A Most Unlikely Duke

by Sophie Barnes

  “You should tell her that when you see her again. It’s a good beginning.”

  “Thank you, Huntley,” Warwick told him. “I misjudged you when we first met. I’m sorry for that.”

  “Thank you. Again. But I think you might yet change your mind about me.”

  Warwick knit his brow. “How so?”

  “Because I mean to participate in a public boxing match soon, and if word gets out about that, the scandal will be immense. Not just for me, but for anyone associated with me.”

  “Then you must renege. It’s the only sensible—”

  “No. I made an agreement with Guthrie.”

  “You don’t owe that man anything, Huntley. Surely you can see that.”

  “It’s a matter of honor, Warwick, and of keeping the people of St. Giles safe from a fate worse than Guthrie. I won’t back down.”

  “Bloody hell!” He gave Raphe a disgruntled look. “I respect your resolve, but damn it, Huntley, this is a fine mess.”

  Raphe couldn’t disagree. “Perhaps the Rubens will make you feel better?”

  Warwick stared. “The Rubens?”

  “Consider it a peace offering.” The look of astonishment on Warwick’s face made Raphe smile. “I insist.” He finished off his drink.

  “About the fight,” Warwick said, “have you told Gabriella about it? Does she understand the consequence?”

  “She does.” He met Warwick’s gaze without hesitation. “At first, she tried to dissuade me, but she has since given me her unwavering support.”

  “You’re certain of this?”

  Raphe nodded. He understood Warwick’s concern. By forming an attachment with Raphe right after her unsuccessful engagement to Fielding, she ran the risk of becoming a social pariah. “I am. She told me so herself.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll stand by you as well. You are a duke, after all.”

  “And yet, that doesn’t seem to matter, unless I also have my reputation intact—a reputation that has come under severe scrutiny since my arrival. The fight is unlikely to help.”

  “I agree, but since your mind’s made up and Gabriella’s is as well, it’s time for me to pick a side too. Perhaps if we can encourage others to see the merit of your character, we can turn this entire debacle around in your favor—make you the hero.”

  “As unlikely as that is, I appreciate the thought.” Raphe stepped out into the hallway. “If it’s any comfort, Coventry’s with us as well.”

  “Really? I always took him to be a conformist.”

  “Not at all. He’s rather open-minded, actually.”

  Warwick snorted as he followed Raphe out. “At any rate, having a likeable duke in your corner can only help.”

  “Agreed.” Raphe gathered his hat and gloves. “Now, if you’ve no objections, I’d like to take Gabriella for a ride in the park.”

  “I’ll allow it,” Warwick told him. “As long as her maid goes with you.” Recalling how Gabriella and Fielding had returned unchaperoned from their ride the day Raphe had first met them, Warwick’s condition reminded Raphe that he still didn’t trust him completely. Hesitating briefly, Raphe considered raising the point, but then decided against it. He’d gotten what he wanted—permission to court Gabriella. If Warwick insisted that her maid accompany them on their outings, then so be it.

  Chapter 30

  The fortnight that followed was filled with quiet walks, boat rides on the Serpentine and picnics in the park. Raphe and Gabriella even managed a visit to the National Museum. But an evening at Vauxhall Gardens was vetoed. Apparently, Lady Warwick didn’t trust the way Gabriella blushed every time she and Raphe were in close proximity of each other. She demanded they only see each other in the light of day, and in as public a setting as possible. “I will not tolerate any more scandalous behavior,” she’d said, which had made Gabriella wonder if the woman was secretly able to look inside her head and see her most private thoughts. But, as it turned out, she’d been referring to Gabriella’s broken engagement. No matter what she said, her mother continued to back Fielding. In her eyes the man was a saint, incapable of doing any wrong.

  She did not feel the same way about Raphe, though she had warmed to him a great deal since discovering the lengths he’d gone to on behalf of Victoria. But, that didn’t mean she was going to trust him to sit in the parlor and have tea with Gabriella without a chaperone. As it was, the lady almost suffered a fit of the vapors when she discovered that Gabriella had been visiting Huntley House on a regular basis without her knowledge. A fact she’d only been willing to forgive after Gabriella had sworn that Anna had always been there with her, which was technically true, even if the maid hadn’t always been in the same room.

