She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

  Tension radiated between them.

  “I believe all our soldiers are to be commended for their duty to our country,” Mary said.

  Sebastian lifted his glass. “I shall drink to that.”

  “I think we all should,” Tristan said. “Hear! Hear! To our soldiers who keep the devil from our shores.”

  Everyone at the table joined in the toast, even Fitzwilliam. Sebastian wasn’t certain why a gauntlet had been thrown down but he was fairly certain one had been.

  Pray I don’t pick it up, Fitzwilliam, he thought. Based on the smiles he’d witnessed, Mary fancied the fellow. Considering her feelings and his desire to make amends to her, he would leave the gauntlet where it lay. For now.

  In the piano room, as Lady Alicia’s fingers tripped merrily over the keyboard, Mary cast a surreptitious glance over to where Sebastian stood with his brothers. Her aunt had hoped to enfold them into the aristocracy, but they continued to remain apart. She didn’t think they were uncomfortable with their surroundings. They simply didn’t see themselves as belonging within it.

  She could understand the feeling. When she’d first come to London, she’d felt as though everyone watched and remarked on her every move. Without a proper introduction into Society, she’d been an object of curiosity. She knew she’d managed to win many over, but some still weren’t quite sure what to make of her.

  She glanced around. Fitzwilliam had slipped out, no doubt to puff on a cheroot with one of his friends. She was surprised he left her. He’d been hovering all night as though he expected her to do something inappropriate. Silly man. She’d do nothing to bring embarrassment to her aunt when she had been so kind.

  She knew he wouldn’t be pleased with what she was about to do, but she couldn’t leave the brothers so isolated. She skirted around the edge of the room until she was standing beside Sebastian. She caught a whiff of his strong, masculine scent. So much earthier than Fitzwilliam’s, as though a bit of Pembrook flowed through his veins. A silly thought, but she had always associated him with the land, the wildness of nature. Fitzwilliam was the city. Gaslights and piano recitals.

  “There are some empty chairs on the other side of the room,” she said quietly.

  “I’m at ease here.”

  “If this is you at ease, I would hardly care to see you when you are not.”

  It brought her pleasure to catch the slightest twitch of his mouth. “I see the years didn’t diminish your feistiness.”

  It had somewhat but with him she could be herself as she couldn’t with others. She was no longer Lady Mary, but simply Mary. If she didn’t behave quite properly he was more likely than others to forgive her.

  “I’m a bit more circumspect with others,” she confessed. With Fitzwilliam especially, she realized, and was suddenly struck with the thought that it should not be so.

  She wondered if Sebastian would be offended if she pointed out that he was keeping himself apart from everyone else. Years ago, she’d never given any thought at all to anything she said to him. Whether he laughed, scolded, or argued—she’d always felt free to speak her mind. She’d felt the tension at the table and knew that Sebastian did take offense at words spoken.

  “You didn’t tell me you were sent to a nunnery,” he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear him.

  Her smile withered. “Bless Aunt Sophie. I assume she’s the one who told you as it’s not common knowledge around here.”

  “She thought I knew, that you would have told me. Why didn’t you?”

  “What could you do about it except perhaps feel guilty?”

  “We’re the reason you were sent.”

  He hadn’t posed a question. His words held conviction. She shouldn’t have been surprised that he managed to decipher why her life had taken such an unpleasant turn. He’d always had a talent for figuring out puzzles. Still she did not want him to bear the burden for her foolishness. “Not really, no. It was my fault. You cautioned me to tell no one. When have I ever heeded someone else’s counsel?”

  Her question enticed him into twitching his lips. Before he could interrogate her, she continued. “I went to Father, believing he could put matters to right, would confront Lord David on your behalf. Instead, I discovered he believes the answers to life’s difficulties rest at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.”

  She saw understanding and sadness in his pale blue gaze. And regret.

  “I’m sorry, Mary. Was your time with the nuns difficult?”

  “As getting blood from a turnip. Does that make you feel better?”

