Never Kiss a Duke

by Megan Frampton

  “Thank you, but your gown is a perfect color for you.”

  “And Miss Octavia! I admire your aplomb in choosing such a bold gown.” In someone less earnest, the words might have sounded like a cleverly disguised insult, but coming from Lady Ana Maria, it was a sincere compliment. “Come in, come in. People are dancing already, although I haven’t yet ventured out.”

  Ivy wrinkled her brow. “Not from lack of invitations, I hope?” Because Society was fickle enough to decide to ostracize Mr. de Silva’s half sister if they judged her by his antecedents. And if they had, Ivy would have to ostracize them from her club. She’d already spotted a few of her regular customers here.

  “No, I’m just—” And she glanced over the ladies’ shoulders to the door, a look of hopeful expectation on her face. “Thaddeus is here, of course, but Sebastian isn’t yet. I thought he might arrive with you.”

  “No, he went off with the Duke of Malvern earlier this afternoon.” And hadn’t returned when they’d left, much to Ivy’s consternation. What if he didn’t appear? His sister would be so disappointed. Not to mention Ivy.

  But Lady Ana Maria was speaking. There was no time for Ivy to get her hopes up about seeing him, perhaps even dancing with him. “I do hope you have fun. And I am so glad you are here. My brother seems so different since coming to live with you—”

  “Maybe because he’s not a duke any longer?” Octavia interjected in a dry tone of voice.

  Ivy nudged her sister in the ribs.

  “I suppose, although it’s more than that,” Lady Ana Maria replied, as though it were a serious question and not Octavia being sly.

  “We should let you greet your other guests,” Ivy said, glancing back to where a small group of people were clustered at the door. “Thank you again for the invitation.”

  “Thank you for coming,” Lady Ana Maria replied.

  Ivy and Octavia wandered around the periphery of the ballroom, coming to stand at the opposite end from the door next to a pillar holding a marble bust of some grim-looking past relative of Sebastian and the duke’s.

  “This is the best vantage point to see when Sebastian arrives,” Octavia said in satisfaction.

  “Oh, is it?” Ivy asked.

  Octavia rolled her eyes. “As if that’s not why you brought us over here. You cannot fool me. You already told me you like him.”

  Ivy’s breath caught. Like was such a mild word for what she felt, although her mind shied away from that other word that began with L. She couldn’t feel that toward him, could she?

  “Ivy?”

  Ivy shook her thoughts free, looking determinedly toward the dance floor. “I believe that is Mr. Jennings, Lady Massingley’s nephew. You remember, the one Sebastian nearly—?”

  “Nearly knocked down in the middle of the club? Yes, that’s him,” Octavia said in a fierce tone. “I wonder how he came to be invited. If he tries anything tonight, if he ruins Lady Ana Maria’s night, then—”

  “There’s no need to be so pugnacious, Octavia. There are plenty of people ahead of you in line to punch the gentleman. I think I might be at least number five down the list, judging from the company.”

  And then there he was, standing at the entrance to the ballroom.

  Ivy kept herself from reacting to his presence, at least on the outside, merely acknowledging him with a slight incline of her head. He smiled at her, a “we did things together that were entirely wicked” type of smile, and she felt her knees wobble a little. He crossed the distance between them quickly with his long stride.

  “Good evening, ladies,” he said.

  Octavia narrowed her eyes as she looked between them. “I feel as though I am an unwilling third partner in whatever dance you two have begun. If you will excuse me?”

  And she walked away, leaving them alone. Alone except for the hundred or so other guests milling about the enormous room. But alone in that nobody could hear their conversation.

  “You look lovely, Ivy,” he murmured. His gaze traveled from the top of her head to her shoes and back up again. It felt as though he was stripping her bare. Or perhaps she wished he was stripping her bare.

  Was it possible to become addicted to something after just one time?

  It was, judging by her experience at the club.

  Which meant that it was quite possible she was now addicted to sexual adventures with him.

  Drat.

