Sins of a Duke

by Suzanne Enoch

  “You are a lunatic.”

  “And you will stop insulting me with every breath. Since words don’t seem to have any effect on your highly inappropriate behavior, perhaps this will. Defend yourself. I won’t warn you again.”

  For a long moment he looked at her, her bosom heaving and her chin held high. She was absolutely magnificent. “No.”

  “What?”

  “You may have forgotten your station, Your Highness, but I haven’t forgotten mine. I have no intention being discovered dueling in someone’s library. Especially not with some chit twelve years my junior.”

  Abruptly she dropped the weapon and sat on the chair he’d vacated earlier. “Then I surrender,” she said, turning her gaze to the fire.

  Perhaps he’d gone mad, hadn’t realized it, and was now ensconced in Bedlam, talking to himself. “Beg pardon?”

  “I know you like me, because you kissed me. Twice. But then you simply left our—my—presence without a word. So I thought I would try arguing with you, since that seems to pull you out of that haughtiness of yours. You walked away again. My next option was to provoke a fight. Not even that did more than cause you a moment of annoyance. So I surrender.”

  He clenched his jaw so his mouth wouldn’t drop open. “You mean to say that this—all of this—was some sort of seduction?”

  “My father’s read all about you and your family, and he’s quite an admirer of yours. A union between us was his dream, I suppose. He even asked me to pretend to be three years younger than I am, because he said that gentlemen who remarry prefer young wives. But then after you kissed me that second time, you’ve done nothing but avoid me.”

  Sebastian blinked several times as he tried to absorb what she was saying. He prided himself on knowing things, frequently before anyone else did. His siblings even credited him with the ability to read minds. On rare occasions he found himself surprised. Since he’d made Princess Josefina’s acquaintance he’d been in that state almost constantly, but never more so than at that moment. “You’re five-and-twenty, then,” he began, considering mathematics the easiest bit to grasp.

  Josefina sighed. “Yes, I am. I’m sorry I lied to you.” She stood again, retrieving the rapier and replacing it on its wall bracket. “I’d best go; Harek’s probably looking for me.” She stepped back into her shoes.

  “Will your father set you after Harek now?” he asked, taking a step after her. When she entered a room, the lights brightened. Letting them dim again seemed criminal.

  “Of course he will. He wants me to marry, and as a princess, even a new one who can’t remember her station, I can’t wed less than a duke.”

  He wasn’t used to being considered on the bare cusp of acceptability, but for the moment he put that aside. It simply wasn’t the point, and he needed to concentrate. “Do you like him?”

  She reached the door and looked back over her shoulder at him. “I like you. Good evening, Your Grace.”

  Bloody hell. “Why don’t you and Harek join me in my theater box tomorrow night?” he suggested. “Harek doesn’t have a box, and mine is the best in the house.”

  Josefina faced him. “Why?”

  Because I like you, as well. “Because an appearance of cooperation between your former and present liaisons will be more helpful than the appearance of a rift.”

  She studied his face for a moment, then nodded. “I shall inform him.”

  “Very good.” He took a breath. “Just to satisfy my curiosity, Your Highness, what in the world made you think that being outrageous and argumentative would attract me?”

  “Because everyone speaks your name with bated breath. You don’t have enough people being argumentative or outrageous in your life,” she answered. “That is still my opinion.”

  Then she left the room. He hadn’t mauled her this time, at least, but that was more because of the rapier than because of any self-control on his part. This Josefina, the less arrogant, more sincere one, seemed closer to being a princess than the previous one. And she attracted him even more. Still more troubling, when he talked with her, argued with her, kissed her, for the first time in four years he didn’t feel…lonely.

  That had been close. Thank goodness she’d seen him reading that book. All her father needed was for a very influential duke to decide he didn’t like the Central American coastline and discourage all of his peers from purchasing bonds, discounted or not.

