Dancing in The Duke’s Arms

by Grace Burrowes, Shana Galen, Miranda Neville, Carolyn Jewel

  “Allie!” Nick jumped down and swept her into a hug. “Aren’t you pleased to see me?” Unusually, she realized she was not. He put his hands on her shoulders and set her at arms’ length. “Country air must suit you, for you’re looking in the pink.”

  She wished she could say the same for him. He seemed pale and drawn, with dark rings under his eyes, and a shadow of beard marred his beloved face.

  “I am glad you are here, of course. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting you for a few days.”

  Nick’s insouciant grin didn’t fool her; something troubled him. Traitorously, she wished she didn’t have to deal with it now. Her peaceful summer was threatened first by her husband, now her brother, and most of all by Nigel Speck.

  “Duchess,” said the odious man, who’d been observing the twins’ greeting with a mocking smile. “I hope you have room for me in your little house.”

  “Any friend of Nick’s is welcome, Mr. Speck,” she managed to grind out without spitting. She’d like to slap his smooth, smirking face.

  “Why so formal?” Nick asked, with forced jollity. He knew she was displeased. “You’ve been Allie and Nigel to one another for years.”

  “With Her Grace’s permission,” Speck said.

  With Her Grace’s good will, you may call me Your Grace and take yourself off, was what she wanted to say, and cursed Nick for putting her on the spot. She stretched her lips into a thin smile and let them read it how they would.

  “It’s good of you to have Nick and me for the summer, Allie,” Speck said. “The house parties at the Dukeries are legendary, and I’ve always wanted to be invited.”

  You haven’t been. “Come inside, and I will have a room prepared for you.”

  Having let a footman show Speck upstairs, she pulled Nick into the morning room. “Why did you bring him?” she said. “I told you last year that I didn’t want to have anything more to do with him.”

  “You never told me why,” Nick said.

  “There’s something unsavory about him.” To say the least.

  She’d never told anyone about the night at Vauxhall. When she first met Nigel Speck, she’d been charmed. He seemed the epitome of worldly sophistication, his outlook a mixture of ennui and sarcasm she’d never encountered in her sheltered life. Not precisely handsome, he held a forbidden allure. She was flattered when he flirted with her, and she flirted right back. But she’d never been the particular object of his attentions until last year. That night she’d found herself alone with him in a deserted walk and the quality of his compliments made her uncomfortable. When she tried to laugh him off, he’d persisted, grasping her in a steel grip and forcing a plundering kiss on her unwilling mouth. He called her a tease and said he knew she wanted him. Not sure how she’d managed to escape, the experience left her terrified, and worse, feeling soiled.

  She couldn’t shake off the feeling that the miserable episode had been her own fault. Certainly Linton would think so. Perhaps it had been a mistake not to tell Nick, but she hadn’t wanted to even think about what had happened, let alone talk about it. Nick was such a hothead, he’d probably call Speck out and end up at best with a scandal and at worst injured or dead. Her hints about Speck’s character apparently went unheard.

  Nick wore his sheepish look. “As a matter of fact, Allie, you were right. I wish I’d listened to you.”

  “Then why did you bring him here, for heaven’s sake?”

  “He insisted. I owe him money. I lost to him at piquet.”

  Althea groaned. “Oh no! You promised!” Nick’s talent at cards didn’t match his enthusiasm, and piquet was his worst game.

  “I know, I know, I’m sorry. If you lend me the money to pay him, he’ll go away.”

  Lend! She felt no desire whatever to succumb to his winning smile. “How much?”

  He named a sum that made her gasp. “How could you, Nick?”

  “Please, Allie. Just this once. I’ll never do it again.”

  The twins had inherited nothing from their wealthy father beyond a sum from their mother’s marriage settlement, providing Althea’s dowry and leaving Nick a modest income, which he augmented by handouts from his sister and his own wits. Rather small wits, she thought uncharitably. It was time Nick grew up, and she wondered if she had helped him by bailing him out a hundred times.

