How to Beguile a Duke (Entangled Scandalous)

by Ally Broadfield

  A rare, protective urge overcame him for this enigma of a girl. He brushed it aside. “This table is the original. We had to do much work to restore it.” He waved his hand toward the other long wall. “That table was constructed to the exact specifications of the two original tables. This side of the room sustained the most damage and we were unable to save the surface of the table, though we did manage to salvage several of the legs.”

  She walked over to the new table and touched the surface. “It’s a remarkable copy. I never would have guessed that the two were of different origin.”

  He pointed to the vaulted ceiling. “We also had to replace much of the plasterwork and two of the ceiling beams. It’s best not to take any chances with structural elements.”

  “No, of course not.” She glanced at the rafters and her gaze strayed to the balcony at the end of the chamber.

  “What is that?” she asked, pointing. “Surely you don’t think so much of yourself that you must sit above your guests.”

  She had issued a grave insult of the sort that would normally cause him to take offense, but it was uttered with such a lack of artifice that he found himself stifling his laughter instead of issuing a set down. “Why yes, Miss Malboeuf. I so dislike mingling with my guests that I had a balcony constructed for my personal use so I could lord over everyone in a manner befitting my superior station.”

  She tilted her head to the side and regarded him, her eyes wide.

  He crossed his arms and waited for her to speak. Surely she was about to issue a dressing down of her own. After a full minute passed, he began to wonder if she would ever speak again. He would have paid a small fortune to be privy to the thoughts inside her head.

  “Whatever is the matter, Miss Malboeuf? Cat got your tongue?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Is that really the purpose of the balcony?”

  He laughed. “Of course not. It is a minstrel’s gallery.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You wretched man. How could you lead me on in such a way?”

  “No, no. You deserved it.” He placed his hand over his heart. “You wounded me to the core with your unkind words.”

  “Nonsense. I expect that even if every person in England were to give you a dressing down it would have no effect on your ego whatsoever.”

  She really was overstepping, but he couldn’t bring himself to set her to rights. He hadn’t been this entertained in a long time.

  After a brief pause while she studied the balcony, she said, “So actors perform on the balcony to entertain the guests?”

  He nodded. “I held a reception for the neighbors a few years ago and we had musicians in the gallery. I imagine if a family with children lived here they would conduct plays or charades as well.”

  She studied him in that disconcerting way that made him feel as if she could tell what he was thinking. Though she was likely the most naive person he had ever met, she was very perceptive and almost completely without guile.

  He turned away from her scrutiny and glanced out the window at the lower court. The clouds had cleared and the sun shone brightly. The gardens weren’t at their best this time of year, but the promise of spring was in the air.

  A whiff of roses assailed his senses as Miss Malboeuf drew to a halt beside him. He leaned closer before catching himself and taking a step back. Her choice of fragrance was a remarkable coincidence given that the rose garden was one of few that had survived.

  “Are we on the second floor? I must admit it is difficult to keep track. There seem to be staircases at every turn going up or down, but rarely both.”

  “It depends on which part of the room you are in.”

  She scrunched her nose. “I realize your opinion of me is not high, but surely you don’t think me a simpleton.”

  He grinned and pointed outside. “If you look out this window, you will see the lower courtyard several stories below.” Turning in the opposite direction, he led her across the room. “But out this way, you can walk directly onto the upper courtyard.” His nerves tingled at her proximity. Once again noting the fine weather, he thought it prudent to get some distance from her. “It is a beautiful afternoon. Shall we go outside and view the gardens? There is an excellent place to view the manor that will help you to better understand the layout.”

  Her face brightened. “Of course. I should love to see the gardens. My mother spoke frequently of a small footbridge where she learned to fish.”

  “I know just the place.” It happened to be one of his favorite locations on the property. He held his arm out to indicate she should precede him into the corridor. They turned to the right and exited into the upper terrace gardens.

  Clapping her hands together in delight, Ms. Malboeuf said, “It’s so lovely. I expected England to be cold and wet this time of year.”

  Though her admiration of Walsley was genuine, she seemed to have forgotten about her quest for the journal. At the very least, he had expected her to request more time to search for it. Perhaps she did not have ulterior motives as he had first thought. In retrospect, she had been straightforward about wanting the journal and her desire to purchase the estate, and she was not skilled at hiding her emotions.

  “Never fear, the weather will turn soon. The gardens are quite impressive, though there is little see this time of year.” He pointed to the wall enclosing the terrace, where a few early roses had bloomed. “The espaliered roses were one of the few plants remaining in this garden when I purchased the property.” The breeze carried the perfume of roses to him, leaving him unable to determine whether the intoxicating scent came from her or the flowers.

  “My mother mentioned a wall in the garden that looked as if it was made of roses.” She ran her fingertips across a barren stem. “She said the perfume of the roses drifted into the house while they were in bloom.”

