by Darcy Burke
Both Fanny and Sarah gasped. “Did that really happen?” Fanny asked. “That was the rumor at the ball last night, but we weren’t sure if it was true.” She exchanged a look with Sarah.
“It’s true,” Lavinia said darkly. “My lowest moment to date. And I’m so sorry you didn’t hear it from me first. I was rather upset when Mother insisted I stay home and rest. I suppose I should be pleased she cared enough to make me do that instead of taking advantage of the extra notoriety and parading me around the ball.”
Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Let me see if I understand. Northam was trying to rescue you from the other gentleman?”
“From Lord Devaney, yes. But Devaney wasn’t having any of it. He insisted he should get to walk with me first because he was there first. Northam argued that we’d prearranged to walk at the Fortescues’ the night before.”
As predicted, Lavinia’s mother had queried her about that. Lavinia had managed to successfully convince her that she’d forgotten—she’d blamed the inundation of male interest and her inability to keep them all straight. The irony was that it wasn’t entirely untrue. Except that Lavinia would never confuse Northam with anyone else. He was a singular male, likely because of the way they’d met. Her neck tingled, as it always did when she thought of that night.
“What a debacle,” Sarah said, shaking her head.
Lavinia nodded. “Though it could have been far worse.”
“It sounds like Lord Northam has become your champion,” Fanny said with a small smile. “I know I don’t have your experience with such matters, but it seems his suit can’t be far off—rake or not.”
Lavinia couldn’t imagine such a thing. They’d become friendly, but there’d been no indication of attraction—the fleeting shivers along her neck notwithstanding. Those didn’t mean she wanted his attention in that way. Still, she couldn’t deny he’d become quite helpful. Which reminded her of the man who was the opposite.
Lavinia straightened and pinned both of her friends with a direct stare. “I need to put an end to this nonsense with the Duke of Seduction. I’m going to write a letter to him and send it to the Morning Chronicle.”
Fanny, her gaze eager, leaned forward. “What will you say?”
“I will ask him to cease his poetry campaign. While he may have enjoyed some success with the first few young women, not all of us appreciate his interference.”
Sarah pursed her lips. “I don’t think you should.”
Both Fanny and Lavinia stared at her, but it was Lavinia who spoke. “Why not?”
“Yesterday’s event at the park already diverted more attention to you—everyone was talking about you fainting last night. You’ve become a bit of a hero to young women who would dearly love to have a marquess and an earl arguing over them. If you decry the Duke of Seduction, you might become a pariah.”
Lavinia groaned and flung herself back against the chair. “This is a disaster.” While becoming a pariah would certainly alleviate her current stress, it would potentially ensure she didn’t marry at all this Season, and her parents would be furious. In fact, regardless of the impact, her mother would be incensed if Lavinia wrote a letter at all. Lavinia narrowed her eyes. “I shall have to write it anonymously, then. Just as he does.”
Sarah’s lips curved into a smile. “Brilliant. You must call yourself the Duchess of Independence.”
“Perfect.” Lavinia grinned.
“How do you plan to ensure the editor of the Morning Chronicle prints it?” Fanny asked.
Lavinia shrugged. “I would think he’d be eager. The duke’s poems are quite popular.” She recalled Northam’s suggestion from the day before. “Lord Northam offered to deliver the letter to the Morning Chronicle. To remain anonymous, perhaps I should accept his assistance.”
“For a nonsuitor, the marquess is rather intent on helping you,” Sarah said with a heavy dollop of irony and more than a bit of curiosity.
It was a trifle odd, but Lavinia knew he felt bad about the way they’d met and his inappropriate behavior. Still, most rakes—probably all rakes—would simply have laughed it off and perhaps even tried to seduce her after dispatching Lady Fairwell. Northam, it appeared, was not the average rake. And that intrigued her.
