The Dark Duke

by Margaret Moore

  Hester frowned at the duke. She had no wish to be used to bait the duchess, and she resented the duke doing so, and in company, too. It did not help that Lord Elliot was obviously stifling a smile.

  The duchess shot her stepson a venomous glance, then smiled at Sir Douglas. “The duke is always so droll,” she said. “However, he is quite right about Lady Hester’s value to me. I shall be sorry to lose her. Still, she will make some lucky man a fine wife.”

  What on earth was the duchess talking about? Hester thought, blushing. This was the most awkward conversation she had heard or been witness to in her life, and she began to consider ways she could excuse herself.

  “We hope you and your charming daughter will be able to attend the ball,” the duke said to the knight, his deep voice penetrating the sudden heavy silence.

  “Oh, of course,” Sir Douglas said eagerly. “I only regret that I must leave to visit London tomorrow. Business, you know. However, I shall certainly be able to return in time for the ball.”

  “We have already heard from the Duke of Chesterton, who shall attend. And the Earl of Wopping-Hedgehorn, and dear Viscount Albany with his charming wife.”

  Hester watched Damaris listen to the duchess’s recital of the guests who had already written of their attendance at the ball, her eyes growing larger and more fearful. She realized better than Sir Douglas that they really were out of their sphere in such company, which was precisely what Hester supposed the duchess wanted her to realize. Sir Douglas, on the other hand, seemed to swell with pride.

  “The guest list appears to have grown considerably,” the duke observed. “Are we to have the entire House of Lords in attendance?”

  “Of course not!” the duchess replied. “All the guests are friends of the family.”

  “I haven’t seen the Duke of Chesterton since my father’s funeral. In fact, I had thought he was dead.”

  Lord Elliot laughed. “Oh, he’s very much alive, I assure you. He has found a very interesting way of keeping his youth.”

  “What is that, my lord?” Sir Douglas asked studiously.

  “He picks his fruit younger on the vine all the time.”

  Hester flushed, for she had heard things about the Duke of Chesterton, too, and knew that Lord Elliot was referring to the man’s appetite in mistresses.

  The duke’s face darkened with a frown, and even the duchess looked slightly pained, for she would know to what her son referred, given her large circle of correspondence. Damaris looked puzzled, and Sir Douglas appeared worried. “He’ll get indigestion if he eats fruit before it’s ripe,” he said gravely.

  “Indeed he will,” the duke agreed. “I believe we should have a fine harvest from our orchard this year, Sir Douglas,” he continued, deftly changing the subject.

  “I am glad to hear it, Your Grace,” Sir Douglas responded heartily. “I must tell you about a new strain of apple we have been growing in our south orchard. Really, a most remarkable fruit…”

  The talk turned to agricultural matters, at least between Sir Douglas and the duke. Hester had no idea what Lord Elliot and Damaris were whispering about, nor was she the only one who noticed their hushed conversation. Several times the duchess addressed her son, and each time he gave her a short, polite response before turning back to Damaris.

  Hester said nothing at all, and nobody seemed to notice.

  Finally Sir Douglas rose and gave his daughter a significant look. “Regretfully, Your Grace, we should be on our way.”

  The duchess graciously—and Hester thought, quite sincerely—nodded her goodbye while Damaris rose.

  A pleased look crossed the young woman’s face when Lord Elliot took hold of her hand. “Farewell for the moment” he said quietly.

  The duke waited until Lord Elliot had released her hand, and then he very slowly repeated the gesture. Bending low, he brushed his lips across the back of her hand in a kiss that was more of an intimate caress, glancing up at Damaris with what Hester knew was the overwhelming intensity he was so capable of. “Adieu, Miss Sackville-Cooper.”

  Hester swallowed hard, and Damaris seemed powerless to move, which was a perfectly understandable reaction.

  “Good day, Miss Sackville-Cooper,” the duchess said sharply, and suddenly Damaris found the ability to walk.

  The two young men watched her graceful exit, and Hester thought she had rarely seen two such similarly speculative and approving expressions.