  “No, it makes me want to pummel your father into the ground.”

  “Which is why I saw no reason in telling you. It’s in the past. Aunt Sophie declared I would have a Season and took me through my paces. Hired tutors to teach me etiquette and dancing, so here I am.”

  She tilted her head so she could see him clearly, wished she hadn’t. He watched her with an intensity that was unsettling.

  “Then I owe your aunt a debt of gratitude,” he said. “It’s easier facing London, knowing you are here.”

  She could have sworn a blush crept up beneath his bronzed skin before he looked away. “Even if I convinced my aunt to lure you out of hiding?” she teased.

  “Even then.”

  “I’m glad you came,” she said. Before he could respond, she wandered away. She wondered why issuing a compliment embarrassed him. She didn’t want to contemplate how harsh his life might have been that a kind gesture—a sensitive one—was cause for embarrassment. But more she walked away before she was sorely tempted to invite him to take a turn about the garden with her, so they could truly talk, could once again become comfortable with each other. Although she was fairly certain that would only lead to disaster.

  Stopping beside her aunt, she squeezed her hand. “Thank you for inviting them.”

  “It is not as though the dinner party was not already planned, although I daresay your father will not be pleased when he discovers that I included them.”

  Mary knew that Ladies Hermione and Victoria would not be pleased that they’d not been invited, but she suspected their enthusiasm for the lords would overwhelm them.

  “He informed me this afternoon,” her aunt continued, “that I am to keep a close watch over you and ensure that you do not speak with them overmuch.”

  “He fears Fitzwilliam will not tolerate my renewing an old friendship.”

  “He is no doubt correct on that score.”

  Their conversation was interrupted as the final chords resounded and Alicia stood. Polite applause quickly followed.

  Alicia curtsied. “Thank you so much. Now if the young people will join me in the parlor for some games.”

  Charades no doubt. Mary absolutely abhorred the game. She’d avoid it if she could. Unfortunately, Fitzwilliam adored it. He returned from the terrace, smelling pleasantly of tobacco and offered her his arm.

  “One moment,” she said to him, and walked over to where Sebastian and his brothers remained standing. She smiled at them. “The invitation to the parlor was meant for you as well. You are, after all, young people.”

  “Funny, I don’t feel young,” Rafe said.

  She understood his emotion. He was two years her junior, but she didn’t feel young either. “But you are. Come along. It’ll be fun.”

  “We should probably thank your aunt for her hospitality and take our leave,” Sebastian said.

  “Not yet. My cousin will be so disappointed.” She would be disappointed. And Mary wasn’t certain why she herself so desperately wished them to stay. “Just a while longer.”

  “I suppose no harm can come of it,” Tristan said.

  “None whatsoever,” she assured him.

  Chapter 9

  Mary suddenly found herself wishing for charades, no matter that she was horrible at it. She’d never quite seen the humor in the game Alicia chose: “Questions.” They all sat in a circle. Sixteen people. She hadn’t meant to place herself between Fitzwilliam
and Sebastian. It had simply happened that as they’d taken their chairs so they had ended up in the same area. Each of them held a card with a unique number on it. In the center of the circle was a stack of cards.

  The game was simple. Someone posed a question, turned over a card, and the person with the corresponding number had to claim the question.

  “I’ll begin,” Alicia said. “Who is the silliest person in the room?” She turned over a card bearing the number three and glanced around. No one responded, and Mary had her first sense that this game was not going to go well at all.

  Alicia frowned. “Who has the number three?”

  “I do,” Tristan said.

  She scoffed. “You’re supposed to put your card down and say, ‘I am the silliest person in the room.’ ”

  “But I’m not.”

  “Doesn’t matter. You see, that’s what makes it funny. The question doesn’t apply to the person who answers, and therefore, it makes us laugh. Now you ask a question and draw a card.”

  “Any question?” he asked with a devilish glint in his eye.

  “Any question.”

  Tristan lowered his gaze into a sultry invitation that Mary could not help but believe had lured many a woman into his bed. “Who does not wear undergarments beneath her skirts?”

