The Desires of a Duke: Historical Romance Collection

by Darcy Burke

  Chapter 4

  The night was purely magical. Everything that Edith and Triston—Lord Torrington—deserved in their betrothal ball. The ton had turned out in droves, not an invite turned down as they all clamored to the Earl of Shaftesbury’s Mayfair townhouse to gain a look at the new couple. Their love story, or at least what society had been told, started when Lord Torrington had dashingly rescued Edith, Luci, and Ophelia from a carriage accident outside of London.

  Thankfully, no one had inquired as to why the ladies had ventured into the English countryside unchaperoned, or how their parents had not discovered they’d been missing an entire day, which was advantageous for the trio because there had been no carriage accident. However, Lord Torrington had rescued Edith from the clutches of his evil stepmother, who’d kidnapped her from the London streets and whisked her off to the seaside cliffs of Southend.

  All had been set to rights since her rescue the month before, and now, Luci adored Torrington as much as Edith and Ophelia did. He was a man above all men, and one not tarnished by scandalous misdeeds—all too common in Englishmen.

  He was perfect for Lady Edith.

  “It is allowed for one to be envious of a friend so long as it does not cross the line to jealousy,” Luci recited quietly as she watched Edith, held securely to Triston’s side as they greeted guests and walked the perimeter of the ballroom.

  Everything was perfect.

  As Luci knew the couple’s future would be.

  “I am surprised you are not dancing this set,” Ophelia said, handing Luci a flute of champagne as she turned to examine their dear friend and her betrothed greeting yet another couple who’d joined the ball.

  Luci stifled another yawn. “I am exhausted. After staying up all night to deliver and make certain the column was posted, and then my morning at Bentley’s, followed by helping Edith prepare for this grand soirée, I am falling asleep on my feet.”

  Ophelia fanned her face and took a sip from her champagne. “Mayhap, if you’d listened to me and not been in such an uproar over your father’s actions and your need to harm him, you would have gotten at least a bit of sleep last night.”

  “And we both know how I excel at taking orders from others.” Luci glanced at Ophelia out of the corner of her eye. The woman with her auburn hair, fair skin, and pale blue eyes was as exotic as Luci was, but in a wholly different and more innocent manner. Luci was all dark with her long, black hair, startlingly green, catlike eyes, and height as tall as most men. Ophelia was pure light—if she would ever come out of her shell and allow herself to shine.

  “Oh, look!” the woman exclaimed, pulling Luci’s attention back to the crowded room in time to see her father depart the card room with none other than Lord Abercorn. “What is your father doing with that vile man?”

  “A better question is: why was Abercorn issued an invitation at all?” Luci seethed.

  “Come now, Luci,” Ophelia chastised. “Abercorn is Lord Torrington’s neighbor. And no one would want to offend the man, lest he spread rumors about what truly happened when Edith was taken. And, as far as Edith is concerned, she thinks it best to keep her friends close and our enemies closer.”

  “Very true.” Luci narrowed her gaze on the men, wishing her look would set the pair ablaze. While her father hadn’t killed anyone—that she knew of—the Marquis of Camden and the Duke of Abercorn were identical in many ways. “When he drops his guard, we need be close and ready to expose him. The man will not get away with Tilda’s death, I assure you of that. He should have been hauled off by the magistrate the very night it occurred.”

  “You know I agree with you, but there just was not enough proof that he pushed her, Luci.” Ophelia snapped her fan shut and turned her stare back to Edith and Lord Torrington, who were now moving in their direction.

  Ophelia could refuse to discuss the topic all she desired, but Luci knew full well what she’d seen. Abercorn and Tilda had argued, he’d shaken her, and then Tilly was plummeting to the ground floor at Luci’s feet. How Abercorn had changed from his red dressing robe back to his formal attire, Luci wasn’t certain, but she knew he had been the one to kill Tilda.

  If only her two friends had spoken up that night, aligned with Luci and pointed the finger at Abercorn, none of this would be happening now. Then again, the Mayfair Confidential column would not exist, Edith would not have met Torrington, and Luci would not have had to run from her fencing club after learning the name of her opponent that morning.