Which she had no time for. She wanted her boring life back where she could enjoy her time hugging the wall with her friends and talking at length about subjects that interested her. She wasn’t able to take short jaunts to look at geologically interesting locations with so much attention directed at her. In fact, she despaired of being able to do that at all this Season, much to her disappointment.
“Unlike the Duke of Seduction, the marquess’s help is actually helpful. For that reason alone, I’ll accept it. Sarah, can your brother ensure Northam is at the park later so I can give him this letter for the Morning Chronicle?”
“Certainly.” Sarah peered at her. “Perhaps I should have him ask Northam why he’s helping you.”
“No, don’t do that,” Lavinia said. “Hopefully, I won’t require his assistance at all after this. Do you have foolscap here?”
Sarah rose. “Of course. I’ll just run up to my chamber to fetch it along with the other writing implements.” The moment she left, Lavinia began verbally drafting the letter with Fanny’s help.
An hour later, they were finished, and the sealed letter was tucked into Lavinia’s pocket as she left Sarah’s house. Unfortunately, they were not able to go to the park because the sky decided to unleash a rainstorm that would have soaked them to the bone.
It was so wet, in fact, that Lavinia’s mother considered not going to the Compton rout that evening. Lavinia had insistently talked her into it—not that her mother had needed much persuasion—and then tried to come up with a scheme in which she could get the note to Northam. Assuming he was even at the rout. This nonsense of men and women not being allowed to be friends was becoming increasingly bothersome.
As soon as she arrived at the Comptons’, Sarah joined her with an excited air. “I spoke to Anthony and arranged things for Lord Northam to pick up your letter. I said you would leave it on the mantelpiece in the library.”
Lavinia grinned. “Brilliant! You must thank Anthony for me. He really is a wonderful brother.”
“Sometimes,” Sarah said. “Sometimes, he’s a… Never mind.” She winked at Lavinia.
As soon as Fanny arrived, Lavinia stole away to His Grace’s library. She’d never been in the room before, and it took a bit of searching to find it. She closed the door behind her and went to the hearth. Withdrawing the letter from her reticule, she set it on the mantelpiece next to a small figurine of a dog.
Then, because she couldn’t help herself, she went to the bookshelf and perused the spines for anything of interest, pulling out unmarked spines here and there. One of them, a rather slim volume, was called The Peculiar Rocks of the Outer Hebrides. Feeling as though she’d discovered a very special treasure, she slipped the book from the shelf.
Just a few moments later, the door clicked, and she pressed the book closed. She stared guiltily as Lord Northam entered. His gaze dipped to her hands. “Reading again, I see.”
“I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.”
“Of course not.” He moved closer. “What is it tonight, then?”
“The most delightful little book about the peculiar rocks in the Outer Hebrides. They sound astonishing, with a variety of colors and strata. I’d dearly love to see them someday.” She replaced the book on the shelf with a sigh. Turning, she inclined her head toward the fireplace. “The letter is there.”
His gloved fingers plucked it from the mantel. He glanced down at the name she’d written on the front. “I’ll see that he gets it.”
“Thank you.” She took a step toward him so that only a couple of feet separated them. “My friends asked me why you are so keen to help me.”
“Can’t a gentleman simply perform a kindness?”
“Of course, but we don’t have a connection. Some would find your assi
stance inappropriate. Especially given your reputation.”
“As a rake.”
She gave a little shrug. “You don’t deny it. Indeed, you’ve told me you were going to engage in rakish activities. What’s more, I’ve personal knowledge of your rakish activities.” Heat rushed up her neck and flooded her face. “That is, because you met with Lady Fairwell.” She averted her gaze from his because she wasn’t sure she could stand another moment of the amused glint in his eyes.
“I daresay your knowledge isn’t all that personal, but I understand your meaning.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Now he looked away. “I felt poorly about the way we met, and I’m sorry the Duke of Seduction has caused you so much disquiet.”
“Yes, well, I eviscerated him in the letter.” She narrowed her eyes. “How I’d love to see his expression when he reads it.”
