The Duke's Daring Debutante (Regency Historical Romance)

by Ann Lethbridge

  Mother pursed her lips. ‘The betrothal of a duke is a matter of great importance. It cannot be skimped.’

  As usual she took the contrary position to anything he suggested. Just as he’d hoped. He shrugged. ‘The wedding celebration is usually the main event.’

  ‘You would put us to shame?’

  Minette winced. ‘If it would not be too bold an offer, I would love to help.’

  Mother stiffened. ‘I am perfectly capable of arranging for the entertainment of a hundred people, Miss Rideau.’

  ‘A hundred?’ Minette put down her teacup with a shaking hand. Her gaze flew to Freddy’s face. ‘I had no idea so many had been invited.’

  Freddy winced at the sight of her consternation. ‘A hundred is small for us.’

  ‘Oh, Your Grace,’ she said to his mother, ‘you must allow me to be of assistance.’

  Not unexpectedly, Mother turned frosty. ‘My steward, Carter, and Mr Patterson are all the help I require, thank you. However, I did not receive instructions with regard to those to be invited from your family, Miss Rideau. How many people am I to expect from that quarter?’

  Clearly she did not like it that he had asked Nicky to send out invitations to her and Gabe’s friends. ‘I gave the list to Patterson when I spoke to him before dinner.’

  ‘Should I not know who is invited to my house?’ Mother said.

  ‘My house,’ he said with lethal quiet.

  The frost turned to a wall of solid ice. ‘I might have known you would have no notion of what it is to take responsibility.’ She sniffed. ‘I trust you found your accommodations suitable, Miss Rideau?’

  ‘Thank you, they are lovely.’

  A scratch at the door, and Patterson entered. ‘A message for you, Your Grace,’ the butler said with a stiff bow, and held out a salver.

  Freddy reached out to take it at the same moment as his mother.

  ‘It is addressed to Falconwood,’ the butler said with an apologetic glance towards Mother.

  Freddy took the note, and as the butler left the room he slit the seal with a thumbnail. The shock of the words he read held him rigid for a second. He tucked the note in his pocket.

  ‘Who is it from?’ his mother asked. ‘One of the neighbours thinking to ingratiate themselves now that you have finally decided to come home?’

  Freddy looked up. ‘No. It is business. Mother, why not let Miss Rideau plan the supper menu?’

  Mother looked horrified, but he could see the calculation going on in her mind, the realisation that if she wasn’t careful he might wrest all control from her hands. ‘I suppose someone needs to plan the arrangement of flowers for the ballroom,’ she offered.

  ‘I would love to help with that,’ Minette said. ‘I will begin first thing in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t forget our plan to drive out in the morning,’ he said, ‘so I can show you more of the estate and some of the surrounding countryside.’ Show her the note.

  Her eyes widened. ‘Oh, yes. I had forgotten.’

  He nodded his acknowledgement of her quick wit.

  Minette turned to his mother. ‘I can work on the floral arrangements after lunch, if that is all right with you. Is there a budget?’

  ‘You can spend whatever you think is necessary,’ Freddy said.

  His mother let out a small sound of protest.

  ‘You have some ideas, Your Grace?’ Minette said, as if she had no idea that Mother wasn’t happy. ‘Shall I come to you for direction first? Before Freddy and I leave for our drive. Say around ten?’

  Mother never left her chamber before noon.

  ‘Certainly not, my dear,’ Her Grace said with sugary sweetness. ‘I will leave it all up to you. I will have one of the gardeners put at your disposal.’

  ‘The head gardener, Mr Jevens,’ Freddy said, knowing the way his mother’s mind worked. ‘Since Minette will shortly be taking over the running of the household, I think that is a very good idea, Mother. She should also be present when you speak to Chef.’

  The longing to object writ large on his mother’s face was a painful thing to observe. She had prided herself on the running of the household since her marriage and Freddy had done nothing to alter her role since his father had died. Now was the right time to make changes. The servants, all loyal to his mother, had served him some unpleasant meals when she had been annoyed with him, and once his bed linen had been damp. Punishment for arriving at his home unannounced. There would be none of that unpleasantness for Minette. He was determined.