  The type of expressions that never had been, and never would be, directed at her.

  The next few days passed in agonizing slowness for Adrian, as he was forced to keep to the house again while his leg recovered from the strain he had put upon it.

  This time the waiting was much worse than when he had first returned to Barroughby Hall, because Elliot had come home. Mapleton had already reported meeting Elliot drunk and careening down a public street, and repeated the rude remarks his drunken half brother had made.

  That was not the worst of it, though. Because of Elliot, Adrian had been forced to ignore Hester and pretend an interest in Damaris, when he wished very much to do otherwise. Unfortunately, it was the only way to ensure Hester’s safety. If Elliot thought Adrian the slightest bit interested in a woman, he would do everything he could to seduce her, just to spite his brother, usually—and unfortunately—with success. He had done so with others, most recently Elizabeth Howell. Hester had no family to guard her, and she was under the same roof.

  Damaris, on the other hand, had a father to protect her, and she lived in another house.

  Therefore, Adrian had had no choice but to feign indifference to Hester, no matter how contrary that was to the wishes of his heart.

  Once his leg was somewhat better, Adrian attended to other matters pertaining to Elliot’s presence in Barroughby. He had already gone to speak to several publicans and told them, in no uncertain terms, that he would pay Elliot’s current debts, and no more. The tavern keepers had not been pleased to hear that. Nevertheless, they agreed when Adrian suggested rather pointedly that they should limit the volume of ale and wine they sold to his sibling.

  At present, Adrian was at a different establishment, for a different purpose. He knew that sooner or later Elliot would probably find his way to Sally Newcombe’s, too.

  As Adrian sat upon the red-velvet-and-gilt sofa, he gazed at the equally garish red brocade wallpaper, the crystal lamps and the heavy, blood red velvet curtains. This room had been the drawing room when the house had been a family’s home; now it could more properly be described as a combination waiting room and display area.

  Sally was taking her own sweet time coming downstairs, he thought grimly, not wishing to spend any longer here than strictly necessary in case another “patron” should appear. That would cause a spate of gossip he could well do without.

  A petite, black-haired sprite of a woman, with snapping black eyes and wearing nothing but a smile, a corset and drawers, came sauntering provocatively into the room. “Bonjour, monsieur le due,” she said huskily when he rose politely. “Please, sit”

  She lounged in a sofa opposite him, in a pose reminiscent of classical paintings of nymphs or goddesses, and incidentally giving him quite a view of her voluptuous breasts.

  The woman had no sooner arranged herself when another young woman entered the room, a willowy brunette with long legs and green eyes, wearing a silk peignoir. By the time he had resumed his seat again, a third woman had joined them. She was a rather plump young lady with dark brown hair, brown eyes and excellent skin.

  Then another came, and at her Adrian looked the longest. He gave her a warm smile, too, for he remembered the slender blonde with blue eyes.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” Maisie said, returning his smile as she sat near the windows.

  Adrian recalled another pair of blue eyes that would never, ever, witness a life such as these women led. He was glad for Hester’s sake, and once again cursed the path that gave him such easy familiarity with Sally and several of her
counterparts in London.

  After Maisie came a redhead with freckles and a most shapely figure, and another brown-haired beauty.

  Adrian noted with quiet satisfaction that not one of Sally’s “employees” was a child, or ill fed, or bruised. Theirs was not an easy life, but at least with Sally they were as safe as women in that profession ever could be. Without her they would be beggars or streetwalkers, and several of them would already be dead.

  Finally Sally deigned to arrive, clad in a pink negligee that revealed far more than it concealed. She was a voluptuous woman of middle years, but she hid her age well with the clever use of cosmetics. A cloud of floral perfume attended her. “Out you go, girls,” she ordered, and the cavalcade of women departed in an atmosphere of speculation and disappointment.

  In Adrian’s youth Sally had been lover, friend and teacher, and he regarded her fondly as she slid onto the sofa beside him. “What a pleasure to see you again, Adrian.”

  “And you, Sally.”

  “Maisie’s looking well, isn’t she?” Sally asked archly.

