She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

  “Does he have his own means?”

  “I think it unlikely. He presently resides in an area that is one step above squalor.” He glanced over at her. “I suppose you think me without mercy.”

  “No, of course not. I think you have every right to be even more harsh where he’s concerned. But I have wondered …” She let her voice trail off. Bringing forth the words was not easy.

  “What, Mary? What have you wondered?”

  She forced herself to meet his gaze. “What if I misheard? What if he was talking of killing chickens for the following day’s dinner or … I don’t know. Why did he wait so long to make a claim for the title?”

  “To avoid suspicion of foul play.” He studied her. “What exactly did you hear that night?”

  It all seemed so distant. A foggy memory now, faded with time, and yet the words came to her as though she heard them only moments before.

  “Someone said, ‘The lads, m’lord, now that they are in the tower … what would you have me do with them?’ And then I heard your uncle say, ‘Why, kill them, of course.’ He laughed then. Could he have been joking? My father does not believe he was serious. I could hardly countenance the words I heard. I do wish I knew to whom he spoke.”

  “It sounds as though it was one of the men who escorted us to the tower. I’ve not seen any of them since our return. I should look at the record of servants hired and let go. See if I can determine what became of them.”

  “How many were there?”

  “Four. We went so docilely. I think we were still reeling from our father’s death. It was not until the door in the tower clanged closed and I heard the key grinding in the lock that I realized something was amiss. I’m not certain how I could have been so unaware.”

  She looked out over the greenery of the park. So lush and peaceful. It was difficult to believe that such evil lurked in the world.

  “Why would you suspect your uncle of wishing you harm?”

  “I should have suspected. Not until we were in the tower did I even consider that he might have killed Father.”

  She stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. “You don’t believe your father had a riding accident?”

  He gave her a pointed look. “You bashed in the head of a guard and you were a mere slip of a girl.”

  “He didn’t die. I snuck back to Pembrook the next day to make sure he was all right. I saw him walking about.”

  Sebastian glared at her. “Do you know how reckless that was?”

  “I had to learn the truth. I couldn’t live with myself if he’d died.”

  “Unlike my uncle who seems to live with himself very well.”

  “Have you proof he killed your father?”

  “No, only suspicions.”

  “You may never have proof, Sebastian.”

  “I’m well aware of that, but I shall not rest until he is made to account for his actions.”

  Mary realized she’d strayed from her purpose in having him meet her here. She could feel gazes coming to light on her, imagined that speculation was brewing. A time existed when she’d have not cared, but now her reputation extended to Fitzwilliam and she’d not have him regret asking for her hand in marriage. She would do nothing to bring him shame. Yet here she was, flirting at the edge of it. Word would no doubt reach him that she’d been spied in the park riding with Keswick. She’d tarried long enough.

  “The Countess of Weatherly is hosting a ball this evening,” Mary told him. “I know you received an invitation.” Lady Hermione had decided to send a servant around with it, in spite of her mother’s objections. “It would behoove you and your brothers to make an appearance. Even if only for a short time.”

  “Still watching out for us, Mary?”

  “Someone must or you could make quite a mess of it. Your uncle had twelve years to develop friendships and trust among those who matter. It is not enough to exile him from your home. Some are less than impressed with your claim.”

  “I have no need to impress anyone. The law is on my side.”

  “But Society is not.” She hated the harshness of her words, wished she’d been able to find a softer way to deliver them. “I assume you and your brothers, at some point, will want to marry. Will want children. If Society does not accept you, it matters not that you hold a title. Your family will suffer the scandal and gossip.”

  “I am quite busy putting other matters to rights.”

  “Yes, as you said earlier but you cannot use that excuse to ignore this aspect of your title. It will serve you greatly to be well-thought of.”

  She detected a subtle stiffening in his posture. “Are you implying that I’m presently not?”

