The Dangerous Duke

by Arabella Sheraton

  “No, Mama!” Devlin growled, in very bad humour since he was sure his mother was pretending to be a querulous old lady, when they both knew very well that she was not. “I am telling you that Solesby is a rake, a renowned rake, and Miss Preston has been hoodwinked into believing he is a gentleman and subsequently went off unaccompanied with him this morning. When I commanded her to sever this undesirable connection, she was rude to me.”

  His mother’s eyebrows rose in a questioning manner at the word command and a small frown appeared on her face. He checked himself and repeated, more calmly, “I say rude, but perhaps my manner provoked her.” He scowled down at his tasselled Hessians, lovingly polished by Jackson to a mirror-like finish.

  “Perhaps your overbearing, domineering manner?” his mother asked, with a faint quiver of amusement in her voice. When Devlin’s head jerked up and he scrutinized her face to determine if she was laughing at him, the Dowager had schooled her features to reflect a sober attitude.

  “Oh, yes,” he muttered. “I can see who came running to tell tales.”

  “Not at all,” was her measured rejoinder. “I have to remind you, Devlin, that since I am Fenella’s employer it is up to me to decide whether I approve of her communicating with Sir Marcus.”

  “But the man’s a scoundrel, a known womanizer!” Devlin’s voice rose in anger.

  “No, he is a gentleman first, given his lineage, and I might add, an invited guest.”

  Devlin scowled. “I didn’t invite him.”

  “No, you did not but your lady friend did. And so you have to bear that burden and mind your manners,” was his mother’s tart reply. “Besides, I don’t think Sir Marcus is going to blot his copybook here at Deverell House, in front of some of the oldest and most respected families in the land. He is not stupid, let me assure you. What he does in his own time, in his less than salubrious club surroundings, has nothing to do with me or anyone else for that matter.”

  She turned a stern eye upon her son’s unsmiling face. “Just as what you do in your spare time and where you do it, is also none of my business. This is really not the time to pick a quarrel with Miss Preston so perhaps you can be persuaded to put more serious matters to the forefront of your attention.”

  Her tone was sharp and Devlin strode off glowering, with the opinion that everyone under his roof was conspiring against him in favour of that aggravating, obstinate female.

  * * * *

  Fenella had previously avoided dining with the other guests because she did not wish to draw attention to herself, nor did she care to invite renewed challenges from Lady Vane for Devlin’s affections. However, having discovered a new fortitude and having surprised both herself and several other members of the household, she vowed to stand her ground and make her own decisions in the matter of her friendship with Sir Marcus Solesby. She decided to attend dinner that evening as the Dowager had requested. Molly was delighted and made sure her hair was styled to perfection. Fenella slipped on the green gown, suppressing the unspoken, “Again!” that she felt and Molly undoubtedly thought. Molly once more performed wonders with fresh flowers and an elegant hairstyle, and her mother’s jewels added a touch of sophistication.

  Molly tactfully admired the results and when Fenella swept down the stairs just as Blenkins sounded the dinner gong, she comforted herself with the knowledge that at least most of the gathered company would not have seen her in the same gown several times already. An amiable gentleman, with whom she had a nodding acquaintance, escorted her into the dining room.

  The Dowager was delighted to see her and, for some odd reason Fenella thought, broke with protocol by placing her between Sir Marcus Solesby and a stout, deaf septuagenarian who was devoted to his plate and its contents. Sir Marcus did not hide his pleasure at the seating arrangements. Fenella, for her part, could not have asked for a more politely attentive and amusing dinner companion. His conversation was sparkling without being provocative; his range of interests was varied and he was up to date with current political trends. Actually, Sir Marcus both surprised and surpassed himself. The only flaw in this perfect arrangement was the fact that the Duke was sitting directly opposite her and Lady Vane opposite Sir Marcus.