He looked at her in surprise. “Eviscerated him? He was trying to do good, and he did actually help a few young ladies.”
“I suppose, but I find the entire situation odd. Who is he to play matchmaker anonymously?” She cocked her head to the side. “Indeed, who is he? He has to be in Society to be aware of me and the others. And he’s obviously well-educated, given his skill with words.”
Northam lifted a shoulder. “An uneducated man could write as well.”
“Perhaps, but he wouldn’t be in Society.” She thought back to their other conversations and his steadfast defense of the man. She took another step toward him so she could see his expression quite clearly. “Do you know him?”
Northam’s dark blond brows arched for the briefest moment. “Why would you think so?”
“Because you’re eager to defend him, and I recall you saying it had to be someone who knew me.” She watched his reaction, but his gaze didn’t even flicker.
“I was merely trying to help you determine his identity.”
“Let us do that, then.” She turned and paced a few steps before pivoting back to face him. “Who do you think has the skill to write poetry like that?”
“Perhaps Byron has returned.”
She smirked. “Miss Pemberton suggested the same thing. I think we’d all know if he was back.”
Northam shrugged. “Not if he is well hidden.”
“I will concede that this duke is very well hidden, but it isn’t Byron. I daresay he’d publish under his own name. This man is secretive. Who in Society is intelligent and secretive?”
He exhaled, his gaze tilting to the ceiling briefly. “That could be any number of gentlemen. Or maybe it’s a woman. Have you considered that?”
“I had not. What an intriguing idea.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Are you trying to deflect my attention so I don’t discover his identity? I find it odd that you are so keen to help me. It’s almost as if you feel personally bad that this has caused trouble for me.”
“I do feel bad. I’m sure it was never his intent to cause harm. Which is why I’m wondering if you maybe shouldn’t send this letter.”
She froze, wondering if she’d heard him right. “Wait, I thought you offered to deliver it for me.”
“I did, but after you used the word eviscerate, I wonder if you should consider not sending it. Or, perhaps you could ask the editor to forward this to the duke so that he can hear your quarrel with his endeavors.”
Anger began to bubble in her chest. “So the Duke of Seduction can write about me in a public manner, but I shouldn’t do the same to him?”
The marquess had the grace to wince. “Er, no. I was simply offering another path to the same objective.”
“My objective is to get him to stop, and publicly calling him out will be far more effective than sending him a note asking him to cease.” She shook her head, then froze again, widening her eyes as she stared at this man she had to admit she didn’t know very well. “Were you even going to deliver my letter?” She held her hand out. “Give it back.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Why not?”
“Because you don’t need to send it.” He exhaled, his gaze settling firmly—and apologetically on hers. “I’m the Duke of Seduction.”
* * *
Beck watched as her eyes widened, then narrowed. Her jaw clenched, and she folded her arms over her chest, which rose and fell quite rapidly with her agitation.
“Explain yourself.”
He handed the letter back to her, and she snapped it from his fingers, recrossing her arms over her bodice. The position pressed her breasts up so the creamy swell of flesh was more prominent above her neckline. He tried very hard not to look at it. “I really was just trying to help. The Marriage Mart is often unkind to young women, especially those who are the most deserving of attention.”
“Like me?”
“Exactly like you. I’m so very sorry you found the attention I drew to you a burden. It didn’t occur to me that you—or anyone else—would take it as such. I was quite mistaken, obviously.”
“Obviously.” The word dripped with disgust. “Why would you do such a thing? If you want to lend support to a young lady, dance with her or promenade with her in the park.”
“I can’t very well do that to a series of young, unmarried women.”
“Why not? You’re already a rake. I should think it would suit your reputation perfectly.” She blew out a breath and lowered her hands to her sides, the letter still clutched in her fingers. “Never mind, I can see why that would be ill-advised. Your reputation could stain that of the young lady if you consistently failed to legitimately pursue any of them. However, I would argue that it wouldn’t, not if you kept the association brief.”
