“It would have surprised me to hear she had done so,” he remarked. “Lady Shelby loves no one but herself. And even those feelings come with conditions.”
The other man made a snort of agreement.
His respite from his guests over, Deveril took leave of his friend and wandered over to the line of chairs that had been set out for the matrons and those young ladies who either did not care to dance, or had not been asked. An empty seat next to Lady Madeline Essex beckoned, but as he glanced up, he saw a familiar figure slipping through the doors leading to a hallway off the family rooms. Changing direction, he threaded his way through chattering guests, and finally made his way to the exit.
When he reached the corridor, it was deserted except for a few wandering pairs taking advantage of the less crowded room for quiet conversation. Or perhaps for assignations. He was hardly one to judge.
Turning into a side hallway, he saw what he was looking for. A familiar man was turning a key in the door of Alec’s office.
“Uncle,” he said, making no effort to hush his approach. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Roderick Devenish gave a start at being caught, but quickly regained his composure.
“Nephew,” he nodded, revealing the extent to which his graying hair had begun its slow retreat toward the back of his scalp. “I was just wondering if you had any of those Spanish cheroots you like so much.”
Bollocks. But Alec did not challenge him.
“Were you, indeed?” he asked blandly, letting his eyes convey what he really thought of that falsehood. “I would have offered one if I knew you wanted one. Of course I didn’t realize you had a key.”
A pregnant silence fell between the two men. Alec marveled at his uncle’s audacity. He was just like Alec’s late father.
“A legacy of my youth, I’m afraid,” Roderick said, fingering the key in his hand. “And I thank you for the offer, but I’ve decided I don’t wish to indulge after all.”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to return to the ballroom,” Deveril said, his voice still calm. “If the other guests find you wandering about in the family quarters, then they’ll think we’re actually family.”
At the cut, Roderick let his urbane mask slip.
“You know as well as I do that the same poisonous blood runs in us both.”
His sneer made him look every one of his fifty years.
Unwilling to be led down that path tonight, Alec shook his head. “Get out,” he said simply. The steel in his tone was sharp and cold. “But first give me the key.”
The naked hatred on his uncle’s face was nothing new. It was akin to the look his own father had turned on him so many years ago. Grudgingly, he slapped the key into Alec’s outstretched hand. Turning, he stalked back down the hallway in the direction from which Deveril had come.
When he was sure Roderick was gone, Alec let himself into the study to ensure that nothing had been disturbed. To his relief nothing had. He did find, however, a collar—the same sort worn by the housemaids. He had no illusions that it had been dropped in the course of her regular duties. Roderick, it seemed, was as ever, just like his late brother.
The same blood might run in both of them, but Deveril was determined to ensure no woman he encountered would ever find herself a victim of it. He’d built his entire adult life upon that principle.
When he stepped back into the hall, he saw that the door to the music room three doors down was slightly ajar, and strode down the hall. Tonight, it seemed, the ballroom might be the least crowded room in Deveril House.
* * *
Hiding behind a screen was not how Miss Shelby had intended to spend the bulk of the Deveril ball.
When she’d arrived an hour earlier, she and her cousin Madeline had dutifully made their way to the side of the ballroom, where chairs had been set up for the chaperones and wallflowers. Though their other cousin, Cecily, had recently wed the Duke of Winterson, Juliet and Maddie had no illusions that they were now to be accepted among the elite of London society.
After an hour or so of chatting with Maddie, and later Colonel Lord Monteith, a friend of Winterson’s, she’d felt the familiar sting of pain in her left leg. But it was the note in her reticule that made her less than eager to socialize. Pleading a headache, which showed every indication of becoming a real complaint, she excused herself to pore over the cryptic message in private.
Limping through the darkened corridors of Deveril House, she finally found the music room, which was, thankfully, deserted. She’d always admired the room, and had even played the magnificent pianoforte a time or two for the small musical evenings Viscount Deveril’s sisters sometimes held. Though much younger than Juliet and her cousins, Lydia and Katherine Devenish were personable young ladies, and among the few friends the cousins could name amongst the more fashionable crowds of the ton.
She’d no sooner stepped into the music room when she heard familiar voices approaching in the hall. Cursing fate, she hurried as quickly as her painful leg would allow behind an elaborately decorated chinoiserie screen, where she lowered herself onto a tufted stool and waited for her unwelcome visitors to leave.
“I cannot account for it, Felicia,” Miss Snowe complained. “It is bad enough that Cecily Hurston has stolen a march on every eligible female in London by marrying Winterson, but now she thinks to foist her ridiculous cousins on the ton. I had thought that Lydia and Katherine had more discernment than to allow such unfashionable people free rein in their ballroom. Or Lord Deveril for that matter. I am sorely disappointed in the Devenish family at the moment.”
“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly,” Amelia’s bosom friend, Lady Felicia Downes said.
What a surprise. Juliet rolled her eyes.
“It’s insulting to anyone of taste,” Lady Felicia continued, “as if we’ve forgotten how the Ugly Ducklings languished with the rest of the ineligibles these past three years. Does Cecily Hurston really believe that her lucky marriage will erase Lady Madeline’s plumpness or Miss Shelby’s unfortunate limp?”
Juliet could hardly be surprised at Felicia’s unkind words; hearing them aloud, however, stung. For the three years since their debut, when Amelia had dubbed the unfashionable cousins “the Ugly Ducklings,” they’d been subjected to one unkindness or another from the blonde beauty and her friend. Though she had hoped that Cecily’s marriage to the Duke of Winterson would give the cousins a much-needed social boost, it would appear with Amelia and Felicia the change in status for Cecily had barely registered. And it most certainly hadn’t erased their derision for Madeline and Juliet.
