you are,” she said with a brittle laugh.

  “You’ve got the heartless part right,” he said, “but I was born on the right side of the blanket.” He paused and added, “In all seriousness, you are courting trouble the longer you speak to me.”

  “Let me come to you tonight,” she said.

  She was foolish to even consider such a risk, but she seemed determined to enact her own tragedy. “Sorry, I won’t be the instrument of your downfall.” He walked away, fearing that sooner or later Norris would catch her in an indiscretion. Some men overlooked it, but by law Norris could beat her and sue her lover in civil court. He hoped for her sake that she would be cautious.

  Bell returned to the sideboard and thrust Barbara out of his thoughts. He poured two fingers of brandy and turned, only to find a petite blonde looking over her shoulder. She had a flawless, creamy complexion and a button nose. As she met his gaze, her eyes widened.

  He expected her to look away, but she seemed almost mesmerized. Bell frowned, wondering if he’d met her before. No, he would have remembered the way her lips turned up slightly at the corners, even though she wasn’t really smiling, at least not full on. Any moment now, she would remember herself and avert her eyes.

  Her lips parted a bit as she continued to stare. Over the years, more than a few women had given him second glances as they walked past, but this one was ogling him in a rather blatant manner. A wicked grin tugged at his mouth. He decided to see what she would do when he inspected her.

  Bell let his gaze slide ever so slowly from her eyes down past her long neck to her plump breasts. He continued in a leisurely fashion to her slim waist and slender hips. As he inspected her skirts, he figured she had slender legs to match her slender arms. Then he slowly reversed his gaze until he lingered over her breasts. Devil that he was, he imagined pale pink nipples. When he met her eyes, his heart beat a bit faster. He was in the middle of a ballroom and had made no effort to hide the fact that he was mentally undressing her. Obviously the blonde was issuing an invitation. Or was she? There was only one way to find out.

  He winked at her.

  A rosy flush spread over her face. She spun around, her airy overskirt floating a bit. Then she shook out her fan with a hand as diminutive as the rest of her and covered the lower half of her face. He half expected her to peek slyly above the ivory sticks, but instead she pressed through the crowd as if trying to escape. A moment later, Lady Atherton tapped the blonde on the shoulder, startling her.

  Could she be the mysterious widow?

  Lady Atherton led the blonde a few paces forward, and the two engaged in a tête-à-tête. The blonde woman shook her head vigorously, causing her sapphire earrings to bobble a bit. For some odd reason, he found it alluring.

  Obviously she’d never intended to flirt, and somehow that left him feeling a bit deflated, which was ridiculous. He’d been more than a little intrigued, but he should keep his distance. Lady Atherton was a well-known high stickler and would have put a flea in his ear if she’d seen him visually stripping the clothes off the younger woman.

  Harry returned and poured himself a brandy. “Did you meet the new widow yet?”

  “No.” They hadn’t met, but she’d intrigued him, and he couldn’t recall the last time a woman had done that.

  Harry sighed. “I think my cousins are leading me on a merry chase.”

  “Probably,” Bell said.

  “I’m to dance the next set with Miss Martindale,” Harry said. “I’d better find her.”

  As Bell made his way through the crowd, he noticed that Lady Atherton was strolling with the petite blonde again. In all likelihood, she was too respectable to be any man’s mistress. For all he knew, she was some man’s wife.

  He’d had enough of the noise and decided to walk out to the gardens to smoke a cheroot. Though he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the house, he managed to find his way to the door leading outside. There were lanterns in the trees, but he detected no one about. The wind was a bit chilly as it whipped the tails of his coat, but he welcomed the cold as he used one of the lanterns to light a cheroot. The wind riffled the leaves in the tall trees. He inhaled the smoke from the cheroot and enjoyed the relative silence.

  He blew a smoke ring and wondered about the best way to secure a new mistress. The Cyprians were giving another entertainment next week. He would see if anyone caught his fancy there.

  For some odd reason, he couldn’t get his visual encounter with the blond lady out of his mind. She was obviously Lady Atherton’s protégé, but that didn’t mean she was a widow available for dalliance. Lord only knew where or how these rumors got started, but he thought a widow might suit him, provided she understood that marriage was not in the offing. It would be a tricky business, trying to figure out whether the widow was amenable to an intimate relationship or not. If he made a mistake, he would cause a grievous insult. His lips curved a bit. Since when had he ever missed an opportunity to persuade a lady to loosen her morals?