  He nodded. “Yes, it does.” Disquiet pervaded his stomach as another feeling began to spread. Remorse? Though he was guilty of nothing, he did regret having to deny Miss Malboeuf. Her family had a legitimate attachment to Walsley, but he was the one who saved it, restored it, and made it a home again, and he would not give it up.

  Gesturing toward the river, he said, “Reaching the bridge will require a bit of hike. It’s a good thing you decided to wear your boots.”

  She shot him a grin. “The view alone is worth the effort.” Her boots crunched along the gravel path as she walked as if by instinct toward the staircase that led to the footbridge.

  He followed quietly behind, allowing her to take in the magnificent view of the river and the land spread out below them. She ran her hand over the top of the stone wall, then picked a buttercup, twirling it between her fingers as she approached the bridge. He found her more alluring than the scenery.

  She stopped and he drew up beside her. “Can you see the spire in the distance? You may want to visit the church while you are in the area. It is likely the final resting place of many of your ancestors.”

  She turned to him. “Are none of them buried at the chapel here at Walsley? Not even my grandfather?”

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe so.”

  She drew in her lower lip and continued her walk toward the bridge. “Mama spoke of walking to visit his grave site, but I thought she meant here at the house.”

  “Newhall Church is a mere two miles away. An easy walk from here.”

  She nodded but didn’t speak. He studied her profile, noting the fine lines of her nose and cheek. A sudden urge struck him to run his fingers along her jawline and down her neck over the faint line of her pulse visible through her pale skin. He shook his head. He had been without a woman for too long. There was no other explanation for his momentary attraction to this very uncouth woman.

  “Miss Malboeuf?”

  She turned to him expectantly.

  “Did you travel all the way to England simply to find the journal?”

  She placed her hands on her hips. “My goodness. You really do think I’m just a silly,
frivolous girl.”

  He had underestimated her at first, but he would not make that mistake again. “Not at all. But I do wonder whether you plan to head back to the colonies straightaway after locating the journal.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I believe my previous statement stands. Only an extremely frivolous…no, that’s not correct. Only a…deranged person would spend months traveling halfway around the world to complete a simple task and immediately board a ship to repeat the trip again.”

  “Then, if I may be so bold—”

  Her nostrils flared. “Why ask my permission now when you’ve clearly already been so bold?”

  Confound the woman. She would not give a millimeter of ground. He pitied the man who found himself married to her. “I shall try again,” he said under his breath. “Miss Malboeuf, let me rephrase. How long do you intend to stay in England?”

  “The timing of my arrival was no accident. I expect to remain for some time and partake of the social season in London.”

  Afraid she might resort to physical abuse—she did carry a cutlass after all—he bit his lip to prevent a laugh from erupting. “Do you plan to break into Almack’s, then, and threaten the patronesses with physical harm if they don’t issue you a voucher?”

  She rolled her eyes at him. “I would certainly like to threaten you with physical harm.”

  He held his palm against his chest. “Miss Malboeuf, do have a care for my feelings. I’m simply attempting to look after your welfare.”

  “I hadn’t realized. How, exactly, were you expecting to accomplish that? With insults or ludicrous suggestions?”

  He smothered a smile. “Clearly the second option. Ludicrous suggestions.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said pertly, then ruined it by laughing.

  She laughed with complete abandon, entirely unconcerned about how she looked or what he thought of her, and he joined in her mirth. It had been a long time since he’d laughed like that. Longer than he could remember, in fact. Yet, it wouldn’t do to let this undisciplined chit steer him off course. He was the Duke of Boulstridge and would behave as such.

  He stood tall and straightened his shoulders. “Let me rephrase my original question. How do you intend to gain entrée to the ton? They are not welcoming to untitled outsiders.”

  “My mother is not without friends here, Your Grace. You needn’t worry about me.”

  And just like that, she had dismissed him. It was just as well, as he certainly wasn’t going to offer to sponsor her himself. He had to admit she was entertaining, but she had no hope of surviving for more than a fortnight in London. There was, however, one small thing he could do for her, which hopefully would benefit him as well. Aside from some nonsense about a hidden tiara, he was unable to discover anything of importance in the journal. If he gave her access to it, perhaps it would distract her focus from Walsley. Despite his misgivings about her, he trusted her with the journal. She wasn’t the devious sort. No, she was more than willing to exhibit her lack of decorum in public.

  He kicked at the gravel on the path and looked up to meet her eyes. “I have a confession to make.” He braced himself for her reaction. “I am in possession of the journal you seek.”

  Her mouth dropped open and she moved her lips, but no sound emerged. It put him in mind of a fish, albeit an attractive one.

  “You, you…horrid man.” She stomped away from him. “First you question my sanity, my intentions…and you’ve had the journal all along?”

  “Miss Malboeuf, you seem to be missing the salient point. I have the journal. Since you plan to stay in England indefinitely, I am willing to let you borrow it.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “Borrow it? It rightly belongs to my family.”

  “Be that as it may, it was in the house when I purchased it, and the contents of the house are legally mine. Who do you think the courts would side with? The daughter of a French pirate from the colonies, or a respectable duke with an impeccable pedigree?”