  One lady gasped, a couple tittered, and Alicia smiled broadly. “That’s the spirit.”

  He reached out and turned over a card. Five.

  “That would be me,” Fitzwilliam said, clearly irritated as he tossed his card on the table.

  Tristan grinned. “I should have known you’d fancy wearing a skirt now and then, Fitzwilliam. Do you don a corset as well?”

  “Watch your manners, lad,” Fitzwilliam growled.

  Mary placed her hand over his. “It’s all in jest.”

  “Of course it is,” Alicia reiterated. “Don’t take offense, Fitzwilliam. It’ll ruin the fun. Now ask your question.”

  He took a moment to regain his calm. “Who smells like roses?”

  “Boring,” Tristan muttered.

  Beside Mary, Fitzwilliam stiffened. Before she could wonder overly long as to why Fitzwilliam had chosen her cousin’s fragrance and not hers of orchids, she quickly reached out and flipped over a card. “Six.”

  “I smell like roses,” Lady Kathryn answered. Only she didn’t. She smelled of vanilla. “Who snuck out of the music room earlier for a secret tryst in the garden?”

  She turned over a card. “Twelve.”

  Alicia laughed and revealed her card. “That was me! Quite the trick, wasn’t it, to do so while I was playing the pianoforte?”

  Mary laughed. “Your mother always claimed you were good at handling more than one task at a time.”

  Beside her, Fitzwilliam relaxed. “A very useful talent to have indeed.”

  “You make me blush, my lord. Now, who is the handsomest devil in London?” Alicia asked and flipped over the number ten.

  Sebastian went so still that Mary wasn’t certain he breathed. Dear God, no. She wanted to snatch the number from his clenched fist.

  “The hour is late,” he said, bringing himself to his feet. “If you’ll be so good as to excuse me, it’s time I took my leave.”

  Alicia appeared stunned. “But we’ve not finished the game.”

  How could her cousin not realize who held the number ten? “Alicia—”

  “My brother is quite right,” Rafe said. “If you’ll excuse me, I, too, must depart.”

  He didn’t wait for a response, but followed his brother out. Not certain what to do, Mary rose. She couldn’t let them leave. Not like this. “Excuse me.”

  As she was walking out, she heard Tristan say, “Lady Alicia, perhaps you would be kind enough to oblige me and allow me to teach you a game I learned in the Orient. It involves a blindfold and …”

  Mary didn’t care what else it involved, although she suspected it would be scandalous. She hurried into the hallway, only to find it empty save for a footman standing at attention. “The Duke of Keswick.”

  He stared at her dumbly. She touched the left side of her face. “Scars. Where did he go?”

  “Through the front door, m’lady.”

  She dashed out, saw him standing in the drive, and raced down the steps. “Sebastian!”

  He turned. The gaslights were kind, only revealing his unmarred side. She was struck with the realization that he had been the handsomest man in the parlor. Although he and Tristan were twins, something in Sebastian’s features was nobler. Had always been so, but was more pronounced now.

  She brought herself to a staggering halt before she rammed into him. “Don’t leave. Not like this. It’s only a silly game. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “I’m too old for games, Mary.”

  “You’re what? All of six and twenty?”

  “I have been on the earth for that many years, but within a few days of leaving Pembrook I grew into manhood. Add twelve years to that, and I would say that I’m well into my thirties. I have no time for nor any interest in parlor games.”

  “Come back inside. We’ll find a quiet corner, sit, and talk.”

  He laughed darkly. “And how do you think your betrothed will welcome that notion?”

  Not well, not well at all, and her father would be even more furious. “You’re my friend. You will always be my friend. I wanted you to feel as though you belonged here.”

  “I don’t. Not yet. But I will in time.” He touched her cheek, and she felt the sweep of his thumb over the spot where she knew a freckle resided. His fingers were rough, callused. She wondered when he’d removed his gloves, was ashamed to admit that she was glad he had. They’d held hands as children and thought nothing of it. “Thank you for tonight, Mary. Thank your aunt as well.”