  He ground out the cheroot and lit up another. The low rumble of masculine laughter made Bell frown. Patches of misty fog made it difficult to see, but three young men emerged on the other side of the path. They halted and passed something around. Bell wagered it was a flask.

  When the trio disappeared from his sight, he shrugged. They were safe from thieves and pickpockets in the garden. How they would fare guzzling whatever liquor was in the flask was another matter altogether, but they likely would pay for it with the bottle ache on the morrow.

  A few minutes later, he ground out his cheroot. He thought of returning to the house but decided to indulge in one more cheroot first. Periodically, Bell heard th
e low laughter of the three young bucks. At one point, he was absolutely certain that one of them was pissing in the garden. By now, Bell was weary of the entire ball and the foolish young men. He inhaled from his cheroot one last time and put it out.

  Then the door to the back of the house creaked open and shut.

  Bell wondered if a pair of lovers meant to sneak out for a few kisses or more when he heard a feminine voice call out.

  “Justin?”

  The three bucks suddenly grew silent. Bell couldn’t decide if he ought to expose them or not. In the end, he kept quiet. They weren’t his responsibility.

  The unknown lady’s slippers crunched on the gravel path. A misty fog settled near the ground, obscuring the objects in the garden.

  “Justin? If you’re out here, please let me know.”

  She was nearing Bell, but he wasn’t sure if she could see him or not.

  Then she stepped out of the shadowy mist, right before him. In the flash of a lantern, he recognized her as the blond lady. God, even in this dim light, she was stunning.

  She gazed right at him and gasped.

  “Wait,” he said. “Allow me to assist you.”

  “No.” She backed up. Then she lifted her skirts, whirled around, and took off running as if she’d seen Lucifer waiting to snatch her.

  He started after her, but his footsteps slowed. She’d said the one word every man should respect. No.

  The low rumble of masculine voices sounded again. Bell released a long sigh as he watched the trio creep back toward the house like thieves in the night. They paused about five feet from the door and passed the flask around. Good Lord, they were brazen.

  Eventually they stumbled inside the mansion and made no attempt to hide their laughter.

  Bell wiped the dampness off the shoulders of his coat and strolled back to the house. He might as well return home, since he’d struck out on finding a mistress. Tomorrow he would think of a new plan.

  He strode through the corridor, noting someone had lit a candle branch. When he emerged, he heard a cacophony of voices coming from the dining room. He had no wish to make himself agreeable to anyone else this evening.

  Bell strode toward the foyer but halted beside the stairwell upon hearing a feminine voice from the staircase. “Justin?”

  He couldn’t see her from this vantage point.

  He heard an odd sound beneath the stairwell. Bell looked underneath in time to see a man pushing a flask beneath it with his heel. Then footsteps clipped on the marble floor. “I’m here,” the man said, walking to the bottom of the staircase.

  Bell noted he was the young man with a shock of wheat-colored hair.

  “Where have you been?” a woman said in a stern tone. “I’ve looked everywhere for you.”

  “Oh, we just moved about the ballroom and the adjoining rooms,” he said.

  What an accomplished liar he was, Bell thought.

  “Your face is flushed,” the woman said as she descended. Now Bell could see her. She was the blond woman he’d seen in the garden.

  “I hope you haven’t been drinking with your friends again,” she said.

  “Always suspicious,” the young man said.

  “It’s late, and I wish to return home,” the blonde said.

  A few minutes later, their voices receded.

  Approaching footsteps alerted Bell. He turned as Lady Atherton regarded him with a knowing smile. “Are you in the habit of listening to others’ conversations, Bellingham?” she asked.

  “Not if I can help it. And you?”

  “I’m just the hostess of this grand squeeze,” she said.

  “Who is she?” he asked.

  Lady Atherton took a deep breath and slowly released it. “She’s not for the likes of you, Bell.”

  He recalled the way the blonde had stared at him earlier with parted lips. “I didn’t ask if she was for me. I asked for her name.”

  Lady Atherton shook her head. “Leave her be, Bellingham. She’s a widow with a boy to rear. You want no part of her life.”

