Tessa cringed as she recalled the way she’d chattered like a monkey. He must have thought she’d dropped her fan on purpose like all those silly girls she’d read about in the scandal sheets. Oh, how lowering.
She took a deep breath, reminding herself she was unlikely to encounter him again. Thank goodness.
“I am glad to see you, Tessa. I’ve missed you so.”
Tessa returned her attention to Anne, her former companion and dearest friend in the world. “I missed you as well.”
Anne’s eyes misted. “I never imagined I would make such a happy marriage. You made all my dreams come true.”
For nearly a year, Tessa had promoted the match between Anne Mortland and Lord Broughton. More than once, Tessa had feared all would come to naught, but true love and a dusting of luck had culminated in this fairy tale marriage.
Tessa glanced at Lord Broughton. “You both look well, my lord.”
Broughton gazed at his bride with adoration. “I am the happiest of men.”
Tessa’s heart contracted with a yearning for something she could never have.
Anne clasped her arm. “Tessa, look quickly. You do not want to miss seeing Jane dance.”
Tessa lifted up on her toes to see past the crowd. She caught a glimpse of her new companion, Jane Powell, but the fast approach of two fashionable and handsome gentlemen diverted her attention. As they neared, her heart thudded. She recognized the taller man with tousled black hair. It was the Duke of Shelbourne.
She turned round, hoping he’d not seen her. To her mortification, Shelbourne and the other gentleman approached Lord Broughton.
“Shelbourne, Hawk, this is an unexpected pleasure,” Broughton said, rubbing his hands.
Tessa gazed up at the chandelier, wishing she could melt like the wax oozing from the candles. When she’d run away, he’d probably thought she wanted him to chase her. Belatedly, she realized her behavior only made her look guilty and a little foolish. She planted a serene smile on her face as Lord Broughton introduced her to the duke and Lord Hawkfield. Then she curtseyed and rose to find Shelbourne gazing at her. In the light of the chandelier, she could see his eyes were marine blue and fringed by thick black lashes.
“Miss Mansfield and my wife are friends,” Lord Broughton said. “She is the one responsible for our happy union.”
Lord Hawkfield raised his brows in an exaggerated fashion. “I say, a matchmaker? If only I had known of your skills when my sisters were single, Miss Mansfield. You might have saved me the trouble of finding them husbands.”
His mocking tone vexed her. She’d encountered plenty of his kind before, always quick to ridicule her avocation. “I had no idea I had a competitor. Or do you only make matches for relatives?”
Before Lord Hawkfield could reply, the duke cut in. “His self-proclaimed talent is highly overrated.”
She arched her brows. “Should I be relieved?”
“He never stood a chance against you.”
His distinctive baritone voice sent an exquisite shiver along her arms. She mentally shook herself. He’s a rake, he’s a rake, he’s a rake.
The music ended. Lord Hawkfield excused himself and disappeared into the crowd. The duke glanced at her, and then he closed the distance between them.
She looked at him warily. Could he not see she wished him to leave her in peace?
“I apologize for detaining you so long earlier,” he said. “Without a proper introduction, I fear you might have taken offense.”
He’d apologized in a gentlemanly manner, even though she was equally at fault, perhaps more so, since she’d done most of the talking. “No apology is necessary. The circumstances were unusual.”
He inclined his head. Though he did not smile, there was a natural curve to his full lips. His was not the pretty face of a dandy, however. Oh, no, not at all. His thick brows, angular cheekbones, and square jaw were all male. Little wonder women reportedly swooned at his perfection. No, not quite perfect, she thought, detecting a faint shadow along his jaw and above his full upper lip. His valet probably had to shave him twice a day. Her skin prickled at this evidence of the duke’s masculinity.
“There is something I wish to ask you.” His voice rumbled, a sound as rich and irresistible as a cup of chocolate.
Her heart thumped at the low, seductive notes in his voice. She’d thought herself unsusceptible to such tricks, but evidently her traitorous body was not.
