She Tempts the Duke

by Lorraine Heath

  Even knowing what he would inherit if his brother died, he’d never wished for his death. Which made it more difficult for him to reconcile his uncle’s motives. Brothers should place blood above possessions, above titles, above land.

  He walked onto the terrace and was heading for the steps that led into the garden when he saw Mary hastily dashing up them.

  “Lady Mary.”

  She stumbled to a stop, jerked her gaze to the garden, the ballroom, and finally settled it back on him. “My lord.”

  “Is something amiss?”

  “Everything is fine. Thank you.”

  A woman who had not mastered the art of lying. What a welcome diversion. Taking her arm, he led her toward a more secluded, shadowy area. “Are you certain?” he asked.

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Sebastian?”

  Nodding, she glanced down. “Our paths crossed in the garden.”

  He slipped his finger beneath her chin, tilted up her head, and stroked his thumb over her lower lip. “Based on your swollen lips, I would say he kissed you.”

  She began rubbing her hand over her mouth. “Oh, dear God, you can tell?”

  He hitched up a corner of his mouth. “No. It was a guess. Your lips aren’t swollen.”

  She slapped at him. “You cad!”

  If not for the seriousness of the matter, he’d have dropped his head back and roared out his laughter. “But he did kiss you.”

  Nodding, she averted her gaze. “Please keep this between us.”

  “Did you kiss him back?” he prodded.

  “I did not dissuade him.” She returned her gaze to his, such earnestness in her expression. “I should tell Fitzwilliam.”

  “Good God, don’t even entertain such a foolish notion. If it was no more than a kiss���”

  “It wasn’t. One moment we were talking and the next … we weren’t.”

  He wanted to shout Hallelujah! His brother wasn’t perfect. Instead, he said, “Do you know where he went? Afterward?”

  “Further into the garden. I started to follow, but I thought it would be best if I didn’t. He seemed angry.”

  Frustrated, more like, if a kiss was all he claimed. “I’m sure he did. But not with you, sweet lady. I don’t imagine he liked losing control.”

  “He changed, Tristan.”

  “We all did, love.”

  She smiled. “You didn’t.”

  If only that were true. He was simply better at masking it. Reaching out he tucked some stray strands of hair back behind her pearl combs. “Go on inside before you’re missed. I’ll find Sebastian, and then we shall probably take our leave, quietly and without fanfare.”

  “Is it truly not obvious that I was kissed?” she asked, and he could see the worry in her eyes. Those in Society focused on such trivial matters. He’d have been the same had his life not taken such a drastic turn. Would he have liked that man any better than he liked the one he was now?

  “No one will know,” he assured her.

  “I never thought of you as the kind twin.”

  “Because I’m not. Now off with you. You don’t want to be seen with me in the shadows.” Then because she seemed reluctant to leave, he leapt over the railing with the ease of a man who had climbed sail rigging during the height of a tempest at sea and lived to tell the tale of it. Glancing back, he saw that she’d moved on. He breathed a bit easier. He didn’t want to be the one responsible for ruining her good name. They owed her, should ensure that she was happy. He wondered if she would be so with Fitzwilliam. He seemed rather like a stickin-the-mud. But then Tristan was discovering that most of the men he’d met tonight were boring beyond measure. They lived sheltered lives lacking in adventure.

  The same certainly couldn’t be said of him and his brothers. He knew Rafe had gone on his merry way. Sebastian may have as well.

  He passed one couple and another strolling back toward the house—a guilty air about them. In the shadows off the path, he heard a giggle and a soft reprimand for quiet. Ah, the dangers. He imagined hearts were racing at the thought of being caught. He couldn’t imagine that had not fate intervened the most exciting part of his life might have been enticing a lady into an illicit kiss.

  The dangers he had faced made all this subterfuge in the garden seem trivial, and certainly held no appeal.

  He slowed his step when he noticed a gentleman on the path hesitate before continuing toward him. “Fitzwilliam.”

  “My lord.”