“Cecily Hurston may have trapped Winterson into marriage,” Amelia said, “but there is no way that Lady Madeline or Miss Shelby can possibly expect to make comparable matches. Why, the idea is preposterous.”
“While it is certainly within the realm of possibility that Madeline will go on a strict reducing regimen,” Amelia continued, warming to her topic, “there is certainly nothing that Juliet can do about her unfortunate limp. I had supposed that one such as she would be confined to her home and not be thrust upon genteel society. I wonder what her parents were thinking to bring her out as if she were any normal girl.”
Juliet felt her cheeks redden with anger. It wasn’t as if she had never heard such sentiments expressed before. Indeed, her own mother had at times said similar things, though she had the decency to keep her thoughts out of the public eye. So long as Juliet kept the true nature of her unfortunate injury secret, Lady Shelby had agreed that her daughter might attend as many society events as she wished. But to hear Amelia Snowe, who had fooled the gentlemen of the ton into believing her to be a sweet and nurturing angel, express such sentiments was infuriating.
“I daresay,” Felicia responded, “they are hoping to marry her off to some aged lord who has already sired an heir. The idea of anyone else wishing to marry such an antidote is laughable. What man would possibly wish for the mother of his children to drag herself around with a walking sti
ck?”
As she listened to the two girls share their mirth at her expense, Juliet vowed to “accidentally” trip Amelia at the first opportunity.
“You don’t suppose they’ve already chosen someone, do you?” Amelia asked, once her giggles had subsided. “Because I would dearly love to be present at that wedding! How does one stumble down the aisle, do you think?”
“At least we would not be forced to see her dance at her own wedding! Imagine what a spectacle that would be! Carroty hair mixed with a halting gait. She will be as amusing as a performer at the circus.” This came from Lady Felicia.
The laughing fit brought on by that bit of mean-spiritedness was interrupted by a cough. A gentleman’s cough.
“Miss Snowe, Lady Felicia,” she heard a deep voice say. “How is it that you are not on the dance floor?”
Juliet could all but hear Amelia’s simpering smile slide back into place.
“Your lordship,” she cooed, “what a delightful entertainment you’ve hosted this evening. Felicia and I were just taking a bit of a rest in between sets.”
“I thank you for the compliment,” Viscount Deveril said smoothly, though was that a hint of annoyance Juliet heard in his voice? “I must ask you to return to the festivities,” he continued, his voice definitely cool. “This room is for family use only.”
And you two are not family, his voice implied. Juliet bit back a cheer.
“We will leave at once,” Amelia said, her voice thick with apology. Of course she would not wish to insult an eligible like Deveril, Juliet thought cynically.
“We apologize for the intrusion, my lord,” Felicia cooed.
Juliet bit her lip to keep from laughing at the insincerity.
“There is no harm done, ladies,” Deveril assured them with more generosity than they deserved. “And I pray you,” he added, “try not to stumble down the hall. One would hate to see the two of you make a spectacle of yourselves. This isn’t the circus, you know.”
Behind the screen, Julie’s mouth fell open in astonishment. Had the Viscount Deveril, leader of the fashionable set, just delivered a set down on her behalf? It was not to be believed!
In the room at large, an awkward silence fell, no doubt while Amelia tried to come up with a suitable response. Apparently she was unable to do so, because Juliet soon heard both ladies thank his lordship again for the warning and hurry away in a rustle of silk skirts and the firm click of the closing door.
Waiting a few minutes more to ensure the room really was empty, Juliet was making to rise from her seat behind the screen when she heard the Viscount’s now-familiar voice.
“You may come out now, Miss Shelby. Your detractors have gone back to the ballroom.”
Juliet dropped her head into her hands in frustration.
He had known she was there the whole time.
Damn. And double damn.
Schooling her features, she rose awkwardly from her seat and stepped out from behind the screen.
Praise for Manda Collins’s delightful debut!
“Warmth, wit, and delicious chemistry shine through every page … With a heroine to root for and a hero to die for, How to Dance with a Duke is a romance to remember.”
—Bestselling author Julie Anne Long
“Sexy, thrilling, and romantic—whether she’s writing of the mysteries of the heart or of the shady underworld of Egyptian relic smuggling, Manda Collins makes her Regency world a place any reader would want to dwell.”
—New York Times bestselling author Kieran Kramer
“Manda Collins writes sexy and smart historical romance, with a big dash of fun. Romance readers will adore How to Dance with a Duke!”
—Booklist New Stars of Historical Romance author Vanessa Kelly
“Regency lovers have a new author to add to their dance cards! Manda Collins heats up the ballroom and writes romance to melt even the frostiest duke’s heart. With sparkling Regency wit, a dash of mystery, and just the right amount of steam, How to Dance with a Duke is an enchanting debut, sure to sweep readers off their feet!”
—Tessa Dare
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
HOW TO DANCE WITH A DUKE
Copyright © 2012 by Manda Collins.
Excerpt from How to Romance a Rake copyright © 2012 by Manda Collins.
All rights reserved.
For information address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
ISBN: 978-0-312-54924-4
St. Martin’s Paperbacks edition / February 2012
St. Martin’s Paperbacks are published by St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.
eISBN 978-1-4299-5261-3
How to Dance With a Duke Page 35