  “No one knows you, Sebastian. They speculate. They gossip. They arrive at their own conclusions. And I must reluctantly confess that most are not flattering. Unfortunately I’ve not been in London long enough to acquire enough currency so that my words in support of you carry much weight.”

  If at all possible he became tenser. “And what of your betrothed? Do his words carry weight?”

  “Not as much as they will when he inherits his father’s title.”

  He hesitated then said, “Fitzwilliam. Is he a good man, then?”

  She scowled teasingly at him. “You think I am such a silly ninny as to select a bad man?”

  She detected a bit of light in the blue of his eye, almost as though he’d stumbled upon something humorous and wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. “I suppose it was a rather pointless question. I always did enjoy bantering with you.”

  She had enjoyed doing so many things with him. “I feared you’d forget all about me.”

  “With hair as red as yours? How could anyone forget about you?”

  She was surprised by the disappointment his words brought. She wanted it to be more than her hair that was memorable. She wanted him to remember every aspect of her, but more importantly she wanted him to remember how well they had gotten along, how strong their bond had been, how they had once laughed, how they’d dared to share a forbidden kiss. She wanted him to admit that he’d missed her as much as she had him. And she realized her thoughts had turned onto a dangerous path. When had she become such a self-centered chit who wanted to be the focus of his world when she could no longer be in the center of his world? “I fear I’ve lingered here too long. Please consider the Weatherly ball. I’ll save you a dance.”

  She wasn’t certain why she’d said the last. He’d given no indication that such an offer would sway him, and now she was rather embarrassed that she’d made it. Besides she was betrothed and it was completely inappropriate for her to casually toss out any sort of flirtatious banter. Before he could catch sight of the blush warming her cheeks, she urged her horse into a trot.

  She hadn’t issued the invitation for her personal gain. She’d done it because everything she’d told him was true: he needed to secure his place among the peerage in a more civilized manner. Still a small part of her couldn’t help but hope that he would accept her offer for a dance.

  Chapter 11

  It was a mistake to come to the damned ball, Sebastian realized almost immediately. No steward announced the arrivals, and yet a silence permeated the crowd when he and his brothers stepped through the open doorway into the gilded ballroom. Mothers scurried to their daughters; fathers took steps forward as though to form some sort of protective wall around them.

  The host and hostess, Lord and Lady Weatherly, approached cautiously. Slightly behind them, a blond-haired beauty glowed with anticipation, her gaze directed at Tristan. Sebastian despised himself for considering that at one time he would have garnered as much attention. More in fact. Besides astonishingly good looks, he possessed a title. He would have been the sought-after brother rather than the one who wished he were on the sea instead of here. But he had come to understand that Mary had spoken true: their entrance back into Society required they make yet another appearance. Even Rafe, for all his protests to the contrary, had recognized the importance o
f their being here.

  They were dressed to the nines, in matching black swallow-tailed coats, white shirts, and black cravats. The only thing that varied was their waistcoat: his, gray; Tristan’s a royal blue, and Rafe’s a hunter green. His valet had trimmed his hair, but it was still longer than was fashionable. It seemed his brothers had also taken measures to tidy up a bit more, but not completely. They were part of this Society and yet each felt a need to not be totally absorbed by it. They’d been too long on their own.

  “Your Grace,” Lord Weatherly said stiffly. “My lords. Welcome to Camden house.”

  “We were honored to receive the invitation,” Sebastian assured him.

  Lady Weatherly snapped her head around to the blond, whom he assumed had to be her daughter. The girl blushed, then curtsied. “It was our pleasure to send it. Forgive my boldness, Lord Tristan, but I did keep a spot on my dance card reserved for you in anticipation of your attending.”

  “I quite prefer my women bold,” Tristan said, a devastatingly wicked smile accompanying his words. Lord Weatherly tightened his jaw, his lady gasped.

  “I am Lady Hermione,” their daughter said.

  “I look forward to whispering your name later.”