  He wondered what he was doing out here alone, wondered if he’d happened across Sebastian and Mary earlier. Surely not, for if he had he’d have confronted them.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve seen my brother out here,” Tristan asked laconically.

  “Which one? The one who cheats at cards or the one who airs his dirty laundry in public?”

  “Take care with your accusations, my lord,” Tristan said with a voice that mimicked the calm before a storm.

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “For a moment there I feared you weren’t a perceptive fellow. So relieved you proved me wrong.”

  “You and your brothers do not belong here. You are barbarians.”

  “On the contrary, my lord. I asked a simple question. You are the one who responded by disparaging the character of my brothers.”

  “I haven’t seen them. Now if you’ll excuse me?”

  He walked past without waiting for an answer. Tristan patted himself on the back for not tripping him. Arrogant cad.

  Tristan strode into the darker confines of the garden. He despised the notion that other lords were not giving Sebastian the respect with which he was due. He fought in a bloody war, for God’s sake. Was still fighting to reclaim his birthright. As far as Tristan was concerned it wasn’t enough to cut off their uncle’s financial resources. They needed proof of his intended actions where they were concerned. Even Mary’s words wouldn’t be strong enough to dispel his claims that they’d merely run away, as young lads were wont to do. And if he had killed their father as they suspected—

  Someone rammed into him, causing him to stagger back. Tristan had his own knife in hand before he fell beneath the weight.

  “Tristan?” his brother croaked.

  Tristan was too familiar with the warm stickiness soaking his clothes not to know what it was. “What the devil, Sebastian?”

  “Mary. Have to make sure she’s all right.”

  Sebastian was clutching at Tristan’s arm, striving to right himself.

  “She’s unharmed. I just saw her on the terrace only a few moments ago,” he reassured his brother.

  Sebastian sank back down. “Then just get me the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 14

  “You were most fortunate, Your Grace,” the physician said, as he finished wrapping a bandage around Sebastian’s midsection. “The knife didn’t slice into any organs.”

  If the pain in his side was that of a fortunate man, then Sebastian would hate to experience the pain of an unfortunate one.

  “Not a professional assassin then,” Rafe said. He was leaning against one of the posters at the foot of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. Once Tristan had gotten Sebastian home, he’d sent word to Rafe who had come posthaste, physician in tow. William Graves seemed not much older than them, but he knew well the business of healing.

  “Or a soldier,” Tristan said, holding the drapery slightly aside and peering into the night. “Otherwise he’d have known where to strike.”

  “I turned. I could have thrown him off.”

  “Either would have stayed to finish the job,” Tristan said. “You said he ran off.”

  “Maybe he heard someone else coming.”

  “Wouldn’t have mattered if he were an assassin,” Rafe insisted. “He’d have done what he was paid to do.”

  “Know a lot about assassins do you?” Sebastian asked.

  To Sebastian’s consternation, Rafe held his gaze somewhat defiantl
y, then shifted his attention over to Tristan. “You don’t have to keep watch. I have a couple of my men patrolling.”

  Tristan released his hold on the draperies. “So he’ll live?”

  Graves completed his task and stepped away. “Most certainly.”

  “Pity. I rather fancied the notion of becoming duke.”

  The physician halted in the closing of his bag to stare at Tristan. Sebastian settled back against the pillows. “My brother has a strange sense of humor.”

  Graves gave a brisk nod. “I shall return on the morrow to change your bandages and assess the healing.”

  “I’ll escort you out,” Rafe said and proceeded to lead the doctor from Sebastian’s bedchamber.

  Tristan ambled over and dropped into a burgundy velvet chair near the bed. “Our little brother seems to have quite the knowledge regarding unsavory matters.”

  Sebastian didn’t want to ponder how he had come to have that knowledge. Rafe returned and took up his position at the foot of the bed, leaning against the post, arms once again crossed—as though he had no desire to make himself comfortable here. Or perhaps he simply didn’t feel comfortable here.