  As a consequence, though, she had to keep him closer now than she felt comfortable doing. Having someone like Harek escorting her and courting her was much easier—Harek wanted power and prestige and money, and she wanted an ally. Melbourne, on the other hand, seemed to want…her.

  “There you are, Your Highness,” the Duke of Harek said, approaching from the direction of the ballroom. “We can’t have you getting lost; that would cause an international scandal.”

  Josefina smiled, taking his arm. “I’m pleased you’re here to look after me.”

  “Not as pleased as I am, I’ll wager.”

  Well, she could agree with that. “It might interest you to know that the Duke of Melbourne has offered to share his box at the theater with us. He wants you—and everyone else—to know that Costa Habichuela still has his support and endorsement.”

  Green eyes swept across hers. “Is that the only thing he wants me to know?”

  She frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “Come now, Your Highness. You have men falling at your feet. Melbourne, though, is considerably more serious competition than”—he looked across the room as they returned inside—“than him, for instance.” The duke gestured at a rounded gentleman with red cheeks and a kindly expression.

  The fellow saw their attention, and excused himself from a circle of his fellows to join them. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing, “would you do me the great honor of introducing me to your companion?”

  “Oh, please, Henning,” Harek snorted. “What in God’s name for? It’s not as though you could have anything in the world to converse with her about.”

  “I—”

  “There you are, Francis,” a familiar deep voice came from behind her. The Duke of Melbourne moved around them to shake the round fellow’s hand. “Have you been introduced to London’s newest delight?”

  “I say, Melbourne, no, I hav—”

  “Allow me, then. Your Highness, Mr. Francis Henning. Francis, Her Highness, Princess Josefina of Costa Habichuela.”

  Henning bowed even lower than he had for Harek. “A very great honor,” he said, as he straightened again. “You shine like a diamond, if I may be so bold.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Henning.” She glanced at Melbourne, to find his gaze on her. This surprised her; she’d thought him incurably arrogant and high in the instep, and yet here he’d arrived to rescue a man much below his station from embarrassment. Her new escort’s reaction had been high-handed and rude in the extreme. Was that how he saw her? She’d certainly been that way toward Melbourne, but that had been personal.

  “What do you think, Henning,” Melbourne continued, “should I ask Her Highness for the next dance?”

  Oh, dear, she’d barely had time to collect herself since their last conversation. The Francis fellow, though, was grinning. Whether that was because of the question or because the Duke of Melbourne was treating him like a bosom friend, she didn’t know.

  “Most definitely, Your Grace,” he chortled.

  All three men looked at her expectantly. To escape a dance all she had to say was that she’d already promised it to her escort. Melbourne would go away, and she would have until tomorrow night to prepare for their next encounter. Still, if it kept his attention on her and away from meddling, she didn’t have much of a choice. Truthfully, it wasn’t a difficult decision, anyway. He was a very fine dancer.

  She held out her hand. “If you think you can manage it,” she said.

  Taking her fingers, he lifted an eyebrow. “As long as you resist maiming me, I don’t foresee any difficulty.”
>
  Josefina could dispute that, but his touch made her tremble a little. “I make no promises,” she returned.

  As Melbourne guided her onto the dance floor, he smiled. In response, her heart flip-flopped. Amazing, that a simple shifting of muscles could so alter a man’s demeanor. “You should do that more often.”

  “Introduce you to untitled gentlemen?”

  “Smile.”

  “Ah. I’ll try to remember that in between slappings and attempted skewerings.”

  “You know I never meant to run you through.”

  Gray eyes assessed her. “What would you have done if I’d picked up the other rapier?”

  The heat his presence caused began to spread. “You would never presume to prick me,” she returned in a low voice.

  Music began. A waltz, blast it all. With a country dance they wouldn’t have been able to discuss anything…personal. His sensuous, capable lips curved again, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking.

  His hand slid around her waist, drawing her closer. As they swayed and turned in time to the music, the fingers that held hers flexed. Madre de dios. She wanted to kiss him again, to feel his mouth on hers, to taste the desire she knew he had for her.