  Before she could say anything, he was walking toward a carriage that was barreling up the drive. As it slowed, he climbed inside with a grace she’d seldom seen in other men. Of course most of them had the good sense to wait until the vehicle came to a halt. She took a step forward, not certain what she planned to do. A hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “Give him leave to go,” Fitzwilliam said.

  She rubbed her brow. “It was such a ridiculous game.”

  “Not as ridiculous as the one his brother wished to play. I swear to you, Mary, that when I take my place in the House of Lords, I shall see to it that a law is passed that will allow only charades to be played in parlors.”

  She couldn’t help it. She laughed lightly and leaned against him. He wound his arm around her shoulders and pressed a kiss to her temple. “You can’t protect them anymore, dear girl. They need to make it on their own now.”

  As he guided her back into the house, she knew he was right. Still it was so very hard to stand by and watch while they floundered.

  Mary was sitting up in bed, brushing her hair, when the clock chimes rang through the hallway announcing the arrival of midnight. A servant would soon be about to quiet them until late morning. Mary wasn’t certain why her aunt insisted that they be allowed to clang until the end of day. Her father insisted on silence much sooner.

  A knock sounded on the door. “Yes?”

  Alicia peered in. “Are you terribly angry with me?”

  “Not too terribly.” She shook her head at her cousin’s crestfallen expression. “No, not at all, really. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Alicia darted across the bedchamber, jumped into bed with her, and snuggled beneath the covers. “I’m so glad you agreed to stay the night. And I’m so sorry about the silly game. It never occurred to me that Keswick would be holding the card. It was a rather stupid thing to say. I wanted to be clever, like Lord Tristan.”

  “I don’t know if he’s so much clever as he is wicked.”

  Alicia grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “He is, isn’t he? He wanted us to play a game with a blindfold. We would have to caress someone’s face and guess who it was, but Fitzwilliam said we’d had enough of games. Then he wen
t in search of you, but I think he must have found Mother first because she came in and said it was time for refreshments.”

  Alicia sounded so terribly disappointed. “Then Lord Tristan took his leave. The evening wasn’t nearly as much fun after that.” She grabbed a pillow and held it to her chest as though it were a lover. “I thought the dinner at least went splendidly well. The Pembrook lords are not quite so frightening when they aren’t brandishing pistols about. Although Lord Rafe confessed to me during dinner that he had one on his person. And a knife.”

  Mary was not surprised. They left Pembrook in fear of their lives. How difficult it would be now to trust anyone.

  “Were you and Keswick making eyes at each other during dinner?” Alicia asked.

  Mary’s heart galloped. She had little enough reputation as it was, with everyone speculating as to why her father had never given her a proper Season. She certainly didn’t want Fitzwilliam to doubt her. “What? No. Why would you think that?”

  “You kept looking in his direction.”

  “He sat across from me.”

  “So did I yet you hardly looked at me at all.”

  Mary plucked at the bristles on her brush. “I just wanted to make certain that he was comfortable with all that was happening around him.”

  “I don’t think Lord Fitzwilliam likes Keswick.”

  “I daresay you’re right on that count. But it’s only because he doesn’t know him. Once they get to know each other better I think they’ll become chums.”

  “I’m not so certain. I think he noticed you watching Keswick as well.”

  “I gave him no reason to doubt my affections.” Although she couldn’t deny that he’d been far more relaxed and pleasant after the brothers had all taken their leave.

  “I’m quite fascinated by them. They appear to be gentlemen and yet one is left with the distinct impression that they are not. I daresay they look to be quite skilled at ruining a lady’s reputation.”

  Ah, yes, quite skilled. Mary thought they could do it with little more than a look.

  Sebastian sat beside the fire in his library, savoring the flavor of whiskey on his tongue, and attempting to push back the memory of Mary’s soft skin beneath his fingers. He’d been a fool to touch her.