  His reappearance, however, seemed to be a signal to Tristan to continue striving to uncover the events of the night. “So you didn’t see the fellow who attacked you?”

  Sebastian shook his head. “He came from my left side.”

  “I crossed paths with Fitzwilliam as I was looking for you. Perhaps he scared him off.”

  “Fitzwilliam couldn’t scare off a rabbit.”

  A corner of Tristan’s mouth hitched up. “You don’t like him. Why is that?”

  Shrugging, Sebastian regretted the movement as soon as he did it. His side burned as though someone had built a fire beneath the skin, but he’d endured much worse. The physician had given him laudanum before beginning his work. It left him feeling as though he traveled through a fog, striving to snatch hold of his thoughts, only to find them disappearing on gossamer wisps.

  “Does it have anything to do with Mary?” Tristan asked.

  Mary. She was with him. She left. His heart picked up tempo. Then he remembered that Tristan had seen her, that she was all right. But his heart refused to slow. If anything had happened to her—

  “I know you kissed her,” Tristan said.

  His arms falling to his side, Rafe straightened as though the news had come as a blow to his midsection. “Why the devil would you do that?”

  “Why does any man kiss a woman, Brother?” Tristan asked, his voice laced with humor.

  “But Mary. For God’s sake, we don’t want to ruin her, not after what she did for us.”

  “I have no plans to ruin her,” Sebastian ground out. “It was simply a … a distraction.”

  “Distract yourself with one of my doxies. Not with Mary.”

  “I don’t need you telling me how to behave. I’ve apologized to her. It won’t happen again.”

  “Why not?” Tristan asked. “If you want her, take her.”

  “She wants Fitzwilliam. If she didn’t, she’d have never agreed to marry him.”

  “When she accepted his offer of marriage, she thought you were dead. She invites you to dinners and balls. For what purpose?”

  “She invites us. She does it to aid us in our efforts to reclaim what is ours. It is her nature to help where she can. Now leave it be.” Sebastian pressed a hand to his head in a vain attempt to stop the room from spinning. He couldn’t deny that Mary was a beautiful woman or that she stirred him, but she deserved a man who was not as broken as he—a man who could love her, and he no longer had the capability of loving anyone. Marriage to him would be a miserable existence. “I believe we’ve strayed from our purpose here. I suppose we can assume Uncle was at the root of this situation tonight.”

  “He’s a fool if he thinks killing all three of us will go unnoticed,” Tristan said.

  “Perhaps he believes it enough to kill one and the other two will run—as we did when we were lads,” Rafe offered.

  “Then he failed to notice that we are no longer lads. More’s the pity. We know where he is. I say we confront him,” Tristan said.

  “Would be better to first discover what resources are at his disposal. His wife might know,” Rafe replied.

  “We could ask Mary to speak with her,” Tristan mused.

  “We’re not going to involve Mary,” Sebastian told him.

  “She’s already involved.”

  “Not in this.” He made to get up, to give more power to his words, but the pain rifled through him and he collapsed back down. Breathing heavily, gritting his teeth, he hated opening his eye to discover Tristan leaning over him. He’d suffered worse. He wasn’t going to be unmanned by so trifling a wound.

  “You need to rest,” Tristan said. “Rafe and I will ask around. See what we can discover.”

  “Not Mary.”

  Tristan studied him a moment before finally nodding. “No, we won’t involve Mary.”

  Knowing she would be safe from scandal and danger, Sebastian allowed himself to sink into the oblivion of the laudanum.

  Bloody, bloody, bloody fool! How could you be so stupid?

  Lord David stared at his reflection in the mirror. The gash on his cheek burned where his brother’s signet ring had sliced deeply into his flesh. He pounded the basin with his tightened fist.

  It must look like an accident.

  “I know that!”

  He hadn’t meant to attack his nephew, but when the opportunity had arose—

  Why waste it? he’d thought. He hadn’t even known his nephews would be at the Weatherlys’. He’d been sneaking through the gardens to see if he could catch a glimpse of Lucretia at the ball. She so enjoyed dancing. He couldn’t envision that she would not attend. And damned how he missed her.