  “You’ll have to retrench and pay him over time,” she said. “Staying here for the summer won’t cost you anything. He can go back to town and wait.”

  “It’s a debt of honor. You know they have to be paid at once. If we send him back to London, he’ll tell everyone, and my reputation will be ruined.”

  “You should have thought of that before you gambled more than you could afford.”

  “I was sure my luck would turn.”

  “It never does, as you should know by now.”

  “I know you are right. I promise I’ll never do it again.”

  Althea paced the room, contemplating the dilemma. If she paid Speck, he’d go away. If she sent him off empty-handed, he would make trouble for Nick; he could also spread rumors about her. She had enough money, just, but it would leave her account almost empty, and she had sworn never to apply to Linton again.

  Oh God, Linton. He’d be back from his fishing any time now.

  She wanted to tell Nick to pack his so-called friend into his curricle, her gift to him on their last birthday, and roll on back to London. But she’d never let him down before. Besides, the idea of changing her brother’s careless outlook on life had taken hold. She wanted to do something that would help him in the future instead of providing a temporary bandage in the form of a bank draft.

  “I have an idea. You can enter the Dukeries Cup. The prize is enough to cover your debt, and a little more.” She explained about the annual rowing race. “The Chimneys hasn’t entered anyone in the race for a few years, but you can practice on the lake here, and I am sure you can win.”

  “I haven’t done much rowing since I left school.”

  “You used to win all the races then. You have weeks to prepare, and I don’t suppose the competition is very great.”

  “I suppose I can give it a try. It’ll be good to get out onto the water.” His wan cheeks flushed a little, and he looked more enthusiastic than she’d seen him in months. The exercise would do him good. “What about Speck?” he asked nervously.

  “Will he wait if you explain?” She supposed she’d have to pay the monster herself if Nick didn’t win the cup, but she’d keep quiet about that. Her brother needed the incentive to work hard.

  “You heard what he said about summer at the Dukeries.”

  Her heart sank. Three weeks and more with the odious Speck in the house, wondering if he awaited her behind every corner.

  “Just make sure you don’t leave me alone with him.”

  “What has he done?” Nick had finally woken up to the fact that she really didn’t like the man.

  “Nothing,” she said hastily. “It’s merely that I find him repulsive.” She had plenty of servants at The Chimneys, so he couldn’t maneuver her into a dangerous situation as he had at Vauxhall. She could manage.

  “I’ll lend him my curricle, and he can spend the days while I’m training calling on the other dukes. He’ll enjoy that.” He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Allie. You always come up trumps.”

  “One more thing, Linton is here.”

  “What the devil? He’s supposed to leave The Chimneys to you. I shall remind him of that fact.”

  The notion of Nick speaking sternly to the Duke of Linton would have made her laugh, but for the irony of what he had done. By inflicting Speck on her, he’d inconvenienced her far worse than having her husband here for a day or two. Whatever Linton might do, she didn’t have to worry about him trying to kiss her in dark corners. Not even in earlier times when she would have welcomed it.

  “It’s just for tonight,” she said wearily. “Promise me you’ll behave and not provoke him?”

  “
I’ve never done anything to him, and it’s not my fault he doesn’t like me,” Nick said a little sadly, and with new evidence of his utter obliviousness. “But don’t worry, I’ll be as bland as a white sauce.”

  *

  The best spot for trout lay over a mile from The Chimneys. Linton chose to go on foot to enjoy a couple of hours of fishing in which he let the business of casting occupy his mind, luxuriating in the respite from the demands of duty that filled his life. The stream had been neglected. Overgrown bulrushes that kept snagging his line needed to be cleared, and he should see about having the stock of fish replenished. But why go to the trouble when he wouldn’t be here?

  He stowed his fishing tackle with regret that his brief holiday was over. He missed this place. Could he persuade Althea to choose another estate as her country house? Or he could visit The Chimneys more often with her. Last night they had managed to be polite, even amiable. The pleasures of angling receded from his brain to make way for vivid images of the hour with her on the piano bench. Of the scent of her, the weight of her thigh against his, and the way her soft cool hands brushed his.