  Fenella ate and drank, chattering animatedly with Sir Marcus. Given that the deaf old gentleman on the other side of her nodded and smiled to himself and concentrated solely on each delicious course, Fenella could be forgiven for not attempting to engage him in conversation. Her laughter rippled through the buzz of voices at Sir Marcus’ extremely amusing anecdotes but since several other guests seated next to him were also part of the conversation, no one paid any particular attention to Fenella. She felt Devlin’s hard stare boring into her; she could sense his disapproval coming toward her in waves but she refused to glance in his direction. However, she could hear snippets of the conversation between Devlin and his lover.

  Despite Lady Penelope’s ravishing dress in palest pink gossamer, so sheer as to be considered outrageous, Fenella was surprised that Devlin hardly gave his dazzling partner a second glance. He was paying close attention to Sir Marcus’ anecdotes. Lady Penelope pouted but he only grunted noncommittally whenever she attempted to lead him into a discussion. Finally, she plucked his sleeve and said, “What is so interesting across the table that holds your attention? The hired help?” Since Lady Penelope did not bother to lower her voice, Fenella heard this comment. Devlin looked up and met Fenella’s gaze, then he turned his head to address Lady Penelope.

  “Not at all,” he remarked, his expression one of marked neutrality. “I’m enjoying the conversation. Your friend Solesby is putting on a sterling performance as the life and soul of the occasion. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him wax so lyrical nor so comical before. He tells a good tale. The one about old Lady Henshaw’s wig and the mouse in the opera box was particularly amusing.” He glanced at her furious face and gave a wry smile. “After all, my dear, it was your idea to invite him and I’m trying to make up for the extremely rude way in which I behaved yesterday.”

  As the successful dinner ended, the guests were satiated and happy, and excitedly discussing amongst themselves the prospects of the ball the following evening when their numbers would swell even more. Ladies of single status were eager to seize the opportunities afforded for meeting more gentlemen. The men, having already struck up acquaintance with attractive damsels, were keen to expand their social connections and romantic possibilities. The gentlemen, as customary, began to drift to the library for port and cigars before rejoining the ladies in a while.

  Fenella was determined not be caught in a situation where Lady Penelope could embarrass her. As the ladies began to move in a glittering cluster into the Long Drawing Room, Fenella felt a tug at her skirt. Glancing down, she was dismayed to see that the stout, deaf gentleman had trod on her skirt and ripped the lace from the bottom. Although Fenella was angry about the lace, she was relieved to have the perfect excuse to steal away. She was sure that in the crush of guests, no one would notice her absence. She would apologise to the Dowager the next day. Fenella slipped out of the dining room and was making her way to the stairs when a voice halted her.

  “Miss Preston!”

  She turned and saw Sir Marcus standing at the door, disappointment evident on his face. “Are we going to lose you so soon?”

  “Alas, a clumsy accident,” she stammered, anxious to escape further socializing. “A torn flounce.”

  “I am sorry,” he said, coming closer to her. “May I be of assistance?”

  Over his shoulder, Fenella saw the Duke approaching; his face was thunderous.

  “No, thank you,” she gasped. “The tiniest rent …of no consequence at all. I will pin it up and return shortly.”

  Before he could utter another word, she darted up the stairs to the safety of the upper landing. Masculine voices floated up the stairwell, indistinct in their intonation, but clear in meaning. Fenella was so afraid of being caught eavesdropping that she quickly made her way to her r
oom where a surprised Molly was there to help her undress.

  * * * *

  The two men squared up to each other, icy politeness masking their true feelings.

  “I must ask you to desist in your obnoxious attentions toward Miss Preston.” Devlin’s tone was cold and hard.

  Sir Marcus raised a scornful eyebrow. “Why? Has she complained that my attentions are obnoxious?”

  “Damn you!” Devlin gritted his teeth. “She has not complained but I am complaining now.”

  “I can assure you that in no way have I offended the lady nor have I approached Miss Preston in an unbecoming manner.” Sir Marcus stood his ground.

  “Your very presence here is an offence,” said Devlin, “and well you know it. That is one thing I cannot change. However, I can and will prevent you associating with the lady.”

  “How?” was the calm rejoinder.