  “I’m afraid I am part of it, unwillingly,” he said. The blonde must be the widow his friends had mentioned, but he said nothing of that to Lady Atherton. He reached beneath the stairwell and retrieved the flask. “You see, I believe she needs to know her son is lying through his teeth.”

  “Oh dear. She did say he was at a trying age.”

  “That, I believe, is an understatement.”

  Lady Atherton sighed and held out her hand. “Give the flask to me, and I’ll see that it’s returned.”

  This was an opportunity to find out if she had meant to issue him an invitation when she’d stared at him earlier. He told himself he only wanted to warn her about her son. He told himself she had every right to know. He told himself that the boy might find himself in serious straits if he didn’t alert her. But ultimately, he knew he wouldn’t be able to get her out of his head until he spoke to her. “He’s taking advantage of her. Someone needs to put the fear of the devil in that boy.”

  Lady Atherton’s eyes widened. “And you think you’re the one to do it? Hah!”

  “I’m an eyewitness.” He paused and added, “I want her name.”

  “Only if you swear this is about the boy and nothing else,” she said.

  He felt victorious, but he hid it. “Her name and address, please.”

  Lady Atherton hesitated again. “Her name is Laura Davenport. That’s Lady Chesfield to you,” she said, her expression sharp. “Her address is number ten, Grosvenor Square. And, Bellingham, I meant what I said. She’s a respectable widow and not for the likes of a rakehell like you.”

  Perhaps, but he meant to find out. “She’s incredibly naïve where that boy is concerned.”

  Lady Atherton clasped her hands. “Well, I agree he ought to have more respect for his stepmother.”

  Bell bowed. “Thank you for an interesting evening.” Then he strode out the door.

  The next afternoon

  After dismissing his secretary, Bell opened the desk drawer where he’d stowed the flask last night. After retrieving it, he thought about his plans to return the flask to Lady Chesfield and reconsidered. What the devil did he expect to gain? The last thing he wanted was to become involved in the lady’s problems.

  She was a stranger to him. They had not been introduced, and yet, he’d pried her name and address from Lady Atherton, who was very strict about the proprieties. He ought to have left well enough alone. Now he was obliged to return the blasted flask.

  Out of curiosity, he opened the flask, expecting to find cheap gin, but one sniff proved the liquor was brandy. Bell sipped it and realized it was of top-notch quality. Most likely the young buck had purloined the brandy from a decanter at home.

  The wayward young man wasn’t his responsibility. He could send a footman to deliver the flask, but Lady Chesfield wouldn’t know why he’d sent it. With a sigh, he drew out paper, pen, and ink, thinking he would describe what he’d seen last night. No, that was too much trouble. He would simply state in his message that he’d found her son’s flask. Whatever transpired afterward was none of his affair.

  Bell started to shut the drawer when he saw the small leather sketchbook inside that had belonged to his mother. His heart drummed in his ears. A new maid had recently found it in the attic. That day, he’d looked at one page and shoved it inside the desk drawer. Bell ought to have told the maid to return it to the attic the day the sketchbook was discovered. Then it would have been out of his sight and mind forever. He walked over to the bell, intending to ring for the housekeeper. He meant to ask her to return the sketchbook to the attic. But he hesitated, because he didn’t want her to touch it.

  After four years, he ought to have put the past behind him. Most of the time, he managed to shove it to the far corners of his brain, but the periodic nightmares served as a reminder of all that he’d loved and lost.

  He returned to the desk, determined to shut the drawer. But something beckoned him. His ears th
udded as he retrieved the sketchbook and opened it to a random page. A small boy sat on a sofa with a bundled infant. He gritted his teeth at the inscription near the bottom of the page. Andrew, age two, holding Steven one month after birth. His heart thumped at the sketch of him and his younger brother.

  Damn it all to hell. He’d known nothing good could come of resurrecting the memories. They were gone forever.

  He’d been too late all those years ago.

  Bell shut the sketchbook and shoved it back inside the cubbyhole in the desk. The past no longer existed. There was only the here and now.

  Gritting his teeth, he strode over to the bell rope and pulled it. When Griffith, the butler, appeared, Bell made arrangements to have his carriage brought round. He would deliver the flask to Lady Chesfield and have done with the matter once and for all.

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