“May I call upon you tomorrow afternoon?” he asked.
“Your Grace, if this concerns my fan, I beg you to forget the matter.” There, that should settle his concern once and for all.
“It is not about the fan,” he said. “I have appointments early in the afternoon. May I call at four o’clock?”
She regarded him with suspicion. “Why not tell me now?”
“I prefer to discuss it in private, if you are amenable.”
In private? Did he mean to make her a dishonorable proposal? Then her common sense prevailed. A handsome rake like him would have no interest in a plump spinster.
His mouth curved in the merest of smiles. “You hesitate. I can hardly blame you after I discomposed you earlier.”
She lifted her chin. “I was not discomposed.” What a bouncer. She’d fled as if the engraving on his card read His Grace, the Duke of Devilbourne.
“I will of course abide by your decision.” Then he gazed into her eyes with such intensity, she stilled like a rabbit in the woods. He drew her in, mesmerizing her with his arresting blue eyes. She felt the pull of his will like a swift current. And everything inside her said yes. “Very well,” she said breathlessly.
“Thank you. Until tomorrow.” He sketched a formal bow and walked away.
She let out her pent-up breath. Good God, he’d seduced her into agreeing.
Anne approached, using her fan to shield her voice. “What were you and the duke discussing?”
Tessa thought it best not to reveal his intended visit until she knew his purpose. “Nothing of consequence.” But he wanted something from her. She suppressed a shiver.
“He spoke to you at length,” Anne said. “You must tell me what he said.”
“You make too much of the matter.” Why had she let him turn her head?
“He looked at you like a starving wolf. Stay away from him,” Anne said. “He is well-respected for his politics, but even Geoffrey admitted the duke has a notorious reputation with women. He probably has one hundred notches in his bedpost.”
Tessa scoffed. “I’m sure he has no interest in carving one for an aging spinster like me.”
“You are only six and twenty,” Anne said. “Why must you always demean your charms?”
She ignored her friend’s question. “Do not worry. I am in no danger of falling for a rake’s wiles.” Even if he’d persuaded her to let him call tomorrow, and she’d accepted against her better judgment.
Anne drew closer. “He has a reputation as a legendary lover. Women throw themselves in his path. I heard he can persuade a woman to do his bidding with his eyes.”
Tessa gulped, knowing it was true.
Anne surveyed the crowd and grabbed Tessa’s arm. “Look, there he is now by the hearth. Do you see that woman with him? That is Lady Endicott, a formerly respectable widow—until she met Shelbourne.”
Tessa glanced in that direction. A tall, raven-haired beauty with jade feathers in her bandeau slid her finger along Shelbourne’s lapel. Then the widow leaned against him and whispered in his ear. He turned his head and flicked her earbob.
Tessa gasped. Stars above. She’d invited that shameless rake to her drawing room.
His teeth flashed in a roguish grin. Then he winked at the lady and strode off.
“How could he engage in such brazen flirtation when his sister is present?” Anne said, her voice outraged.
Tessa swerved her gaze to Anne. “His sister?”
“Lady Julianne,” Anne said. “She is dancing with Lord Holbrook.”
The dark-haired young woman laughed as she skipped past her partner. Her complexion glowed with the radiance of youth, and her gold-netted gown set off her slender figure to perfection. A sliver of envy lodged in Tessa’s throat. Long ago, she’d missed her own opportunity to have a season. Most of the time, she refused to dwell on the past, but once in a while, regret shadowed her heart.
Anne regarded Tessa. “Lady Julianne is purported to have declined more than a dozen marriage proposals since her come-out three years ago.”
“She sounds very particular.”
“Perhaps it is her brother who is particular,” Anne said. “Some say the duke believes no man is good enough for his sister.”
Tessa stilled. Did he mean to ask her to make a match for his sister tomorrow? No, surely he would rely on his mother’s advice. Why then had he insisted on calling?