  So many things would be different. Maybe the trio of them would have completed their first Season and found loving, honorable husbands, instead of observing the appropriate mourning period for Tilda.

  Unfortunately, none of them would know how things could have turned out.

  “You are scowling, Luci,” Ophelia hissed, nudging her elbow into Luci’s hip. “And people are starting to notice.”

  “Let them stare. The girl who cried wolf,” Luci mimicked the name she’d heard society call her behind her back; however, she attempted at least a look of passivity as opposed to an outright frown. “I will not be happy until Abercorn has been punished.”

  “Be that as it may, tonight is not that night.” Ophelia drained her glass before continuing. “Tonight is about celebrating Edith and Lord Torrington and their upcoming nuptials. Do you think you can find an agreeable demeanor for at least another couple of hours?”

  “For Edith, I can.” But that did not mean she could stop the fury she felt over her father and Abercorn from heating her insides.

  “Very good. Now, look, a new guest is arriving.” Ophelia stood on tiptoes as the butler announced the new guest. “I do hope it is Lady Prudence and Lady Chastity. They are great fun.”

  Lord Torrington’s younger sisters were acceptable as debutantes went. They weren’t vain or featherbrained, which were things Luci could not tolerate in a friend. However, Luci hadn’t taken the time to truly get to know the women. It would behoove her to try. After Edith’s wedding, the pair was likely to be underfoot a lot.

  “…the Duke of Montrose.”

  Luci’s eyes snapped to the ballroom entrance as Montrose took the first step into the room.

  Her heart stopped for what seemed like several long moments as he searched the crowd. He was looking for someone—and it was highly likely it was she.

  Had he discovered her to be the woman who’d exposed him? Certainly not. No one knew who was behind the Mayfair Confidential column in the London Daily Gazette. They’d been extremely careful with the entire activity. They’d only delivered under cover of night—Luci having taken over the duty of bringing Ophelia’s final column to the Gazette building while Edith was occupied with preparing for her wedding.

  Blessedly, Edith and Torrington arrived at that moment, and Luci slipped her arm through Ophelia’s and motioned for the couple to follow them.

  The terrace doors lay open and only a short distance away. Luci practically dragged Ophelia toward them, skirting lords and ladies as they went until the fresh night air surrounded them.

  Luci turned, keeping Ophelia at her side and hoping Lord Torrington would block her from view.

  “Did you hear who arrived only moments ago?” Ophelia said a bit enthusiastically for Luci’s liking.

  “Who?” Edith made to look back into the ballroom to search the crowd.

  “Do not look,” Luci hissed. “He is coming this way, and he is certainly angry!”

  “I can only imagine what trouble you ladies are embroiled in now.” Triston scrutinized Luci and Ophelia, seeming to forget that his own bride-to-be was just as entangled as they were. “However, this night belongs to Edith and me, and I will not have anything distracting me from her beauty and our future happiness.”

  With a grand flourish, he twirled Edith back toward the ballroom, his hand firmly at the small of her back.

  The action gave Luci a clear line of sight into the space.

  Which meant Montrose was also able to see her. And he was stal
king her way, unaware of the people who leapt out of his way or the people who stared in his wake.

  “Ophelia,” Luci whispered, unable to remove her eyes from the man. “I need you to cause a distraction.”

  “Me?” she squeaked. “I do not—“

  “Yes, you. Only long enough for me to hide in the garden.”

  “But, why ever would you—“

  “There is no time.” Luci pushed the auburn-haired woman toward the terrace door. “I will keep out of sight by the cherub fountain. Come and get me when he leaves.”

  Luci didn’t wait to see if Ophelia did as she demanded. She grasped the skirts of her midnight-blue gown and hurried down the stairs into the Shaftesbury’s gardens. The paths were unlit, keeping other guests from exploring the natural wonders, but Luci knew the area well. She and her friends had enjoyed spring and summer picnics between the many rose bushes and gardenia plants during their youths. They’d learned to play lawn bowls and the game of graces on the expanse of green bordering the gardens.