  So there had been little opportunity to hold hands, and no chance at all for a stolen kiss. Gabriella wasn’t pleased in the least. She and Raphe had formed a bond, they’d grown close, and she missed that now. “I hope he proposes tonight,” she murmured to herself as she got ready for the ball he was hosting. Planning a wedding would take time. There would be three long weeks of banns, so at the very least, they were probably looking at a month’s wait. She sighed, unhappy with the thought of it.

  “You look so pretty in that gown,” Anna said as she brought her the jewelry box that Gabriella had requested. “Lilac suits you extremely well.”

  Gabriella smiled. The gown was new, an airy creation of layered chiffon and silk. Opening the jewelry box, she took out the amethyst earrings and matching necklace, the stones a deeper hue than the gown and outlined by specs of shimmering diamonds. “Do you think he’ll approve?”

  “I think he’d be daft not to,” Anna said.

  It was only nine o’clock, but Raphe had already decided that he did not enjoy playing host. Receiving a long line of guests was, to put it bluntly, bloody boring. He stuck out his hand again to shake the hand of some earl or marquess, or whoever the man was, who now stood before him. Raphe didn’t really care. The only person he was interested in seeing had not yet arrived.

  “May we be excused yet?” Amelia whispered at his side.

  “No,” he told her stiffly. A lady was presented to him, he bowed, she curtsied, and so it continued. “This was your idea. If I’m going to suffer, then so shall you.” He pasted a smile on his face and greeted the next individual. Amelia muttered something beneath her breath. He fought the urge to elbow her in the ribs.

  “Ah! Huntley!” Finally, a friendly face. Raphe greeted Coventry with genuine enthusiasm before presenting him to his sisters. The duke reached for each of their hands in turn, kissing the air above their knuckles. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintances.”

  Amelia stammered a “Thank you,” while Juliette just stood there, gaping openly at the magnificent figure Coventry presented in his perfectly cut evening attire. It took some effort for Raphe not to roll his eyes.

  “I’ll expect to dance with each of you,” Coventry added, punctuating his statement with a brilliant smile before moving on.

  Another half hour passed. Amelia was now complaining about her feet aching every five minutes, while Juliette’s posture had slipped into a slouch. “Stand up straight,” Raphe hissed at her. She just glared at him, which was probably well deserved. He should have known they weren’t ready for this. This demanded severe training and well-honed discipline.

  Hoping it would soon be over so they could retreat to the ballroom and enjoy some refreshment, Raphe turned back toward the entryway. And that was when he saw her. Dressed in some diaphanous concoction that only a Frenchwoman would have been able to produce, Gabriella looked like a dream. Sheer fabric breezed around her, accentuating her figure in all the right places and making him long to just sweep her into his arms and carry her off into the night. She was like a fairy princess, her beauty unparalleled by anyone else, and he could not wait to make her his. Tonight, he promised himself, the ring he’d selected securely tucked away in his pocket.

  “Lord Warwick,” he said, dutifully greeting the earl first
. “May I present my sisters, Lady Amelia and Lady Juliette?” He then proceeded to greet Lady Warwick and Lady Everly before Gabriella herself finally stepped forward. “You look enchanting tonight,” he told her sincerely, delighting in the soft blush that spread to her cheeks as though mimicking the kisses he could not give her.

  “And you look every bit the dashing duke. I’m sure the ton is terribly impressed.”

  Her compliment warmed his heart. “Thank you.” Bowing, he said, “I hope you’ll save a couple of dances for me.”

  “If it were up to me,” she whispered, “I wouldn’t dance with anyone else.” With a mischievous smile that made him wish he could simply follow her into the ballroom, she swept after her parents and disappeared from his line of vision.