Chapter Two
At half past three o’clock, Tessa set aside her book, walked over to the window, and peered out the wavy glass. Shadows from her town house crept halfway to the wrought-iron gates. A curricle with enormous yellow wheels rumbled past, splashing puddles from an earlier shower.
What did Shelbourne want? The question played like a refrain in her head. She’d tossed and turned for hours last night, trying to guess, but she’d not thought of a single reasonable explanation.
Gravesend shuffled inside, wearing a solemn expression on his heavily lined face. Tessa smiled at her faithful butler. “You are looking dapper today,” she said.
He tugged on his lapels. “Everything is in readiness for the duke’s visit.”
“Thank you, Gravesend,” she said. “That is a relief to me.” She watched her elderly butler exit with a smile on her face. He’d served her late uncle for many years and refused to retire with a pension, because he felt an obligation to her.
“Oh, I’ve made a shambles,” Jane Powell said.
Tessa padded over to the round table where her new companion sat ripping out stitches. “Troubles?”
Jane set aside her needlework and brushed back an auburn curl. “I confess I’m all aflutter. In all my wildest dreams, I never thought to meet a real duke.”
“You need do nothing more than stitch quietly.”
“I promise not to utter a sound,” Jane said, her expression anxious.
“I’m sure you will do fine.” Tessa sat next to her. “Before the duke arrives, there is one issue I must address. Whatever transpires today must never leave this room.”
“Oh, yes, of course. My lips are sealed,” she said, tracing her finger over her mouth.
The rap of the knocker downstairs startled Tessa. A glance at the clock showed it was a quarter of four. Was the duke early? She walked over to the settee and perched upon the cushion, not allowing her spine to touch the mahogany back carved in the shape of shields.
When footsteps sounded on the stairs, her stomach flopped like a hooked fish. She told herself she had nothing to worry about. It was only the unknown making her nerves jangle.
Gravesend entered, puffed out his chest, and announced the duke.
Tessa smiled at Gravesend, rose, and curtseyed as Shelbourne strode inside.
When he bowed, his movements were quick and efficient. “Miss Mansfield, thank you for receiving me.”
She introduced her companion and then indicated one of the armchairs across from her. “Will you be seated?”
Her chest constricted as he crossed over to the chair. In the light of day, his imposing height and powerful physique dominated her drawing room. Every sculpted and commanding inch of the man bespoke an ancestry of warriors. She could easily picture him, broadsword in hand, storming castle walls.
After they were seated, Tessa looked inquiringly at him. “May I offer you tea?”
“No, thank you.”
She gazed at him expectantly. He tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair as he surveyed the drawing room. She imagined it from his perspective. No doubt he found the pale green walls with plasterwork of gold swags and ribbons entirely too feminine for his taste.
He returned his gaze to her. “Is your family from home?”
A tiny pin pricked her heart. “I have no living family.”
“My deepest sympathy for your misfortune,” he said.
“I consider myself quite fortunate. I have wonderful friends, and Miss Powell is a perfect companion.”
He considered her for a moment. “You have taken charge of your life in spite of a difficult situation. An admirable quality.”
His unexpected praise surprised her. She knew the ton looked upon her independence with suspicion.
After an uncomfortable silence, Tessa realized she would have to start the conversation. “Lady Broughton pointed out your sister to me last night. She is a lovely young woman.”
“I thank you on her behalf.” He glanced at Jane and then returned his attention to Tessa. “Miss Mansfield, I wish to discuss a matter with you in private. With your permission, of course.”
Tessa hesitated. Meeting a gentleman alone wasn’t strictly proper, unless a couple rode in an open carriage. Clearly he had no intention of speaking in front of her companion. Practicality must prevail—or she would go mad with curiosity.
“Jane,” Tessa said, facing her companion. “The light is growing too dim here for needlework. You may return to your bedchamber to finish.”