  And still he said nothing.

  “Is this the way you mean to refrain from arguing with me?” she finally interjected. “To have no conversation with me at all?”

  “What do you wish me to say?” he returned in a low murmur. “That I’ve been thinking of pricking you since the first moment we met?”

  She gulped a breath. “Have you, now?” she asked, heat spreading downward.

  “Yes. You’ve been thinking the same thing, I’ll wager.” Slowly he pulled her a little closer to him.

  “Then why is Harek your country’s new liaison to mine?”

  Her father should never have requested that Melbourne be involved with something as precarious as Costa Habichuela, she began to realize. Harek was a much more suitable presence. Now, though, she had two dukes to deal with. And this one, the man who saw her far more clearly than she wished, the one whose touch made her shiver and whose kiss melted her insides, this was the one from whom she needed to distance herself. When he’d given her the chance, though, she’d intentionally drawn him back in.

  “Harek is your new liaison now because I won’t be led down the garden path all unawares,” he returned.

  She shook herself. Concentrate, blast it all. “Which garden path is that?”

  “Yours.”

  “I don’t know what you’re tal—”

  “If I am seen in your company, it will be because I decided it should be so—not because someone else ordered or requested it.” His dark gray gaze held hers. “And I won’t be played for a fool.”

  “I hardly think that trying to arrange a marriage between a duke and a princess makes either one of us foolish.”

  For a moment he danced with her in silence. “You are a great deal of trouble,” he finally whispered.

  “Oh, yes, I am that.” She smiled, trying not to shiver at the warm intimacy of his tone. “So what do we do next?”

  “We attend the theater tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, but when will you kiss me next?”

  She thought something flashed behind his eyes—surprise? Lust? It was gone so swiftly that she couldn’t be certain.

  “Tomorrow night, at the theater,” he returned.

  Oh, my.

  Chapter 8

  “Papa, I would like to go to the theater.”

  Sebastian walked around the billiards table to make an intentionally poor shot. “I know you would. But the performance tonight is Hamlet, and I don’t think you’d like the ending very much.” Aside from that, he didn’t want Peep to witness any more of his barely controlled behavior around Princess Josefina Embry.

  “Is it a tragedy?”

  A second later he realized that she was talking about the play. “It is. A very large tragedy.” He stepped back as she made her own shot. It wasn’t bad at all; in another two or three years she could probably challenge even Shay’s mathematical precision. “I’ll make you a bargain, Peep. The next play to open at Drury Lane is A Midsummer Night’s Dream. If you’ll forego Hamlet, I will take you to see the other.”

  His daughter leaned on her billiards cue. “Just you and me?”

  “Just us.”

  She nodded, her smile bright enough to put the sun to shame. “Then yes, I agree. You and I don’t get to spend as much time together as I would like.”

  Sebastian tilted his head at her. “You think not?”

  “Well, no,” she returned, lining up another shot. “Except for today, I feel like I’ve hardly seen you all week. I’m very busy, and you’re very busy. We need to make time for one another.”

  “I apologize for that, then.” He knew he’d been distracted since Prinny had assigned him to Costa Habichuela, but he hadn’t been aware of neglecting Penelope. She was his world, after all.

  “A very large birthday party with acrobats would make up for a great deal,” she continued.

  “I see.” He stifled a grin. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Abruptly she set her cue across the table and faced him. “When I said just you and me,” she began, her small face serious, “I didn’t mean that it always has to be that way.”

  Sebastian leaned his own cue against the table. “Beg pardon?”

  “Well, my friend Mary Haley says that you have to remarry because I’m not a boy.”

  “That’s not true,” he said slowly, considering his answer. “You can’t inherit my title, but your Uncle Shay can. I don’t need to remarry, and I don’t need a son. I have you.”

  “But do you want to? Get married again, I mean. Because sometimes I think it might be nice to have another female in the house besides me.”