  “Very well,” Adrian replied noncommittally. “I notice Angela wasn’t among the parade.”

  “Oh, she’s got herself a little shop in Liverpool. Doing very well, so I hear.” She moved a little closer. “Maisie’s glad to see you, too.”

  “I didn’t come here on business of that sort, Sally,” Adrian replied.

  Sally gave him a puzzled look. “Why, then? For old times’ sake?”

  “I came to let you know that Elliot is home.”

  Sally’s lip curled with undisguised disgust. “So I heard. I won’t have him here,” she said firmly. “Not after last time. Daphne was scared half to death. She ran off the next week. Probably to London, poor dear. You know what sort of thing’ll happen to a girl there. Relation or no, you can tell him he’s damn well not welcome here.”

  “I understand,” Adrian said, “and I’m sorry about Daphne. But no matter what I say to Elliot to try to prevent him from coming here, he will probably arrive at your door eventually.”

  Sally wrapped her skimpy garment about herself and shook her head. “I’ll bar it.”

  Adrian took her hand, gazing into her world-weary eyes. “Sally, if he’s not allowed in here, I don’t know what he might do.”

  Still Sally shook her head. “That’s not my lookout, is it? He’s a selfish beast. I’ve got the girls to think of.”

  “I know. Believe me, Sally, I know.” He gripped Sally’s hand more tightly and thought of a certain young woman who was residing in his house, and another equally innocent young woman who would surely tempt Elliot. “I don’t like to ask this, yet I feel I must. Isn’t there someone…?”

  Sally gazed at him, aghast. “I see what you’re getting at! I said, relation or no, he’s not welcome.”

  “I’ll pay whatever you like.”

  “It’ll cost you plenty!”

  “Then I will pay plenty. Won’t you please do me this favor, Sally?”

  At first Adrian thought she meant to refuse, but then she sighed and looked him straight in the eye. “Well…I do have someone who might do,” she said. “The new girl. Desiree.”

  “The dark-haired French girl who came in first?”

  “I thought you might take a fancy to her, even if she didn’t have blue eyes.”

  “Not a bad choice—but I’ve given up such expensive luxuries.”

  Sally’s eyes widened with surprise, then she grinned. “Why pay when those rich, bored ladies will give it away, eh?”

  Adrian thought it better to return to the business at hand. “This Desiree, she’s not new at…?”

  “The job? Good lord, no. Comes from Paris. Born into it, I gather. They take a different attitude, those French. More civilized, if you ask me.”.

  “I suppose that depends upon what you mean by ’civilized.’”

  Sally chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that partly accounted for her success. “More practical, then.” Sally grew serious again. “She knows how to defend herself, that one. Keeps a knife under the pillow. Her mother and her aunts taught her how to use it, too. If anybody can be safe with that scum, it’ll be Desiree. I remember he was plenty fussy, but he seemed to like the small ones. All the easier to frighten, I daresay.”

  “Couldn’t you have a watch, or a signal, or something?”

  “Oh, I’ll have that, never you fear”.

  Adrian drew out his wallet and waited.

  “It’ll cost you twenty pounds a visit. I keep what he pays, too.”

  Adrian nodded. It was money well spent if it prevented Elliot from trying to seduce young women less able to defend themselves. “A fair sum. I brought that much, knowing that we could surely arrive at an understanding,” he said, handing her the money.

  Sally eyed the rest of the cash in his wallet, and Adrian suspected she was wishing she had named a higher sum. However, he knew she wouldn’t ask for more. Once she made a bargain, she kept it.

  Sally tucked the money into the bodice of her negligee, then smiled seductively. “Not having to rush off, are you, Adrian?” she said in a soft and sultry voice as her hand reached out and stroked his thigh. “I’m not busy.”

  Adrian was very tempted. Sally was here, she was willing, she was doing him a vast favor and she was the only type of woman he deserved, one who made him pay for his pleasure.

  He felt her breath hot on his cheek, the weight of her breast against his arm, smelled the cheap perfume on her flesh—and suddenly hated himself anew. He was sullied enough; he didn’t need to add to his condemnation.