  “You look quite fine yourself.” She took the opportunity to allow her eyes to soak in his splendor. Like the previous evening, he wore excellently tailored clothing that clung to his muscular frame like a clinging lover.

  Perhaps not the best analogy, given her present frame of mind. Or, given that, perhaps the absolute best.

  She had never been so contrary before.

  His jacket and trousers were black, and his shirt and neckcloth were both white. He wore that same gold waistcoat he’d had on when she had first met him. It was still ostentatious, and he still looked incredibly attractive in it.

  Though she might have to admit to finding him more attractive when he was wearing her shift. Or nothing at all.

  “I can tell what you’re thinking,” he said in a low tone. “You’d make a terrible card player,” he added with a sly grin.

  She resisted the urge to smack him. Or kiss him.

  Instead, she just rolled her eyes.

  “Would you care to dance?” he asked, gesturing toward the crowd of people in the middle of the room. He held his hand out to her and she grasped it, feeling her heart do something odd in her chest as he squeezed her fingers.

  It was just a dance.

  But it was also the opportunity for her to pretend, just for as long as it took the musicians to play a song, that she was a normal Society lady. That her partner might be interested in her for something more than a dance, representing marriage and family and security.

  “Let us show them how it’s done, Ivy,” he said in a low tone as he escorted her onto the dance floor.

  “How do you know I can dance?” she asked, tilting her head up at him.

  His lips curled into a knowing smile, and she shivered. “Because even if you can’t, you know how to move with me. You showed me just that last night.”

  She released a shuddery breath, allowing him to draw her into his arms.

  The music began, and of course it was a waltz. She hadn’t danced since her brief foray into Society, and even then, she hadn’t been more than adequate.

  But in his arms? With him guiding her through the steps, and her listening and reacting to his movements?

  It felt as though she’d always known how to dance. As though the movement was as natural as breathing air.

  Or more so, given how difficult it currently was to breathe.

  “I couldn’t picture you in this world before, Ivy. I could only see you as the fearsome owner of the club.”

  “Fearsome?”

  He nodded in mock sincerity. “Oh yes. Fearsome for your ability to garner loyalty from the most irascible group I’ve ever met.”

  “That’s just Mac,” she said, laughing.

  “Fearsome for how you manage to contain your ebullient sister.”

  Ivy released a sigh indicating her long-suffering. Albeit with a smirk on her face.

  “Fearsome for how you managed to win first my fealty and then my”—he glanced down, indicating what he meant—“my cribbage board.”

  She burst out laughing. “Is that what you’re calling it?”

  “In polite company, of course,” he replied in a stuffy tone.

  She shook her head, then forgot everything as his arms tightened around her, and he whirled her through the steps of the dance.

  This exuberance couldn’t last, but she would enjoy it while she could. All too soon she would have to return to her own life.

  Though it wasn’t as if she was suffering; she owned her own future, she held all the cards in her hand, and she would never have to compromise or bluff her way through any situati
on.

  “Ivy, I—” he began.

  “Sebastian!”

  The new duke, the military gentleman, had appeared at their side, a nearly delighted expression on his face.

  Sebastian’s steps faltered, and then he stopped dancing, his body suddenly rigid.

  “What is it?” he asked. He glanced at Ivy, his brow furrowed. “I promise you, a happy Thaddeus is not his usual way of being.”

  “Come this way, if you would. Could you excuse us?” he said to Ivy, not waiting for her reply as he took Sebastian’s arm and led him away.

  Leaving her on the dance floor alone.

  She supposed it was just as well it be now rather than later. It would give her time to grow accustomed to the solitude.

  You will be no more alone than you were before he came, she reminded herself. It will be fine.

  “What?” Sebastian growled as Thaddeus practically dragged him to the edge of the ballroom. Thad didn’t reply, instead glancing from one side of the room to the other before pulling Sebastian behind one of the large pillars lining the room. The pillar held an enormous bouquet of flowers, and Thad jostled it, sending a cascade of petals onto his hair. He glowered, then shook his head like one of Sebastian’s dogs after a walk in the rain.