  Muttering a curse, Raphe turned back to face the receiving line. It looked as though it might finally be diminishing. Thank God! Just ten more minutes, by his estimation. Which, as it turned out, was off by five. He tried not to look too relieved when the last person stepped forward to greet him. His sisters, however, did not share his tact. He caught Amelia by the wrist and practically forced her into a curtsy.

  “Now can we go?” She asked when no other guests remained in the entryway.

  Expelling a breath, Raphe gave her a very definite nod. “Yes.” He was in dire need of a drink. And of Gabriella’s company. The first was easily achieved with the help of a footman, the latter not so much, since Gabriella was already out on the dance floor by the time Raphe entered the ballroom. He studied her partner—some white-haired, dandy-looking fellow.

  “She caught everyone’s attention the moment she arrived,” Coventry said as he came to stand next to him. He looked about. “Where are your lovely sisters?”

  Raphe blinked. He’d forgotten all about them in his haste to find Gabriella. “I, err—over there,” he said, spotting the top of Amelia’s head.

  “The competition looks stiff already,” Coventry remarked. “I’ll have to hurry if I’m to claim those dances I wanted. Back in a moment.”

  Raphe stared after him, and then focused on the spot where his sisters were standing. They were completely surrounded by the largest assembly of gentlemen Raphe had ever seen. A frown wrinkled his brow. At this rate, they’d both be off to the altar before the end of the Season. And as much as he wanted to see them settled, he wasn’t so sure he was ready for it to happen quite so quickly. It was just too much—too many drastic changes in too short a time. He tossed back the glass of champagne he’d been nursing and snatched up a fresh one from a passing tray.

  “Lady Juliette has graciously agreed to a country dance with me,” Coventry said when he returned to Raphe’s side a moment later, “And Lady Amelia has given me the waltz.”

  Raphe almost choked on his drink. “The waltz? I bloody well told her—” He took a breath and lowered his voice to a murmur. “I thought she needed special permission to dance that.”

  “You’re thinking of Almacks, old chap, but there are many—especially those of higher rank—who don’t give a fig about that. Some never even bother to go. And considering her age, which appears to be on the older side of twenty, if I’m not mistaken, and her position as a duke’s sister, I seriously doubt that anyone will think ill of her for waltzing without a voucher. Especially since none of Almacks’ patronesses appear to be here.”

  Raphe flexed his fingers. “Nevertheless, I told both of my sisters not to dance that particular dance.”

  “Then you’re fortunate I happened to claim it,” Coventry said, “Or it would have gone to Bartham, and that would have been a disaster.”

  Raphe didn’t know who the hell Bartham was, but judging from Coventry’s tone, he instantly took a dislike to the man. “Then I suppose I ought to thank you?”

  “No need,” Coventry said with a smile. “I’m happy to oblige.”

  “What about Lady Juliette?” Raphe cleared his throat so he could get the necessary words out. “Is she waltzing as well?” Against her better judgment and against his approval. She suddenly seemed so young. They both did.

  “Yes, but you needn’t worry. She’ll be partnering with Thimbly, who’s perfectly harmless. He’ll keep an appropriate amount of distance between them.”

  With that assurance, Raphe excused himself from Coventry’s company and strode forward, moving closer to the dance floor so he’d be able to catch Gabriella’s attention when she was through with her dance. She approached him soon after, thanking her partner with a smile that made Raphe want to pummel the man. He held himself in check, reminded that her kindness was one of her best attributes. It was wrong of him to want to monopolize it. “I hope you’re still free for two dances,” he said as he offered her his glass without thinking.

  She hesitated briefly before accepting it and taking a sip, her lips touching the rim where his own had been just a few minutes earlier. His veins thrummed to life with unexpected urgency, increasing the beat of his heart as her eyes met his. They might as well have been kissing each other with mad abandon in the middle of the ballroom for all the difference it made. The effect was certainly incinerating, and as he watched her lower the glass and draw a ragged breath, he knew she felt the same—that exquisite hunger that seemed forever prevalent.

  “Of course,” she said, her eyes catching the light of the chandelier overhead. “There’s the next one—a cotillion.”

  “And the other?”