  Even by moonlight, Luci had no trouble finding her way.

  The moment she stepped onto the lawn-covered path leading around the statue she sought, her delicate, black slippers soaked up the evening dew. Her footwear was ruined, and her stockings would likely be stained beyond repair. It mattered naught.

  Luci ducked behind the fountain, a towering monstrosity of curiously entwined, nude cherubs. They’d inspected the piece at great length in their childhoods, Edith being the first to notice that two of the three angels were not fashioned properly. They had an extra attachment below their extended bellies.

  They dared to question Lady Shaftesbury about the oddity only once—the woman’s face flaring scarlet before declaring the question was not fit for young girls to ask.

  Kneeling behind the statue, Luci no longer cared about ruining her gown. She needs must remain out of sight and undiscovered. Montrose must certainly be upset about her besting him with a foil. There was no other reason he could be here. Could there? Edith would never invite a man they’d exposed; which left only the possibility that he’d stormed into Lady Edith betrothal ball without invitation—specifically to find Luci.

  Chapter 5

  Roderick had gained entrance to Lord Torrington and Lady Edith’s betrothal ball without incident. No household in the beau monde would dare turn away a duke, invited or not. He hadn’t bothered to stop long enough to remove his jacket and hand it to the footman. His purpose and course were clear: he would find Lady Lucianna and make her admit her part in his ruination.

  Then what?

  The woman was not capable of setting things to rights; she could not fix his broken relationship with Lady Daphne, nor could she restore his family’s missing fortune. Lady Lucianna was not in possession of the information Roderick sought.

  Nevertheless, he was certain he would find peace with this current situation once he confronted the woman responsible.

  And she had to be in this very room.

  Sure enough, Roderick spotted Lady Lucianna on the terrace of the Shaftesbury’s townhouse. The terror in her widened stare told him she knew exactly why he had come. He continued across the ballroom. If he cut directly through the dancing couples, he paid no mind. His sights were set on one thing…and one thing only.

  Vengeance.

  In the form of Lady Lucianna.

  A couple reentered the ballroom and hurried past him, but he kept his narrowed glare on the object of his ire.

  A wisp of pale green, followed by the face of an auburn-haired woman moved to block his path—and his sight—as she stood on her tiptoes just inside the double doors, wavering from side to side.

  “Excuse me, miss.” Roderick made to step around the woman, but she stepped in the same direction, blocking him once more.

  The slip of a woman giggled—giggled!—but finally stepped around Roderick with a simple word of apology. “Do beg my pardon.”

  He nodded curtly to her, but she’d already flitted farther into the room.

  Leaving Roderick free to pursue Lady Lucianna on the terrace.

  He stalked through the open doors, his narrowed glare sweeping across the outdoor patio and back again.

  His hands clenched at this sides as he inspected the two couples on the terrace. Neither included Lucianna.

  “Where in the bloody hell has she made off to?” he muttered, gaining a puzzled glance from one of the couples.

  There was no way to escape but back into the ballroom—or down the steps into the unlit gardens below. The collection of shrubs, hedges, rose bushes, various flower blossoms, arches, benches, and statues seem to go on forever from his vantage point, at least until the night cast everything into utter darkness.

  She was down there, Roderick could sense it.

  It was possible she watched him even now; getting a laugh that she’d outmaneuvered him once more. His irritation swelled to the point of boiling over at her avoidance of a situation she’d caused.

  She may have had the last say earlier in the day, but they were on even ground now. She’d known who he was at Bentley’s. And now, he knew who she was.

  Tonight, he was determined to have the final word.

  Roderick shoved his hands into the pockets of his evening coat, thankful he hadn’t stopped to hand it over to the footman, and started down the steps into the cold, dark gardens below.

  The second his Hessians hit the soft, damp grass of the nearest path, he was also glad he’d forgone his ballroom shoes. It was enough that his valet would give him hell for the disrepair his boots would surely be in by the end of his excursion to find Lady Lucianna.