  “You speak of yourself like a prized horse.”

  His chest burned as if he had eaten spoiled meat. He opened his mouth to retort, but completely lost his train of thought at the ludicrousness of her accusation. He cleared his throat while he searched for words. “And you are doing your best to antagonize me, Miss Malboeuf. I am offering to let you take possession of the journal today, but I have a few stipulations.”

  She leaned forward. “Of course you do. I would expect nothing less from you.”

  Placing his hands on his hips, he mirrored her stance. “You’ve only just met me, so you cannot have any expectations with respect to my actions.”

  “You’d be surprised how much I am able to deduce about you based on our short acquaintance.”

  He crossed his arms. “If you continue in the same vein, I may rescind my offer.”

  “My apologies,” she said without a modicum of remorse. “Please continue with your list of demands.”

  He sighed. “You may take the journal as long as you promise to return it to me before you leave to return to the colonies.”

  “As you are a duke, I would have assumed you attended the best schools money and status can acquire. You do know that the colonies no longer exist, and that neither New Orleans nor the Bahamas were ever part of them, right?”

  He widened his stance. “Immaterial. Do you agree to my first requirement?”

  “Yes, sir.” She clicked her heels together in a most insulting manner.

  “Next, if you intend to follow up on the mystery of the missing diamond tiara, you will include me in all of your investigations.”

  She gasped. “You read my great-grandmother’s journal? How dare you?” She stamped her foot.

  He straightened his shoulders. “It isn’t a matter of daring. The journal belongs to me, plain and simple. I’ve read many of the books in my library.”

  “Well, if plain and simple is our goal, please finish reciting your stipulations.”

  “I believe there were only two. You must return the journal to me, and you will include me in any investigations. Oh, and share any clues you are able to glean from the journal.”

  “Is that all?”

  “I believe so, but I will certainly let you know if I think of anything else.”

  Her eyes met his in challenge. “Very well. Since I have little choice in the matter, I will agree to your demands. However, I have one of my own. If I find the tiara, I get to keep it.”

  He took a step toward her. “Absolutely not. You have no hope of finding it without the journal that belongs to me.”

  She took a step toward him. “Both the journal and the tiara belong to my family.”

  He leaned closer, so their noses nearly touched. The intensity in her eyes was breathtaking. “English law does not support your claims.”

  She clenched her jaw and slanted away from him. “I don’t give a fig about English law.”

  He pulled in a deep breath and held up his hand to silence her. This argument could go on forever. “I call truce. We will discuss ownership of the tiara if and when it becomes an issue. Until then, do we have an agreement?”

  She cast her eyes upward. “I suppose so.”

  Though he had no idea what possessed him to treat her as an equal, he reached to seal their agreement with a handshake.

  “Are you going to hand it over now?”

  She was tenacious. He’d give her that. “It is not on my person. We’ll have to return to the house.”

  Catherine kept up a steady barrage of chatter for the entire walk back to the house. “How did you find it?”

  “While organizing the books in the library.”

  She snorted. “You mean the great duke actually condescended to organize his own books? Don’t you have servants for that sort of thing?”

  “I am very particular about how my books are arranged and prefer to do it myself.”

  He pulled the door open and waved his hand for her to enter before him. He ought to set her straight about
how she was speaking to him, but surely she would discover this on her own as soon as she reached town. There were few members of the ton who would tolerate her lack of deference.

  They proceeded to the library. Nick strode to his desk and unlocked the drawer where he stored the journal. The wooden box that held it had been a gift from his father, the only one he had ever kept. It seemed appropriate to use it to hold a journal detailing the sexual exploits of a married woman. He lifted the journal, but hesitated to unwrap it from the oilcloth and hand it to Miss Malboeuf. Surely she was an innocent, and it gave him pause to think of her reading it. Would she find it intriguing, or would she shrink away in fear? On second thought, he couldn’t imagine her shrinking away from anything. She appeared to view life as an adventure. Surely her mother was aware of the contents and still sanctioned her trip to London to retrieve it.

  A shadow fell over the journal as she moved in front of the desk. “I thank you for taking such care to preserve my great-grandmother’s journal.”

  “All books deserve deferential treatment, regardless of their contents.” He removed the cloth and ran his hand over the surface of the leather-clad journal before passing it to her. “Remember our stipulations. You will keep me apprised of your investigations, and the journal is to be returned to me before you leave to go back to the Americas.” Hopefully his ploy to distract her with journal would meet with success.

  A dazzling smile transformed her face. Had her eyes been so green earlier? “Thank you for refraining from referring to my home as the colonies. And also for allowing me to have the journal. I shall uphold the terms of our agreement.”

  He cleared his throat, giving himself time to recover from the surprise of her genuine gratitude. “You are welcome.” Despite her behavior, he didn’t doubt her pledge to uphold their agreement.

  She cast her eyes to floor, then raised them to meet his. “Once again, I would like to offer to purchase Walsley Manor.”

  “And once again, I refuse.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the desk.