  Desiring Althea was nothing new. Though not the only motive for wedding her, it had been a strong one. He did not think he’d been bewitched by a pretty face as his sisters claimed, but his judgment of her character had turned out to be mistaken. What he didn’t know was if the maturity and intelligence she’d displayed last night were real. Had she changed inside as well as out?

  He pulled the reins of his racing brain. Unthinking haste was what got him into the disastrous marriage that twenty-four hours earlier he’d believed—known—to be irreparable. If their current rapprochement lasted a few days under the same roof, there would be time enough to consider reconciliation. He’d see how things went day by day, until Nicholas Maxfield arrived.

  If nothing else resulted, he might at least catch a fish larger than a minnow. Hurrying homeward, he found himself whistling, satisfied with his sensible and measured decision. After disposing of the fishing gear and changing into dry clothes, he went in search of his duchess. Maybe he’d ask her to accompany him to Sedgemere House to call on the duchess while he talked to the duke about their tenants’ dispute.

  Maybe not. When the collapse of the Linton marriage was one of society’s nine days’ wonders, the whispered gossip as he entered a room affronted his dignity. He could imagine the speculation if they were seen in public together. He decided to put off his call until tomorrow and see if she wanted to go for a stroll.

  He found her in the morning room drinking tea with a snake in the grass. Correction: a pair of snakes, and one was a viper. He didn’t really mind Nicholas, idle and feckless as the young man was. At Nigel Speck, he drew the line. Unpleasant rumors swirled around the man’s name. Although Linton didn’t know him well, to look at him was to hate him.

  “Linton!” Althea’s voice emerged high-pitched and artificially welcoming, recalling the beginning of some past arguments over her indiscretions. “Look who’s here. Nick has brought a friend down for the summer. Do you know Mr. Speck?”

  Speck bowed with oily affability that made Linton want to use him as a punching bag, rearrange his sleek features, and wipe away his ingratiating grimace. “A surprise to see you, Duke, but a most agreeable one, of course. We are glad to share the duchess’s company with her husband, are we not, Nick?”

  A new suspicion swelled in Linton’s chest. He knew Speck had been one of Althea’s flirts, but he’d never thought there was anything particular between them, or between his wife and any of the gallants who frequented her circle. Foolishly, perhaps, he’d always believed she’d remained innocent of the ultimate betrayal. Heedlessly indiscreet, yes, but not adulterous, not least because she knew he would never acknowledge a bastard child. But there was always the possibility that she had been careful, or lucky.

  He schooled his expression to casual disdain and answered Speck’s greeting with the meanest of nods.

  Nicholas seized his hand with a big smile, so like his sister’s. They were ridiculously alike, the twins, Nicholas a handsome masculine counterpart to Althea’s delicate beauty. “Linton, my dear fellow. I’m glad to see you. What a pity it’ll only be for one night.”

  “Madam,” Linton said. “A word with you.” Althea shrugged at her brother and let Linton lead her into another room. “I do not like Speck,” he said.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your business. I can ask any guests I wish to my house.”

  “I agree,” he said, struggling for patience in the interest of amity. “I would request that you not entertain men of poor character.”

  She paused, apparently considering the matter. “I’m sorry, Linton,” she said finally. “I don’t wish to quarrel with you, but I cannot accede to your request. He is a friend of Nick’s and as such welcome. I don’t see how it matters to you, since you are leaving tomorrow”

  Linton didn’t want to quarrel either. Neither did he like the idea of Althea under the same roof as that specimen of seedy manhood. Speck might be a gentleman by birth, but Linton would wager he didn’t have an honorable bone in his body. “I’m not leaving tomorrow. I intend to stay a week, very likely more.”

  “Oh!” He wasn’t sure if Althea’s exclamation was one of surprise or displeasure. He feared the latter, but that was too bad. He wasn’t going anywhere.