  “What?” Devlin gasped, his anger rising.

  “If the lady has not expressed a disinclination for my company—limited though it has been—how can you stop her conversing with me or even dancing with me at the ball? I believe she will attend and I am looking forward to the pleasure of her company.”

  “You swine!” Devlin stepped forward, his fists balled.

  Sir Marcus took several steps back and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Let it not be said I erred in social conduct …for once,” he said in his lazy manner.

  As Devlin fumed, Sir Marcus lowered his hands and said quietly, “It’s no business of mine, to be sure, but hear me out on this score. If you are just about to tie the knot with the lovely Lady Penelope, why should you care with whom your mother’s companion chooses to associate?”

  Devlin’s face whitened. He had almost been trapped by the man’s words and his own foolish anger into indiscretion. If he denied his pending engagement to Lady Penelope, there would be Hell to pay from her, and he would compromise Fenella. If he expressed any sentiments toward Fenella, she would be compromised anyway. The man was clever, but in fact all he had done was voice Devlin’s own confusion at the state of affairs.

  Gathering his wits, Devlin thought coldly for a few moments. He suppressed his emotions and fiery words with iron self-control. He looked Sir Marcus in the eye and said, “Solesby, without being insulting, you know your reputation with the ladies.”

  Sir Marcus inclined his head and let a self-deprecating smile play across his mouth. “I know my reputation, and it is with a particular class of ladies. We are not talking about the same thing here.”

  “No,” said Devlin, “I’ll give you that. However, many people here know you for what you appear to be under certain circumstances, and if your friendship continues with Miss Preston, who possibly is unaware of this”—he raised an eyebrow—”I fear her reputation will come under scrutiny by a free association with you. Will you leave her alone?”

  The two men glared at each other, bitter green eyes meeting chips of blue ice in a battle of wills. The air was thick with tension.

  “No.” Sir Marcus’ tone was rough and his voice hoarse with suppressed anger. “I will not leave her alone as you say. I will not compromise her, as you fear so much, but if she chooses to talk to me and dance with me, you cannot stop me …or her.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Devlin called after him, “I’ll see you in Hell, Solesby.”

  “Then I’ll be in good company.” Sir Marcus tossed the words over his shoulder. “By the way, she does know about my reputation and thinks that given the vice and degradation of a teeming metropolis such as London, it is not surprising. She is also of the opinion that it is far worse on the Continent.”

  He stopped and turned to face Devlin, their gazes locking across the expanse of polished floor. “You must surely understand now why I am so fascinated. She is a woman in a million.” He disappeared into the Long Drawing Room.

  * * * *

  Later that evening, when the last guests had disappeared into their rooms and the sleepy footmen had extinguished the candles, Devlin lay on his bed, half-undressed, lost in thought and unable to sleep. He had just dismissed Jackson for the night. The candle guttered low, the flickering flame casting dancing shadows on the wall. These gyrating shapes occupied his line of vision although he stared unseeingly at them. Confused thoughts played through his mind. He wished he could somehow make time stand still, turn back the clock, unsay the words, undo the actions—but it was too late. He would be forced into offering for Lady Penelope at the ball.

  Suddenly he heard a faint tapping outside his room. He rose, padded over to the door and opened it. A hooded, cloaked figure stood before him. He fell back a step and then moved forward, grabbing the figure. A muffled squeak and the unmistakable feel of a woman’s curves told him this was no intruder. He pulled the figure into the room and ripped away the cloak. A radiant Lady Penelope stood in front of him. Under the cloak, she was naked, but for a transparent black robe which left nothing to the imagination. She still wore her glittering jewels from dinner and she struck a dramatic and sensual figure.

  “Good God, woman!” he said, in utter shock. “What are you doing here?”

  She pouted and moved into his arms. “Oh, Dev, I couldn’t bear another night without you, not another night without your body, your strength, your manliness to comfort me. You know what I need.”

  As she spoke, her deft hand snaked into his breeches. At the same time, she fastened her lips on his and slid her tongue into his mouth. Instantly he jerked back, thrusting her away.