  “You recall how we were just speaking about your return. And how I vowed to come to an amenable solution.” Now Thaddeus looked smug, making Sebastian uneasy. Thaddeus was seldom pleased with himself unless he’d completed some sort of large-scale military maneuver. “I’ve just spoken with Mr. Muttlefield, he owns the largest export business in London.”

  “And?” Sebastian said impatiently. “What does this have to do with me?”

  The muscle in Thaddeus’s jaw clenched. “If you’ll listen. Mr. Muttlefield has just done Her Majesty a great favor. It doesn’t matter what it was, but the thing is, he has a daughter of marriageable age. And he will soon be made a baron.”

  Sebastian didn’t say anything, just kept regarding Thaddeus, whose clenched jaw was becoming more pronounced.

  “Don’t you understand? Mr. Muttlefield wants his daughter to enter our world, this world, and the easiest way to do so is for her to marry into it. Now, once other gentlemen hear about the young Miss Muttlefield, you won’t have a chance. But the gentleman informed me just now that his daughter has seen you and has taken a liking to your general appearance. She would not be averse to you paying court to her.” Thaddeus’s expression was triumphant. “It’s all arranged, and so quickly, too. You will marry her, and you will have a purpose, helping to manage your wife’s fortune. She comes with a healthy dowry, I may have forgotten to mention.”

  Now Sebastian couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to.

  “She’s over there, speaking with Ana Maria.”

  Sebastian turned to where Thaddeus was pointing. His sister stood in a cluster of ladies so he couldn’t figure out which was Miss Muttlefield.

  But he knew it wasn’t the lady in the gold gown, who stood in the group. Ivy. His chest squeezed at the thought of her hearing of Thaddeus’s plan.

  Fuck.

  “Well?” Now it was Thaddeus’s turn to sound impatient. “Is it too much to hope you’d be grateful?”

  “Thaddeus, I really wish you hadn’t done any of this. Not without asking me.” I don’t want this.

  “Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Thaddeus sounded bewildered, which Sebastian had never heard from his decisive cousin before. “We spoke about it just this afternoon!” As though bringing it up in conversation was equal to agreeing to whatever machinations Thaddeus might devise.

  “It is the last thing I wished for,” he gritted out. “It’s well-intentioned, but don’t you see that this kind of conniving is just as deplorable as what my mother did? Lying to achieve a certain status?”

  “A certain status? Or do you mean the only status you’ve ever known?”

  “Stow it, Thad. Even if it was possible to make me a duke again, I wouldn’t want it.” Saying it aloud made it so much more real. And he knew he believed it. “Not if it means compromising myself and my goals.”

  “But—”

  Sebastian glanced over toward Ivy again, feeling an irrepressible urge to speak with her. Before it was too late. Before she heard.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” He had to go over there and make certain she didn’t know about any of this.

  Because—damn, because he loved her.

  He loved her. And that was worth more than anything.

  “Sebastian!”

  He ignored Thaddeus calling his name.

  “Miss Ivy, you and my brother dance so wonderfully together,” Lady Ana Maria said, the warmth of her eyes easing Ivy’s discomfort at being abandoned on the dance floor.

  “Lady Ana Maria, I didn’t know you were Mr. de Silva’s sister!” The young lady who spoke was elegantly, perfectly gowned, with a strand of brilliant diamonds around her neck that caught the light.

  “I am, Miss Muttlefield.” Lady Ana Maria gazed off toward where Sebastian had last been seen. Unlike Ivy, she had not tracked him from the dance floor to behind the pillar.

  “He is so handsome,” the lady enthused.

  “He is.” Lady Ana Maria sounded uncomfortable; perhaps she had realized that there was more to their relationship than one of employee/employer? “Miss Holton, may I present Miss Muttlefield?”

  The ladies shook hands as Lady Ana Maria kept speaking. “Miss Muttlefield’s father is in shipping.” Miss Muttlefield looked anxious, as though Ivy was going to stomp off because there was a person from commerce in her general vicinity.

  “Miss Holton is a businesswoman herself,” Lady Ana Maria continued. “She and my brother . . . work together,” she said, fluttering her hands in a vague manner.