  The girl looked to be upon the verge of swooning. Her father looked on the verge of delivering a blow to Tristan’s face. Or at least attempting to. Sebastian doubted he’d make contact before Tristan introduced the man’s skull to the floor.

  “My lord—” Weatherly began.

  “Only during the dance, of course,” Tristan said, smoothly cutting the man off. “Which is when, my lady?”

  “Two dances hence.”

  “I shall wait with baited breath.”

  With a quick curtsy, she scurried away, her hands fluttering so madly that she had no need of a fan.

  “Relax, Weatherly,” Sebastian said. “She’s far too young for my brother, and we have scandal aplenty in our family without creating more.”

  “Innocent flirtation, Weatherly,” Tristan said in an additional effort to reassure the man.

  “If you wish introductions …” the lady began, then halted as her husband’s jaw turned as hard as granite.

  Sebastian suspected she’d rather not make them anyway. “I’m certain we shall get along on our own. I’ve already spotted a few familiar faces.” He didn’t know who the devil the people were but he remembered seeing them the night he and his brothers burst into his uncle’s ball. And of course there were those he’d met at Lady Ivers’s dinner. The woman had indeed done him a great service.

  He didn’t think Lady Weatherly could have looked more relieved if he’d stated that they were taking their leave. With a bow to their hosts, he strode past them in to the main portion of the salon. He located an unhampered area that gave way to shadow. A perfect spot for watching.

  “Well, it seems we are once again garnering attention,” Tristan mused laconically.

  “We are hardly known and, therefore, we are a curiosity,” Sebastian said. He scanned the crowd, noticed a man walking toward him. Unlike everyone else in the room, he seemed neither curious nor intrigued, but he wore confidence with the ease that most men wore their jacket. His black hair was perfectly styled. As he neared, his emerald eyes caught Sebastian’s attention. He’d seen them before.

  The man stopped before him. “Keswick. My lords.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “I’m sorry, man. You look familiar but—”

  “Ainsley. Our paths crossed at Eton some years back.”

  “I was there for only a year. I can hardly countenance that you remembered me.”

  “I must confess that I doubt I’d have known who you were if someone hadn’t pointed you out to me. I understand you fought in the Crimea.”

  “I did indeed.”

  “My brother returned home last fall to recover from injuries. Bloody awful thing. I’m glad you’re home, man.”

  “Thank you, Ainsley.” He wondered if Ainsley had heard everything. Surely he had, but apparently he was not one to speculate or gossip.

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me now, I must take my leave.”

  “The evening is young,” Rafe said.

  “I seldom attend these affairs, but I have made it a policy that when I do, I call it an evening as soon as I’ve enjoyed one dance. Less chance to give the mothers ideas or hope. Gentlemen.” He made his way out of the ballroom without making any further stops.

  “Ainsley?” Tristan murmured.

  “An extremely wealthy and powerful duke,” Rafe said.

  “I suppose you know them all,” Tristan said.

  “A good many of them. Some belong to my club. Ainsley doesn’t. His speaking with you should give you a certain amount of cache.”

  “And has delayed my searching out the lovely Lady Hermione,” Tristan said. “If you’ll excuse me, I believe it’s almost time for our dance.”

  “Do take care with her, Tristan,” Sebastian ordered. “She is a lady and not a doxy.”

  “I’m not as uncivilized as you might think. I know we’re being judged by our actions tonight.”

  “I meant no insult.”

  “None taken.”

  But Sebastian could see the lie in his eyes. Damnation. As Tristan walked away, Sebastian knew the last thing he needed was to cause a riff between himself and the one person who seemed to truly understand the importance of all they were doing. No, that wasn’t exactly true. Mary seemed to have a sense of it as well.

  “I believe I shall seek out the card room,” Rafe said.

  “We need to talk.”

  Rafe had taken only a partial step when he glanced back at his brother.