  Nevertheless, he pushed onward. The dew from a blue blossom clung to his sleeve, and he brushed it away.

  Each path he ventured down was empty.

  Each hidden seating area was vacant.

  Finally, the narrow path he’d selected opened into a large, circular area with a statue depicting rounded, naked cherubs, spouting water into the fountain below. The moon above lit the open space and reflected off the pool of water.

  Serene. Quiet. Peaceful.

  Roderick could not enjoy any of what the picturesque garden landscape had to offer.

  Not when his entire body tensed in anticipation of locating Lady Lucianna.

  The only sound was his footfalls as he stalked farther into the night and away from the ball at his back. A rose thorn caught his trousers at his knee, digging into his skin and sending pain shooting down his leg as he pulled free.

  The music from the betrothal ball had receded, as had any light given off by the terrace torches. The full moon afforded him little help as he passed under a topiary arch into yet another courtyard with benches and several statues—this time featuring animals.

  Scanning the open area, Roderick looked for any movement, listened intently for any sound that would betray Lucianna’s whereabouts.

  Nothing.

  No movement.

  No sound.

  How had she disappeared so quickly without a trace?

  Roderick refused to allow a sense of disheartening hopelessness to fill him once more. He’d lived too long with that weight upon him.

  He’d seen no marked path leading to the townhouse drive and around to the street in front of the row of Mayfair homes, but there must be. Perhaps Lucianna had found it and fled the ball entirely.

  It was time he returned, gave his good tidings to the betrothed pair, and departed.

  There was time to find her on the morrow. He’d send his man to keep watch on her, and Roderick would approach her then.

  He turned back toward the well-lit house set high above the gardens below, wishing it were possible to slip out of the party without notice; however, the growing crowd on the terrace told him his entrance had gained much attention.

  Sighing, he started back, taking the same paths he’d taken when entering the gardens.

  A wisp of midnight blue caught his eye as he passed by the cherub fountain.

  R
oderick didn’t think, didn’t pause. He took off after the figure as it fled back in the direction of the house. Catching her was not an option. He pushed faster, but she was more familiar with the paths as she turned and crisscrossed across the garden, her skirts gathered high to avoid tripping.

  Triumph flooded him at the same time his irritation flared at having to chase the woman.

  Roderick was knocked in the side of the head when he failed to duck under a low-hanging branch. He only allowed it to slow him for a mere second before pushing on.

  Lady Lucianna was a few paces ahead of him now, her strides as long as his.

  Not much farther, and the glow from the townhouse would light his way once more and he could increase his pace without threat of injury.

  Exiting the garden path, Lady Lucianna veered sharply to the left and onto a walkway he hadn’t noticed when he stepped from the terrace.

  He lunged forward and grabbed her arm, halting her.

  A quick tug brought her round to face him, and Roderick took her in his arms to keep her from breaking away.

  Damn it, but she fit perfectly in his embrace. Lucianna’s height nearly matched his, though she kept her eyes trained on his chest. Her silky, black hair was piled high atop her head, but Roderick longed to see it flow down her back.

  He loosened his hold enough to bring his hand to her chin, nudging it upward, coaxing her to meet his glare.

  She tried to pull her face from his hand.

  “Look at me,” Roderick sighed. The fight drained from him when a shiver went down her spine. Was she afraid—of him? “Lucianna?”

  Reluctantly, she lifted her narrowed, moss-green eyes to him. They fairly glowed in the darkness.

  “Why did you run?” he asked.

  “I am not one to linger in the path of an angry man.” She scowled up at him before turning to gaze at the terrace with disinterest.

  She’d seen him, knew he was angry and looking for her, and so she’d run as opposed to facing the consequences of her actions. If she’d been a man, Roderick would have suggested they meet at dawn on the expansive lawns of Hyde Park to settle the matter between them. He would not have had to resort to chasing a female down during the middle of a social gathering.