  He walked around the table, crouching in front of his daughter. “You have three aunties, now.”

  “Yes. And Aunt Nell knows all about fashion, Aunt Caroline is teaching me to paint, and Aunt Sarala knows how to charm snakes.”

  “But?” he prompted after a moment, hearing the unspoken reservation in her statement.

  Her face folded into a thoughtful scowl. “Nothing. They go home at night, and Aunt Nell has Rose, and nobody has me.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Sebastian pulled his daughter into a tight hug. “I have you, sweetling.” Christ. The thoughts of a seven-year-old humbled him. “Do you want me to get married again, then?” he asked, touching his forehead to hers.

  “Not to Mary’s aunt. She laughs like a donkey.” Peep brayed in demonstration.

  “So that was her?” he returned, forcing a grin. “I thought it was an actual donkey.” He pulled out his pocket watch. “Shall we adjourn for some luncheon? I have a meeting this afternoon.”

  She kissed him on the forehead. “You’re a very good Papa, you know.”

  “I do try.”

  Rising, he took her hand and they went downstairs to the breakfast room. Peep wanted a mother. It made sense; she probably had only a very vague memory of Charlotte, and though they talked about her often, he’d noticed lately that the tales had the same feel to them as any fairy story.

  Did he want to remarry? A year ago he would have dismissed the question. Two years ago, it would have made him angry. Now, though, he simply didn’t know.

  What he did know, however, was that Mary Haley’s aunt would make a better match for him than Josefina Embry. For one thing, Lady Margaret Trent wasn’t heir to a Central American monarchy. For another, Margaret didn’t spin his head around as Josefina seemed able to do. He didn’t want his head spun. He liked being in control and having things go as they should.

  He barely knew the damn princess, anyway. Josefina claimed to prefer him over Harek, but he doubted that would make any difference if Harek proposed and he didn’t. And he wouldn’t. Sebastian blew out his breath. If he had a quarter of the heartless, calculating resolve he was well-known for, none of this shou
ld be troubling him. Yet obviously it was.

  Damn the chit. What he needed to do was take a mistress, someone on whom he could exercise the physical demons that after four years had abruptly made themselves known again. Someone discreet, compliant, and with a pretty enough face that he could forget the dark-eyed one that continued to haunt him. Peep looked up at him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Wonderful. Now he couldn’t even conceal his emotions from an infant. “Nothing. Go ahead, will you? I need to make a note of something before I forget.”

  She nodded, walking into luncheon without him. “Stanton,” he heard her say, “did Cook remember that I particularly like cheese toast and asparagus soup?”

  “Indeed she did, my lady.”

  Sebastian returned upstairs, heading not to his office, but to the library. There, over the fire, hung a portrait of his lovely Charlotte. Her blue eyes twinkled, even on the flat, painted surface. Chestnut hair coiled atop her head and escaped from the pins that held it, as though it had been ruffled by a stray breeze while she’d paused in the garden to smile at him.

  He could still recall her voice, her laugh, her touch, just as he remembered her last days, when her skin had been pale and drawn, her eyes dull, and her smile a mask that hadn’t fooled either of them.

  What he couldn’t remember was the last time she’d been in his dreams. For months it had been every night, to the point that if not for Peep and his siblings he wouldn’t have wanted to awaken again. Then she’d begun to visit a little less regularly, but still frequently—more days in a month than not. When, then, had it stopped? And why for the past five nights had he dreamed of someone else?

  He knew Charlotte’s painted expression wouldn’t change, just as he knew without thinking that of course she would want him and their daughter to be happy. But he wasn’t certain whether it was happiness he would find with Josefina, or disaster.

  Gathering himself, he ducked into his office and wrote out a swift note to Lord Beltram, one of the ministers of public records. If anyone could determine the present whereabouts of one John Rice-Able, Beltram could. Before he allowed his heart to become tangled in anything, even pure impossibilities, his mind wanted some answers as to why one person’s paradise was another’s insect-infested swamp.