“I shall take that under advisement. In the meantime, I would like to continue my poetry campaign, as you called it.”
“You still haven’t told me why. Why would you do this in the first place?”
He’d hoped to avoid answering that question and thought he just might in the face of her ire. She’d launched the question and then forged on, but apparently she hadn’t forgotten it. He considered a fabrication of some kind, but he simply couldn’t come up with one. The truth, then. Or at least a half-truth.
“My sister was devastated by the Marriage Mart. She died lonely and utterly defeated.”
Lady Lavinia stared at him for a long moment. “That’s awful. I didn’t realize you had a sister. When was this?”
“Sixteen years ago. She was my half sister. My father had three wives, and she was from his first. I have another half sister who is married.”
“She found success, then.”
“Not on the Marriage Mart. She fell in love with the local curate in Devon. He’s a vicar in Cornwall now.” Beck thought of his half sister, Margaret, and his nieces and nephews. They were a happy, close-knit family, and Beck knew Helen had been jealous of her sister’s joy. She’d hoped to find the same things for herself—a husband, family, love.
But she hadn’t. Instead, she’d found coldness and alienation. After four years on the Marriage Mart… He shook the thoughts away before Lady Lavinia detected there was more to the story. She was wickedly astute.
Beck straightened, shrugging off the ghosts of the past. “I wanted to save other young women from the same disappointment and loneliness.”
She moved closer to him, and her anger seemed to have dissipated. “I’m so sorry about your sister. However, I am neither disappointed nor lonely. If I find a husband on the Marriage Mart—a man I can respect and love—then I shall count myself fortunate. However, if I am not so lucky and end up a spinster, there are worse things.”
Yes, there were. He admired her outlook so much. And realized he’d made a terrible error. “I’m sorry I caused you trouble. I’ve tried to help fix things.”
She smiled. “I know that now, and I appreciate it. May I suggest that you ascertain whether someone wants your help before you blindly offer it?”
“Yes. I shall endeavor to do that from now on.”
“You want to continue
being the Duke of Seduction?”
“The successful marriages of Miss Berwick and Miss Stewart seem to indicate I haven’t been a complete failure,” he said wryly. “The problem now is how I can continue to do that for women who truly want the assistance. Perhaps I can find a way to communicate with the subject first.”
“That takes a bit of the romance out of it, doesn’t it? Instead of the excitement of seeing their name in the paper with a gorgeous poem, it will be transacted in advance. If people know that is happening, women will clamor to be the next subject. Already, young ladies and their mothers are trying to find a way to be the next object of your—the Duke’s—attention.”
Hell, this had become far more complicated than he’d ever imagined.
“You could still help, I think.” She cocked her head to the side and turned to do another short pace before coming back to stand before him. “I could perhaps identify some young women who require a bit of assistance to elevate their visibility.”
He wasn’t quite sure he was hearing her correctly. “You’d help me?”
“Why not? You were so very eager to help me. Even if it wasn’t well thought out.”
“That’s quite magnanimous of you.” He purposely used a sardonic tone. “Perhaps I can return the favor by helping you in a way that would actually help you. What if I encouraged the right gentlemen in your direction?”
“What do you mean, the ‘right’ gentlemen?”
“Men you might find interesting. I can think of at least one fellow I was at school with who you may like. He possesses a scientific mind and was always digging in the dirt. He’s a botanist and now lectures at Oxford.”
The click of the door drew Beck to snap his head around. Someone was coming—there was no time. He clasped her hand and looked about wildly for somewhere to hide. The long, velvet drapes hanging at the window were their only option for concealment.
She thought so too, apparently, as she started in that direction the second he made the connection. The curtains were drawn closed, so they tucked themselves behind the deep russet velvet. The air was cool against the window, but he was warm as his heart beat a steady pace in his chest.