  ‘Of course, dear,’ his mother replied, and he heard the little break in her voice without a shred of emotion. It was all an act designed to make Minette feel uncomfortable.

  ‘I shall look forward to it,’ Minette said with forced brightness.

  ‘Then I suggest you speak to Jevens first thing, before we drive out,’ he said. ‘Mother will make herself available after lunch.’

  * * *

  Ready for bed, Minette had never felt less like sleeping in her life. What on earth had made Freddy so anxious to take her driving in the morning? She’d seen insistence in those dark eyes that could be so expressive—when they weren’t keeping her at a distance.

  She still couldn’t believe his mother’s coldness towards him. It was horrible to be in the same room with them. Couldn’t the dowager duchess see how much she was hurting her son? Or how much she lost by keeping him at a distance? She had barely stopped herself from taking the woman to task. She picked up the book Nicky had given her to read on the journey and flicked through the pages to find her place. She stared at the words. Clearly there had been something important in the note Freddy had received. Although he’d hidden it quickly, he had been surprised by its contents. And then he’d talked about arrangements they hadn’t made.

  The door to her chamber opened. Expecting to see Christine returning on some forgotten errand, she gaped at the sight of Freddy in a silk dressing gown closing the door behind him.

  His hot, dark gaze swept over her. Answering heat raced across her skin. ‘Freddy?’

  He inhaled a breath and his expression shuttered.

  Control. The man had icy control.

  Something inside her wanted to smash down the walls. Only if she did, her own walls might come tumbling down, too. Not a good thing. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘The note. It is from Vitesse. Things have changed.’

  Her heart stilled at the seriousness in his voice. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Moreau is not returning to London.’

  ‘We have lost him?’ Damnation. She should not have left Town.

  ‘According to Latour, Maidstone is his destination.’

  Her heart lurched as if the ground beneath her feet had shifted. ‘Maidstone? Is it not nearby?’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Why does he go there?’

  ‘There are only two reasons I can think of. The first is the barracks located in the town. Information about troop movements and so forth.’

  ‘The second?’

  ‘The news of our sudden engagement was in all the papers, and the ball was announced at the same time.’ His mouth flattened. ‘As a sop to the sensibilities of those that care about such things. He would no doubt have seen the London papers, wherever he was. He might see it as a chance to get to Nicky. Or he could be plotting yet another assassination. Someone attending our ball.’

  She hadn’t yet seen the guest list. ‘People of importance will attend?’

  ‘I’m a duke. Invitations went out to the Prince Regent, half the cabinet and a couple of royal princes.’ He sounded defensive.

  ‘Will they come?’

  A shadow passed across his expression. ‘They might. For Gabe’s sake.’

  ‘What on earth made you invite—? Oh.’ Furious, s
he strode across the room, glaring up into his face. ‘You think I won’t cry off if doing so would be utterly embarrassing for Gabe later.’

  A slow smile dawned on his face, his eyes gleamed. ‘I have always liked that about you, Minette. Your mind is as quick as a whip.’

  ‘Not quick enough, since I did not realise what was in your devious mind.’

  He leaned forward, kissed the tip of her nose, then shrugged apologetically. ‘A man has to do what he must to achieve the outcome he wants.’

  His eyes gleamed. Mischievous. Wicked. And, oh, yes, with a hint of triumph. Not since they’d played and cheated each other at cards all those years ago had she seen that look on his face. Her heart tumbled over. The sensation stole her breath. Blinded and robbed of speech by his pure male appeal, she could only stare. Why had he become so bleak and cold in the intervening years? And what was thawing the ice?