Wide-eyed, Jane quit the drawing room, leaving behind her sewing basket. Tessa suppressed a smile at Jane’s forgetfulness.
When the door shut, Shelbourne squared his shoulders. “I must apologize for asking you to meet me alone. In doing so, I am putting your reputation at risk. I would not have asked if I did not believe it necessary.”
“I take responsibility for all my decisions, Your Grace. Since the matter is a sensitive one, it is in both our best interests to ensure the conversation remains private.”
“Thank you,” he said.
She respected him for acknowledging the risk to her reputation, but he’d yet to state his purpose. “You have kept me in suspense. How may I help you?”
“I wish to hire you.”
She stiffened. He’d insisted on speaking to her privately. Did he mean to hire her as a—a mistress?
He regarded her curiously. “Last night, I understood you offer matchmaking services.”
Her shoulders slumped with relief. “My matchmaking is not a business.”
“Nevertheless, I will compensate you for your efforts,” he said. “Name a fair price, and I’ll see you’re paid half upon agreement, and the remainder upon a successful conclusion.”
“I have no need of remuneration.” Thanks to her late uncle, she had inherited a considerable fortune.
His dark brows drew together. “Surely you expect something in return.”
She shook her head. “My matchmaking endeavors are entirely altruistic.”
“Very well,” he said. “I am prepared to provide you with the necessary information to aid in your search.”
So he meant to ask her to make a match for his sister after all. “While I am flattered, I fear your mother would object if I were to make a match for Lady Julianne.”
He frowned. “You misunderstand. I am not seeking your services for my sister.”
Oh, dear, she’d made a mistake. How many times had Uncle George warned her never to make assumptions? “Your Grace, who is the lucky bride-to-be?”
The corners of his mouth lifted just a little. “If I knew that, I wouldn’t need your assistance.”
She gaped at him. “You want me to find you a bride?”
“Yes.”
She couldn’t countenance any man seeking her services, let alone a duke. “You are the most sought-after bachelor in England. Why do you need my help?”
“Finding a suitable bride on the marriage mart is a chancy business. Since I never leave matters to chance, I decided to consult an expert.”
Tessa figured he’d grown weary of dodging fans, handkerchiefs, and parasols. “There is a certa
in amount of luck involved in all matrimonial matters. I simply facilitate opportunities for those who have few choices.” She smiled. “You have the opposite problem.”
“The number doesn’t signify,” he said. “What matters is making the right choice. And that is the crux of my problem.”
“I do not understand.”
“Do you read the papers, Miss Mansfield?”
“I am aware of your situation. Is it causing difficulties for you?”
“With such fame, I dare not ask a lady to dance for fear the scandal sheets will print my engagement the next day.”
“Oh, dear, that is a problem,” she said. “If it is not too impertinent, may I ask if there is a particular reason you’ve chosen to marry now?”
He tapped his fingers again. “I have recently set my affairs in order.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What affairs?”
His fingers stilled. “I beg your pardon?”
“If I am to agree to this match, I must first assure myself that you are a man of good character.” She already knew he was a rake, but she intended to make him squirm.
He regarded her from beneath his black lashes. “Do you often allow men of bad character into your drawing room, Miss Mansfield?” he drawled.
“Oh, did you not see them lined up at my door? It is truly amazing how many knaves, rogues, and rakes seek to make respectable marriages.”
When he smiled, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “Are you always this satirical?”
He’d neatly diverted her, but she’d not forgotten. “About your affairs?”
His smile faded. “I inherited a number of debts more than a decade ago, but the estate is now solvent.” He paused. “Some might find my decision to postpone marriage foolhardy under the circumstances.”
She filled in the blanks. He’d refused to marry in order to replenish the ducal coffers. A rake he might be, but he wasn’t a fortune hunter. “I find your decision honorable.” If only all gentlemen were so honorable, her life might have turned out differently.
How to Marry a Duke Page 2