  “Oh!” Miss Muttlefield said in a relieved tone of voice. “Then you understand how it feels to be here. I am so grateful to the duke for his invitation this evening.”

  “How did your father make the duke’s acquaintance?” Lady Ana Maria asked.

  Miss Muttlefield shrugged. “I am not certain. Father doesn’t share details of his business with me. He is determined to make a lady of me,” she added with a self-deprecating laugh. “I’ve had lessons in French, Italian, embroidery, dancing, and painting. Watercolors only, of course,” she said.

  “Of course,” Ivy echoed with a smile.

  “And he especially wanted me here to see what I thought of all this.” Miss Muttlefield’s bright expression revealed what her opinion was. “He has given me a great dowry so as to attract the best gentlemen for my hand,” she continued artlessly.

  “Miss Muttlefield, if I may be so bold, it is not always polite to discuss finances at a party,” Ivy said in a quiet tone that she hoped wasn’t condemning. More like a wise older sister. “I have discovered that myself,” she added in a self-deprecating tone, even though it was a lie. She just didn’t want Miss Muttlefield to feel as though she was being reprimanded.

  Miss Muttlefield’s eyes widened. “Oh, I know that! I just thought that since Lady Ana Maria is his sister that it would not matter as much.” She ducked her head. “Father said that Mr. de Silva might be in need of a bride and a fortune. If he is to return to Society.”

  Ivy’s throat closed.

  “We have been asking him to come back,” Lady Ana Maria said, sounding enthusiastic. “No offense to what he is doing with you, Miss Holton,” she added. “This might be the perfect thing for him.”

  What he is doing with you, Miss Holton.

  And what was that, anyway? He had never told her how he felt.

  And she hadn’t asked.

  Nor had she said.

  Because it was all temporary, they both knew that.

  “Perfect,” Ivy said. “If you will excuse me?” She nodded at both the ladies, willing herself not to storm away or fall down in a sobbing heap or anything that would reveal her own feelings.

  Which were—well. That would be something she would ask herself ano
ther time. Right now, she just needed to leave.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sebastian saw her walk swiftly toward the entrance, saw Ana Maria and who he presumed was Miss Muttlefield looking after her in surprise. Octavia burst out of nowhere and dashed after her, making everyone look at them.

  He was opening his mouth to call her name, never mind that everyone would notice and gossip about it, when he was stopped short by a hard grip on his shoulder.

  “Ex-Hasford.”

  It was Mr. Jennings who’d grabbed him, surrounded by a more sober, more belligerent Lord Linehan and a few other gentlemen whose expressions were equally derisive.

  Wonderful. Just what he needed. More entitled disdain when all he wanted was to chase after her.

  “Let go of me.” Sebastian kept his voice low. He didn’t want to ruin Ana Maria’s party with a brawl. But he would if necessary. He gave a furtive glance around the room; thankfully, Nash was not in the area, or he knew there would be a brawl.

  “I knew you would be here, no matter that you are a bastard,” Mr. Jennings practically spat out. As though those two things had anything to do with one another.

  He wanted to address the incongruity, but doubted they would follow his line of reasoning.

  “Is this what you gentlemen do for pleasure?” Sebastian asked, placing his hand on Mr. Jennings’s and yanking it off his shoulder. “Find someone you believe is lesser than you and point that fact out to them?” He shook his head. “Seems like a waste of time to me. Besides which, what happens when someone finds you lesser?”

  Had admitting he’d fallen in love suddenly increased his ability to philosophize? He was impressed. By himself.

  Perhaps he hadn’t shucked the duke persona enough.

  “You should stick to your own kind. Bastard,” Mr. Jennings said. “It’s a good thing your sister has an excellent dowry,” he sneered as he shoved Sebastian back.

  He was able to keep from falling down, thank goodness, but he wasn’t able to keep his fist from Mr. Jennings’s nose.

  Oops.

  That gentleman was not so lucky, falling down in a heap on the dance floor as the assembled crowd gasped.