  If it wasn’t impossible, she could almost—almost—believe he really wanted this marriage. As if honour and duty had not forced him into offering for her hand. Something inside her unfurled. A sweet kind of longing. A flicker of hope. She doused the flame with a cold dash of reality. He was a duke. A man who should expect his wife to come to him pure, unsullied. He would not be looking so pleased with himself if he knew the full extent of her past, though he might guess at some of it.

  An Englishman of principle, of honour, could not possibly marry a woman who had done what she had done. Using their betrothal to get to Moreau was one thing. She didn’t care what she had to do in that regard. But marriage was out of the question. And not at all necessary. Moreau must be caught and be behind bars before the banns were called.

  She spun away. Went to the table beside the bed and poured a glass of water. Anything to keep her hands busy, to resist the temptation he presented. ‘So the purpose for our drive tomorrow is to seek him out?’

  ‘He could be anywhere in the district. We need to net him before he gets close to Falconwood.’

  She turned back to face him and was glad to see the man of ice had returned. He was handsome, no matter what he did, but when the ice cracked, when he smiled, he was overwhelming.

  ‘It is good of Madame Vitesse to warn us, and I am grateful you told me. You could have said nothing.’

  ‘We have an agreement.’ He leaned against the door frame. ‘And, besides, she could have sent a similar note to you.’ His gaze narrowed. ‘Did she?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Would you have told me if she had?’

  Heat crept into her cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’

  He cursed under his breath and moved slowly towards her, like a panther stalking prey. A dark creature of the night who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted. ‘Not good enough.’

  A shiver rippled through her body, heating places she should not be aware of. The man was positively dangerous.

  The closer he got the stiffer her spine became. Every nerve in her body urged her to run. She refused to back away. Would not give him the satisfaction.

  He caught her upper arms in a firm but painless grip, looking down into her eyes with such intensity, she wanted to look away, but knew she must not or he’d know how weak she was when it came to him.

  ‘Don’t think I will give you a chance to act alone,’ he ground out. ‘I am not going to let you out of my sight. And you will tell me the truth of this overwhelming need to speak to Moreau before I even consider allowing you near him.’

  She swallowed the dryness in her throat. ‘I shall do what I think best.’ Her voice was far huskier than she thought possible. Her heart pounding hard behind her ribs. Her body tingling as if the air was caressing her skin. She could not stop looking at his mouth, so close to hers, so very beautiful, so very good at kissing.

  It descended on hers, gentle, soft, sweet.

  She sank into its tenderness with a moan of surrender. Sensations swept her away, the feel of his mouth, the liquid heat in her core, the ache in her breasts.

  When he finally broke the kiss she shook her head at him. ‘You should go.’

  ‘A man can kiss his betrothed once in a while.’ The wicked gleam was back in those dark blue eyes. His hand curved over her breast, firm, hot, gentle. His thumb brushed across the beaded tip of her nipple. ‘I won’t tell anyone. Will you?’

  She couldn’t think for the distraction of his touch.

  Chapter Eleven

  She looked like a goddess in her snowy gown with her chocolate-brown hair in a tumble down her back and over her breasts. Irresistible. Temptation incarnate. All soft curves and pillowy swells. He wanted to take her onto that bed and lick and bite and suck.

  The heat of her desire shimmered on her skin. Glowed in her slumberous eyes. Echoed in the catch of her breath. She wanted him, too.

  Now. At this moment. And if it was wrong, dishonourable to use it to force her to keep her promise to wed him, he did not care. He would not let her walk away once their quest was over. His pride would not allow it. She was his. His? Where had that come from? This was not about possession, it was about protecting her reputation.

  He curled his fingers and tipped her chin with a knuckle. ‘Will you?’ he asked again.

  ‘No.’

  The word was a low, husky murmur that sent his blood careening through his veins, heightening his lust and piercing him with other sweeter emotions. He pulled her tight against his body, taking her mouth with his, plundering the sweet depths, sliding his tongue against the silk heat of hers. He pressed against her hip, thickened and hardened. Ached.

  She tilted her pelvis, and he swore he could feel the heat of her centre through the fabric of his trousers. Her hands roamed his shoulders. One stroked down his spine and skimmed his buttocks.