  She glanced away for a second before returning her gaze to his. “The waltz.”

  He flexed his fingers. “I can scarcely wait.”

  A pink blush crept over her skin. “Neither can I,” she told him softly. Then, in a more deliberate tone, “You must be pleased with how well this has turned out. I’ve heard several people praise the grandeur of it, which does suggest that the power behind your title is overshadowing any questions that might exist about your eligibility.”

  “I suppose the ton’s shallowness may work in my favor,” he said dryly. “Richardson did most of the planning, which is why I invited him to join us.” Angling his head, he searched the room. “He’s over there with Amelia and her crowd of admirers.”

  Gabriella chuckled. “I wonder which one she’ll pick.”

  “Hopefully someone who won’t mind her boisterousness.” The tune to the next song started to play, so Raphe offered Gabriella his arm and began leading her back onto the dance floor. “I’d like for both of my sisters to marry someone who’ll accept them for who they are.”

  “Would you mind terribly if they didn’t marry an aristocrat?”

  “Of course not. I just want them to be happy and well cared for.”

  They danced the cotillion without too much trouble, although Raphe did turn the wrong way at least once, but he quickly recovered, thanks to Gabriella’s swift guidance. He enjoyed the moment with a laugh, completely oblivious to anyone else’s opinion. Because really, what did it matter if these people thought he moved on wooden feet? The only thing Raphe cared about was Gabriella, and the joy he found in sharing the dance with her.

  “Would you like to catch a bit of fresh air with me on the terrace?” he inquired as soon as it was over.

  “Certainly.” She was breathing a little faster than usual after their recent exertion.

  Making their way through the throng of people around them, Raphe responded to the compliments he received along the way. Gabriella was right. His ball was proving to be a smashing success. With his hand against her elbow, he guided her through the French doors and out into the cool night air. “Would you like my jacket?” he asked as they moved to a spot where jasmine clung to the balustrade, permeating the air with its sweet aroma.

  She shook her head. “It would not be appropriate.”

  “Are you seriously telling me that it would be more socially acceptable for you to get sick than it would be for you to put my jacket over your shoulders?”

  “I know it sounds ridiculous, but—”

  “It sounds terribly asinine.”

 
In spite of the dim lighting, there was no mistaking her smile. “I know.”

  “Just promise me that you’ll let me know if you get too cold out here.” Oh, how he wished he could simply pull her into his arms and keep her there, warm in his embrace.

  “I promise,” she said. “But until then, perhaps—”

  “Seems pretty sound to me,” a gentleman said, his loud voice interrupting Gabriella’s as he pushed his way through the French doors and strode toward the opposite side of the terrace with two companions in tow. He was an older, portly fellow with a booming voice designed to carry above all others.

  “Who’s that?” Raphe asked, unable to recall any of the men’s names or titles.

  “The one who just spoke is Baron Fullton. The slimmer man on his right is the Earl of Carmel, and the other gentleman you see is the Earl of Prinhurst.”

  “I’ve wagered a thousand pounds,” Fullton added. In the time it had taken Gabriella to tell Raphe who the men were, the baron had lit a cheroot which he now puffed happily away on.

  “On which one?” Carmel asked, his much quieter voice forcing Raphe to strain his ears.

  “On the Bull, of course. He’s the only fighter I’m familiar with—saw him once about a year ago. He practically obliterated his opponent.”

  Raphe’s eyes slid toward Gabriella’s for a second to acknowledge her concern before looking discreetly back at the trio who now held his full attention.

  “He’s got to be seven feet tall, I reckon,” Fullton was saying. “So unless Matthews is bigger or faster, I’d say he’s done for.”

  “I’m starting to regret my wager,” Prinhurst said. “I’ve five hundred pounds on Matthews.”

  Fullton snorted. “I’d hurry over to White’s and place a larger bet on the Bull. It’s your only option, at this point.”

  “You’re sure Matthews stands to lose?” Carmel asked.

  “Look, there are never any guarantees when it comes to gambling,” Fullton said. “But I know the man I’m betting on, and he’s a winner if ever I saw one.”