  “Are you insane?” he snapped in a low voice. “The place is full of guests; it’s the eve of just about the most important event for my mother and all you want is to make love?”

  Lady Penelope flounced away, her face hard with anger at this direct slight.

  “I see,” she seethed. “Then it’s clear your interests lie elsewhere. We’ll see what the rest of the world has to say about this.”

  Devlin grasped her arm and drew her to the bed.

  “Here, sit down,” he said in a gentler tone. “Try to understand; tomorrow night is so important for Mama and I cannot be distracted in any way.”

  While he stroked her face and tidied her dishevelled curls, his mind was racing. The last thing he needed was Lady Penelope’s vituperative tongue spreading and embellishing lies around Town. He cared nothing for his reputation, since many would attribute her spite to the scorn of yet another female who had failed to capture the elusive bachelor. No, it was for Fenella he feared, though he could not understand why he cared about her good name when the woman was nothing but an exasperating, wayward brat. He patted the bed and shifted Penelope closer to him.

  “So please, my dearest, will you be patient just a while longer?”

  She turned her sullen face away. “I think you are leading me on, keeping me on a string, and if there’s someone else perhaps you should tell me.”

  “There is no one else,” he lied in desperation. Then he mentally corrected himself; it was no lie. Fenella did not want him.

  “Then what has come between us?” Her turquoise gaze was inexorable.

  “It’s nothing, just the events of the past few days.”

  “I hope Sir Marcus being here has not upset you too much,” she probed.

  Devlin clenched his jaw. “As long as Sir Marcus behaves himself, then I have no objection to his presence here.”

  Lady Penelope rose and gave a few twirls to show off the sheer garment and to make sure Devlin noticed what he was missing.

  “I am certain he’ll behave. He’s trying to impress that insipid creature your mother has in tow,” she jeered.

  The next minute she felt a grip like a vise close around her wrist and Devlin swung her to face him. His gaze was relentless, his voice almost savage as he ground the words between his teeth.

  “Ah, now I see your plan, my lady. You want to discredit this woman to spite me?”

  He glared at her with eyes that seemed to bore right into her
mind and read her thoughts.

  Lady Penelope wriggled a little, affecting annoyance and feminine pique.

  “Let me go,” she complained. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Why should I go to such lengths to discredit that nobody? And why should I worry about her unless you are truly infatuated with her and seek to protect her for your own personal reasons?”

  Her bolt struck home. Once again, Devlin knew he had to tread with care and make the reason for his interests in Fenella’s welfare seem reputable. Devlin looked at her; his eyes narrowed, seeking the truth. Lady Penelope gazed back with her eyes wide open, seemingly guileless.

  Devlin let out a long breath and relaxed his grip on her arm. There was a flicker of uncertainty in his expression; perhaps all this was none of her doing and the blame lay fully at Sir Marcus’ door? Devlin pulled her up so that their faces almost met.

  Ignoring her mewling protest, he continued, “Let me warn you now, so listen and listen well. Let your friend touch one hair on her head; let him make one wrong move; let him sully or discredit her in any way, I can assure you it will be over. There will be no marriage, no fine match with the Duke of Wyndlesham and Society shall hear of how you stooped so low as to poison another person’s existence through your own insane jealousy. I have not forgotten how you endangered her life.”

  He flung her away from him and she sank, shuddering, into a crumpled heap on the floor. She lay there, weeping quietly but Devlin remained unmoved by her muffled sobs. He turned his head away from her.

  “By God, but you have served me well. Get out!” His voice was sarcastic and cold.

  Lady Penelope pulled her cloak around herself and slipped away.

  Devlin threw on a robe and strode from one end of his bedroom to the other. His mind was made up; he could not marry that viper. Devlin was sure that, despite her denials, somehow she had a hand in this whole fiasco. Lady Penelope must have put Sir Marcus up to it. It was impossible to believe otherwise. If his suspicions were correct, he was shocked at the level of deception she was prepared to entertain in order to get what she wanted.