  “Very well, Linton. You may stay. But so does Mr. Speck.”

  Chapter Four

  ‡

  Althea had been pleased when Linton said he’d remain. If only he knew how much she wanted to obey him for once and send Speck away. During the nightmare of dinner, she changed her mind. Only Nick gamely tried to keep the conversation going by revealing his plan to compete in the Dukeries Cup, although not the reason for it. Once that topic dried up, she had to fend off the flirtatious sallies of Nigel Speck without giving him an overt set-down. Linton sat at the end of the table, silent as a judge, observing the byplay between her and her unwelcome guest.

  She wasn’t going to put up with this for long. Either Linton must leave, or Speck, preferably both.

  Desperate to survive the remainder of the evening with a minimum of conversation, she suggested a table of whist. As bad luck would have it, she drew Speck as her partner. Playing with more than her usual lack of attention, her side was soon down by many points. Things would have been worse but for the skill of her partner, who forgave her mistakes with a charming forbearance that infuriated her and, on one occasion, caused her to revoke.

  “Allie!” Nick said. “You had a club left, but you trumped my ace last time they were played. You owe us three points.”

  “Never mind,” Speck said. “It’s only a friendly game, and clubs and spades look alike. It’s not your fault. Since we’re only playing for penny points, it’s no great matter. Don’t be so hard on your sister, Nick. No one expects someone as pretty as she is to be an expert at whist.”

  Althea clutched her remaining cards to foil the urge to throw them at him.

  “Three points.” Linton, a silent but overbearing presence during the game, noted the penalty on the scorecard. His unhurried scrutiny passed over the other players, one by one. “I propose we raise the stakes,” he said.

  What was he doing? Did he intend to beggar her? Nick, scenting a lucrative evening, agreed enthusiastically.

  “Why not?” Speck said. “Shall we say sixpence a point? What do you say, Duchess? The cards have been against us, but I have faith we can come about.”

  What did it matter if she lost a few pounds instead of shillings? She hoped their deficit would be enough to cause Speck a little embarrassment and Nick would win some much-needed cash.

  “Paltry.” Linton enunciated the word in what she always thought of as his ducal voice, the one that placed him above lesser creatures. “I’d propose a guinea, but that might be too rich for your blood. Ten shillings is a nice round sum, high enough to add spice to the contest, but not enough to cause anyone serious embarrass
ment.”

  She stared at him in amazement, remembering the lectures she’d endured from him about high play. It was all very well for the Duke of Twelve Estates to say ten shillings a point was nothing. If the stakes had been that high before, she and Speck would owe almost one hundred pounds. Linton merely raised his brow, his harsh, aristocratic features as inscrutable as ever. He dominated the room with his height, his sober evening clothes, and impeccable white linen, making the other men seem mere boys.

  Speck pulled a polished gold snuffbox from his pocket and offered it around. Nick and Linton refused, and after he took a sniff, he laid the box on the table next to his brandy. “I’m in,” he said. “Ten shillings it is. My turn to deal, I believe.”

  Whatever Linton was up to, he’d aroused Althea’s pride. She wasn’t a total incompetent at whist when she tried, so she concentrated on her cards and tried to forget her husband’s puzzling behavior. She and Speck won some hands, lost others, and by dint of some brilliantly lucky risks on Speck’s part, they were up by twenty pounds after an hour.

  Linton called a break. “Will you ring for refreshments, madam?” He made some small talk as they waited, commenting affably on the course of the game. While the servants served tea and cake, he reached for Speck’s snuffbox. “A pretty thing, quite old. I prefer an unadorned box, myself. Some of the French designs are overly elaborate, I always think. Is it a family piece?”

  Speck seemed nervous at being addressed by the duke in a friendly manner. “No,” he said, flicking a reptilian tongue over his lips. “I don’t recall where I got it.”

  “Won it at cards, perhaps?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “It’s rather in the way here. I’ll put it over here.” Linton set the box on a side table.