  But then his cursed nephew had distracted him from his purpose.

  He couldn’t stay here. Knew they had him followed, knew where he was. Cunning lads, but he was more so.

  Where will you go? How will you get there? No vendor or shop owner will extend you credit. They saw to that.

  He’d tried to buy a bit of jewelry for Lucretia earlier in the week, only to be denied. He sent the basin hurtling through the room and took satisfaction as it crashed against the wall, breaking into a thousand shards. His landlady had warned him that if he broke another she’d not replace it. Who did she think she was to talk to him like that? To make threats.

  He was a lord!

  One day he would be duke. Then Lucretia would return to him. He would have everything then, everything he should have always had.

  He would show his brother the price to be paid for stealing from him the only woman he’d ever loved. Even Lucretia could not compare to her beauty.

  You should have killed him last, made him suffer more.

  But then, opportunity that could not be ignored had presented itself. And it would again.

  Chapter 15

  The afternoon following the Weatherly ball, as Mary studied her reflection in the mirror, she could hardly believe that the lovely lady standing in the gown of white satin and Honiton lace was truly her. The workmanship on the dress that so very closely resembled the gown that Queen Victoria had worn on her wedding day was truly exquisite. Imitating the Queen’s attire was all the rage of late, but still Mary had never expected to wear something as incredibly heavenly as the gown that now adorned her.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Alicia said. “I can’t wait until I have occasion to wear something similar for a wedding.”

  “Next Season, my dear,” Aunt Sophie assured her. “This Season is Mary’s, and I could not be happier that it has turned out so well. You are most fortunate to have caught Lord Fitzwilliam.”

  “Yes,” Mary said, and bit her lip to stop it from tingling at the memory of Sebastian’s kiss, a kiss for which he had apologized. She wished he hadn’t done that. She wished he had simply walked away with no words spoken … after kissing her one more time.<
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  She wasn’t certain how the first had even happened. One moment she was touching his shoulder, and the next his mouth was devouring hers. Passion had slammed into her, causing her to encourage him further. Her moans and sighs had been wanton. She’d been wanton.

  They’d kissed once before when she was all of twelve and he was fourteen. But the forbidden touching of their lips then had not hinted at the heat that could erupt between them now. She didn’t know whether to be terrified or fascinated.

  He was not the boy she’d loved as a child. He was a dark, brooding man, with fury boiling below the surface. Who knew when it might erupt and what casualties it would leave in its wake? Already it had left her behind. He’d stormed from the garden without even a backward glance. If he’d only looked back … she might have followed. She might have clambered into his coach and gone somewhere far away, where they could be alone—to truly talk, to explore their feelings, to stop being so blasted polite around each other.

  “Do you think Keswick would have pressed his suit if he’d arrived in London earlier in the Season, before you were spoken for?” Alicia asked.

  Mary twisted around. “Why would you—”

  “Please stand still, m’lady,” the seamstress said, as she worked to mark the hem.

  “Yes, quite, I’m sorry,” Mary muttered before facing forward again and meeting her cousin’s gaze in the mirror. “Why would you think that?”

  “I simply noticed that Keswick seems to watch you with what appears to be longing.”

  “You’re mistaken. He looks upon me as no more than a friend.”

  “Nothing more?”

  Why the deuce was her cousin pursuing this? Had she happened upon them in the garden for God’s sake? “I’m quite content with my selection in husbands.”

  “Oh, my dear girl, tell me that’s not so,” her aunt said, her voice indicating her distress.

  “Would you rather I not be content?”

  “Content will hardly bring a fire to your bed.”

  Sebastian, however, based on his kiss would bring a fire to the bed that would ignite it and send it into flames. She didn’t want to consider how his kiss had left her burning for more, how she had tossed and turned in her bed all night, tangled in covers until she thought she would suffocate, needing surcease. Whenever she closed her eyes, she imagined him prowling toward her, crawling onto her bed, covering her—