  He gave Sally a brief and regretful smile as he rose. “Sorry, but I have many things to do. Perhaps you’ve heard that the duchess is giving a ball?”

  “Yes, I heard,” Sally said, her eyes once again as hard and sharp as the dangling crystals on her lamps.

  “Then I must be off.” He bowed. “Thank you, Sally, and Desiree, if necessary. I won’t forget this.”

  Sally nodded and watched the Duke of Barroughby walk out. Then she went to the window and saw him mount his fine black stallion. “No, you won’t forget, Your Grace, not after paying twenty pounds,” she murmured, and then she sighed.

  Meanwhile, Elliot sat on a very comfortable sofa in the drawing room of the large and newly built manor house of the Sackville-Coopers and watched Damaris as she played the pianoforte. The autumn sunlight fell across her ornately dressed hair and lit her beautiful face. She wore a very pretty gown of light green muslin, with a costly necklace and lace mitts. He would have admired the gown more if it had revealed more of its wearer, and he would have admired her playing, if she’d had any talent at all.

  However, he was not the least interested in her musical abilities, although he had discovered that women with an appreciation of musical rhythm carried that appreciation to their other passionate activities. He was far more interested in watching the movements of her breasts while she played.

  She finished her tune and turned to look at him. So eager, so innocent, so very beautiful. “Would you care for something else, Lord Elliot?” she asked brightly.

  Elliot smiled slowly, thinking of the many “something elses” he would care to do with her. “I would be very happy if we could dispense with the formalities” he replied softly and with his most seductive manner as he stood and approached the instrument. “Please, won’t you call me Elliot?”

  Damaris’s cowlike eyes widened. “Oh, but I couldn’t! It wouldn’t be proper!”

  “I know,” he said, smiling down at her. “But then I would be able to call you by your beautiful first name, instead of that awkwardly long last one.”

  She blushed and stared down at her slender fingers as they lay on the keys, as if she were about to caress them. “I suppose if we didn’t do so in public, it would be all right, my lord,” she whispered, glancing up at him with a shyness he found most alluring.

  “Elliot.”

  She nodded. “Elliot.”

  “Good. Now I think I w
ould enjoy something lively, Damaris.”

  She chewed her delectable bottom lip as she searched through the sheets of music on the piano.

  Elliot shifted, feeling that familiar, pleasant tumescence, and wished there wasn’t a footman stationed outside the drawing room door.

  Still, even with the hovering presence of the footmen in the hall, seducing her would not be impossible. Not for him. He would just have to be careful. As for any potential aftermath, he wouldn’t have to worry. Sir Douglas would be far too concerned about his family’s name to want his daughter’s shame made public knowledge.

  In the meantime, there was always Sally Newcombe’s. He fingered his wallet in his breast pocket. If he was low on the actual cash, he was certain Sally would give credit to Adrian’s half brother.

  “Shall I turn the pages for you, Damaris?” he offered graciously when he realized she had finally selected a piece and was preparing to play.

  She smiled at him. “Oh, indeed, yes…Elliot.”

  He gestured at the sheet. “And you start…?”

  “Here.” She reached out and touched the place on the sheet music.

  “Here?” he repeated, placing his hand beside hers so that they touched.

  She yanked her hand away, blushing and giggling self-consciously.

  Elliot hated women who giggled, but he was pleased by the blush and the sensation of her warm flesh against his. “Forgive me,” he murmured.

  She glanced up at him, and his gaze held hers for a long moment—long enough for him to experience a surge of triumph.

  She would be his, and it wouldn’t take long.-

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the butler enter the room. “The Reverend McKenna,” the man announced, stepping aside to make way for the young clergyman, who took one look at Elliot and Damaris and colored as much as the young lady had.

  “I’m sorry to intrude,” he stammered, glancing about like a man seeking a way out of a burning building.

  He wants her, too, Elliot realized, and the thought increased his desire, as any competition in such matters always did. To beat Adrian and this young fool into Damaris’s bed—it would be a double victory.