  “I’d like to know what happened while I was away,” Sebastian said. “Perhaps after this affair, you would stop by Easton House for a bit of whiskey and conversation.” Rafe had not returned to the house since the morning Sebastian had taken up residence.

  “No good would come of the tale, and I suspect you’d find my company unpalatable. I shall stay long enough to make a favorable impression by losing a modest sum.”

  “You can guarantee your loss?”

  “I can guarantee any outcome I desire. But men will look more favorably on us if we’re not taking from their coffers. Once I’ve seen to it, then I shall be on my way.”

  Sebastian didn’t object when Rafe strode toward the hallway. Then he spied the real reason he’d come tonight. Mary. He’d wanted to see her once more dressed in a ball gown. He wanted to watch her dance, to see the glow in her eyes as she enjoyed the occasion. As always the shade of her hair drew him. Even with it piled up and held in place with pearl combs, revealing the long slope of her neck. Graceful, like a swan. But then everything about her was graceful. She was no longer the hoyden who had torn over fields with him, who had dared him to climb trees, or goaded him to crawl into a badger’s den. Thank God the badger had not been in residence at the time.

  She had tempted him with childish things. He feared she could tempt him with a great deal more now. Things he shouldn’t want from her. Things he didn’t deserve from her. She deserved the elegance of this life. The balls and soirees. Ladies frequently stopped her progress through the ballroom for a brief chat. She was sought-after, adored, loved. He caught the occasional gentleman admiring her. How could they not? Her pale pink gown with its deep emerald trim bared her shoulders and the ample swells of her breasts to a man’s discerning eye, cinched in tightly at her small waist. Her white kid gloves stretched past her elbows. He had a flash of memory that involved ungainly long limbs. She had grown into them, transformed them into elegance and grace.

  Three other ladies joined the last group of gossipmongers who held Mary’s attention. He had no doubt that it was the talk of scandal that tripped off their tongues. One pointed her fan toward the crush of dancing couples just as Tristan and Lady Hermione came into view. He couldn’t deny that his brother certainly knew how to take advantage of a dance floor. But it was also evident that he was daring
enough to hold the lady a little too near. Although she certainly didn’t seem to object as she gazed up at him, her smile bright enough to illuminate the room should all the candles suddenly be doused.

  Careful there, Tristan, he mused. You’ll find yourself with a pistol at your back and a clergyman at your front if you don’t watch yourself.

  These were not Rafe’s girls who expected nothing from a gent except a quick tumble. No, these ladies expected—and deserved—everything.

  Another fan, pointed in his direction, caught his eye and he focused his attention back on the group of ladies. The holder of the fan quickly opened it and hid her face behind it, as though embarrassed that she’d been caught displaying rude behavior. Or perhaps his solitary gaze simply disarmed her. Much more comfortable to gossip when the object in question wasn’t paying attention. He recognized none of the ladies from the dinner party. Dear Lord but there were an abundance of people to meet.

  Mary swung her gaze over and smiled. He wanted to think the upturn of her mouth was pleasure at seeing him, but he thought it more likely that she was responding to some bit of trifle spoken by one of the ladies. She turned away for just a moment, touching a hand here, an arm there, and then was strolling toward him.

  He could only pray that she was not coming to claim her dance.

  To Mary the scars marring Sebastian’s face were nothing beyond an insignia of courage. But he obviously considered them otherwise because just as he had during their previous encounters, he hid his left side in shadows. Yet he couldn’t hide the true breadth of his shoulders or the strong cut of his jaw. He couldn’t hide his entitlement or his impatience with the entire affair. He was here out of obligation, duty. A need to make a statement.

  The Duke of Keswick had reclaimed what had been stolen, but she couldn’t help but feel as though he had not yet acquired it all. His titles, yes. His lands, his estates, his London residence. But there was so much more, something that wasn’t quite so easily defined. She feared that was still being denied him. Hence her suggestion he attend tonight’s affair. But it did him little good to skulk in corners and frighten young maidens.