  He left the tender softness of her lips to kiss her jaw, the sensitive place beneath her right ear. The clean, fresh smell of her, the scent of jasmine and warm feminine flesh filled his nostrils and his lungs. He opened his mouth and took a bite. Not hard enough to leave a mark but enough to make her shudder.

  She gasped. Not a sound of shock or outrage but a sigh of pleasure. Her long black lashes swept up. The gold in her eyes sparkled like treasure as she met his gaze with a sinful abandon he hadn’t expected.

  The sensual pout of her mouth drove any thoughts of honourable behaviour from his mind, sending pounding heat to his groin. Only an opportunist, a man who lived by his wits would take her momentary weakness to tie her to him irrevocably. He was such a man and the chance was too good to pass up. He gazed down into her face, running his hands through the silken mass of her hair, feeling it slide over his skin like a lover’s touch. ‘You are so beautiful to look at it hurts.’

  Her eyes widened. Surprise. He liked it that he’d surprised her. Something bubbled up in his chest. An odd feeling that made him want to laugh. As if he were young and carefree. As if the lives of thousands did not rest in his hands, and there was only this moment, this woman. Joy. It was joy. He stared at her in wonder. Was it possible that this woman could bring him out of the dark?

  A twinge of conscience. A knifing pain deep in his chest. She couldn’t. No one could. He was a man who had killed his brother.

  Accident. His voice. Jealousy. His mother’s.

  How could he be sure he was right when he didn’t remember? A clawing doubt he’d lived with for years. But there was no doubt in his mind that he wanted Minette as his wife. And, ruthless bastard that he was, he would make sure she had no way out.

  He pulled her close. Their mouths melded. A perfect fit.

  * * *

  His eyes held the intensity of a predatory male, Minette thought, dizzy with sensation as he ran his fingers through her hair, watching his hand stroke and pet. The expression on his face curled her toes inside her slippers and caused her inner muscles to clench in sweet, painful little pulses. Shivers ran down her
spine. Her breasts felt tight and needful of touch.

  Her fingers fumbled at the tie of his robe. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. With a low murmur, he let the heavy silk fall from his shoulders to puddle on the floor in a whisper. She smoothed her palms over the fine linen of his shirt and felt the thud of his heart against her fingertips. A heart beating as hard as her own.

  He was built on the lines of a stallion. Sleek and elegant yet powerfully male. The skin exposed at his throat was more Mediterranean in tone than that of most of his countrymen. Darkly exotic. She breathed him in, the scent of his cologne, bergamot and lemon and the musky scent of him, like dark spices in mulled wine on cold nights.

  More. She wanted more. There was no need to deny herself the pleasure he could bring. Marriage was not required for that.

  Breathless with desire, she rose on tiptoe and pressed her mouth to his, wooing, seducing, teasing his tongue with hers, arching into his hard wall of chest. A satisfying rumble of pleasure rolled in his throat. A hot wildness inside her held her in thrall as their lower bodies came into contact and she rocked her hips, feeling the pleasure of his hard-muscled thigh against her pelvis, separated from her only by the thinnest of garments.

  Delicious. Tempting. Not nearly enough to satisfy feminine needs driven wild by his kisses. In a swift movement that had her gasping, he swept her up in his arms and dropped her in the centre of the bed. He leaned over her, a lock of black hair falling onto his forehead. Unable to resist, she brushed it back and he smiled down at her with low-lidded sensual pleasure on his face.

  A starkly beautiful man. And not the least bit cold.

  She reached up for him and he lowered his head, brushing his mouth across hers, his tongue tracing the seam with delicious little flicks. In return, she nipped at his lower lip. His hiss of indrawn breath, a sound of pleasure-pain, jolted to her core. Her insides felt liquid, her breasts tingling in anticipation of the touch of a man who was clever with his lips and tongue.

  He raised his head, looking down at her as if considering the effect of his actions, like a master craftsman checking his work.